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A lone figure streaked across the horizon. Party Poison panted in the cold night air as he dashed across the highway, bare feet pounding against the pavement and clothes whipping in the wind. White-hot terror ripped through him like a shot of adrenaline. His ears were pricked for the sound of a purring engine; his muscles were tense, expecting the flash of headlights on his back.
Faster! he thought. Faster! Oh God, please...
A bolt of fear flashed through his body, propelling him forward. His tendons screamed as if they were being ripped apart, sweat dripped down his flushed face, which strained against the whipping wind as if he were running straight into a sheet of ice. He was chilled with blinding fear, an icy panic that shrunk the entire world to a pinpoint, trapping him in one terrifying moment...
Suddenly he tripped on a piece of loose pavement. In one panicked moment, he lurched forward and the desert whirled around him in a blur. Poison smacked his head against the pavement, skidded across the road, and collapsed to the ground in a heap. He coughed and sputtered and struggled to take a breath. Then he managed to inhale, took a deep breath, and coughed and rolled over on his back.
Hundreds of stars winked in the sky above him. A red blinking light moved slowly through the sky. A satellite? he thought.
He forced himself to a sitting position, then shakily climbed to his feet. Every muscle in his body ached, and his head and chest throbbed. He started to run, but his legs were like jelly beneath him. He wobbled and struggled and finally slowed to a walking pace. Poison trudged down the highway like a ghost, his head bent and his arms hanging limply at his sides.
A cold breeze whistled through his clothes. Eventually he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to retain some warmth in the shirt they had given him: thin and scratchy, with a tag that scraped against his back. Poison thought of the white latex gloves rolling up his sleeve as he struggled, the needle inching toward his skin, and he shuddered violently.
When he dared to look back, the highway trailed behind him like a massive ribbon, unfurling through the desert. Just keep walking, he thought. If you keep walking, you’ll run into something. He scanned the area for familiar landmarks in the darkness: rock formations, groups of cacti, unusual trees. But the desert was foreign to him. Poison’s stomach tightened with fear. Was he in another Zone?
Suddenly he spotted a yellowish light on the roadside. Poison’s eyes widened, a spark of hope flaring inside him. As he drew closer, he realized that the light came from a wooden shack with a porch. The sound of a radio traveled on the wind. Above the porch roof was a rusty sign that read Grab-N-Go.
Poison nearly melted with relief. Oh, thank God, he thought. Thank you so much. With a sudden burst of energy, he hurried up to the shack. A hundred thoughts crowded his mind at once: radio Kobra Kid, ask for food and water, offer to pay it back later, explain the situation, wait there until his brother arrived. He bounded up the porch steps with giddy relief. To his ears, the radio sounded like a choir of angels.
When he stepped inside, he spotted a few bottles of water on a back shelf, and packages of potato chips hanging from a rack. The station was bathed in yellowish light. Poison turned to the girl behind the desk, who stared at him with frightened eyes. I must look terrible, he thought. He pushed his hair back and tried to smile.
“Hey,” he said. “Listen, uh--there’s an emergency, I need to use your transmitter--”
“Are you Party Poison?” she blurted.
He blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. Can I use your transmitter? I need to call my brother--”
“Get out,” the girl said.
Poison went pale. “What?” he said.
She climbed out of her seat. “Get out,” she said. “Please. I don’t want any trouble.”
“No,” Poison said. “No, you don’t understand! I have to call him! Please! Don’t do this!”
She grabbed him and forced him toward the door. “No!” he cried. “No, stop it! Please!” He pushed and struggled against her, but she shoved him outside and slammed the door. He stumbled forward onto the porch. A second later, the lock clicked.
“No!” he shouted. “Please! Don’t do this! Oh Jesus, don’t do this to me, please!”
He tugged on the doorknob, then pounded against the door with his fists. “Open up!” he shouted. “Hey! Open the fucking door!” Nothing happened. He let out a roar, then drew back and slammed his shoulder against the door. It shook in its frame, but didn’t budge. He slammed against the door again. The girl shrieked and switched off the lights, plunging them in darkness.
