Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,103
no answer from the other side.
“It’s okay, there are no zombies here right now,” Siggy tells the door. “It’s just a few of us survivors, you know. Out here survivin’.”
She laughs, a “ha ha” of hopeful camaraderie.
With a door.
Is anyone even in there?
“If you could let us in, that would be rad. You have a radio, right? We saw some troops outside.” Siggy glances back at me and shrugs.
Imani steps forward and bangs her fist on the door, hard.
“We know you’re in there!” she says, her voice raised.
A low voice responds from the other side of the door.
“Keep it down!”
Siggy nods in victory.
“Talk to us and we will,” Siggy promises.
There’s a pause where there should be the sound of the door opening.
The door doesn’t open.
“Are you gonna let us in or what?” Siggy hisses, frustration spiking her words.
“No way. We talk, that’s it.”
“You can’t be serious,” Imani says.
“Damn straight we are. So talk or git.”
Imani steps forward like she’s about to start pounding on the door, or kick it in.
“Hold up.” Cuellar’s whisper is pitched for just our ears. “Let me talk to him.”
Siggy turns those hero-lit eyes to him.
“Okay,” she says, giving him her place by the door.
Imani moves a slight step back and crosses her arms, waiting.
Cuellar steps up to the closed door, puts a smile on, and scrubs a hand over his bristly hair.
“Hey,” he says to the door. “This is Cuellar Tucker, you know, from the show.”
He cocks a smile at the door handle, unconsciously, like it’s a peephole or a camera. Like they can see him.
“No shit?” The man’s voice from inside is interested.
Cuellar smiles at Siggy, then me. He whispers conspiratorially, “Preppers love me.”
Janet lets out a little snort-laugh, nothing mean, just the ridiculousness of our situation, and the weirdness of fame, that Cuellar knows his demographic like that.
“Yeah,” Cuellar says to the closed door. “And I got Simon Wong with me. And Janet O’Shea. And . . .” He pauses, and cocks an eyebrow at Annie.
Annie nods, and steps forward.
“. . . and Annie Blaze!”
“Hi!” Annie’s voice is high and bubbly.
“Dang!” The man’s voice is impressed. “I gotta say, I love the show.”
Cuellar nods sagely at the door. A yep, yep kinda gesture, like a quarterback methodically moving the ball down the field.
“Thanks, man,” he says. “We work hard on it.”
“And we love our fans,” Annie chirrups. “You’re all so supportive.”
Cuellar nods at her, like they’re two business hotshots in a well-worn scene: closing the deal.
“So, listen, if you could let us in, man, we’d really appreciate it.”
Cullar leans back, like he expects the door to be opened that moment.
It stays closed.
There’s what feels like a long moment of silence, like we’re all holding our breaths.
Finally the man on the other side of the door replies.
“I just can’t do that.”
Annie cusses under her breath and steps away from the door.
Cuellar smiles in disbelief.
“What?” His voice has lost its honeyed, wheedling tone.
“I know,” the man says. “It sucks, right? But we just can’t open this door. Rule number one of survival is—”
Cuellar cuts in.
“I don’t know where you get off, buddy, but there ain’t no rules now. Got that? So open this damn door. Now.”
There’s another silence that somehow feels affronted.
“No.” The man’s voice isn’t regretful anymore.
Cuellar turns to the rest of us, clustered around the door.
“Y’all move.” Cuellar hefts his fire ax.
We all make a hasty retreat, four or five steps back. This time Cuellar’s voice isn’t soft anymore.