Tomorrow Land (4 page)

“Sounds interesting,” Peyton said, feeling sweat bead on her forehead as she continued her speed training. “I’ll have to take a look when you’re done.” Maybe they had it as an e-book….

“There’s even cybernetics in it,” her father continued. Though he was officially out of the business, he admitted to a continued fascination in the art of enhancing man by machine, and he was constantly tinkering with parts in his lab. “A girl named Molly Millions. A razor girl.”

Peyton stopped punching. “What’s a razor girl?” she asked.

“A cybernetic ninja, of sorts,” Ian explained. “Sort of like those soldiers I worked on but…” He broke off, stared at the wall for a moment. “She has four-inch razors under her fingernails that she can slide in and out at will. She knows half a dozen forms of martial arts. And she has these ocular implants with infrared and a bunch of other functionality. She can see better, move faster, react quicker. She’s amazing. If I had everything from my old lab… Well, she’d be the perfect creature to survive the apocalypse.”

“I don’t know. Sounds pretty weird to me.” Peyton grabbed a towel and wiped her brow. “Besides, how would this person survive
before
the apocalypse? Imagine what that’d be like. Would she be chopping apples with her fingernails?” Peyton giggled. “I’d hate to see her forget to retract her razors while she’s picking her nose.”

Her father shrugged, set his book down and pulled the gloves off her hands. He handed over the jump rope, saying, “She’d manage. She’d have to be tough to survive the operation, anyway. You wouldn’t want to choose someone who wouldn’t be able to use the enhancements.” Picking up the book and flipping through it, he said, “People adapt. The good ones, at any rate. They take their hardships and make them strengths. Because of her implants, Molly Million’s tear ducts were rerouted to her mouth. In other words,” her dad concluded, “a razor girl doesn’t cry. When she’s sad, she spits.”

Peyton burst out laughing. “Now that’s just messed up.”

Her father held up his hands. “Mock if you will,” he told her. “But Molly Millions had it right. When the end of the world comes, it won’t be the ones who cry who survive, but the ones who spit.”

Chapter Four

“Behind you!”

Instinct from years of training kicked in as Peyton heard the warning. The stranger on the roof pointed and she whirled. A kick of adrenaline slammed through her, succeeding in activating her body’s cybernetic offense. The razors shot from under her fingernails, flashing in the fading sunlight, and she held them up in front of her face, ready. Coiled in a fighting stance.

Her eyes widened under her ocular implants, a quick scan confirming her worst fear. Oh God, it was one of
them
. For some reason, some stupid reason, she’d imagined they had all gone away by now. Died out. Become extinct or something. But no. Evidently they had survived. Perhaps they even ran things these days; she had no idea.

They were even uglier than she remembered, and that was saying something. This particular one was naked, save scraps of tattered clothing clinging to its glowing, yellow-green skin. It had too many fingers, too many toes, a third eye growing out of its forehead. It was covered in festering, pus-filled wounds. And it smelled like—well, she couldn’t think of anything foul enough to compare it to.

But while they might still be ugly, she wasn’t still defenseless. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let anything kill her on her first day back in the real world. What would her father say? What would Molly Millions say?

“Stay back, Pus-head,” she growled. “Unless you want to be sliced and diced.”

Sadly, Pus-head didn’t seem to have a good grasp of the King’s English. Either that, or he underestimated the martial arts training and nano-enhancements of his intended dinner. With a bellowing roar the monster lunged toward Peyton, fleshy arms outstretched, clearly preparing to grab her by the neck and chomp on her face. She leapt away with lightning-fast reflexes, lashing out with her razors and managing to catch the thing’s left shoulder, slicing across its chest. The creature squealed in pain and fury, blood gushing everywhere. It lunged again but Peyton ducked, avoiding a spray of gore and bodily fluids.

Looking at the ooze on the ground, Peyton almost hyperventilated. But she forced herself to return to her basic defensive stance instead, arms up, razors out. She focused herself, her nanoenhancers working overtime to lower her heart rate and steady her breathing. This was what she’d trained for, she reminded herself. She could do this. She
would
do this. She spat on the ground.