“Fine!” Poison shouted. “Fine! Go fuck yourself, you fucking bitch!”
He stormed off the porch and charged down the highway. Rage boiled in his head like a bubbling stew. If a Draculoid unit had pulled up behind him, he felt like he could take them on with his bare hands. He was seized with a blind fury that blocked out the cold, the ache, and the thirst--everything but the red flashing rage that burned like a wildfire.
He marched furiously for several minutes until the anger started to cool off, draining out of him like puffs of smoke. The burst of rage seemed to have sapped his last ounce of energy. A deep exhaustion crept into his bones. He plodded half-awake down the road, his mind cloaked in a weary haze. He desperately scanned the desert for a campfire, a parked car, a shack. But the desert was empty.
He rubbed his face with his hands and shook his head, as if he could shake away the weariness. If he stopped walking, the Draculoids might find him. But if he kept going much longer, he would collapse on the road.
A hill made of craggy, crumbling rock stood about a hundred feet away. Poison turned and gazed back at the highway. The road was as dark and silent as a black hole. Then he studied the rocky hill. Finally he sighed, then headed over to the hill and searched for an entrance.
A small cavern was huddled against the ground, big enough for a large animal. Poison poked around with a twig to check for snakes and scorpions. Then he crawled inside and curled up against the back of the cave. The sand was cool against his body. As he closed his eyes, he thought of his mattress back at the diner. He had complained that it was threadbare and stiff, but now it seemed like a featherbed compared to the hard, unyielding ground.
As exhaustion swept over him, anxious thoughts floated through his thick, sluggish mind. Images of Draculoids dragging him out of the cave, kicking him to the ground, throwing him into their car. But he was too tired to chase the thoughts, and they slipped through his fingers. He sank into deep murkiness like a puddle of mud, and finally slipped into sleep.
---
Poison woke up with a start. He tried to sit up, but he was squeezed into a hard, cramped space. Poison’s heart raced with panic. Had the Draculoids crammed him into a solitary cube? He blindly struggled and scrambled until he crawled out of the entrance like a snake, then collapsed on the hot sand.
Poison lifted his head and looked around. When he registered his surroundings, he sighed in relief. Oh, thank God. He rubbed the grit from his eyes, then stood up and surveyed the area.
The desert stretched around him, dotted with rocks, cacti, and brittle shrubs. The sun still hid behind the mountains. Greyish morning light filled the cool air, and a bird chirped in the distance. Poison stretched his sore arms and legs, then crouched down in front of a shrub. Dew droplets clung to the thin branches.
Yes! Poison thought excitedly. Oh, thank you, God. Thank you. He caught a dewdrop on his finger and licked it off. The water soaked into his parched tongue. He took another droplet, then another, letting the water coat his dry mouth.
As he drank the dew from nearby plants, he weighed his options. If he walked in the daytime heat, he would sweat and lose water. He could try to sleep during the day and walk through the cool night. But a settlement might be only a mile or two away, with bottled water, a stocked gas station, and a transmitter so he could radio Kobra Kid and end this nightmare.
Finally, he stood up. The sun had peeked over the mountains, and the dew was starting to dry up. I’ll walk for an hour, he thought. That’s it. If I don’t find anything, I’ll hide out for the rest of the day.
Poison shook the sand from his clothes, then started down the plain. If you ever get lost, just find the nearest road and start walking, Dr. Death Defying had once said. Sooner or later, you’ll hit a settlement. He weaved around trees, boulders, hills, and cacti to stay out of sight, keeping his eyes on the road. A wintery chill still hung in the air, but the sand was hot beneath his calloused feet.
