Free Monsters: The Ashes Trilogy by [email protected] Page A

sandpaper, and toe rot. Since the person had been
old—they were all old—the skin was mottled, papery, wormy with
bulging blue veins. The crumbling nails were so long they actually
curled into snot-colored talons. Peter couldn’t imagine how the old
geezer had walked.
    “You’ve got to kill the guards,” Simon hissed.
“I know,” Peter said, over the bong-bong-bonging . Damn bells had
started up eight days ago, right after the Rule mine blew, and just
wouldn’t quit. Naked as a jay, he sat cross-legged on the chilled
concrete of his corner cell, trying very hard not to look around for
Simon. No point. That little bugger—
— hallucination—
was fast . And Peter certainly didn’t want to linger over the others, who
watched from the remaining nine cells: glittery-eyed Changed, their
faces pressed to the bars like monkeys in a zoo. The only thing they
didn’t do was hoot. Peter thought there had to be at least sixty kids.
Knowing Finn, there were probably a lot more Changed stashed in
other cages throughout the camp.
The thing that got to Peter? Well, besides Simon and the bong-bongbong of the bells and being naked and stewing in his own shit? Some
of these Changed had names. He knew these kids, and that freaked
Peter out, big-time. For example, in the cage directly opposite, that
honking big kid with the Neanderthal brow? Lee Travers: Forest
Road, third house on the right. His squirrelly grandma spent all day
whacking furrows with this wicked-sharp Warren hoe, whether that
garden needed to be dug up or not.
And what about this very pretty, doe-eyed brunette in the cell to
his left? That girl who made him hungry in ways he couldn’t hide
well without clothes? He was pretty sure that was Kate Landry: sixteen, liked cats, and oh my God, those lips, those breasts . Peter got
these flashes , the two of them, naked, thrashing in the snow . . .
Stop it. Peter’s breathing had sped up, his mouth gone dry with
desire. Get control. Think. Why is Finn snapping up these particular kids?
Their friends?
“You know, instead of thinking about sex,” Simon said, “you
should be figuring a way out.”
“I understand that, Simon,” Peter muttered, averting his eyes from
the very luscious Kate, those lips, her breasts. At times, another idea
floated into his brain, something right out of Rise of the Planet of the
Apes : kill the guards, open the cages, and they’d surge out to conquer
the world. Or The Wizard of Oz : Fly, my pretties! Fly, fly! But first: sex.
Lots and lots of sex, in the snow, on concrete, anywhere; take Kate,
bend her back, and take her and take her and take—
“Don’t you wish,” Simon said. “Be lucky she doesn’t bite it off for
a snack.”
“Jesus, Simon, shut the hell up.” Christ, he couldn’t have even a
good fantasy in peace.
“Make me. You’ve got way more important things to worry about,
like me and Penny, not to mention Finn and why he’s rounding up
Changed, kids from Rule, the mine , and all you can think about is
hooking up with some girl ? We need you!”
“Yes, I know. Stop, Simon, please .” Moaning, he rolled onto his
belly, away from Kate’s eyes, her hunger, his thoughts. Simon was a
spike in Peter’s right ear, like those needles they used on frogs back in
. . . God . . . junior bio .
And look who’s the frog now.
Stunning but true.
    The Rule mine had blown eight days ago, and when Peter wasn’t
screaming or raving like a crazy person because of the bells, those
damn bells in his head, those bong-bong-BONGs . . . when he wasn’t
doing that, Peter was either awake and dreaming awful nightmares
that clung like burrs— water and a dark fan of sea grass and the boat and
eyes in stone —or he was awake and not dreaming but thinking, hard,
the thoughts bubbling in the pressure cooker of his skull: Get out of
here, Peter, get out, get out, got to get out! If he didn’t find a way out, his
mind would go ka-BOOM . Nothing