The creature made a grab for her. She swung her leg out, slamming the thing in the stomach with a well-placed kick. It made her stomach turn, the sickening thud of her boot meeting rotten flesh. Good thing she’d left the flip-flops at home. The creature staggered backward, losing its balance for a few precious seconds. Just the opportunity Peyton needed. She swept her arm out, blades flashing, aiming at its face. The blow didn’t miss. All three eyes were blinded at once, and the creature bellowed in misery as Peyton yanked her hand free and retreated.

Had her attack been enough to stop it? She wasn’t sure how many more rounds she could take.
Only a flesh wound
, she imagined it saying, forcing her to slice off its arms and legs. And maybe she should cut off its head.

But evidently Pus-head hadn’t had a chance to see Monty Python, because instead it made the logical choice: to turn tail and run blindly down the street, still sobbing in pain and rage.

She sucked in a breath, blinking twice to deactivate attack mode. Suddenly the boring old shelter where she’d spent the last four years didn’t seem like such a bad place after all. At least deep underground she’d been safe from these things. She’d factored them out of the equation. It was time to factor them back in.

She looked down at her hands, at the flesh- and blood-caked razors. She’d have to clean them off before retraction beneath her fingernails. So gross! But, she had to admit, they, along with her other enhancements, had just saved her life.

“Thanks, Dad,” she muttered, at last appreciating what he’d done for her. Still, her gratitude was a bit grudging.

A clapping noise from above startled her back to the present. The guy on the garage roof! She’d almost forgotten about him in the heat of the fight. Forget the razors; it was his warning that had truly saved her life. She looked up and waved.

“Thanks, guy,” she said, still breathing heavily. “I owe you one.”

He jumped off the roof and approached her. He was tall and lean, with flashing green eyes and a full mouth quirked in a half-smile. He wore leather from head to toe: jacket, pants, gloves. Her stomach twisted in an appreciation she hadn’t felt in a long time—maybe ever. After all, it had been quite a while since she’d seen anyone not in her immediate family. And even before that, well, she couldn’t remember anyone looking so good.

“I’m Chase,” the boy said by way of introduction. He looked about her age and there was something strangely familiar about his face. He glanced down the street in the direction the creature had run. “That was… well, that was some fighting. I haven’t seen someone take on an Other like that in… well, ever.”

She drew in a breath. “So they’re still around, eh? I was sort of hoping they’d have died out or something.” She wiped her razors on the ground, taking particular care with them as she always did. But the gore was pretty caked on. She’d need to find some actual water or at least a wet-nap to get it all off.

“Yeah, right. I wish. They live, they thrive. They got us all scared shitless. Nothing’s changed there.” He gave Peyton a strange look. “How do you not know this, though? You been living under a rock or something?”

“Pretty much,” she admitted. “This is the first time I’ve been outside in four years.”

“Well then, let me be the first to greet you into our own little corner of Hell on Earth. Welcome back.”

Peyton grimaced. “Um, thanks. I think.”

“So, where’s this rock you’ve been hiding under? I thought I’d scouted out this neighborhood pretty good over the years.”

She pointed down the street. “Twelve Mulberry. My dad bought this old fallout shelter before things started getting really bad. Packed it up with food and supplies. Set a timer, escorted my mom and me inside, closed the door. Home sweet home for four years. The door opened yesterday.”

Chase stared at her, disbelieving. “Oh my God,” he said.

“What? It’s not
that
weird a story, is it? If you’re out here, there must have been—”

But Chase’s face was white. “Peyton Anderson?” he asked, as if he was half-afraid to know the answer to his question.

She cocked her head, scanning his face. How did he know her? Had he gone to her school? Was he one of Erin’s friends? Drew’s?

Then it hit her. With all the force of a ten-ton truck.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re… you’re…”

The guy bowed low. “Chris Parker. One of the last guys on earth.”

Chapter Five

“Hey, tech-head, what are you doing?”

Chris reluctantly pulled off his VR goggles at the sound of his older brother’s voice. When Trey plopped down uninvited on the couch beside him and punched him in the arm, he grunted. “What does it look like, moron?”

“You know, too many videogames will make you sterile,” Trey volunteered. “I read that once somewhere.”

