Authors: Scott Westerfeld

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Horror & Ghost Stories, #Performing Arts, #Music

The Last Days (21 page)

BOOK: The Last Days

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“Amateur hour,” Lace said in a singsong voice. “So, Moz, how long have you had an appetite for rare meat?”

I thought of Min’s kiss. “Three weeks and four days.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty precise.”

“Well, that’s when I first . . .” My voice faded. It didn’t seem like a good idea, telling them about Min. “Who
are
you guys anyway?”

Lace snorted. “Dude. We’re the guys who saved your butt. You almost got flattened by that worm, remember?”

I swallowed, watching as two angels lifted a third onto the platform. He was bleeding from a huge gash on one leg, black water dripping from the wound. He didn’t cry out, but his face was knitted in pain, his teeth clenched.

And I’d been about to fight that thing
alone
?

“Uh, thanks.”

“Uh, you’re welcome.” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you got any girlfriends? Any roommates? Cats?”

“Cats?” I thought of Zombie’s strange gaze. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Or what that thing was! What’s going on here?”

“He doesn’t know anything, Lace,” Cal said. “Just bag him and let’s get moving. That beastie’s only wounded; it might swing back around.”

The woman stared at me for another moment, then nodded. “Okay. So here’s the thing, Moz. Old-fashioned folk remedies aren’t going to keep your head together for much longer. Very soon, you’re going to do unpleasant things to your friends and neighbors. So we’re taking you for a little trip to New Jersey.”

“New Jersey?”

“Yeah, Montana’s full.” Lace smiled, pulling a small, thin object from her cargo pants. A needle glistened in the darkness at its tip. “This won’t hurt a bit, and you shouldn’t be there more than a week or two, thanks to your esoterica friend. Got to admit, she kept you in pretty good shape.”

“Hey, wait a second.” I backed away, holding up my hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a gig next week.”

“A gig?” Lace glanced at the guitar on my back and shrugged. “Cool. But I’m afraid you’re going to miss it. We need to train you.”

“Train me for
what
?”

“Saving the world,” Cal said.

I swallowed. “You mean Luz is right? There really is a struggle?”

“She told you about the . . . ?” Lace’s voice faded, and she closed her eyes, sniffing the air. “Hey, Cal—did you feel that?”

I
had. My magic powers were spinning. I took a step away.

“Not so fast, Moz!” Lace grabbed my arm, thrusting the needle closer.

As I pulled free from her grip, the ground broke open beneath us. . . .

Columns of flesh tore themselves up from the concrete of the platform, rings of teeth flashing in the darkness. One whipped past me, leaving my jacket sleeve in ribbons. I was already running, dodging through the flailing tendrils, stumbling over broken concrete.

The angels fought back, swords whistling through the air around me, as deadly as the gnashing teeth.

I jumped from the platform, then glanced back. Lace was spinning in place, her long sword slicing low through the air, cutting through columns of flesh as they thrust up from the ground. Black water spewed from the ragged stumps.

My hands reached for the neck of my Strat again, itching to pull it off my back. I was dying to run back and rejoin the fight, but I shut my eyes, yanked out the garlic, and bit straight into an unpeeled clove.

The burning sharpness cleared my head: I didn’t want to be part of any struggle. I didn’t want to go to some camp in New Jersey. All I wanted was to stay here, be in my band, play gigs, and get famous!

I turned away from the battle and dashed down the tracks, running back toward Union Square Station. As I passed the gash in the tunnel, a storm of rats spilled out, headed back toward the fight. I danced like a barefoot kid on hot asphalt as they swept past.

Finally the lights of the station glimmered in front of me. I leaped up onto the platform and kept running, climbing stairs and slanting tunnels until I’d dashed into the open air.

My pockets were heavy, jingling with enough change to catch a taxi out to Brooklyn. I had to tell Min what I’d seen. The enemy was just like she’d said: something monstrous. There really were angels, and they were recruiting, taking infected people away to . . .
New Jersey
?

Whatever. The struggle was real.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver Minerva’s street name. When he said he didn’t go to that part of Brooklyn anymore, I leaned forward and bared my teeth, asking him to reconsider. He turned, met my demented rock-star gaze, and changed his mind.

Once the cab was speeding up the Williamsburg Bridge, climbing away from the earth, my nerves began to calm. I was headed toward Minerva, to safety. I’d escaped the angels, and as long as I stayed out of the subways, they’d never find me again. . . .

Then I remembered that my guitar case and amp were back there, underground. I sank down into the vinyl seat, eyes squeezing shut.

The amp didn’t matter—I didn’t need it anymore—but the
case
. If the angels came looking for me, they’d find it on the tracks. Inside was a polite note, asking anyone who found this guitar to please call Moz at this number. Big Reward!

And, of course, the note gave my address as well.

21. THE RUNAWAYS

-MINERVA-

I pulled out Astor Michaels’s birthday present right before midnight, just like he’d told me to.

It was wrapped in silver foil, my own face gazing back at me in the candlelight, blurry and twisted. Zombie jumped up onto the bed and sniffed the package, then looked up at me, his little face worried.

Astor Michaels wasn’t family to me and Zombie—and now Moz. He was more like a distant relative, part of the clan who spelled their last names differently. It made him smell funny.

“It’s okay, Zombie. Astor’s going to make Mommy a rock star.”

When I pulled on the red ribbon, its knot only tightened, so I lifted the box to my mouth. The ribbon tensed for a moment as my teeth closed, then relaxed, like a chicken when Luz broke its neck.

Teeth were useful for all sorts of things these days. Mozzy could open beer bottles with his.

