39. George – the Last Slut in the World

For all the dry heat venting through the cracks in the ground above, Alfredo and Bobert stood cool as could be while Holden and George poked and prodded their first solo build. The grins on their faces spread ear to ear, unabashed as they unspokenly showcased a block-spanning platform that incontestably put their teachers’ attempt to shame. Holden stamped on the walkway, one twice as wide as his ladder, and nodded his approval at its strength and resistance.

“You two just graduated top of the class.” He said.

Alfredo high-fived Bobert. “Back in the day, being top of the class meant we got shortlisted for teaching roles. What’s it carry today?”

“Today it carries what it always did. Got a whole gang back there if you want to have a run. But how in this hell are you two even alive?”

Alfredo pointed to the block they’d come from. “We were camped out in Bobert’s grandmother’s store. Apart from the old mare, we thought we were the only ones left alive.”

“You have a store? Does that mean you have food? And water?”

 Bobert shook his head. “It’s a fishmongers. All the edible stuff went off after a day, but we did manage to save most of the ice in the tanks, so we have water as long you don’t mind first having to boil a mop bucket full at a time.”

Holden sighed in relief. “Good. Water was becoming an issue. So is it just the two of you, then?”

“My grandmother’s still back there. What about you guys?”

“Come and see.”

They led Alfredo and Bobert back into the prison. As soon as the two new faces appeared, the survivors stood and crowded around them. Cries and gasps of “More survivors!” or “Hey, where’d you two come from?” flew about, and they shook each friendly hand that presented itself.

“Holy cow, it’s the Cheppard.” Alfredo said. He fixed George a relieved grin. “So does that mean Rhea…”

“Rhea’s here.” George said. “We’re, uh, she’s down…upstairs. I don’t think we’re together anymore.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“It’s a long story and a little too fresh. I’ll catch you up on it all later.”

Bobert gestured out the door. “Does it have anything to do with that swan dive you bungled outside? I’m only giving you a single point for that, by the way. Your dismount was awful.”

George nodded and pointed with his chin at the stairs, where the final three faces come in to check out the new news. Hobbling between a concerned Yandi and a fully dressed Rhea, Eddie scanned the room and flashed George a scowl before both girls dropped him to check out the new arrivals.

“Rhea!” Bobert and Alfredo said in unison, and likewise, they enveloped each half of her in a hug.

“Oh, my god, I can’t believe it.” She said, once her torso was no longer compressed between them. “We thought you guys were dead.”

“What? Just ‘cos the world ended?” Alfredo said. “You think that’d stop us?”

Bobert nudged her in the arm. “Hey, what about Cat? We swung by hers before the fire. Her boyfriend said she’d left to stay at some priest’s place. We figured that was yours.”

Rhea nodded at George. “Ask Mister Can’t Handle It When the Tables Are Turned over there.”

They did just that.

“Yeah, she came to see me.” George said. “Didn’t have anything nice to say about Rhea, and she left before the fire.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Back to Rhea’s.”

Rhea waggled a finger. “No she didn’t. When she left to see you, that was the last we ever saw of her.”

“That’s right.” Cheppard said. “If you expelled her from your property before a lethal event, don’t pawn off your guilt on me or my daughter.”

George fixed him with a straight look. “I’m not, padre. The last time I saw her, she was a statue of a drowned woman clawing at your door. A door nobody opened for her.”

“Yeah, I thought I heard her screams,” Holden said. “But by the time I fought through the, well, you all fought melting stone in your own way. You know how tough it was.”

“She looked like she was banging at your door.” Wendy said. “God, her face. I’ve never seen desperate terror in real life. Hollywood never prepared us for that.”

Zeke shouted from across the room. “You talking about that dead lass outside your girlfriend’s house? Should’ve stuck with her. You already had her in your bedroom and we’d have been closer to that stupid mountain. Who gets a willing doll like that and thinks nah, I’ll go for the one across the city instead? Loser.”

