Just the Worst Kind

Eventually there was physically no more room in the bag. Fun Ghoul got to his feet, planted his feet apart and lifted it up with only a bit of a struggle, a surprisingly impressive feet. He handed it off to Jet Star as soon as he saw him, though, which ruined the whole ‘showing off his strength’ moment.

They found Poison outside with his brother, both of them talking quietly under their breath with their guns in hand and eyes on the long empty stretch of road. Poison had a cigarette clamped between his lips, but as soon as he saw everyone else pile out of the diner he dropped it and stamped it out with the heel of his chunky black boot, which she noticed had stripes of colour down the front. It was weird, their obsession with colour — all of them were much more brightly dressed than her, with her plain white jeans and dark red sleeveless top. True, most rebels did use colour as a statement against the monochrome life that BL/ind encouraged, but she’d never seen so much in one group before.

“Thank god, you guys took ages,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I think I might have grown a beard if you took any longer.”

“You wish, Poison,” Fun Ghoul replied scathingly. “Fucking manboy like you couldn’t grow a beard if you tried.”

“Why did you call me Poi—oh, right, Zero!” Poison grinned at her, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Secret identities and all that. Kind of hard to keep up with; I honestly have no clue how all those comic book characters do it.”

“Having a memory slightly better than a goldfish’s might help,” Kobra Kid said. He looked at Zero, then at Fun Ghoul. “We got a tag along in her or what?” He didn’t sound too pleased.

“I don’t know. Zero’s the independent type, aren’t you, honey?” He flashed his bright grin in her direction.

She scowled, looking like she was considering murdering something. “Call me honey one more time, I dare you. I will cut your balls off with rusty scissors and force-feed them to you.”

“I know,” Fun Ghoul said, nodding. “You got a place to crash tonight?”

“I’ll find somewhere. I have a stash down in zone four.”

“You should come with us. We’ve got a hideout much closer in zone six, and there’s always room for one more,” he said. “Think of it as payment for your help earlier, I wouldn’t have found half the stuff you did.” He motioned to the bag in Jet Star’s arms, who was hovering in the shadows next to him.

She hesitated, weighing up the pros and cons in her mind. The biggest pro was of course it would be guaranteed shelter, which was very tempting considering she didn’t have a car and any place she wanted to sleep would have to be within walking distance — no way was she going to get back to her resource stash before night fall, and after night fall was a lot more dangerous to be wandering about. Also, it pretty much assured her there would be food, and her stomach was killing her. Sure, a major con was that these four could be utterly insane axe-murderers and try to kill her in her sleep, but she decided that was a risk she was willing to take in return for hot food and warm blankets.

“Okay,” she said eventually. “You have a car?”

“Through here,” Jet Star said, leading the way round the corner of the building to the parking lot at back. There was a car parked badly in the middle of the lot, diagonal over almost two whole rows. It was battered and covered in dust and god-only-knows what else, but there was no way in hell you could deny it was a quality car – a Trans Am if she could go by the general shape, pretty much all she could see with the rapidly darkening sky minimizing the amount of light there was about. The only other thing she noticed was that there was some sort of images across the bonnet and down the sides, but she barely had time to glance at it all before Fun Ghoul was pushing her into the backseat and everyone was getting in themselves.

For the short journey, she was squeezed between Poison and the door, a very uncomfortable experience even when she tried to use up the least amount of space available, so she was glad when the car came to a screeching stop, kicking up clouds of dust in the process — Fun Ghoul, who had taken the driver’s seat by darting past Jet Star, obviously liked to make an entrance. They’d stopped outside an old diner and, as soon as Fun Ghoul cut the engine and everyone was getting out, the door of the place burst open and a little girl came flying out.

“You’re back!” she yelled excitedly, and Poison dropped to one knee, scooped her up into his arms and spun her around a few times before setting her down with a small grunt.

“You’re heavy, Girl. Been hitting the wheat crackers a bit hard, eh?” He grinned at the kid.

“No, you ate all of those,” she replied hotly. Zero laughed at the girl’s tone of voice — she couldn’t have been older than ten, but she sounded more fierce than many other rebels she’d met. She was dressed in a bright blue, red and yellow jacket with a multitude of assorted things — dog-tags and whistles and thin metal chains — hung around her neck, and had a mop of curly hair constantly threatening to fall into her eyes. In some ways she looked like Jet Star, mostly just because she was tanned and curly-haired.

“Daughter?” Zero asked to no one in particular.

