KELLEY ARMSTRONG
As Cole hurried along River Street, the cries of the peddlers changed. One minute they were hawking mended shirts and worn boots and the next they were selling equally worn-out dreams and promises. “Peddlers of hope,” people called them. “Predators,” his brother, Tyler, said. Preying on hope, because that was the only thing the people of New Chicago had left.
If Tyler caught him here, Cole would get a lecture. There was no danger of that, though, because his brother wouldn’t set foot on this part of River Street. He said it was because he didn’t want to give the hope peddlers an audience, but Cole suspected Tyler feared temptation. Walk past the peddlers and he might hear a pitch that would make him dig into his pocket for coins they couldn’t afford to spare, wagering them on the dream of a better life in New Chicago.
New Chicago. The name itself rang with promise. People from across the nation fought starvation and bandits and the infected to get to the great city. When they were finally admitted, after weeks in quarantine outside, they wept. But they did not weep for joy.
They’d heard that New Chicago was like the metropolises of old, clean and safe and bursting with promise. Instead they found a ravaged place with peddlers selling maps to the city they’d just left.
Tyler’s dream wasn’t to leave New Chicago. He knew there was nothing better for them out there. But there was something better in here: Garfield Park. Beyond its walls was a real city—safer, cleaner, better. To get in, though, you needed money. Lots of it.
As Cole passed through the hope peddlers, he noticed a group gathered in front of one booth.
“—guaranteed to ward off the infected,” the young woman was saying.
She was about Tyler’s age—twenty-two—and dressed in not nearly enough, given the bitter wind driving off the river. That, Cole decided, explained her crowd.
“—my friend Wally,” she continued, waving at a barely upright drunk beside her. “He was out there, beyond the city walls, for three days and not a single one of the infected bothered him. Why? Because he was wearing this.”
Cole pressed into the crowd, as if straining to see what she held. His fingers slid into a man’s bulging jacket pocket. Out came a switchblade. Then he reached into a woman’s shopping bag and nicked two bruised apples. While the crowd absently shoved him back, he tucked his winnings under his jacket. Then he backed out and continued on.
This part of the market was the best for lifting and picking. There were always crowds, and there were always distracted people, most who’d just finished their shopping farther up.
If Tyler found out what Cole was doing, he’d get another lecture, this one about empathy. If they started stealing from other people, they were no better than the infected. But life here was a battle, and only the strongest would survive. Tyler knew that. He worked for Russ McClintock, the most feared man in New Chicago. Tyler wanted better for Cole, though. He always had. So he pretended he slung boxes and cleaned warehouses for McClintock, and Cole pretended he spent all day reading the books Tyler brought home. And both brothers slowly added to the small fortune they’d need to buy their way into Garfield Park.
Cole was moving slowly past the peddlers’ booths, as if reluctantly being pulled along by some other task. You had to act as if you were just passing through so you didn’t catch the attention of the peddlers themselves, who hated anyone stealing from their marks before they could.
Cole came through every other day and picked only four or five pockets before moving on. It helped that he was small for his sixteen years, average looking and clean. The “clean” part counted for a lot in New Chicago. Good water was so hard to come by, but Russ McClintock liked his employees to be shaven and scrubbed—it lifted them above the riffraff. So he had plenty of reasonably clean water, and he let Tyler bring Cole around for baths, in expectation of recruiting him someday.
Cole was almost through the hope peddlers when he caught sight of something interesting. A man from Garfield Park. You could tell because his clothing didn’t look like it had been mended more than a time or two. Cole’s gaze slipped to the man’s right jacket pocket. It gaped open, ready for the picking. Unfortunately, the man looked uncomfortable here, his gaze darting about. Not an easy mark.
The man finally found what he was looking for—an older man with a dragging leg, cheeks patchy with graying stubble, eyes dull with the “New Chicago look,” that empty gaze, expecting nothing. When the old man saw the guy from Garfield Park, he lifted a hand in greeting. The rich man’s eyes narrowed, as if thinking the old guy looked vaguely familiar. Then he nodded and approached. They exchanged a few words and headed toward an alley. Cole followed.
He knew his way through the alleys around the market. Now, seeing where the two men were going, he skirted down a side road and came out near the end of their alley.
“I remember you had an interest in special items, Mr. Murray,” the older man was saying, his voice a hoarse rumble. “A scholarly interest.”
“If you summoned me here to sell me some cheap bauble—”
“I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Murray. I know you’re a very busy man. This is something special. I’m told it’s well known in certain circles.”
“Everything is well known in certain circles,” Murray snapped. “And almost all of it is as worthless as that crap they’re hawking out there, so if—”
“It’s a monkey’s paw.”