Rhea and Cheppard stared at him, felt the blood drain from their cheeks. Zeke flopped back in the corner and snored within seconds and the rest of group shuffled on their feet, avoiding gazes or making noises that could be interpreted as sentence starters. Alfredo and Bobert mirrored each other’s raised eyebrows as the Cheppard slunk back from the inner circle with disbelief sketched on his face. Rhea’s face just fell.

“She was outside?” she said. “On our doorstep? We left her outside?”

George pulled her into a hug. “You couldn’t have known. We found my bike sunk into the bottom of your driveway. You’d have been fighting melting stone when she was wading up to your door.”

Rhea shrugged him off. “We were already in the chapel. We thought that’s where everyone would go in an emergency.”

“Most of us did.” Eddie said through a whistling crack in his teeth and a bloody nose. “Those of us level headed enough to think about it.”

George pushed him with a casual palm to the forehead. Eddie toppled over and Yandi bent to comfort him, and Rhea slapped George across the right cheek. Bobert shot them both an unspoken question, and with his familiar tact, Alfredo decided to speak it.

“What the fuck happened to you guys?”

George spat on Eddie. Or at least tried to. The roof of his mouth was disconcertingly absent of moisture.

“Rhea stuck by me when I said we could survive this. I thought we had something. But then she gave that something to him instead.”

“You weren’t there!” Rhea said.

George glared down his nose. “No, sweetheart, I guess all them stairs was too far a distance to walk. Next time I feel like scratching an itch and my girlfriend’s not in the immediate area, I’ll remember the carte blanche I have to jump the closest pus—”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. It ended with a single resounding clap as Wendy’s open palm struck the left side of his face with enough force to spin him on the spot.

“That’s not what she meant, you imbecile.” She said.

George held his cheek, rubbing at the spreading heat. “Seriously? Both cheeks in the same minute?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? She’s loved you since you first met, you dumbass goon. And while you’ve been building bridges, trying to get us all to your promised land, the pastor’s been rattling on about getting us to skydive. Who do you think has been the glue keeping everyone together?”

George rose to his feet and Rhea stomped off before he could call her. She joined her dad in a corner while Holden pulled him outside to give her space. Wendy, Bobert and Alfredo followed them across the bridge, away from the dozen or so onlookers, and they sat him down against a pillar, surrounding him.

“How can he see so many possibilities for survival.” Wendy said. “Yet be so blind and big headed about his personal affairs?”

Holden crossed his arms and nodded sagely. “You should make amends before we let Rhea know what we suspect about the Cheppard.”

“What about Cheppard?” Bobert said.

“We started with twice as many of us, but we’ve been whittled down to barely over a dozen, and it’s the pastor who keeps talking about judgement and sacrifices to his god when the accidents happen.”

“Was that the skydive you mentioned?”

Wendy nodded. “He calls all this the Rapture, the time when all good boys and girls who take a leap of faith will fly to heaven.”

“If the world’s all upside-down,” Alfredo said. “Doesn’t that mean everyone would fly to heaven?”

George sneered. “Try telling that to Cat.”

Bobert gave Alfredo their trademark nod. “Then let’s kill that sonofabitch before he gets us all.”

“Wait.” Holden said. “We don’t know it for certain. Could all be coincidence. That’s why me and Wendy here are going to get everyone across this bridge and keep an eye on him, and you two boys are going to take this hothead to get us that water, and your grandma, before we continue to the mountain.”

He tugged Wendy’s sleeve and she followed him back to the prison. Alfredo and Bobert crouched by George, who certainly wasn’t crying into his sleeve. At least there seemed to be no tears. Maybe there would be after a drink.

Bobert looked around the street. “What mountain?”

George explained their plan on the way to the fishmongers. It sat at the opposite end of the block, and the journey revealed where the construction materials for the new bridge had come from. O’Toole Construction banners hung in former offices, the buildings in the process of being renovated into apartments. Spare tools and resources and gear and equipment littered the site. It was more than George dreamt he’d find on their journey, and it lay scattered and free for the taking.

Meanwhile, back at the bridge, Holden and Wendy gathered the survivors and continued their exodus through to the next block. Cheppard rounded two of bis flock to help set up a confession booth. The tarp over a beam sid little to assure a confessor’s anonymity. Bobert returned to lead them to their water supply, where Alfredo and George, and a leathery old lady shaking on a splintered walking stick, served up hot, almost clean water by the bucket load.