“Nah, she’s a ward,” Poison said, grinning. “Girl’s been with us since she was tiny, she’s pretty much as close to us as a daughter though. I suppose we’re all her parents in the sense that we take care of her.”

“Girl? Doesn’t she have a name?”

“It’s Missile Kid,” the girl replied acidly, turning her gaze to Zero. “And thanks for not asking me. Very polite of you.”

Zero’s eyebrows shot up and she couldn’t help but laugh. That girl was amazing.

“She chose it herself,” Fun Ghoul explained, walking into the building after Kobra Kid and Jet Star. Zero fell into step beside him and Poison and Girl followed them. “Pretty much insisted we call her that or ‘Girl’ — she doesn’t like her birth name.”

“You wouldn’t either if you were called Grace,” Girl yelled at him. Zero looked over her shoulder and saw she was glaring at Fun Ghoul, now perched on Poison’s shoulders despite the fact she was a lot bigger than most kids carried that way. As Zero watched, Girl jabbed a finger in the direction of a couch shoved against the far wall and Poison dutifully walked over and set her down, then straightened up and winced.

“Yeah, you’ve definitely been eating too many wheat crackers,” he teased, rolling his shoulders. “Gonna break my back someday, Girl, then you’ll be sorry.”

She laughed and leaned up and kissed his cheek fondly. “No I won’t,” she said. “I’ll have Jet carry me then.” She nodded assuredly and then turned her gaze to Zero. “So who’s she, then? New to the rebel life? You always did like taking them under your wings, Poison.”

“Don’t think she is. Hey, how long you been out here, Zero?” Poison turned to her and smiled.

“Five years or so.”

He whistled lowly. “Nice, you predate us by a little bit, actually. You’re a Vet then, eh? How old are you?”

“That is a bit personal, don’t you think?” Zero replied, arching an eyebrow. “I’m twenty-seven, not that it should matter.”

“Oh, you’re just a baby!” Poison exclaimed loudly, his eyes lighting up. “Hey, Ghoul, get your butt in here! We found you a playmate! You guys can go trick-or-treating together on your birthday!”

Fun Ghoul poked his head in the room. “What the fuck, Poison? Is that some jibe at my height again?” He scowled at the other man and waved a can opener in his general direction. “Just so you know, I’m not afraid to use this on you.”

“Fuck no, I’d never make fun of your height,” Poison replied, all mock serious before breaking into a huge grin. “It was a jibe at your age, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty-nine! That’s hardly in kindergarten!”

“So cute!” Poison cooed, ignoring the death glare it earned him in return, before spinning around on his heels back to their new guest. “So Zero, welcome to Haus von Killjoys. Make your self at home, there’s electricity most of the time, sort-of running water depending on whether or not the tank is exactly the right temperature or perhaps the position of Venus relative to Mars, who fuckin’ knows... oh, and a hopefully well-stocked refrigerator now. Depends on whether or not Ghoul grabbed edible food and didn’t just eat it all.”

“He didn’t eat it all, I made sure of it,” she confirmed, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa. She felt entirely out of place but was trying not to show it. Everyone else seemed to have fallen into a comfortable routine and she felt like she’d taken a crowbar to their door and just forced her way into their lives. Jet Star and Kobra Kid had disappeared, apparently to clean up gathering from their yelled conversations back-and-forth from different parts of the house, Fun Ghoul was putting their newly ‘acquired’ food away and Party Poison was fiddling with a small radio sitting on the coffee table. He didn’t seem to be having much luck with the radio really; every so often there was a burst of static and feedback which made her head hurt, but that was it.

Eventually Jet Star came wandering back in, took in the sight of Poison bent over the radio, still messing around with it and completely oblivious to the other Killjoy’s presence, and rolled his eyes before walking over and smashing the little plastic box with his fist. Poison jumped and almost fell backwards onto his ass, flailing his arms around in a good impression of a windmill and letting out a startled, high-pitched cry.

“Fuck me! Can’t you give a guy some warning before you start destroying his stuff?” Poison yelled once he’d composed himself. He gingerly picked up the radio and seemed utterly shocked when it started blaring music.

“Percussive maintenance,” Jet Star said at Zero’s curious look. “If it doesn’t work, hit it. If that doesn’t fix it, hit it some more. If it still doesn’t work throw it out the window, it’s probably not worth your time.”

“Um, okay.” The dark-haired girl was, for once, at loss for words.

“Anyway, there’s a room ready for you, if you want it. Just so you know, it’s gettin’ late, so we’ll be having dinner and turning in soon. Oh, the wild life of a rebel.” He cracked a grin and she laughed slightly nervously.

