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rigors of space for the little week it would take to
reach Mars.
Then the voice of Commander Taylor pronounced
our fate. I heard it loud and clear. She wasn't using
the ship's intercom. That was one of the luxuries we
were giving up for this trip. But she had a loud voice,
and everything was wide open so the sardines in the
can wouldn't be lonely. Her words traveled the length
of the ship: "We made it, boys. Now hear this.
Reaching Mars shouldn't take longer than a month
and a half."
16
I wonder which star in the sky is their ship. I
may not be able to see it from this position, hiding
behind an old Dumpster and watching monsters play.
Their play is the worst thing I've ever seen.
Fly would be especially angry if he knew I'd already
thrown off Ken's schedule for my return. He'd scold:
"Jill, how could you be so stupid? Every minute
counts when you're using a timetable. That's why it's
called a schedule, you stupid bitch."
No, he wouldn't call me a bitch. I like thinking he
would. I'd like to think I bothered him enough he'd
want to call me bad names. I'm calling myself a stupid
bitch because I wanted to see the ship take off. I
waited until it was out of sight. Then I went the wrong
way.
I had a good excuse for going the wrong way. The
monsters went ape when they realized the Bova wasn't
supposed to take off. The spider that was fried by the
ship's jets must have been important, because several
other spiders showed up and wasted all the minotaurs
in sight. They tried to waste a steam demon as well,
but the thing was too fast for them. I never thought
anything that big could run so fast.
While the monsters were busy killing each other I
was able to slip away. Everything would have been
fine if I'd been going in the right direction. As part of
the plan, the navy guys left supplies for me along the
return route. Ken planned the first leg of my trip to
cover the same ground they followed on their last leg.
When I found myself at a convention of bonies and
fire eaters, though, I realized I'd made a boo-boo.
They didn't notice me; but I could see them clear as
day. I wished the moon would go out so I could do a
better job of hiding!
Some of the monsters naturally fought each other,
but the bonies and fire eaters had a truce going. The
same couldn't be said for the demon caught between
them, one of the chubby pink ones Arlene likes to call
pinkies. I couldn't help feeling sorry for the thing. The
bonies--Dr. Ackerman called them revenants--were
all lined up on one side in a semicircle. The fire
eaters--also known by a really weird name, arch-
viles--were lined up on the other side, completing
the circle. A bonfire blazed between them.
The fire eaters could control their fire better than I
realized. They'd send out thin lines of flame that
would burn the pinkie's butt. He'd squeal. Fly always
said the pinkies made him think of pigs.
The pinkie would jump over the fire and run
straight for the bonies. They made a sound that was
half rattling bones and half choking laughter. They
couldn't use their rockets without spoiling the game.
They seemed to have picked up a trick from human
bullies on a playground. They used sticks to beat and
prod their victim. One had an actual pitchfork he'd
probably stolen from a farm. When the pinkie turned
to run away from his tormentors the bony poked him
in the ass with the pitchfork. If it hadn't been so sick, I
would have laughed. But there was nothing funny
about the pink demon finally falling right into the
center of the fire where he grunted and squealed and
died. I wondered if the bonies and fire eaters would
eat him.
I wondered if they ate.
As they gathered around their roasting pig, I snuck
away. If I could retrace my steps to the base and work
my way around the perimeter, I might be able to pick
up the route that Ken had mapped out for me. If I
believed any part of what Albert did, and God was
looking down, my only prayer was to get back on
track. If the monsters were going to kill me, I wanted
to be doing what I was supposed to before they ripped
out my guts.
When Arlene gave me the big lecture about growing
up and taking responsibility, she didn't say anything I
hadn't already figured out myself. I could have said it
better than she did.
Growing up was about dealing with fear. One night,
when Arlene and Albert went to the supermarket in
Zombie City to find rotten lemons and limes, Fly and
I had a long talk. He asked me what I'd be willing to
do in a war. He wanted to know if I'd be willing to
torture the enemy, even if the enemy happened to be
human.
I never stopped thinking about the questions he
asked. When I disobeyed his orders about the plane
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