Silence. Cole inched toward the corner.
“A what?” Murray said finally.
Fabric rustled, as if the older man was pulling something from his pocket. Cole leaned around the corner. He could see the old man holding something, but he couldn’t make out what it was.
“There’s a legend—” the old man began.
Now it was Murray cutting him short. “I’ve heard it.”
“Three wishes. They say the paw grants three wishes.”
Murray snorted. “If it did, you wouldn’t be here trying to sell it to me.”
“I … made mistakes,” the old man said. “I didn’t know you need to be very, very careful what you ask for. The gentleman who gave me the paw tried to explain, but I heard only the part about the wishes. He was a wealthy man I’d helped, as I used to help you. He wanted to help me in return. So he gave me this. He told me to take care, but I didn’t listen and I used up my wishes.”
“And now you want to sell it to me?”
The old man shook his head. “Not sell. Give it away, as it was given to me. That’s only right. You helped me, Mr. Murray, and I never thought I’d be able to properly thank you. But now I can.”
“If you expect me to believe—”
“Then don’t. It is, as I said, freely given. At worst, it would make an amusing addition to your collection.”
Murray snorted again, but he dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of bills. He took the paw. When the old man didn’t reach for the bills, Murray let them drop. Then he walked away.
Cole ducked back as Murray passed, but the man was busy shoving the paw into his pocket.
Cole looked down the alley. The old man was walking away. He’d left the bills on the ground.
Cole slid soundlessly down the alley. When he reached the bills, the old man looked over his shoulder. Cole froze. He could easily scoop up the money and run, but too many of his brother’s teachings had stuck and instead he pointed down.
“You dropped those, sir.”
“Take them,” the old man said.
Cole hesitated, but the man seemed serious. Cole supposed Tyler would say it was the principle of the thing. The old man had tried to repay a debt, and if Murray was too uncouth to accept the gift, that was his problem.
“Thanks,” Cole said. “Here.”
He tossed one of his apples. The old man caught it and nodded, unsmiling. Then he continued on, dragging his bad leg behind him. Cole scooped up the cash and took off after Murray.
Cole wanted that paw. He didn’t believe it had any special properties. There was no magic in this world. He wanted it because it would amuse Tyler. He’d tease Cole about it every time his little brother complained. You miss Pepsi and burgers, bud? Why don’t you ask the paw? Just be sure to ask carefully, or you’ll get rat and piss.
Lately, making his brother laugh practically took magic. Hell, most people hadn’t found much to laugh about in ten years. Not since H2N3.
H2N3. A boring name for what had, in the beginning, been a boring virus. People got it, they suffered through a mild flu, and they recovered. Then they’d get it again. And again and again. Traditional treatments didn’t work and the rate of spread was insane. Soon it was putting a massive strain on health care and workplaces across the world. Something had to be done. A vaccine had to be found. And one was.
Later people would say that the vaccine testing process had been rushed, that the results were faked, that it was a conspiracy by the drug companies in collusion with the government. But Tyler said no—he remembered their parents nursing them through round after round of the flu, grumbling at the government to hurry up and approve the vaccine. Finally, people got it and everything seemed fine.
Then the reports started coming in. Gangs of ordinary people roaming the streets, attacking passersby for pocket change. People on the subway being murdered for a sandwich or a cup of coffee. The victims who survived reported that it was like being savaged by a wild animal—clawing and biting and ripping. Then those who’d been bitten began to change, to become like their attackers.
“It was a zombie apocalypse,” people said, “just like in the movies.” Which was crap. Cole had seen a zombie movie once, sneaking in when Tyler’s friends brought one over. The infected were not zombies. They hadn’t died; they weren’t rotting. They’d just changed. They’d become feral—that’s the word Tyler used. Whatever stops a hungry person from attacking a kid for an apple, that’s what the infection robbed from its victims.
Ten years later, most of the population was infected. The rest had retreated to fortified cities like New Chicago. If there was any real hope left, it was that eventually the infected would annihilate themselves out there. But they sure weren’t hurrying to do it. In the cities, things weren’t much better, as the increasing shortage of food and clean water meant that you could still lose your life over an apple, murdered by a regular person who needed it to survive.
In a world like that, if you could do something to lighten someone’s spirits, you did it. So Cole wanted that paw for Tyler.
When Cole caught up, Murray was holding it again, looking down on it with distaste, as if he wanted to be rid of the thing.
Just toss it in the trash, Cole thought. Or in the gutter.
Murray paused outside a soup shop. The smell made Cole’s mouth water, but even with those bills in his pocket, he wasn’t tempted. Before Tyler worked for McClintock, he’d run errands for these shops—killing rats down at the river and digging rotted vegetables out of the market trash. That’s what you could expect from prepared food in New Chicago.