Rhea led Eddie to be first served, citing the need the wash his cuts before an infection set in. The grime and grit of the past week had turned to a veneer of sludge across all their faces, a stinging film evaporating into powdered crust. Mixed with his blood, already thickened from dehydration, it made a congealed mess sure to attract the flies his best friend had reared from maggothood.

George let him have the first bucketful and said nothing about conserving it for others. When Grandma Bobert took Rhea and Eddie to a back room where she could concentrate on cleaning his cuts under better light, George kept his mouth shut and did his best to ignore his suspicions while he rationed the water among the others. Bobert’s grandmother found a pile of unspoiled towels and left them to it.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess, Eddie.” Rhea said.

Eddie winced as the towel pulled at a sharp sliver in the graze along his chin. “You got nothing to apologize for. It’s that cunt who thinks he’s your husband that should be on his knees in front of me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were that way inclined.”

“I meant groveling for my forgiveness.”

“Good, because he really is my husband, you know.”

“Why? ‘cos your daddy gave you his blessings? Takes more than that to be man and wife. Papers, legal registration, all that jazz. I don’t think saying ‘I do’ in front of your pastor’s enough to fill the criteria.”

“Well,” she said. “I do.”

He grabbed the towel from her and dunked it in the bucket. The water swirled red but cleared his skin of the grime.

“If that’s so,” he said. “Where’s your ring?”

Rhea felt at her finger. A paler band of skin where the ring kept the dirt out marked where she’d worn it all week.

“I should go back and look for it before they pull the bridge down.”

“Or,” Eddie said. “We move on right here, right now. Look, I know you like me. A babe like you doesn’t shack up in a room alone with a guy like me and offer to cleans my cuts if you don’t care.”

“Of course I care. You got them because of me.”

“I got them because your so-called husband’s never in an understanding mood. I thought he’d be your ex-husband by now.”

“No. What I did was wrong.”

She slid her hand down his face with a sad smile. Eddie slid his own hand down her waist and she pulled away. When he reached to pull her back, she pulled away from his hands completely and pulled open the door to slip out over the lintel. A solid chest waited on the other side for her to walk into.

“Holden?” she said.

Eddie slapped the wet towel to the floor. “What the hell you doing, man? Were you listening in on us?”

Holden leaned in, taking up the whole door. “Rude as it may be to eavesdrop on an intimate conversation between two consenting adults, and far be it for me to infer any rights to challenge your decisions, my loyalties to George, a man who gave you his hand in sacred matrimony, if not the holy union as devised by your father, elicits in me the loyalty to remind you he is the father of your child, and has promised his best in ability and honor to share the burden, nay the privilege, of raising said bun in your oven. For his troubles and commitment, it is fair to assume he has some rights in the matter deciding your mutual child’s fate.”

“What?” Eddie said. He frowned at Rhea. “Did he just say George got you pregnant?”

Holden nodded. “And should you wish to pursue any intimate relationship with our fair Rhea, would you promise likewise to support the development of a child sired by your rival? A man, who I will point out, is also your current savior.”

Eddie pushed past Holden and Rhea. “What the fuck are you trying to pull on me? Setting me up with another man’s kid?”

Rhea recoiled. “What? Did you not hear me tell you I regret doing everything with you?”

“What was this? Am I a backup in case bio-dad tops it on the way? You trying to trick me into sleeping with you for a backup daddy?”

“What conversation were you attending?” Holden said. “That’s about as far from what was said as possible.”

Eddie ignored him and poked Rhea’s belly. “And how could you be so stupid? You drank half a bottle of vodka! And a bottle of bourbon! What were you trying to do, abort it through alcohol poisoning?”

“No! And I left the bourbon in the cell.”

“You people are messed up. I fucking killed a guy because of you.”

Eddie barged past Rhea and Holden and disappeared into the lattices of construction work. Rhea punched Holden in the stomach. To her satisfaction, he scratched the hit point with a mild “Ow.”

. . .