As the sun rose in the sky, sweat formed in his scalp and dripped down his sides. His leg muscles throbbed with a deep ache, bringing back the pain of the previous night. Hunger rumbled in his stomach. Poison eyed the cacti that he passed, but knew that the effort of slicing the spines and building a fire would increase his thirst. And he had no pocketknife, he realized. No knife, no ray gun, no emergency kit. Nothing but the flimsy clothes that rippled in the breeze.
He scanned the area again, but nothing looked familiar: no cacti cluster, rock formation, or crooked road sign that he had spotted on his trips throughout the desert. Don’t panic, Poison thought. C’mon. You’ll just sweat more. But his heart rate increased as anxiety started to set in. The nearest town could be a hundred miles away. And what if the Dracs were right behind him?
Poison stopped in his tracks. His breathing grew harsh. His stomach churned. The desert seemed to spin around him in a whirlwind of panic, this vast empty space, this uncharted territory free of food or water or any hope of rescue except to jump out into the road and pray the Dracs find him, because at least then he would have hope, at least then he would have a chance...
Suddenly something glinted in the sunlight behind a Joshua tree. Poison whirled around. When he saw what waited for him, his breath caught in his throat. Please, he thought, not daring to believe it. Oh, please...
A bulky RV was parked behind the tree. The vehicle was silent: no crackling radio, puttering engine, or laughter and talk from inside the kitchen. The windows were shut. Poison hurried up to the RV and knocked on the door.
“Hey!” he said. “Is anyone in there?”
No one answered.
“Hello?” Poison said. “Hey! Please! It’s an emergency!”
Still no answer. Poison crept to the front of the RV and peered through the windshield. He caught sight of cabinets, a tiny fridge, a stove, and his stomach growled. No one was inside, but the tires were intact, the windows and windshield were clean, and no graffiti crawled along the dusty walls. The RV wasn’t abandoned.
He hurried back to the door and tugged on the handle. It was locked. Poison groaned, then yanked and jiggled the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. As his frustration grew, he took a deep breath and forced himself to step back. Don’t get upset, he thought, pushing his hair from his face. C’mon. Just stay calm.
Kobra Kid had once kicked a door open when they came across an abandoned supply shack. How had he done that? Poison stepped back, then jumped forward and kicked the door with a BANG. It shook in its doorframe, but didn’t move. He steadied himself, then kicked it again. The door rattled but stayed in place.
Poison groaned in frustration. He reared back and slammed against the door with his shoulder. The door rattled, louder this time, but wouldn’t budge. He pounded against the door again to no avail. Poison let out a roar. Anger boiling inside him, he stepped back and slammed his body against the door like a football player tackling a rival athlete.
Suddenly the door burst open with a loud crash. His heart pounding with shock, Poison stumbled inside and lunged for the fridge. When he yanked it open, it was dark and empty. Shit. He rifled through cabinets and drawers, pushing aside silverware, towels, glasses, and plates. Then he spotted a cooler sitting in the place where the microwave used to be. He placed the cooler on the counter and opened the lid.
Oh, thank God, Poison thought numbly, suddenly dizzy with relief. Thank you.
The cooler was stocked with bottles of water. Poison opened a bottle and took a drink. The water washed over his parched throat like pure, clear water collected from a mountain stream. He tilted his head back and gulped down half the bottle. Then he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and opened one of the cabinets. Cans and boxes of food were stacked inside, and he broke out into a watery smile.
Poison grabbed a can opener and opened a can of beans, then sat down at the kitchen table. The beans were cold and congealed in sauce, but at that moment, they were so rich and flavorful that he could have eaten a whole bucket of them. The air was silent, the RV was cool, and water rested in his stomach. He placed his feet up on the opposite seat, and for the first time in days, allowed himself to relax.
He had finished the can of beans and was thinking about grabbing another when he heard voices outside. Poison froze. Shit. Oh, shit. Before he could stand up, a pair of women appeared in the doorway: both blonde, one a teenager and one with a lined, sagging face. When she spotted the open door, the older woman gestured for the girl to stay back. Then she slowly stepped inside while drawing her gun from its holster.