Murray didn’t seem to know that. The rich scent of hot soup caught his attention, and he followed it to the shop door. Then he paused and fingered the paw.
It’s dirty. Filthy, Cole thought. You’ll need to wash before you eat now. Just get rid of it.
Murray shoved the paw into his pocket and walked inside.
In the old days, this place wouldn’t have been considered a shop at all, much less a restaurant. Cole remembered restaurants. Fast food ones mostly. Sometimes, now, he’d wake thinking he smelled fries and it would set him in a lousy mood all day. Tyler would tease that, of all the things you could miss, fried potatoes should rank near the bottom. But they both knew it wasn’t really the fries—it was the idea that you could walk into a big, gleaming restaurant, scrub your hands with free soap and water, and order hot, safe food for less than half the twenty bucks your dad gave your brother when he decided to take you to the park that morning.
This soup shop would have fit in one of those fast food restrooms. Hell, it probably had been the restroom for this place, once a big department store, the top two floors now destroyed in the bombings, the remainder divvied up into a score of tiny, dark “shops.” There were certainly no tables or chairs. You pushed your way up to the counter, got your soup, and pushed your way to a spot to eat it, standing. You could take it outside, but with November winds blowing through threadbare clothes, Cole suspected most patrons didn’t even really want the soup—it just gave them a chance to squeeze in someplace warm.
Murray would take his soup and go—Cole could tell that by the contemptuous gazes the man shot around him. He even seemed to be reconsidering whether he wanted to remain long enough to get a meal. Cole had to act fast. He slid up behind Murray and got into position. Then, when a man left the counter, jostling and elbowing through the crowd, Cole knocked into Murray.
Murray spun on him, scowling.
“Sorry,” Cole said.
He offered a chagrined smile. Murray muttered something, turned, and pushed his own way through the crowd, stalking out.
Cole watched him go. Then he glanced down at the paw in his hand. He smiled, shoved it deep into his pocket, and made his way out.
Tyler was in a foul mood, which was rare. It was usually Cole who grumbled while Tyler soldiered through. Today was different. Cole knew that as soon as he saw the candle burning.
Tyler often joked that they had a penthouse apartment. Not only was it on the top floor, but they even had a second story. The roof had been blasted off, so their upper floor was four walls with no ceiling. Those walls, though, cut most of the wind and they could spend the daylight hours up there and save their candles and lantern oil. If Tyler was staying on the first floor and burning a candle mid-afternoon, something was wrong.
“Where were you?” Tyler demanded as Cole crawled in.
His brother was sitting on a chair—actually a crate, but they called them chairs. He was playing solitaire with a worn deck, slapping the cards down onto another crate, this one known as “the dining room table.”
“Just walking. Getting some air.”
“Did you finish your schoolwork?”
“I read three chapters in history and two of Moby-Dick. I also swept and emptied the piss bucket, as you can see—and smell.”
Tyler sighed and gathered up the cards. “Sorry, bud. Rough day.”
“I see that. Catch.”
He tossed Tyler the remaining apple. The corners of his brother’s mouth quirked. “Thanks.” He started to take a bite and stopped. “Do you have one?”
“Already ate it.”
“Are you sure? You need more fruits and vegetables. I—”
“I ate one, Ty. Go ahead.”
His brother worried that poor diet was the reason Cole was so small. He doubted it. He remembered kindergarten—his only year of school before the world went to hell. He’d been the smallest kid there, too. But Tyler still worried. Some days, Cole thought that was the only thing keeping his brother going—worries and problems and the faint hope that he could fix them.
Tyler didn’t ask where the apple came from. Cole was in charge of the money and the shopping. Tyler considered it a practical application of his math lessons, which made it easy for Cole to sneak extra cash into the kitty and put extra food on the table.
Tyler took a bite of the apple, snuffed out the candle, and waved for them to go upstairs, where they pulled pillows and thick old blankets out of a box. Cushioned and bundled against the cold, they rested, enjoying the faint warmth of the late-day sun.
“So what happened at work?” Cole asked.
“Same shit, different day.” Tyler paused and then looked over. “When you were out, did you hear anything? Rumors? News?”
“Like what?”
Another pause, longer now, until Cole pressed.
“They say one of the infected got in,” Tyler said.
“Again? What’s that? Third time this month?”
“Yeah. It’s getting worse. They always catch them, but the fact that they’re getting in … ” Tyler shook his head. “Just … be careful, okay? When you’re out?”
“I always am.”
After a moment, Tyler asked, “So, how much money do we have so far?”