Dispensed with water duties, George left Bobert to prep his grandmother for the journey ahead. Despite the numerous cracks and holes in every surface, her cane struck bullseye where supporting rebar crossed, every time, and she packed with the efficiency of a woman no stranger to being uprooted.

Alfredo took George on a guided tour through the jungles of scaffold and construction equipment. Everything they needed was there for the taking. The renovations were extensive and expensive, and no corners were cut. Whoever had hired O’Toole knew the old timer would insist on taking his time and great care to ensure superior quality. And charged them by the hour.

“Figured out where we are, yet?” Alfredo said.

George searched for hints, but plastic wrap and tangled metal obscured all but the wood panel walls of the building. That, and his surety they were near the center of the city, were his only clues. Alfredo pulled a sheet back to reveal a seal George was familiar with.

“Welcome to the Island Courthouse.” He said. “Or in our cases, boss man, welcome back.”

George crouched down by the strip window, where the walls met the ceiling, and was met by the view of the blackened remains of Center Park. Inner Circle, the road surrounding the park, was a crevice of steaming mud and clay and bedrock, exposed after the concrete and cement melted downhill.

“I can see the Mayor’s office.” He said. “Main City Bank, that block with all those one-room embassies. We’re right in the middle of the city.”

“Technically Center Park Station’s the middle of the city.” Alfredo said, pointing to the not too distant remains of a steepled clocktower. “But there’s no way of reaching it.”

“That’s fine. We’ll go around the park. Head north, through the schools and the university. We already know what their layouts are. Hasn’t been that long since we left.”

“None of us went to university.”

“Yeah, but between us we almost finished highschool.”

Alfredo smirked. “Actually, I did finish highschool. That’s why I can count. There’s fifty blocks around Center Park, and every one of them is missing a skyscraper. We’ll have to navigate the older buildings at the front.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“No, you don’t understand. The skyscrapers aren’t just missing. They blasted into space like rockets when the world tipped over.”

George breathed a sharp suck of microwaved air as he flashed back to the event. “Yeah. I saw them. They shot for the stars while I was left outside, dangling like a worm on a hook.”

“Then maybe I should show you what I’m getting at.”

He led George further into the block. Away from the outer edges, the darkness grew, blackened walls eating every photon. A stench of charred metal and melted plastic hung in the air, faded after a week but going nowhere fast until Alfredo kicked at a wall, with casual force, and yet managed to break through. Grey light streamed through the haze and dust the raised. George grabbed a facemask from his restocked toolbelt and peered out through the hole.

“Okay,” he said. “More sky.”

“Look up.” Alfredo said.

Above them was a hole, a perfectly cylindrical drop into the earth that ran further than sight permitted. The opening was a courtyard framed by the very buildings they were in. Only it wasn’t a courtyard. Now the secret lay exposed, there was no denying the courthouse, the buildings next door and all around the city block, disguised a missile silo.

“There was a skyscraper on every single block around the city center.” Alfredo said. “Now, there’s just the original old buildings from when the town was first built.”

“It changes nothing.” George said. “We continue as planned.”

Alfredo stopped him from leaving with a kick to the wall again. Another hole, larger this time, crumbled around his foot.

“It changes everything. The builds around the back are more modern. Shops, houses and the like. This side’s ancient, or as close to ancient as they come. Easier to navigate, but brittle, weaker. Think they’ll take over a dozen of us bumbling through them before they come crashing down around us?”

George pulled at the edge of the hole. The razed masonry offered almost no resistance and cracked off in his fingers.

“Suddenly I don’t feel as secure in this room as I was.” George said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“So what’s the plan? Head round the outer side of the blocks?”

“We ain’t got no other choice.”

They turned to leave. George tread deliberately on the least damaged foot spaces while Alfredo hopped a fallen beam, oblivious to the room’s weakened structural integrity. George opted to duck under it and crawl with his weight spread out. He stopped on all fours, on the other side, and glanced back the way he came.

“Subways.” He muttered.

“What?”

“The subways under the park. They lead to the station from across the street. If they’re unblocked, we could cut across the entire city center in twenty minutes.”

