Young and Loaded

Chapter Ten

   All of me knew that the back of the Diner smelled like piss. And that we were never in there unless we had to be or we were sleeping. But I didn't mind the smell or the unspoken rule we'd come up with ages ago, when we were still a functional team. The best of the best. It was the only place I could think of going to while I grumbled and thought over things that I needed to do. Especially about Grace. About the fact that she'd been kidnapped. And everything I had told her prior to that and how much it might fuck with her brain.

   And not just recently. Things I'd been dropping hints about for years as she grew older and matured. Things that were supposed to solidify her as a person and help her fulfill her destiny. Things like how she needed to be skilled with a gun. Things like being able to fend for herself. Things like never loving so deeply that one wrong thing rips you up and tears you apart from the inside out, crawling up your throat and making you suffocate until—

   At least she won't have to deal with any of that.

   Because I had a plan. A glorious plan. One fueled by my hatred for Better Living, their perfectionist ideals, and a shit ton of alcohol flooding through my system. And it was going to work, I promised myself that. I was going to break into the city, rescue Grace, and blow the whole city up. Just to save her, the most precious thing I'd ever encountered in the six zones, from having to do something in her future that might kill her in the process. And who knows. Maybe it'll kill my ass in the process of eliminating the higher-ups of that stupid fucking city. At least my death wouldn't be in vain. Like Kobra and Jet's deaths were.

   They died fighting. Died trying to save the only hope the desert still had. Why that hope was placed in a little girl, I had no idea. But I had no right to judge. I'd placed my faith in her. All of it. Until I realized that no kid her age should ever have to deal with something like that and eventually give up everything she'd ever had. And for what? To die for a bunch of people you'd never met and never will? What if they were complete and utter assholes? Because most of the killjoys I'd ever met out here were just that. If anything, they didn't deserve to live. Deserved to rot with the rest of the mindless occupants of Battery City. But by chance, they'd ended up out here, fighting. Resisting just as mindlessly as those who stayed. But they were still vile and disgusting people at times, especially to people and things they didn't understand. It was the difference in personalities that differentiated Battery City and Zone Runners.

   There's a part of me that understands. But not even drunk me would ever admit that to another person.

   Even if there was a time when I might've told Ghoul.

   God, I'm so glad I didn't.

   But I knew I'd still much rather do this for her. It was easy. In and out with her and then destroy the buildings, one by one, until Better Living was nothing but a pile of rubble and ash and we were victorious in this stupid war. And maybe it fucked with Grace's destiny if you believe in that sort of thing. I know I do. I thought my destiny was to protect Grace until she was old enough and figured out just how to blow the city to bits and liberate the people in there under the influence of whoever the hell ran the whole stupid shebang.

   But I also, in my indefinitely wise intoxicated state, realized that destiny was meant to be changed and shaped.

   No stupid fucking prophecy was gonna control me.

   I'm gonna make destiny my little bitch and do whatever the fuck I wanted with it.

   I gracefully half-waltzed, half-stumbled into the room at the back of the diner. My final destination was the small mini-fridge my brother had insisted on installing in the back room where we slept when we weren't on missions, of course. He's said it was there because he'd stolen it for 'emergency purposes'. Ghoul had laughed when both Jet and I had called out Kobra for his bullshit, the three of us well aware of his nasty drinking habits. Both our nasty drinking habits. Now it kind of felt like a ghost in the corner of the room, haunting me. But I chose not to think of it as I made my way over to it, throwing the door open without consideration for how old the little machine was. It was humming loudly as I squatted down in front of it, removing a dusty bottle of amber-colored liquid from the singular, slanting shelf. Where Kobra had gotten this and how before he... you know, died, was beyond me, but I didn't care.

   It didn't take a lot of effort to slam the cap down on the corner of the table, making it fly off and hit the wall with a clang. It was all white noise to me as I sat down between the small fridge and the table leg, my head leaning back and hitting the concrete. Emotions threatened to spill from my eyes again, hot water blurring my already swirly vision even further. Everything hurt. I knew I needed to pull myself together, be a strong leader. For the kids that I'd spoken to about my idea. For the kids following me to make this shit show a reality. And I was either fucking us all over or saving everybody who lived in the Zones and the city alike. And the fact that I had no idea which would be the outcome scared me almost as much as losing Grace.