“You also read somewhere that you won the Space Station 13 lotto,” Chris retorted. “And that you’ll die if you don’t forward the email to ten of your friends.”

“Oh, you’re such the clever little man. If you’re so clever, though, why don’t you have a date tonight like I do?”

“Because I’ve got better things to do.”

Trey could barely hide his mirth. “Oh? Did your
Knights of the Living Dead
guild just take down Fiddler’s Green?”

“No. I’m playing
Basketball Dayz
now, I’ll have you know,” Chris snapped. “And just ‘cause I don’t spend all my time cracking into that Playboy House of Love sim you jacked doesn’t mean I’m some social reject. There are girls in B-Dayz, too. Real girls from our school. Not computer-generated sexpots.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, little bro, but you’d have a much higher chance of scoring with a sim star than anyone at our school.”

Sadly, Chris knew Trey was probably right, but he wasn’t about to admit it. The last thing he needed was more teasing from his older brother. He understood the reality: Trey was über popular. Everyone loved him. Trey was the life of the party, and Chris was the dweeby little brother no one ever noticed, including the person he was most desperate to have notice him—Peyton Anderson, the most beautiful girl at school. Ever since his family first moved down the street from her, Chris had known she was the girl for him. But she’d turned him down time and again, this year going for that stupid meatboy Drew Barry. Chris had no idea what she saw in him. He had a brain the size of an amoeba and even less personality.

But hey, Drew was tall and built and had a flashy smile. And Chris was just a beanpole who couldn’t manage to put on any weight if he tried. If only he’d gotten Trey’s genes, maybe he’d have had a chance.

“Hey… Trey, Chris… will you guys play Barbies with me?” a little voice begged.

Chris looked over to see that his sister Tara had entered the room. Back when she was a baby, his parents had adopted the now six-year-old girl from an African country that had been all but wiped out by the resurgent AIDS epidemic. Sometimes he wished they’d traded his brother for the privilege.

“Yeah,
right
,” Trey said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got to get ready for my date with Anna Simmons.”

Tara’s face fell, but Chris knew how to fix that. “I’ll play with you, Tara Bara,” he said, pulling out his VR goggles. He didn’t have much else going on, after all. “What address are you at?”

His sister chirped with joy. “Dreamhouse Fifteen, on the Blonde and Beautiful server.” She grabbed her own sim deck. “Thanks, Chris. You’re the best!”

 “You just remember that come dessert,” he teased as he activated the sim. “I want your portion of Mom’s banana cream pie.”

“Anything!” Tara promised. Of course, he knew she’d deny it all when it came to actually giving up her sweets, but he didn’t really mind.

“Hey, your girlfriend’s outside,” Trey remarked casually as he headed back up the stairs. “Pretty hot, if I do say so myself.”

Chris started, his heart in his throat as he found himself clamoring for the nearest high basement window. Sure enough, there was Peyton, talking to their neighbor, Mrs. McCormick. He smiled. The old woman was his favorite person on their block—besides Peyton, of course. A sweet, cookie-baking grandma-type who’d been his babysitter when he was younger. And even today, she was always around to listen when his parents were late coming home from work, which they usually were. He’d never seen Peyton talk to her, though. Maybe Mrs. McCormick would put in a good word for him. He could use all the help he could get.

But just as he was about to leave the window and switch on his sim, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Mrs. McCormick. Swaying and stumbling and falling to the ground. In a flash, he was on the stairs. Then he paused, turning back to his sister.

“Meet me in the Glow Cat area,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

*

Peyton, late for her training session with her father, had been rushing home from a fight with Drew at school—he hated how she had to rush home to train every day instead of spending time with him—when she came across her elderly neighbor hobbling down the street. The woman was coughing so hard that at first Peyton worried she was choking. She ran up, placed a hand on the old woman’s shoulder and peered into her eyes. “Are you okay, Mrs. McCormick?” she asked.

The old woman grasped her with a bony hand. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice cracking. “I felt fine this morning. But now I can’t seem to stop coughing.” She opened her hand, revealing a tissue clotted with scarlet-flecked phlegm. Peyton recoiled. “A few minutes ago I started coughing up blood.”