Alfredo ducked and stuck his head beside his. “If they’re not blocked. If they are, we’re wasting a lot of time getting everyone across just to turn back.”

“Not if we send someone to scout it out first. Plus, the tracks are higher in the center of the island. If it allowed the gunk to drain, we could even shelter in there.”

Alfredo nodded his approval. “Sounds like a plan, boss man. Let’s do this.”

. . .

Once Grandma Bobert had packed her bags, Bobert himself took to finding out the group’s routine. He gave their enthused sacking of his block his own nod of approval, almost as if he could feel the weight of the tossed heirlooms and furniture drop from what passed as a building’s shoulders. He did, however, guard against intrusions into his grandmother’s apartment, salvaging everything he wanted to keep from his room, or what tools might useful. Construction tools, a twin hammock and blanket, and a battered old tome of family photos. After that he kicked Rhea and Holden out.

“Are you going to be okay?” Holden asked her.

The shake of Rhea’s head was almost imperceptible. “I think maybe it’s time I asked my dad’s advice.”

She left and Holden followed her out the front door, patting Bobert’s shoulder with a weary sigh. He didn’t follow her, and for once Bobert didn’t return the interaction with a ready quip, instead locking the door with a long, drawn out sigh of his own. Holden withdrew his hand, giving Bobert his space as he stared at the key, fingering and turning it on his palm. Then without a word he hurled it from the block to ring off a blackened billboard.

. . .

Holden left Bobert to his deep thought and grabbed George by the arm when he returned from the infrastructure half of the block. Before George could share the next stage of their plan, he took him to a shadowed side to give him the lowdown on the Rhea situation.

“Your lass is digging herself in deep.” He said. “Eddie’s got the idea she’s trying to fix him as her backup husband.”

George scowled. “Yeah, well she got me thinking likewise. And you know what? He can have her.”

Holden barred his exit with an arm. “The two of them downed a whole bottle of your dad’s vodka, followed by shots from one of his bourbons.”

“Oh, so it was all the drink? She had no choice in the matter? Blow me.”

“Your marital problems are your own, my friend. My concerns are that baby you promised me as a godson. You gave me a duty of care for that little sprog and that’s exactly the kind I take seriously. Or do you want to turn out like your dad?”

The eyes in George’s head bulged out on veined roots. He flipped Holden’s arm from his path and charged back to the bridge, hollering Eddie’s name. The man in question had taken to convalescing under the watchful eyes of Laura, quite literally in her lap of luxury. She was giggling at his self-depreciative recount of recent events and feeding him sips from a pan when George reached between them and yanked Eddie to his feet, then higher, and proceeded to punch his already broken face repeatedly.

“That’s enough!” Holden said.

He pulled George off and threw him at the crowd where Alfredo and Bobert clamped their arms under his and held him off the ground. George kicked and spat and raged at the unconscious man Holden lifted off from Laura’s legs. He flipped Eddie over his shoulder and took him back across the bridge, laying him inside the door. Then he disconnected the suspension lines and signaled to his crew to retract the bridge on his return.

“I wasn’t telling you to kick the shit out of him,” Holden said. “I was trying to get you to check up on your wife. Make sure she’s hydrated, get her food if you can find any.”

George fell limp in his friends’ arms. “I can’t. I really can’t look at her right now.”

“Then make yourself useful. Clear a path for the bridge. Stop making me be the responsible one. I hate it.”

“Actually,” Alfredo said. “We were is going to investigate whether or not we can go through the subway. He said it might not be blocked this high up from the coast.”

“Great. Then you do just that. Eddie’s going to stay on that side until you all return. Hopefully you’ll both have calmed down enough to talk like civilized men by then.”

Bobert and Alfredo let George down. He didn’t stop descending when hos feet touched ceiling, but continued to his knees in the circle of onlookers. Holden scanned their faces and searched for something to keep their trust in them from fraying further.

“It’s probably the heat,” Bobert said. “It’s getting to everyone.”

It wasn’t the reasoning Holden hoped for, but it roused George to his feet again.