“I thought I was going to sleep on the floor or something, there’s no need to give me a room. I’m only going to be here for a few days,” she said.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, we like to make sure our guests are comfortable.” He rounded on Kobra Kid, who’d emerged from the depths of the hideout with a pile of towels in his arms. “Hey, Kid, show Zero the way to her room.”

Kobra Kid just shot the other man a frosty glare. “Fuck no, I’m gonna take a shower whilst the tank is actually working. Do it yourself.”

“I have to check the barricades!” Jet Star said, looking slightly affronted. “Do you want to be killed in the middle of the night because there was a loose plank on the window? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

But Kobra Kid has already disappeared, and Jet Star let out a deep sigh and turned to Poison. “Will you do the honours?” he asked tiredly. “Just take her to Frank’s room. I really do have to get those fucking planks checked out, I’m pretty sure one of those damn Dracs has tried to force his way in and fuck knows what could happen if we leave it as it is.”

Poison just nodded and then turned to Zero. “Follow me,” he said, already walking off. She quickly leapt to her feet and followed after him, not exactly sure where he was off to but deciding it would be best to just do what he said. He walked past two doors and stopped outside a third. “I think,” he began, smiling, as he pushed the door open, “you’ll start to like it here, y’know.”

She wasn’t sure whether he was talking about the room itself or the hideout, it was hard to tell from his tone of voice. She looked around, noticing the room was obviously not meant to be a bedroom — it looked more like a disused office, with a desk practically buried under random shit in one corner and a bookshelf empty except from one lone book and a small framed photograph on the middle shelf next to it. The couch in the middle of the room, covered in a random array of frayed blankets and over-stuffed pillows in all different shades, looked utterly out of place.

Zero walked over to the bookshelf and looked at the picture on there, a small, blurry picture of two young babies. “Who are—” she began, turning to Poison, before cutting herself off. “Is it rude to ask? I don’t know, it has honestly been so many years since I spent an extended amount of time with anyone...”

“That’s Ghoul’s, uh, twin girls,” Poison explained, his smile disappearing as fast as it had appeared. “It’s probably best not to bring it up around him.”

“Oh.” Zero’s face fell. “BL/ind?”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded. “Make yourself comfortable, and feel free to join us for food,” he said as he left the room.

She sat down on the couch and tried to make herself comfortable, but it was a hard thing to do. The first thing she did, though, was take off her boots, and god that felt better. She’d been walking around the desert for a whole day since she’d last sat down for more than a few minutes at a time, and her feet were taking the brunt of the damage. She pulled her sock down on her left foot, resting her leg across her lap to take a look, and winced at the blisters forming on her feet and the open cut across her heel, a present from a particularly sharp shard of glass yesterday. That had taught her not to wander around barefoot.

“Woah,” Fun Ghoul said, walking in at that exact moment. “Jesus, Zero, the smell of your feet is enough to knock even the strongest man out.” He laughed, noticing her shocked face — more at him walking in than his comments. “Nah, I’m joshing with you Zero, you smell as fresh as daisies.”

“What do you want?” she asked cautiously, without moving from the spot on her couch.

“Just getting my stuff. I need a change of clothes, unless you want me coming in here tomorrow morning naked after my shower.” He raised his eyebrows. “You never know, you might like what you see.”

“Hold on, your stuff?” She looked around and noticed the personal effects for the first time, few but definitely there.

“Well yes, this is my room after all,” he said, rolling his eyes and walking towards a bag tucked under the desk which he hauled out and started rifling through.

“I thought — I thought this was a spare or something,” Zero said, slightly confused and very anxious. “I can’t take your room, that’s just wrong. Where are you going to sleep?”

“I was planning on snuggling up with one of the other guys. You know, it’s really easy to freak them out with a carefully placed hand and a few fake moans,” he said with a shrug. He looked up and frowned when he noticed she’d gotten to her feet and started to pull her boots back on. “Hey, wait, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I am going to find a place to sleep,” she explained. “I am not going to take yours, no matter what you say.”

He walked over and shoved her back down into a sitting position, placing a hand on her right shoulder. He looked down at her. “Take the fucking room, okay? I’m not gonna die from a few nights sleeping on the floor, am I? I don’t get you. You know most people would just shut their mouths and politely take what’s been offered? How long you been sleepin’ outside, huh? How long since you been inside?”

“That’s not the point—”

“How long since you slept inside in a nice warm room?” he asked again, ignoring her protests.

She met his glare with an equally fiery look. “I don’t want a pity party, I can look after myself.”

