Zommunist Invasion by Picott, Camille (ebook reader ink TXT) 📗

head smashed open by a mutant. Then he saw her getting shot by a Russian. Even worse was picturing her getting attacked by a mutant and a Russian at the same time.

There was also one or two appalling imaginings of Amanda getting attacked by zombified squirrels. It was like watching a horror movie on steroids.

As he lay alone in the darkness of the boys’ bunk room, he understood why Nonna said not to cry over possibility. A person could go insane with possibility.

The next time Amanda went out on a broadcast, he would go with her. He’d go and watch her back, like he should have done this time. Now that Nonna had taught him how to handle a gun, he could help.

He couldn’t shake the memory of what it felt like to finally hit that stupid log.

The shoes and clothes under his bunk felt like a raging bonfire beneath him. It was stupid, of course. The clothes weren’t on fire. But their very presence was like a persistent fly buzzing around his head.

He got up, pacing back and forth across the tiny room. It was eerie being alone in it. He was used to it stinking from all the big guys. Their snoring, while unpleasant, was less oppressive than the silence.

Why had Nonna given him those clothes? It didn’t make any sense.

Somehow, she’d guessed his darkest secret. He didn’t know how she’d done it. She’d barely known him a week, yet somehow she knew him better than his own parents and his best friends.

It was easy to ignore his secret when it wasn’t staring him in the face. But Nonna had made sure it was front and center.

He couldn’t stand the torment any longer. It was easier to ignore the pink shoes and girl’s clothing when all the other guys were around. They provided a barrier. A shield to hide behind. But when left alone with them, there was no place to hide.

His body moved all on its own. He got to his knees and pulled out the clothing. Crushing them to his chest, he curled his body around them. Emotion vibrated within him. He crushed it down, terrified of what might happen if he let it loose.

His fingers dug into the fabric. He wasn’t sure if they were a lifeline or an anchor that would drag him into the abyss.

Where had Nonna gotten these things, anyway?

A feeling overcame him. It was the memory of how he had felt in the clearing when he hit that stupid target on the tree.

No, that wasn’t accurate. He didn’t give a crap about hitting the tree. It was the feeling he had imagined—of how it would feel for his feet to finally be in the right shoes. What it would feel like to finally draw the Sword of Protection and transform.

He wanted to feel it again. More than anything.

She-Ra never looked scared. Granted, she was a stupid cartoon character for little kids like Gabby. But still. The point was, transformation never felt scary when seen in a cartoon. Drawing the Sword of Protection in real life was fucking terrifying.

But Stephenson yearned to touch that feeling again. To feel like himself.

Not giving himself a chance to think about it any longer, he shucked out of his sleeping clothes. They were flannel pants and a matching shirt Anton had lent him. They were much too big on him; Anton was both taller and wider. Stephenson used a clothes pin to hold the pants on.

Fumbling with the safety pin, he let the pants puddle onto the ground. He dragged the shirt off over his head, not bothering with the buttons. Buttons would take too long. Stephenson didn’t want to wait any longer.

In nothing but his underwear, he picked up the clothing from Nonna. He shivered in something close to ecstasy as he pulled on the pink tank. It felt like coming home. It felt like finally finding the path to light after a lifetime of wandering around in the dark.

The cute black mesh top dropped down over the pink spaghetti straps. The Jordache jeans slid up his legs. A sigh of relief rattled out of his throat as he buttoned them around his waist.

Unlike the flannel pants he’d borrowed from Anton, these fit perfectly. Like they had been made for him. No, like he had been made for them.

Last of all, he slipped his feet into the pink Converse. Was this what Dorothy had felt like when she put on her ruby slippers? Is this what it felt like to finally find your ticket home?

Stephenson stood in the darkness, clad in girl’s clothing. Joy coursed through him. He hugged himself, savoring the preciously rare feeling of being at home in his own body.

It was a feeling he had been chasing for his entire life.

He’d worn the clothes only one time before, when everyone had been asleep. He’d snuck into the living room and put them on. The terror of getting caught hadn’t been stronger than the pull of the clothing.

He hunched in the center of the room, hugging himself. What did this mean? How could he go through life like this?

Some days, he secretly believed it would be easier to be bitten by a zombie or shot by a Russian. Death had to be easier than this reality.

Stephenson sat on the floor. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he cried. He cried tears of confusion, tears of relief, and tears of fear.

33

Absence

“Valé, help me.”

Valentina felt as frozen as the world around her. She couldn’t take her eyes off the bloody footprints. They led straight to a body in the snow.

It was Luca. Her beloved big brother.

Valentina might only be a girl, but this was not the first time she had seen a dead body. Her great-aunt Greta had died of the flu only six weeks ago.

She remembered what the body had looked like at the funeral. On the outside, it looked like Aunt Greta. The hair was the same. The age spots