Other terrors, p.15
Other Terrors, page 15
Did the people watching the pageant—the moms and kids and grandpas—know what happened in the back parking lot? I’d tried to convince Martha of the apathy the Living maintained for us, even though we still walked and talked like their daughters and girlfriends and wives. During the nights I was home at McFasty’s, I impressed upon Martha that this thing called the Patriarchy was what Hell was really like and it was here on Earth right now, and that if we didn’t win the pageant, the Devil would be coming for us. Our death certificates were official, and they robbed us of our citizenship, social security numbers, and even from the protections of the Constitution. Our choices were meat brothels or porno camps, where we’d get (don’t think about it) until our bodies disintegrated, then Asses to Ashes LLC would sell our sterilized remains in a jerk-off lotion for forty-five bucks. Or we could throw ourselves into the ocean and be chomped by great whites. Only complete evisceration like shark teeth, or maybe a wood chipper, could truly lay us to rest. Martha would stubbornly remind me that Jesus was a man, and I’d shut her up by asking, How do you know that Martha, have you seen his dick? She insisted I say penis.
Applause roared in the convention center auditorium. The tuxedoed pageant host clapped his hands along with the crowd, and from inside the safety of his Plexiglas box, he announced, “Next up is everyone’s favorite final round: runway! America loves to watch these Stiffs creep, crack, and crawl down the catwalk. You’ll try to look away . . . but you won’t be able to.” The host chuckled and flashed his white teeth.
A speaker beside me erupted with the somber notes of the Miss Infection USA theme song (“You’ve risen from the aaaashes to be a bright flame in our heaaaarts”). I cupped my hands over my ears. The stage lights blinked out and a flurry of stage crew in black protective gear swirled around us in preparation for the finale. I looked around—where was Martha?
A sliver of natural light, foreign to the backstage, cut through the darkness. I turned toward it, as did a stagehand, and spied Martha peeking her head out the stage door. The stagehand shooed her away and shut the door again. I waved my sister over to me.
“You made it, babe,” I yelled over the music. “It’s the finals! I’m so proud of . . .”
“Miriam,” she spoke over me, “there are trucks out there.”
So the rumors were true.
“Don’t worry about that . . .”
“Stop lying to me,” she yelled. A stagehand hushed us. “I know what’s out there. It’s the Patriarchy. Isn’t it?” I whisked Martha into a darker corner and away from the hubbub. A metal clip light with a blue bulb cast a sapphire radiance on my dull gray arms, and I shocked myself with the fleeting thought that I was pretty. “Will they do that to us if I lose?”
“Forget about all of that. That won’t be us, babe. You’re going to win.”
Martha grabbed my chin. “Is that what they did to you, Miriam? In the camps?”
I pressed my forehead into hers and tried to keep my voice even. “Don’t lose focus. Runway is next. Ruby Red is on a hand truck. She won’t be able to walk that runway with any level of style or sass. She might be able to flip her hair. That’s all. You’ve got this.”
“My runway is shit,” she said.
“Don’t cuss. Nothing you do is thit.”
“You’re not Mom.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell me the truth. If I lose, are we walking out that back door and into those trucks?”
“No. We’re not walking. We’ll probably be carried out by security.”
The familiar kathunk of Ruby Red’s hand truck echoed backstage. Her assistant parked her next to the stage manager and they chatted while Ruby adjusted her legs. Yes, she had legs.
“Fuck,” said Martha.
Ruby Red’s runway costume was a marvelous machine built with gears and cords and little pipes that puffed out steam. A small control box was positioned on the edge of her mouth, and she used her tongue to move a joystick. The legs could twist and twirl like batons, and Ruby had full control of their dazzling motorized talents.
Don’t think about it.
“Miriam,” said Martha, shaking me. “Don’t look. Focus on me.”
I tried, but my eyes kept bouncing between Ruby and the stage door. I wondered if we could break through the Plexiglas and jump into the live audience—let them rip us apart.
“Listen to me, Miriam.”
I looked at Martha’s face. “I’m listening, babe.”
“We’re going to lose.”
I was a corrupted music file on repeat. “You’re going to win,” I said again, and again.
“Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
Martha paused. She squeezed her eyes shut. I could see her lips forming the well-worn words of the Hail Mary. Then, a revelation. Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes popped open and bulged.
“What is it?” I asked, begging to be let inside her mind.
She squeezed my fingers tightly in hers. My hands were dough in her grip—Mom’s grip.
“Don’t talk. Just listen,” she said. Her right hand settled over my mouth. The sweaty palm pressed into my lips felt like when they’d (don’t think about it) and my instinct yelled at me to make myself fast, small, and dart away. My panic was stilled only by my baby sister’s gaze. “Forgive me, for letting you go to those camps.”
I spoke into her salty palm. “I’d do it one hundred times over again, babe.”
“I won’t ever let anyone hurt . . .” Her words were muffled into my neck as she squeezed me tightly in her arms. I relaxed inside her embrace for a moment until a stagehand bashed their shoulder into us. Martha raised her head again and smiled at me—a small smile, not happy, but satisfied. “I know what we need to do.”