“No doubt about that, trust me,” he said. “Your lovely threats to my manhood have assured me that. Now don’t you dare try to give my room back or I’m gonna turn my ray-gun on you and make you stay here. Got it?”

She set her mouth in a thin line. “Got it,” she said finally, her displeasure clear in her voice and expression.

“Very good,” he said, nodding. “Now, can I take a look at your foot?”

“What?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?”

“You think I didn’t notice that lovely gash you had when I walked in? C’mon, don’t be stupid, you need to get that checked out or it’ll end up infected. And I really don’t want to have to perform the second amputation of the month on you.” He laughed, obviously joking, but she still felt a spike of nervousness at how carelessly he said it. A injured rebel on their own didn’t stand a chance against BL/ind.

Slowly, she slid her boot off of her foot again, and he crouched down and rolled her sock back to take a look. He tutted a bit, gently touching around the wound with his index finger. She winced despite the fact he did it gently. “There’s a load of dirt in here,” he said. “It’s a wonder you’ve managed not to get an infection already. Don’t you know anything about first aid?”

“Of course I do,” she replied hotly, wanting to hit him for implying she didn’t. “I have been shot enough times to learn the basics. I just ran out of antiseptic.”

“What, and water too?” he challenged.

“I decided I was better off using my limited supply to drink.”

He frowned. “Okay, fair enough,” he said, getting to his feet. “Stay here,” he ordered, like she was planning on hopping out of the window or something. He walked off and she heard him yell for Poison, and then there was a muffled conversation she couldn’t hear. She took the time to look at her blisters, deciding they’d probably be getting worse in the coming days and grimacing at the thought of the pain and discomfort that would bring.

When he came back he was carrying a small black bag and a cup of steaming liquid and put it down on the floor next to her. “First things first, how did you get this cut? Was it glass?” he asked. She nodded. “Shit, that means there might be pieces left in it...”

“There isn’t, I made sure of it. I am not that much of an idiot.”

“But you didn’t think to raid a joint and get yourself some more medical supplies?” he said, looking amused. He pulled a pair of tweezers out of the bag, and then looked up at her. “Yell if I hurt you. I’m just gonna get rid of those big bits of dirt, okay?”

She nodded, determined not to say anything even if it did hurt. She wasn’t going to make him think she was that pathetic; it was bad enough he seemed to think she was retarded when it came to basic medical care. It wasn’t like there were hospitals just sitting around in the middle of a desert, after all, and there wasn’t much she could do with what little she had. He was gentle and very careful, but it still made her flinch every time he did anything a tiny bit too hard. Happily, though, she didn’t let out even the smallest sound, which surprised even her.

When he reached for the cup of water he’d put down earlier, she watched him stick his finger in it first to check the temperature, and then he grinned up at her. “Probably not the most sensible way of checking but if I’m gonna use it on you it’s best to know it’s not gonna burn you,” he said, taking a small piece of white cloth from the bag and dipping it in the water and using it to clean the cut. “There, that looks better already,” he added once he’d finished. “Do you want me to stitch it up or stick to glue?”

Her stomach rolled at the thought of a needle. She could handle guns, knives, blood and gore, but needles freaked her out. “Glue,” she said. “It is not that bad. It doesn’t really require sutures.”

He shrugged, reached for a small tube of what she hoped was skin glue and carefully used it to close the gash. Then he applied some sort of gel which stinged like fuck and ripped off a stripe of gauze and wrapped her foot up with it. When he was done, he sat back on his heels and looked at his handiwork. “Hmm, very nice if I say so myself. Is that better? I can nab you some painkillers from our stash if you need ‘em.”

“It’s fine,” she said, already feeling like more of a burden than normal. She tried to get to her feet but his hand on her shoulder held her down.

“No, you’re not gonna rip that open again by moving, lie down and stay still, you got that? I don’t want to have wasted my time.” He gave her a look which challenged her to complain. And complain she tried to, but he was having none of it.

“But—” she began.

“—but nothing. I’ll bring you food and shit if you’re awake, your job is just to lie there. And get some rest.”

“It really isn’t that bad. I can handle it—”

“—I don’t care,” he cut across again in a sing-song voice, already heading for the door. “It’s bad enough. Go to sleep.”

She planned on not doing just that, just to spite him, even if it meant she ended up as tired as all fuck, but when she finally laid back on the sofa she found it surprisingly comfortable and she ended up fighting a losing battle to stay awake. Within ten minutes of lying down her eyes were closed and she was asleep, dreaming of acid rain and twisted and deformed Draculoid faces.