When The Light Goes Out (12 page)

Couldn't raise my own hopes about surviving the damn invasion. Couldn't raise my own hopes about living.

About finding love.

About, maybe, having a family.

That would have been stupid with death breathing down my neck, with every step I took. I felt those cold hands again. Wrapping so tightly around my heart that I swore I couldn't breathe. Maybe my heart stopped for a moment, as I froze before the back wall. If they weren't here, we were screwed, and I knew it.

I knew it.

"Please." I almost couldn't recognize my own voice as I whispered. "Please. Please let them be here." For a horror filled eternity, I ran my hands over the wall. Hoping praying

that there would be some little switch. That the lights would flick on, at the control of my fingers. That everything would end up perfectly okay. But of course, predictably, it didn't quite work that way.

Yes, the lights turned on. But I didn't do it.

I hadn't been the one to flip the switch, and I nearly fainted when a gun was pushed against my forehead. The cold metal was a gut wrenching reminder that my life was at risk from more then just the undead. Unless, of course, they suddenly learned to use guns, in which case I didn't think I'd be surviving to the end of the day.

"The 'ell do ye want?" Came the question that I just barely translated. The voice held such a thick, decidedly Irish accent that I wasn't so sure I heard him right. But he pushed the gun even closer to my head, leaving an indent in the skin there, and repeated his question. "Well? Answer me!"

"I I" I couldn't answer.

"Hey, sir, put the gun down. I know you're scared"

"I'm not scared! Who say's I'm scared! I'm doin' just fine, thank ye." "Put the gun down."

"Maybe I don't want to. Ever thought of that?"

"Put the gun
down
." Cathy upped the ante a bit, as I could see her producing her gun as a way to persuade the man, from the corner of my eye. However all it did was cause a sort of dry laughter to bubble up in his throat. The laugh scared me out of my head. Why was he so amused?

"Pplease?" Oh if I didn't just hate stuttering like that. It made me feel like a little kid. I wasn't. I was an adult, yet I was tripping over my words like a first grader starting their journey into the world of literature. "I only wa-wanted to turn on the lights."

"Ye could 'ave led them damn creatures 'ere!" "We were
very
careful..." Blatant lie.

"Were ye now?" I could swear the man was snarling at me, but my eyes had gone cross with the effort of staring at the gun. Hoping to make it disappear, I suppose. So long as I didn't die.

"We tried to be."

"Okay, I'll give you a choice, sir. Either you put the gun down, or I'm giving you one between the eyes." "Try that and I'll kill this one 'ere."

"Yeah, but you'll be dead before you can raise the gun to me."

"True enough." Finally the gun lowered, and I swear I lost all color in my face during the effort to keep on my feet not that there was much color to lose of course. My knees were smacking against each other, and I swayed. Landing against Cathy with a bit of a sigh.

Holy shit that was close.

Too
close.

I wanted to box his ears.

But, instead, I took the moment to really look at him. To note the fact that he had pure white hair, and blotchy, wrinkled skin. He looked downright ancient, hunched over a walking stick, with a gun in one hand. But there was a sparkle in his blue eyes that told one not to mess with him, no matter how weak he appeared. He had to have grandchildren somewhere, and I couldn't help but mentally pity them. Not so sure anyone deserved such an old man in their lives.

"I'm Cathy." The blond never lowered her eyes from his. Never loosened her grip on the lowered gun. But the man just kept looking at me. Staring. Making me nervous. She could tell too, which was definitely the worst part. "This is Excel."

"Kids got a mouth, eh?"

"I'm Excel." I was ashamed at how low my voice was. And it was shaking.

Damned old man.

"Blaz. Didn't mean to startle ye."

"
Startle
!" I choked on the word. Staring wide eyed at the fossil. I couldn't believe he'd said what he did. Startled. A mere '
startled
.' As if my heart wasn't pounding in my ears. As if a gun being pushed to my face was a common occurrence, which I should have been use to. "
Startled?!
"

"Frightened then?"

I stormed off, unable to look at the man for another minute. I wanted to throttle him, and usually I was extremely patient with the older crowd. I knew that we came from different times. We thought differently. Downright felt differently about a lot of things. I understood that some of them didn't want to consider new opinions. But him. Oh, I wanted to kill

him.

I found myself over by the furniture display, and dropped onto the nearest couch. Trying to calm down. Trying to slow my heart beat, dry my palms, and find that happy place in my mind. But I couldn't. So I curled up, with my back to the room, in an attempt to wake up.

It had to be a dream. It had to be.

But I was sure it wasn't.

The ache in my back from sleeping upright. The pain in my neck from slumping over. There was no way I was dreaming that.

No way.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard my name. Maybe Dustin wanting to know where I went. Cathy wanting to find me. Ian worrying, or mad that the old man scared me. It probably
was
Ian. He'd be the one to lose his cool. For a chess geek, he was protective. He didn't like it when people played around like that. I couldn't think of anyone else in the group who would really give a damn.

Why was it me?

It was always me.

I was always the one with the luck. The misfortune.

Whatever you wanted to call it. Why?!

What had I ever done to deserve it?

I pulled a dusty pillow over my head, not really caring about what could be on it. I just wanted to block out the world. The whole world and everything in it. I wanted life to stop existing, but I didn't want to die. Not yet. I was too young. Far too young.

People much younger then me were dying. Why was I complaining?