“What?” I asked. “There isn’t any time.”
The host was taking his position in the Plexiglas box again as the stagehands performed mic checks.
“Promise me you’ll let us win this my way.”
I didn’t have time to argue. “I promise.” I imagined that she’d try to alter her costume in some way, or maybe she’d flash her breasts. It wasn’t on brand for her, but it might earn her an extra photo in the souvenir eBook. We’d still be losers.
“Good,” she said.
“Testing,” said the host into his mic. “Testing.”
It was showtime. I whisked Martha to the quick-change area and transformed her into a runway goddess. Short gold pants with a heart-shaped bustier and a long, golden, glowing tail of fabric that dragged on the floor behind her. Two sky-high gold heels and one set of candy-apple red lips. Not steam-powered, but still unforgettable.
“Places in five,” said the nearest PA.
“Thank you, places,” I answered. I turned back to Martha. “What else do you need?”
My sister swallowed hard and long, like a python digesting a mouse. She bent down, fished an object from our makeup bag, and held it up to me in the palms of her hands.
It was the head of the Virgin Mary statue.
She offered the small cement head to me. It was cold, like my own skin, and we felt as one. Me, Martha, and Mary. My sister searched my face with her eyes. “Will you help?” she asked.
“Places,” called the PA. I heard the squeak of Ruby’s hand truck wheels.
What was she asking me to do? Prayers to a decapitated statue wouldn’t win the pageant. Had Martha lost her mind? I’d heard of brains going soft on Stiffs in midsentence, but Martha wasn’t at that point yet.
“You don’t have to think about it,” Martha said. “Just follow my instructions.” She took my arms and guided them to the top of her head. “Hold on to my hair like this.”
I wrapped her gossamer locks in my fingers. In my opposite hand I squeezed the statue’s little head. The stimuli from the two hands connected with a spark in my chest. I knew then, and the knowing was caustic, and what remained of my soul began to burn. My lips formed no but the sound was choked out.
Martha unsheathed a butcher knife from a bundle of McFasty’s paper napkins. She plunged the knife into her neck and began to slice and hack. The delicate strands of her hair slipped gradually through my grasp, until, with speed and a sudden added weight, her head dropped from my fingers and thudded to the floor.
My thoughts condensed into small, neat, sterilized snippets of action.
I pick up your head.
Martha’s body remained erect, and her arms sought their prize.
I give you your head.
My sister walked.
I guide you.
She entered the spectacle of stage lights.
I let you go.
My baby sister stomped and strutted down the runway, holding and swinging her own head like an expensive handbag. The host roared and scratched at his face in ecstasy and horror. The crowd’s clapping hands were hysterical tambourines that shook the ground and rattled my loose toe in my sneakers. The stagehands and PAs and security guards crowded into the wings to gawk and cheer. Stage lights whirled and twirled to position their beams on my sister as she performed. Ruby Red’s assistant left her sitting backstage, alone on her hand truck, and she screamed, but not loud enough to crumble the wall of noise made by the audience.
Even my own screams were drowned out.
The cameras and their operators raced on wheels and on foot to focus their lenses and worship every angle of Martha, burning her idol into the screens of her three million converts as they venerated at her hallowed feet. I fell to my knees, slapped my slick and sticky hands together, and offered prayers of adoration to Martha the Divine, the new Miss Infection USA.
All Not Ready
by Tracy Cross
Last night, night before,
Twenty-four robbers knocked at my door,
I woke up, let them in
Knocked in the head then I did it again
Two times one, one times four
All not ready . . .
Ari fumbled with the small cube as her palms sweat. The cube was the key to the future of her family. With this cube, they would be able to move to a better Quad. She could go to a better school. Everything would be perfect.
She wouldn’t have to choose between eating breakfast or lunch every day. Today she chose lunch. Yesterday was breakfast. The food rations her family received didn’t last long, and with her grandmother in hospice, there were few credits for food.
“Ariadne! Come get some breakfast. Most important meal of the day!” her mother called her from the kitchen.
Ari sat on the floor in her room, her legs crossed, as she worked on the cube. “Not hungry! Working on something.”
She hated lying to her mother. Ariadne was hungry, but she was okay with today’s sacrifice. The cube had her complete attention. She bartered for parts a few days ago, and they lay spread on the floor in front of her.
Even though she despised doing it, she frequented the junkyard for parts for her science projects. This year was the big science fair. She needed to win.
“You okay back there? Been pretty quiet for a while.” Her father steered the huge boat of a Cadillac onto the highway.
“Just, you know, I am almost finished.” She sighed and snapped her lunch box closed.
“Right-o, kiddo. We are counting on you.”
His words weighed heavy on Ariadne. She closed her eyes and exhaled as the car rumbled to a stop in front of the school.
“Be the best you can be or don’t come home!” Ari’s father yelled as she slipped out of the car.
She turned and saluted him before she ran inside.
Ariadne maneuvered the hallway like a pro. She kept her head down while moving past a group of bullies. These were the kids that ate breakfast and lunch every day. The kind of kids that didn’t have to pick through junkyards for their science projects.
