Blaze

36. Blood Is Thicker

A sound escapes Austin: a sharp, sudden cry of horror. Panic-breaths wheeze out his lips. He grips me, as if to steady his shaking self.

I look at Jackie's semi-amused face and chuckle, though the sound is weak and strange.

"How can you be laughing?" Austin shrieks.

Because this, I think, tops it. This tops all the other nonsense. This tops me being tied to a chair, or the Raiders draining people of blood (when it would be so much more cost-effective to filter, say, pee). This tops seeing Tim lying on the ground with his head cracked. This tops you coming out of nowhere after I pissed myself in my bed. This tops seeing the Captain morph into that... thing.

My body ripples with suppressed laughter.

Austin stares at me, wide-eyed. Angry. "I can't believe you."

"This is one of those moments were you either laugh or cry"—I try and pull air into my lungs, but the laughter wins out—"and I am choosing not to cry."

Austin starts to shake her. "Jackie? Jackie?"

"You know she's not in there."

I have trouble reading his face. Is that anger or fierce panic?

"You missed the ceremony," Jackie says. (No, not Jackie. Not Jackie. It's a man's voice. It makes me laugh and laugh.) "There was dancing and screaming. Water was even thrown on the ground. And then they brought you out."

"Why?" Austin says weakly.

Not-Jackie's eyes narrow and crinkle. "For the Raiders, of course. The villagers have made a pact with them, to stay safe. Your lives in trade for their safety." A pause. "The Raiders aren't human, not anymore. They need blood. Once their eyes turn black, they can't drink anything else."

Suddenly Austin freezes. I see his chest heave with the fat beating of his heart, but I don't hear him breathe. (Is he breathing?) His eyes are fixed on the distance, and the sunlight must be burning them, because he blinks quickly. Turns away.

Not-Jackie senses all this and allows the silence to swell and stretch till my thoughts are all over brimming cups. Not-Jackie smiles slowly with dry lips and moves his head mechanically, like his limbs need greasing, like he's not quite used to the strangeness of the world. Yet. "You want to ask me something."

"Yes. No. Maybe. It's stupid." Austin trips all over himself. He seems shy. So hopeful. He shines so brightly and unabashedly that I can't bear to look at him. When he speaks, his voice is calmer. Dreaming. "Yes. There's a story mom told us, about the day she met—" He breaks off for a bit; the light flickers. His voice is death-quiet when he adds, "Do you know it?"

"No," Not-Jackie says immediately and baldly. The slow smile gradually spreads like infected liquid being pumped into his cheeks, lifting them. His entire face seems to take on a plastic sheen that matches his smile. "I'm here for Cameron. To finish our conversation. That's all."

---

I don't look at Austin. I can't (I can't!). But I feel him as a black hole, all his light collapsed. Sounds of a cork popping. Then of water hissing to the ground. Austin has a water pouch with him and is emptying it to the ground. The ground slurps everything up like a cracked tongue.