"God, why can't the world just go away?" I whispered the words to myself. I could hear shouting, somewhere, probably by the door. It sounded like someone was mad. "I can't stand this." Someone was still shouting, so I pushed the pillow on my ears even harder. Increasing the pressure until finally I just couldn't hear anything.

The silence was wonderful.

Peaceful.

Bam!

I didn't hear it so much as I felt a searing pain on my ass. Yes children, my
ass
.
Whamoh
. Right there. Like
Ker
splat
. I couldn't have rolled over any quicker if someone stabbed me with a cattle prod. Suddenly the pain came again, but instead on my thigh. The inner part, completely exposed as I had one leg on the ground in a hasty attempt to get to my feet.

"Holy mother of
God
!" I wasn't so sure what spurred the words, but they shot from my mouth as I collapsed to the floor, clutching my leg like it was broken. It sure as hell felt that way, with the pain just shooting up into my body. If the bone wasn't broken, there was most definitely a welt, as I tried to focus my gaze on whoever was there.

"Dustin's looking for ye, brat." "You old bastard!"

"Bitch." "Fossil!" "Slut!"

"Coffin stuffer!" "Skank-ho!"

I suddenly had an amazing amount of respect for the old man, rearing back, prepared to hit me with his walking stick a third time. However, expecting it, I did manage to more or less hip crawl out of the way, and sock him in the knee. To my amazement, he didn't go down, rat-bastard. No. He just slammed his cane to the floor, and leaned against it, glaring death into my very soul.

I cracked a grin then, rising cautiously to my feet. Saying I didn't trust him was a total and complete understatement. He threatened to shoot me, beat me with a stick, and insulted me. Part of me openly wished I'd had such an awesome grandfather, but one figured that whoever did belong to him had such a high tolerance to pain that they weren't any fun for anybody.

"Dustin's looking for me?" I couldn't help but repeat the mans question. It seemed to tee him off a bit. The wrinkled skin about his eyes wrinkled even more noticeably as they narrowed. For a minute I swore he was lifting his cane again, but it came into harsh contact with the ground when I raised my fist to hit him.

If he was willing to hit me, I was willing to hit him, even if his teeth were older then most other living organisms. He just had that vitality in his eyes that made me wonder where the hell he got those happy pills from. One wouldn't be able to deny that it was a damned good question. He had to be taking something.

"
Yes
, Dustin's looking for ye, snotnosed turniphead."

Normally, I would have glared, but the thick accent made it impossible to keep a straight face. Instead I tipped over laughing.

Silly me.

Tip over in front of the guy with the stick.

"Crash" was an understatement, and for a minute I couldn't move. But it was so totally worth it.

Between fits of gasping laughter, I struggled to my feet. Half expecting him to hit me again. But he didn't. He just rolled his eyes, and turned around, half wobbling away from me. I

had half a mind to just plop back down on the couch, but I knew I'd just end up having another meeting with his cane. The first few hadn't been so pleasant. I could still feel the sting.

"'urry up kiddo." "Sit on it old man." "'ow about ye"

"Are you two bickering now?" Cathy's accent had gotten heavy compared to the last time I heard her. I figured it was due to Blaz's own, but that wasn't my problem. I just shot her a grin, absently rubbing my arm since I couldn't quite rub the parts of me that hurt in public.

I really didn't want to answer the questions that came attached to that.

"Where'd you go?" I never figured Dustin to be one of the people to get in someone's face. But he was doing exactly that. Glaring into my eyes. I grinned nervously.

"I went to lay down on the couches." "Why?!"

"I... was... sleepy?"

"I think I may 'ave 'urt the munchkins feelings a bit back there, sorry." "Bull."

"Excel?" "Nothing." "Excel"

"I'm going to go sit by the door, thank you very much."

And I did so, glaring angrily at the wall across the way as I sat cross legged. I really didn't want to deal with anything. Didn't want to deal with the kids, the adults. Life. I didn't want to deal with the old man. Especially the old man. If anything I wanted to crack him over the head with his own walking stick. Hard enough to break him.

Yes him. Not it. Him. "Excel"

"Dustin.." I stared up into green eyes. Just stared for a minute, speaking only when I knew I had his undivided attention. "Go away." I almost laughed at the look of shock on his face. Like he didn't expect me to act like a grounded teenager. "Dustin, I have respect for you. I do. I have so much. I've known you for less then twenty four hours, but you're already taking care of me. But frankly, right at this very moment, I couldn't care less. Right now, I want to claw someone's eyes out. So unless you've got two to spare, please?"

I was almost shocked when the man nodded his head. But he did, and promptly walked back over to the group. Pixie looked about ready to come bounding over to me at any moment, but she restrained herself. Marvelous child, really. I would have felt terribly guilty if it was her eyes that I got. There was still so much for her to see.

I tried to block them out. I tried to get my feet firmly on the ground again. My mind firmly in my head. I couldn't be running around, weaponless, just because some obnoxious old man decided he was going to be exactly that. If I ran off every time someone bothered me, I'd be a damned hermit. And I didn't want to be a hermit.

But for some reason they wouldn't leave my head, and I couldn't fight the paranoia that they were talking about me. It wasn't even the pointing fingers that gave me such a paranoia. It was a twisting in my gut that just told me to be scared, and they were the only things I could think to be scared of, protected by mostly glassless, two foot thick, wooden doors.