“Hey, Scrappy! Off to see your little Nation of Friends?” a boy yelled.
Her grip tightened on her lunch box handle. One day she would belt them one for making fun of her friends.
“You just jealous because you guys all look alike!” she sniped before the first bell rang.
Ariadne put her lunch box in her locker and ran into a few of her friends: Mai, Sudi, and Quan. They all lived near her, in the same Quad.
“Did you escape the bullies?” Sudi asked, sliding his lunch box into his locker.
“Jerks. I hate those guys. Making fun of us because—” Mai stared over Ariadne’s shoulder and down the hallway.
“Forget those guys!” Ariadne said.
“Easy for you, they did not take your lunch,” Quan said.
“Hey, you guys up for a game of Hide and Seek at recess? You know, my dad would say it helps to relieve stress.” Ariadne fell in step as they walked to their class.
“I don’t see where it would be a problem.” Mai flipped her thick black braid over her shoulder.
“Always down. Are we—” Sudi nodded.
“We play by my rules,” Ari said. “Meet me under the stairs by the gym at recess. Spread the word.”
They walked into class as their teacher took attendance.
“Glad to see the usual suspects have joined us. Take your seats. Let’s start with some math, because who doesn’t like numbers?”
After lunch, Ariadne ran for her locker and grabbed the holocube from her lunch box. She flipped it around in her hand a few times as small bits of color illuminated. She slipped it into her skirt pocket as the teacher yelled for them to finish at their lockers so they could go outside for recess.
Ari was first in line, fiddling with the cube in her pocket. Today would be legendary. She pressed the jackpoint on her neck, sliding the sleeve on her sweater back and twisting some dials on her wrist. In her left eye, she saw a hologram of the playground, and the program titled “Hide and Seek” popped up. Only she could see it as she made a few more adjustments. She smiled as she followed the teacher outside. She gave her friends the thumbs up.
The kids ran all over the playground under perpetually grey skies. Clouds rolled in and it looked like rain, but the weather always looked like something. Ariadne looked around before she ran over to a set of concrete steps and slipped beneath them. She continued to make adjustments on her transparent sleeve as the others joined her in the tight space.
Ariadne crouched in the corner. She went over the rules of Hide and Seek for the umpteenth time.
“Plug in your stupid jackpoints, okay? Use this.” Ariadne passed around small custom plugs for the jackpoints. “Once we get plugged in, everybody grab your weapon, okay? Y’all know what happens when you get found.”
Some kids mumbled as they massaged their jackpoints behind their ears.
“Is everyone fully charged? Your jackpoints plugged in? We can’t lose anyone. I programmed the game for seven, including me. I also made some changes to the game. Anything that happens in the game will feel like real life. If you are hit, it’s gonna hurt.”
Maya rolled her eyes and adjusted her waist-length ponytail. “Well, I’m ready. Why do you always do this, Ari?”
“Changes will keep you on your toes. If you play like it’s important, then it’ll be a really fun game. Plus, someone like Perri or Sudi ends up with a jackpoint unplugged and we lose the game. Like, the whole game.”
Ari watched as Sudi scratched behind his ear.
“I just got these,” Sudi shouted. “They itch, but my mom said they wouldn’t for too long.” He stopped and clapped his tawny brown hands in front of him and then looked around the group.
Mai and Tim pressed their hands to their jackpoints behind their ears and nodded at each other. They spoke in unison: “Ready.”
“At least they get it,” Ari sighed.
“Where are the weapons?” Quan jumped up from the group.
“The good weapons?” Perri asked.
“It’s a game. You were supposed to send me new versions of your weapons. Then I add them to the game. If you didn’t send me anything, then I didn’t program anything.” Ari stopped programming her transparent sleeve and looked around. “And if you didn’t send me anything, I used what you sent me last time. This time, everything is gonna hurt.”
Ari watched them stare at each other. She didn’t think they understood the changes. Her shoulders fell as she looked at the ground.
“Look at this katana. I copied it from my mom. I can use it in the game. It hurts and stuff but outside of the game, nothing will happen in real life. It’s only in the game.”
“Wait, why does your mom have a katana?” Quan’s eyebrows rose.
“Don’t matter. I came prepared.” Ari smirked.
“Nobody has a bat with nails? I came to win!” Quan pulled a bat from behind his back.
Everyone nodded.
“I have a mace!” Tim swung it around the tight space as everyone ducked.
“Where’d you get a mace?” Perri asked as she pulled out a pair of small, custom brass knuckles.
“Weren’t you in class last week? Mrs. Anderson told us about those old-time battles.” Tim pointed to Perri. “And the brass knuckles?”
Perri smiled. “My dad gave ’em to me. I made a copy of ’em for the game.”
Mai pulled out two small sais and made a dramatic pose. “These were my grandpa’s.”
“What? How do you know about those?” Maya asked.
“Well, what you got?” Perri sassed Maya.
Maya did a few kicks, followed by a few quick jabs. “I am the weapon.”
“She’s out first,” Tim laughed.
“I also have this.” Maya whipped a small lasso from behind her back and tossed it. It looped around Tim’s neck, and she pulled it until he choked.