“I hope I left him more than a bruise.” He said, before stomping away to clear a path to the subway. Holden signaled his crew and Alfredo and Bobert to follow. Laura didn’t and Cazz kept her company. He was on the verge of sighing in relief, letting go of the tension, when Rhea stepped out of Cheppard’s Confession Booth. She took one look at George and ran.

“Don’t follow her, son.” Cheppard said, emerging from the other side. “She needs to come to this decisions on her own.”

“What decision?” George said. Cheppard simply smiled sadly. George grabbed him by the collar. “Padre, if you’ve been filling her head with all that suicide crap—”

He dropped the marble and watched it roll towards the mountain and shook his head. When he picked it up, a drop of water fell into his hand. “I’ve never told anyone to commit suicide. That’s a mortal sin. No, I just provide clarity for people to make a choice for themselves.”

Another drop landed on George’s cheek. He looked up, through the ruined mesh, at the first floor. Rhea stood obery him, a tear stricken mess.

“I’m sorry.” Was all she said, before moving on.

She stepped up to the edge of the building, over the space the bridge had stood, and held onto the dangling suspension cable. She didn’t say anything to Eddie, though. He lay across the way, barely registering her, semi conscious in the dark doorway. Then, with a hiccup and a gush of tears, she bent her knees and inhaled ragged audible breaths and whispered her goodbyes to George.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

“No!” George screamed. “Rhea, don’t! Don’t you dare!”

She stepped backwards, out where no footing waited. Her tattered dress bellowed and she sunk through the air.

George ran. He didn’t think, didn’t feel his feet launch him into the air or feel his hand grab the support line. He simply flew from the edge of the building with his outstretched fingers aimed straight at hers.

Rhea’s eyes widened. He does care.

And her hand flew to meet his. Her weightless fall, suspended as his fingers wrapped around her wrist. And she took his. Together they slipped the length of the cable. George ignored the frictional burn, saving all his focus for Rhea, and together they swung under the second floor and he let go. The two crashed onto the fourth floor ceiling and rolled and rolled and rolled into a wall, where they lay breathless beside each other while their friends and families screeched their names. George didn’t let go of her wrist.

“You idiot!” he said between spluttered inhalations. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

Rhea stared at him with wide eyes. “You jumped? Why did you jump?”

“Why do you think? What the fuck made you to go over the edge?”

“You came for me!”

“Of course I came for you, you bimbo!”

“You jumped. You came for me.”

George heaved. “Ugh, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I can’t believe you jumped after me “

“What, are you surprised? I’m actually offended you’re surprised by this.”

“George! Rhea!” Holden called. He saw them and waved. “Stay right there, we’re coming.”

They waited in heaped tangle of limbs, and breathing hard as their friends skidded down the underside of the closest stairwell. Their concerned outcries and helpful hands clawed over each other in a bid to reach them first. Despite the mad scramble, they gently lifted George and Rhea from the sharp grit and eased them apart to check for cuts or concussions or other injuries.

They checked out fine, and Holden gave them the all clear, As soon as he was out of sight, Rhea leaned in for a kiss. George was unprepared, but quickly returned it. She tasted of vodka.

They were carried back up to the second floor, too shaky to manage the walk themselves. The rest of the survivors, both their followers and Cheppard’s, clapped at their return.

It was the same sound Holden’s fist made against Cheppard’s jaw. Before the pastor had time to make sense of the spinning world, Holden tossed him into a circle of decidedly unfriendly faces ringing his daughter and son-in-law.

“You got a lot of explaining to do, Pastor.” He said.

Cheppard wiped the corner of his mouth and stood straight, holding Holden’s eye. “She’s my daughter. All I want is her safety and happiness.”

“So you convinced her to top herself?” George said.

He lifted Rhea’s chin. “Darling, do you see any safety or happiness here?”

She knocked his hand away and buried her face in George’s chest. George covered her and shook hard, glaring at the Cheppard. Alfredo and Bobert flanked their sides, warding off any more of the Cheppard’s advances. Two of the flock took identical positions around the pastor in response, and Holden felt at his toolbelt for the handle of his wrench. The circle parted, dividing into two factions, each spoiling to kill one another or defend their leaders to the death.