“Stop!” she said to Poison, who was climbing out of the seat. “Stay where you are!”
Poison raised his hands in the air. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I just--I needed water, I just escaped from a Drac compound--”
At the sound of his voice, the teenage girl burst in. Her mouth dropped open as if Korse himself stood in the vehicle.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Party! You’re Party Poison!”
“Yeah,” he said frantically. “Yeah, I’m Party Poison. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break in. I’m just starving, and I needed water, and--”
“Are you that fellow that got captured last week?” the woman said.
“Mom, lower your gun!” the girl said. “That’s Party Poison!”
“Yeah,” Poison said breathlessly. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Just--let me stay here, please? While I call my brother? Do you have a transmitter?”
“Mom!” the girl said. “Put your gun down!”
The woman ignored her. “Are you a danger to us?” she said.
“No! No, I’m not. I’m not going to hurt you, I just need to call my brother--”
“Are the Dracs looking for you?”
“Y-yeah. I’m sorry. Just let me make the call, please.”
Poison’s face was lined with desperation. A tense silence hung in the air. He waited for the woman to tell him to leave, that they didn’t want any trouble. I’ll ask for some water, he thought desperately. Just a bottle. And maybe they’ll give me some food, too...
“All right,” the woman said. She lowered her gun and jammed it in the holster. “Then we better get moving.”
Poison blinked in surprise. He turned to the girl, who squeezed her fists together and grinned at him with giddy excitement. “It’s okay,” she whispered.
The woman tried to close the warped, crooked door, but it swung back open. After a few attempts, she shook her head and headed for the driver’s seat. “Stay away from the door,” she said. “I don’t want anyone falling out while we’re on the road.”
While she switched on the engine and backed away from the tree, the girl fished a transmitter from her jacket pocket. It was large and bulky, with a cracker-sized dial and a long antennae. Poison thought of the old military technology that Tommy Chow Mein occasionally bought in bulk.
“Thank you,” Poison said. “Thank you guys so much, I--I’ll pay for the food. And the gas.”
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. Just call your brother and tell him we’re coming.”
He turned the knob back and forth, but Kobra’s frequency didn’t appear on the screen. Poison frowned and tapped the screen. He walked unsteadily around the moving RV, holding the transmitter to the ceiling, but the frequency didn’t appear.
“He’s not showing up,” he said. “Where are we?”
“We’re in Wildflower Creek,” the woman said from the driver’s seat.
Poison’s eyes widened. “Wildflower Creek? In Zone Two?”
“That’s right.”
“Shit,” Poison said. “He’s not in range.”
“Where does he live?” the girl said. “What’re his coordinates?”
She searched the drawers until she found a pen, then dug a folded-up concert flier from her pocket and flattened it on the table. Poison sat down at the table and rubbed the bridge of his nose until he remembered the coordinates. She scribbled them down and stuck them to the fridge with a magnet.
“I’m Melody, by the way,” the girl said. “And that’s Harmony,” she said, nodding toward her mother. “Do you want something else to eat? Can I make you something?”
“No, that’s okay--” Poison started to say, but she had already switched on the stove. His stomach growled as she opened a can of beef stew and dumped it into the pan. A gooey glob of meat and vegetables sizzled and popped on the stove. When the food was hot, she dumped it on a plate and placed it in front of him, like his mother had back in the city.
“Thank you,” Poison said. The steam wafted up to his nose, carrying the most delicious smell he’d ever encountered. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
She grabbed a large radio from a cabinet, large and army-colored like the transmitter, and switched it on. Music trickled from the scratchy speakers. As Poison ate, he caught her sneaking glances of him, as if he were a celebrity that had drifted into their midst.
When he was finished eating, she led him to the bunks at the back of the RV. Poison sank into the stiff mattress and stretched his sore limbs, then curled up beneath the blanket. Before long, weariness settled over him and clouded his mind. As the trailer rocked and jiggled on the highway, his eyelids grew heavy; the deep murkiness crept into his brain, and once again exhaustion overtook him.
