Chapter 7.3: Where the Dead Go to Die (continued)
Garden screams in surprise.
She was running through the fog with Soda, passing scores of Frozen that stared back at them with hideous faces, when suddenly three of the corpses had come to life and started trotting toward them.
They’re not wraiths, she realizes in a daze as Soda shushes her, they’re men. And they’re all wearing black balaclavas.
“Soda, what the hell’s going on—” she starts to ask, but she’s shushed again by the lead balaclava guy who runs up to them with a finger held up to his mouth. He takes Garden’s other wrist, pulling her and Soda to the left while the other two veer off together to the right.
She can hear the guards shouting behind her, but can’t see anything except moving shadows, some of which split off and disappear into the gloom.
Her head is spinning. Everything happened so suddenly—she wasn’t even aware they were going to start running and the next instant she was being dragged into the fog past dead people on the street, with her guards chasing her and Soda hissing, “Stick with me and stay quiet!”
Even before they’d set out this afternoon, she’d given up all hope of surviving even one more day out here. She realized it when, before being escorted out of her sleeping quarters, the guard had snatched the backpack in which she’d packed all her worldly possessions, rifled through it and withdrew that little wooden bird her father had gifted her the day before. “You can’t bring this,” he’d sneered, and Garden’s heart had dropped at the thought of the guard confiscating the statuette only to sell it off in the Crypts. But another guard had butted in, elbowed his comrade with an insinuating look and said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter anyway, right?”
The chuckle the two of them had shared spoke volumes, dashing Garden’s hopes of survival to zero for she knew in that moment that neither of them intended to escort her through the fog at all.
Besides, even if Soda does get the chance to lead her away into exile, walking down the streets with the fewest Frozen—she thinks Del had said that’s how he does it—nobody could keep her safe from the fog.
Because the moment she’d stepped out into the cold, misty outside air in front of 101 Cali, the fog had started swirling pixelated water molecules before her eyes once again, threatening to entrance her with its enticing visions. Just like before. Worse than before. She instantly knew that if she gave into it this time, she’d be completely helpless, practically comatose. She probably wouldn’t even realize what was happening when the guards put a bullet in her brain.
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Which might be a better way to go, actually? she remembers thinking.
NO.
She’d fought so hard against it, desperately trying to close her eyes tight, open them wide, shake her head, anything to force the fog out of her mind. But nothing had seemed to work, and those water molecules had just kept growing larger and larger. The fog had only retreated from her mind at the very last moment with the shock of coming across that first hole in the wall and the terrible Frozen standing beyond it. That brief window of opportunity brought on by her psychic distress allowed her to suddenly refocus her awareness to remain present in the moment, fixed entirely on the sheer terror of what was happening right now.
That seemed to be the trick that kept her out of the fugue state—complete, unwavering mindfulness. Live in the moment, from moment to moment, and the fog is just fog and nothing more. And so she had allowed herself to be escorted away from her home, away from her mother and Carlita and everything she’d ever held dear, now all but forgotten through the sheer willpower it took for her to refuse the fog even an inch of power over her. The past melted away, but so did the future along with all worries about her fate, and Garden found herself inexplicably comforted by this—if she can just stay focused on the present, the dangers she is being led into suddenly become much less important, right?
Except now she is being hustled away through the thick of the fog by Soda and a masked stranger in some kind of half-baked rescue scheme, and armed guards are in hot pursuit. She can hear their footsteps.
She suddenly hears a tremendous wailing scream. Garden, Soda and Balaclava all whip around in unison just in time to see one guard being hoisted into the air, a great ice-blue pincer protruding from the center of his ribcage. A river of blood gushes all over the place like red tracers in the mist.
A massive insectile ice monster emerges from the depths of the fog, two great pincers waving in the air. The body of the dead guard sloughs off and lands noisily on the ground as a second guard runs forward, rifle firing once, twice, and then the bloody pincer stabs forward again, sending the man diving for the ground.
But Garden doesn’t see what happens next to the second guard because now it’s happening all over again—the pixelization, the expanding water molecules—except this time it’s blood molecules and Garden can see almost like a movie of this dead guard’s life playing before her eyes. It’s gross and morbid, yet so compelling. She is almost ready to sit down and enjoy the show when she feels a hard tug on her shoulder and she drifts back to the present where she is being led away into the fog again, as fast as the three of them can run. Three more gunshots and an agonizing scream wail out behind her and then all is silent except for their running footsteps muffled by the fog.
After some time—she has no idea how long, she’s not counting—their guide stops in front of a building and unlocks the front door with a jangling keyring. The three of them quickly duck inside. They’re in an old warehouse of some kind.
Finally able to stop, Garden leans back against the nearest wall to catch her breath. Soda joins her. Balaclava just collapses on the floor, panting even heavier than the two of them combined.
Garden wearily looks over to Soda and wheezes between gasps, “You should have … told me … rescue…”
Soda’s also struggling to catch his breath, but manages to smile and place a hand on her arm. “That’s for … saving my life yesterday.”
“Heh … we’re even.” Garden closes her eyes in relief.
“One more thing,” Soda says, and when Garden opens her eyes he is pointing at Balaclava who isn’t wearing his balaclava anymore.
It’s her dad.
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