“Get out of here, Cheppard.” Holden said. “Take your zealots and just fucking leave.”

Cheppard reached for his daughter’s shoulder, ignoring Bobert and Alfredo. Rhea recoiled at his touch without looking up.

“I see.” He said. He turned to George. “Then I hope you fulfill your promise, young man. Because if the worst happens, it’s on you.”

George didn’t reply. He stayed locked around Rhea, rocking her tight in his arms. Wendy wrapped a blanket around them.

“Call it optimism,” Holden said. “But I can’t shake the feeling our lives will go from worse to better as soon as you’re out of the picture.”

Cheppard scoffed off the snide remark and left the circle. His flock parted to give him safe passage and left with him. Two of their volunteer crew mumbled apologies and set off after them.

“Traitors!” Holden yelled.

“I’m sorry, Mister Holden.” Jamie said. “But he’s taking us to heaven, where Miss Benet is. Where my parents are. And everyone keeps dying in this world.”

Before Zeke or Rhea or anyone else could grab him, Jamie hurried after the pastor with his last remaining cat, leaving barely a skeleton crew to carry the torch. Holden stared at all who remained. Wendy, George, their father and Rhea. Alfredo and Bobert stood with them, as did Bobert’s grandmother. Cazz, Laura and three crewmembers he never learned the names of were all that remained.

“You don’t have to stick around if you want to follow your friends.” Holden tild them.

“Ingrid and Norris can go fuck themselves.” One said.

“I want to live.” Said another.

Holden held out his hand. “We never did get a proper introduction. Holden Crayson. O’Toole Construction.”

“Pete.”

“Marv”

“Kerry.”

Holden introduced everyone else, ending with George and Rhea, still bound to each other on their knees. Then the moment was cut. A roar, a practical battle cry from the larger faction next door, lit a fire in their veins and Holden shook George to his feet.

“Listen, my friend. I know you’ve been through a lot. We all have, but like you once told me, soppy moping later, make sure nothing else falls apart first.”

George squeezed Rhea’s hand before letting go. With his feet planted firm and Holden’s grip for support, he tightened his stomach against the churning nausea and gulped back down everything threatening to come up. Then he raised his index finger.

“Sorry, just one moment, if you all don’t mind.” He said, kneeling before Rhea again. He pulled her ring from his breast pocket. “Wendy went after this as soon as you took it off. I thought maybe you’d like it back where it belongs as much as I do.”

Rhea answered by slipping her finger through the band. “I can’t ever make it all up to you.”

“Yes, you can. Live. Stay alive, be well, and give me a chance to make you happy. That’s all I’m asking.”

Holden interrupted with the clearing of his throat. “Or a threesome. I find that balanced the scales when Chloe or I boinked other people.”

George rotated his eyes up. They said ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ while his mouth, more tactful, curtly replied “You’re not helping.”

“Are we…” Rhea said. “Are we copacetic?”

“Hun, I have no idea what that means. But we’re good. Now let’s get Eddie. I’m not apologizing to the bastard, but I’ll behave like I’m civilized.”

The dozen survivors grabbed the bridge and Rhea once again stood at the edge, across from the prison exit. George’s grip on the bars turned the skin of knuckles alabaster and his feet readied to sprint, regardless of absent running blocks or the injuries such an imbalance would cause to his friends manhandling the steel frame with him. This time, however, Rhea had no surprises in store, and simply called Eddie’s name while the bridge was lined up behind her.

Eddie staggered into view from the darkness of the doors. He had the bottle of bourbon in his hand, barely over a mouthful left swishing at the bottom. He downed it and grabbed the support cable Holden had left on his side, and slung it across his shoulder like a seatbelt before he leaned out to answer her.

“Fuck off. You bitch.”

“Eddie, I’m sorry for what I did.” Rhea said. “Look, we’re sending the bridge back, so give it some space and we’ll talk when you’re over.”

Eddie didn’t move. Instead, he heaved his legs to the edge of the drop and sat with them dangling out. Two lengths of fabric were wrapped around them.

“Do you have bed sheets tied to your ankles?” Holden said.

“None of your business.”