The sand rubbed against Poison’s cheek as he tossed and turned in the cavern, sweat covering his skin. The sunlight was sharp-edged and glaring, as if he were an ant frying beneath a magnifying glass. He rolled around in the blanket tangled around his body. And then he felt the scratchy cot and realized it had all been a dream: he was still in the cell, with a Draculoid pushing food in a slot through the door. Poison pushed off the blanket, but he was still hot and sweaty, and the world seemed to be covered in a feverish film. The room was hot as a sauna, with steam rising from the floors.
When he climbed out of bed, he saw a book on top of his food tray: a blue hardcover book titled The Reptilians of the Ages. One of Kobra’s science fiction books. He must be trapped here, too. As he reached for the book, something started to bang against his door like a pair of small fists. Poison reached for a Nutrient Drink carton and opened it. But when he tipped it toward his mouth, no liquid came out, and his throat was parched and raw. The banging continued against the door. Sweat rolled down Poison’s sides, and the world seemed melted and hot, draped around him like layers of melted rubber...
Poison jerked awake in a cold sweat. Everything was black. He gasped and cried and shouted incoherently, thrashing in his blanket. “Help!” he cried as he struggled blindly. “Help!”
“It’s okay!” said a female voice. “It’s okay! Hang on!”
A light switched on, illuminating the inside of the RV. The banging sound came from the broken door, which smacked against the doorframe as the RV rattled down the highway. Cool night air filled the vehicle, which was bluish-black except from the section lit by a ceiling light.
“Are you okay?” Melody said, her eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Poison said. He pushed his sweaty hair from his face. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry. Where are we?”
“I didn’t want to wake you, so I called Dr. Death Defying,” she said.
“Dr. D?” Poison said. “You called him?”
“Yeah. I knew you guys were friends. He called your brother, and he’s going to meet you at a motel.”
Poison sat up in bed and nearly smacked his head against the upper bunk. “Kobra?” he said. “Really? He’s there?”
“Yeah. He said he’ll drive up and meet you there.”
“Oh my God.”
Poison climbed out of bed and stumbled to the nearest window. The familiar highway trailed past the RV, with a cluster of lights glowing in the distance: the town of Sunburst. A wave of emotion suddenly hit him, and tears prickled in his eyes. He sank into the seat and pressed a hand to his mouth.
“Are you okay?” Melody said again.
“Yeah,” Poison said. “Yeah, I--I’m fine.”
He wiped his eyes on his palms, then turned around and watched the scene outside the window. They drove past boulders, shrubs, and towering Joshua trees: so friendly and welcoming, instead of the foreign landmarks of Zone Two. A car flashed down the highway, the first one he had seen in days. And then they reached the motel at the edge of town--the glowing red MOTEL sign, the beacon of home! Poison spotted the Trans Am in the parking lot, and tears burned in his eyes once more.
The RV pulled into the parking lot and parked beside the Trans Am. A door slammed and footsteps hurried up to the vehicle. Then Kobra Kid appeared in the doorway. His hair was tousled, his eyes were reddened, and he wore one of Poison’s old jackets. When he spotted Poison, terrible emotion washed over his face, a combination of grief and disbelief. Then he jumped into the RV, Poison jumped to his feet, and they collapsed into each other’s arms.
Poison wept against his shoulder. Kobra’s scent was so intensely familiar that it was like walking into the diner, the sights and smells overwhelming him as he took in the familiarity of home. But the smell of smoke clung to his clothes. Poison imagined him alone in the kitchen, shakily lighting a hastily rolled-up joint. The first thing he always reached for in grief.
“I’m sorry,” Poison stammered. “I’m so sorry, Kid--”
But Kobra just shook his head. A deep emotion hung over him, a pain and relief too massive for words. The brothers clung to each other like lost children, weeping and trembling in the silence of the RV.