I slid the box out from its wrapping, checking the clock. Ten seconds.

I counted down, hoping the present wasn’t something heart-shaped.
Eww.
Astor Michaels knew I was with Mozzy. He’d spotted it faster than anyone else, except maybe smelly Alana Ray—and Zahler, of course, who Moz had told before he’d even called me. (Okay, really it was only Pearl who didn’t know. Poor little Pearl.)

My fingernails slit the box open, and I smiled.

It was a cell phone, shiny and microscopic. Lifting it up, hefting the insubstantial weight, I felt its shape fitting into my palm. What a very excellent idea . . .

Zombie, who’d been batting at the red ribbon, came over for another sniff, and at that moment the phone buzzed silently against my palm, like a housefly trapped in my fist. Zombie looked up at me and meowed.

“Must be for me,” I said.

I kept Astor Michaels waiting for three vibrations before I pushed the big green button.

“Aren’t you clever?”

“It’s my job to keep the talent happy.”

“Mmm.” I was already wondering when Mozzy would be home from playing down in the subway. He was supposed to call me exactly at one; I could phone him right before and give him a little surprise. . . . I giggled.

“Sounds like I’ve succeeded,” Astor Michaels said.

“Very much so.” Then I frowned. “Why didn’t Pearl ever give me one of these?”

“Maybe she thought you’d get yourself into trouble.”

“Hmph.” Pearl probably liked being the only one with my number. Showed what she knew. “It’s about time. Luz stole my buttons, you know.”

“So you said. You needed a real phone, Min. In fact, it’s about time you had a real life.”

Zombie stared up at me, as if listening.

“What do you mean by that, Astor Michaels?”

“Why don’t you move out, Min?”

“Move . . . out?” My eyes swept the candlelit darkness around me.

“Red Rat has a few apartments set aside for our special artists, for when they come to town to record. Nicely furnished and in Manhattan. You could move in anytime.”

I swallowed, reaching out to stroke Zombie. His fur had the shivers. “But what about—”

“Your parents?” He made a disappointed noise. “You’re eighteen in two weeks, Min. You can disappear for that long, can’t you? Do you think the police will spend much time looking for a runaway who’s about to turn legal?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t care about the police, or my parents much either. But I wasn’t sure how long I could go without Luz. She could be a total pain, but she’d cured me, more or less.

And Mozzy needed her even more than I did. I was splitting Luz’s medicines with him, making sure he got through the first stages of the illness. So far, he was keeping it together just fine, but I didn’t want him to turn all bitey.

“Min?”

I covered up the microphone. “What do you think, Zombie?”

His eyes opened wide, glistening, nervous but . . . excited.

Mozzy needed to get well, but
we
needed things too—to breathe the air outside at night, sucking in the smells and the moonlight. To go down in the subway, like Mozzy got to
every night
.

I wanted to learn more . . . to make my songs stronger.

In a couple of weeks I could call up Luz and have her come to my new place. She could make birthday mandrake tea for both of us. Once I was eighteen, it wouldn’t matter if she told my parents where I was.

Me and Moz could make it for that long, couldn’t we? We knew to eat lots of garlic. Probably all those other smelly herbs were just for show.

Zombie meowed, still staring at me with gleaming eyes. In our own place, he could go play with his little friends whenever he wanted.

Astor Michaels was talking again. “Once you’re out of that room, the band can rehearse every day. Think what that would do for you, especially with your first gig coming up.”

I bit my lip. Pearl had been complaining about having only one more Sunday to rehearse. Zombie stared at me, tail twitching, anxious.

“Okay. I’ll move.”

“I thought you might say that,” Astor Michaels said, and I could hear his smile. It slid through the airwaves like a needle. “Go pack.”

“What, right now? But it’s midnight.”

“Best time to run away, don’t you think? I’m on the road as we speak, coming over to collect you.”

“Um, but Moz said he was going to call later.”

He filled my ear with a little sigh. “You can call
him
instead, Min. Remember my little present? The one we’re talking on?”

“Oh, right.” I giggled. “Clever Astor Michaels.”

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes. Pack light.”

Pack light? Puh.

I needed lots of dresses—all my black ones, for wearing onstage. All my necklaces and rings too, even though my old jewelry box was pink and tattered. Only a few pairs of shoes, because I really had to buy all new ones; none of mine were very rock star. I packed every bit of the underwear me and Pearl had bought the day we’d gone to Red Rat Records, but no pajamas, because I was so bored of lying around all day. Bored of sleeping.

Never again,
I thought as I stuffed my two suitcases full. I could save up all my sleeping for the grave.

I packed my notebooks, of course. I’d memorized most of the songs in them, but they smelled good, and I liked to stare at my old handwriting. It was sweet how only I could read the songs, all of them in my own special language.

Zombie trilled from the top of the dresser, reminding me to bring cat food and a place for him to pee. I grabbed his bag of dry food and promised to get him a litter box. And big piles of bones—Moz and I were going to need lots of meat, especially without Luz’s tinctures and teas to help us.

I wondered if he would come and stay with me. . . .

The thought made me shiver a little, and I looked around my room again, the place I’d lived for almost eighteen years. It was time to grow up, after all.

The illness had emptied this room of meaning. Luz had cleared all my old possessions out, back when they’d made me scream. She was reintroducing familiar things one by one, but none of them held any significance now. Everything from before the disease smelled like old toys from childhood, sugary with memories, a little embarrassing.

Better to let my parents keep it all.

Mommy and Daddy would be upset, but I could call them from my new phone and tell them how happy I was.

BOOK: The Last Days

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