“We’ll get the bridge over to you.” George said. “Get out of the way.”

Eddie held the cable up from his chest. “I saw what you did with these. Pretty fly move. Get it? Fly. You swooped around on the cable. It was like watching a no budget street performance of Peter Pan.”

“Eddie.” George said. “Look, it’s really hot, and we’re all stressed and tired. We don’t have to be dicks at each other. I forgive you.”

Eddie shifted in the shadows, adjusting something on his back. A second glance revealed a cross of more bedsheets slung across his upper body. When he stood, whatever he carried weighed him down.

“You know what I love about dreams?” He said. “You can dream for hours in your head when it’s only been minutes out here. I had hours in my head when you knocked me out. Gave me time to come to some realizations.”

“Tell us about them when you’re back over. Stand away from the door so we can extend the bridge back in.”

Eddie didn’t move. Instead he fixed his eye on George and Rhea. “So you forgive me? She’s been working you again. Always playing mind games. She told me, y’know, how she was so determined to change you into the guy she wanted, she broke every rule in the counselor code. She called it a head game. Gave you head to get into your head. Isn’t that right, Rhea?”

Rhea took a sharp intake and cast her eyes elsewhere, cheeks burning and biting her bottom lip. Eddie gave her a smug salute as he adjusted the cable across his shoulder again. Whatever he was carrying kept slipping.

“She loves her little head games. Tricked me into killing that prisoner with ’em. Didn’t even need a knife, just papers and a lighter and a lot of smoke. I murdered him because of her. Thought it was justice and revenge for my best friend. But nope, I’m a murderer now.”

“That’s not what—” Rhea shouted.

“He was the one I was talking to in my dream.” Eddie said over her. “He made sense. The Kinsley Foundation left us here precisely because of who we are. Look at us! Look at all the death and shit we do to each other. We’re scum. All we had was each other and you drove half of us away and got me to kill some guy just because he was hungry and now here we are, fighting over some fucking slut just so she can get her kicks? Her daddy’s right! We deserve to die.”

George lowered his corner of the bridge. “You know what? I don’t think he’s cooled down yet, and frankly I wanna punch him again after that. Let’s go explore the tunnels first.”

He pulled Rhea away from the edge and she meekly followed. Holden shook his head at Eddie and followed Alfredo to their next destination. Eddie heaved what was behind him with a grunt and the sacks of bedsheets flopped into view. They were loaded to bursting point.

“So now you’re abandoning me, huh? Because I’m telling the truth? You’re going to see my face every time you fuck her, Georgey boy, and you’ll know she loved it. You can’t fake those pelvic squeezes!”

George spun with a raised finger and a knotted, red face. The others survivors turned with him, giving Rhea the curtesy of not noting how red hers had turned. George managed a guttural splutter in lieu of a recognizable sentence.

“She fucked me while pregnant with your baby!” Eddie taunted him, hoisting the cable around his neck while he shifted under the weight of what he carried. “She cheated on you ‘cos she can’t get enough dick! And now you all know! She’s a slut! And that’s what they’ll all see you as now, slut! The Earth’s final skank! The last slut in the world!

He threw the empty bourbon at George’s head and gave him a salute. The bottle sailed wide and smashed harmlessly somewhere below. A fuming Rhea grit her teeth to give him a piece of her mind, but Eddie simply stepped out of the doorway and fixed his gaze on her and set a mocking tone.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

And with that, he kicked the bedsheet sacks out the door. They dropped fast, faster than anything that had fallen, so far. Then Eddie followed them, slipping skyward at breakneck speed, and with a sickening crack, came to a stop for exactly that reason. He hung from the cable around his neck. Then the sacks, fit to burst, did. The seam around his ankles stretched and a stack of bricks poured out. The imbalance spun his body, and loaded onto to his back in another bedsheet sack, the dead faces of his best friend and the prisoner he killed stuck out.

Rhea’s hand flew to her mouth and George screamed a late and frustrated “No!”

The three faces spun and swung, six dead eyes judging any of the living who looked back. Then, as one, those living turned their silent accusations inward, and once again George found himself alone in a circle looking for answers he didn’t have.