Part 23 (2/2)

She was a lousy excuse for a razor girl.

Chapter Thirty-nine.

Peyton opened her eyes. Her bedroom glowed with a strange silver haze. For a moment she wasn't sure what had happened, then it all came cras.h.i.+ng back to her. Tara's death. Her decision to get the cybernetics from her dad so she could protect those she loved. She remembered her father's pleased grin when she informed him she'd decided to go ahead with the procedure. He had the parts all ready; he'd obviously planned on her saying yes. A slip of a needle in her arm knocked her out for the count before she could even ask what he planned to do.

Now awake, postsurgery, she sat up in bed and thoroughly examined her arms and legs. She didn't see any obvious weird body armor, which was a relief. She looked closer at her hands. Her fingers. It felt like there was something there, under the surface of her nails. Something somehow she knew she could control. She concentrated hard and...

Razors shot out from behind her nails: four-inch steel blades under each finger and thumb. Retractable. She tested one out on her silk sheets. It slit through the soft material like b.u.t.ter. Ultra sharp. She drew them back in. Pretty stellar. Now she was armed. The next time one of those monsters tried to hurt anyone, she'd be ready.

What was with the silver haze, though? She slid out of bed and approached the mirror. Looked at her reflection-and screamed.

Oh G.o.d, no. Not this. What had her father been thinking? She'd told him she only wanted something small. Something to protect others. What possible use could these things on her eyes do? These ocular implants locked her away from the world.

She reached up to pull on the metal panes but they seemed fused to her eyeb.a.l.l.s. Permanent contacts, colored in silver, hiding away her real eyes forever. Blood dripped as she clawed at her eyes, desperate to get them off. But they wouldn't move.

”You're awake!” her dad cried, entering the room. He grinned widely as his eyes caught her face. ”You look beautiful,” he murmured. ”Just like her. Just like Molly Millions.” She realized he was still clutching his worn copy of Neuromancer, and she wanted to reach out and smack it from his grip. Tear it up into a thousand pieces. How dare he do this to her? Turn her into a character in his favorite book with absolutely no concern or interest in what was best for her.

”What did you do to me?” she asked through gritted teeth. ”I asked you for some small alterations. Some nano enhancers or something to make me a better fighter. What is this?” She gestured to her eyes. ”You turned me into a monster.”

Her father, to her surprise, merely tsked. ”Peyton, don't be vain,” he scolded, as if she were a small child unhappy with the color of her birthday dress. ”Those ocular implants will help you more than any of the nanos I injected into you. You'll be able to see in the dark-any light level, actually. You'll have a built in GPS. Database access, life-sensors, maps, the works. I've been working on these for years. They're my life's work, culminated.” He stepped forward, looking at her proudly. ”I've finally built her. I've finally built a real-life razor girl.”

She sank down on her bed, head in her hands. What would Chris think when he saw her now, when he realized the girl he loved had transformed into a disgusting cyborg? How could she even face him? How could she bear to see the look of disgust on his face?

She was trying to cry but found the tears wouldn't fall. ”What the h.e.l.l?” she demanded, looking up at her father. ”I can't cry?”

Her dad sat down beside her. ”Peyton,” he said. ”This isn't a bad thing. You're built to survive and protect those you love. The world has changed, but you're ready now. Together, you, me, and your mother will take part in a great and glorious rebuilding of our world. And that's a good thing, right?”

She looked up at him.

”I know it's hard to understand,” he continued. ”You're so young. But you must know that you were put on this Earth to serve a higher purpose. The highest of all purposes, actually.” He stroked her hair. ”You, Peyton, my razor girl, you alone now have the power inside you to save us all.”

She bit back her anger and said, ”Fine. But first we have to make one modification.”

Chapter Forty.

Everyone but Helga was sleeping when Peyton slipped away from the camp that night. She stepped gingerly over the slumbering kids, careful not to wake them, and past the horses, who neighed softly but didn't give her away.

She wasn't leaving, as much as she would have liked. But she was going to go out and try to find some steroids from a local hospital. She'd seen a sign on the road a ways back that her GPS confirmed, and she needed as much strength as possible to make the final leg of this Disney trip. Because, though Chase had said he'd still get her there, she realized she couldn't rely on him. He was obviously going through something, something that forced him to push her away. She didn't know if he was back to the drugs or if it was something else. Either way, she needed to protect herself, in case he went all crazy again. She needed to be self-sufficient. And the only way she could see to do that was to get loaded up on as much supplemental medication as possible. Her father had suggested this route if worst came to worst.

Her GPS marked the old hospital not a quarter-mile from the highway, and the faded blue signs they'd pa.s.sed confirmed she was on the right track. She headed down the street, keeping a careful watch for any Others. She was pretty weak and didn't want to fight unless it was completely necessary.

Luck was with her. She made it to the hospital without incident. The gla.s.s doors had been smashed and so Peyton didn't have to open them to step inside. She adjusted her lenses to compensate for the low light and scanned the area, searching for signs of living or undead. Nothing. She headed down the long, cobwebbed hallway, wondering where she should start her search. There had to be some sort of pharmacy somewhere on the premises. She just prayed that it hadn't been stripped entirely bare by looters.

The hallway came to a dead end, turning to the left and right. She chose left and headed down the pa.s.sageway, creeped out by the eerie silence. Maybe she should have brought Helga with her...

But just as she neared freaking out, she noticed a sign for the pharmacy and followed it, coming eventually to a door. Wrapping her hand around the k.n.o.b, she tried it. Locked. She'd need to break it down. Hopefully she still had enough strength to do that.

But just then she heard a noise. A groaning. There were Others behind this door, in the pharmacy, mingling with the drugs she needed. How was that possible, that they'd be locked where she needed to go?

Scratching her head, she tried to decide the best plan of action. Maybe she should just call off the whole thing, head back out while she still could. After all, if there were Others in the pharmacy they were bound to be elsewhere in the hospital as well. And she knew for a fact that she wasn't strong enough to take any on in her weakened state.

She should leave. Find a new hospital in a new town. One without zombies lurking in their medicine cabinets. But, Peyton realized, tomorrow she'd be even weaker, and the next day weaker than that. Soon she wouldn't be able to leave the camp alone and then she'd be totally reliant on people she could no longer trust.

It had to be here. It had to be now.

She raised her foot and kicked in the door.

The wood cracked, the door separating from its hinges and cras.h.i.+ng down. She still had some strength, at least for now.

The razors extended from her fingers and she took up a fighting stance. As the dust cleared, she gasped. What had she done? The place was crawling with Others. There must have been two dozen of them milling about, moaning and growling. A hornets' nest of horror. Even at full strength she knew there was no way she'd be able to fight all of them. And definitely not now.

Medications sat on the shelves a few mere feet away, mocking her. So close she could almost reach out and grab them. But they might as well have been on Mars for all the good they would do her.

She turned and started running, her feet moving as fast as they could away from the monsters. She could hear them following, not far behind, making their chomping noises. Hadn't Chase told her once they didn't run? Maybe these were particularly hungry Others. It certainly sounded like they were psyching themselves up for dinner.

She whipped around a corner, then another, heading for the entrance. But soon she realized that in her haste to get away, she must have taken a wrong turn. She smacked into a dead end. c.r.a.p. She turned around. The Others were at the end of the hall, swarming toward her, slower now but arms outstretched and mouths open as they moaned. Peyton's heart pounded in fear as she shrank against the wall. There were too many of them. And she was too weak. She was royally screwed.

She should have never gone off on her own. What an idiot. She'd been so concerned with being strong that she'd put herself in a position where she was especially weak. And now, after all her group had been through, after how far they'd come, she was going to die here in a hospital less than a hundred miles from Disney. In a place where no one would ever look to find her body.

Oh, Dad...

The monsters drew closer. She could see saliva dripping from their fangs. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for death.

But then, something inside her forced her to open her eyes again. It forced her to hold up her hands, readying her razors. She thought of Chase down in the Thunderdome. He was totally outmatched but he hadn't given up. She knew she couldn't, either. If she had to go down, fine. But it wouldn't be without a fight.

She was a razor girl, after all.

Making a few threatening sweeps with her arms, she stepped forward. It was kind of ridiculous, stupid posturing they'd laugh at if they could understand humor. But they couldn't, and they just shuffled closer, looking oh so hungry.

Here went nothing.

She charged forward, kicking out at the first one on the left, slamming her foot into its chest. He flew backward. Without stopping she whirled around, blades flas.h.i.+ng, slicing through another's throat. The razors easily cut through, the skin as giving as rotten fruit.

She turned to the next. On and on she fought, like a cornered tiger, desperate to survive. She was beating them one by one, forcing herself to stay focused, using every last ounce of strength.

But in the end, it wasn't enough. The zombies kept coming, endless and ready to tear her limb from limb.

<script>