He said it casually, just an offhand question, but Cole knew it wasn’t offhand at all. This was what was really bothering his brother—that the situation in New Chicago seemed to worsen so much faster than their stash grew.
“Four hundred and sixty-eight dollars to go,” Cole said.
Tyler swore.
“We’ll make it,” Cole said. “Less than a year, I bet.”
“I used to earn that much in a month, mowing lawns. Then I’d blow it on video games and movies.”
“We’ll get there.”
Silence fell for at least five minutes. Then, without looking over, Tyler said, “We have enough to get you in.”
“No.”
“But we could—”
“No. We go together, or we stay together. If you want to make money faster, let me work. McClintock offered me a job—”
“No.”
“But if I was working, we’d have enough by—”
And there was the impasse. Cole wouldn’t go without Tyler, and Tyler wouldn’t let him work for McClintock. Cole’s “job” was studying. There were real careers in Garfield Park, like in the old days—doctors and businessmen and teachers. Most kids Cole’s age couldn’t even read and write. That would give him an advantage, Tyler said. Cole couldn’t see how taking a few months off would make much difference, but he knew it wasn’t really about that. It was about Cole staying away from McClintock and the life he offered.
“We’ll get there,” Cole said.
Tyler tried for a smile, pushed to his feet, and rumpled his brother’s hair. “I know we will. I’m just in a mood. I need to go back to work. Big job tonight. It’ll be late.”
“I’ll lock up.”
Tyler laughed. “Yeah. You do that. And see if you can’t get another couple of chapters read before the light’s gone.”
It was only after Tyler left that Cole remembered the paw. He was sitting there, trying to come up with other ways to make money, when he remembered it. Even then, he didn’t think “I can wish for money!” He wasn’t that stupid. Instead, he took it out, turned it over in his hands, and wondered how much he could get for it.
You could just wish for the money, he imagined Tyler saying.
His brother would laugh when he said it, but there’d be a little piece that wouldn’t be laughing. A piece that would be hoping, even if he’d never admit it. Tyler would make that wish, just in case.
Cole chuckled softly to himself as he fingered the mangy fur. “All right, then. I wish—”
No, the old man said he had to be careful. Be specific.
Cole closed his eyes. “I wish for five hundred dollars.”
He sat there, clutching the paw. It felt familiar, and it took him a moment to realize why. Because it reminded him of another paw he’d had once—a rabbit’s foot that he’d insisted on buying on their last family road trip before H2N3 hit. His lucky rabbit’s foot. He’d carried it everywhere for a month and then stuffed it away in a drawer. The last time he’d seen it, he’d been making a wish. Clutching it and praying that the bite on his mother’s arm hadn’t infected her. Praying she’d walk out of the quarantine ward and come home and see the rabbit’s foot, laugh, and say, “Good god, Cole. Do you still have that flea-bitten old thing?”
Of course, she hadn’t come out. She’d been infected, so they put her down.
Put down.
They had a dog once that had to be put down. It wasn’t the same thing.
When Cole opened his eyes, he could feel tears prickling. He swiped them away with a scowl and then turned that scowl on the monkey’s paw.
Yeah, you’ll make me some money all right. As soon as I figure out how to sell you.
Cole scoured the commercial section of New Chicago—the market and the shops—trying to figure out where he could sell the paw. The old man had talked like people knew what it was, and Murray said he did. Was it a famous superstition, like a rabbit’s foot? If it was, it had to be rarer—there were a whole lot more rabbits around than monkeys. But if it was too rare, could he sell it without someone realizing that he’d stolen it?
He was walking past the hope peddlers, when someone called, “You! Boy!” He glanced over his shoulder to see the old man, bearing down on him. Cole tensed to run, but he couldn’t, not without causing a scene that would mean he’d be remembered here for weeks.
He waited for the man to catch up. “If you want that money back, you said I could have it.”
“No, it’s not that.”
The old man waved him to the side. He looked agitated. Upset, not angry. Cole relaxed a little.
“If you need some of the money back, I could—” he began.
“No.” The old man turned. “It’s something else. There was a paw.”
“A what?”
“A monkey’s paw.”
Cole fixed the man with his best look of confusion. “A paw from a monkey? I took that money, and only because you said I could. If you dropped anything else, I didn’t see—”
“I gave the paw to a man.”
Cole stiffened. “If you’re accusing me of stealing—”
“I don’t care if you filched it or found it.” He met Cole’s gaze imploringly. “This is very important, son. Do you have the paw?”
Cole felt a flicker of guilt. Maybe he could just give … No, it might be a trick, forcing him to admit to theft.
“I don’t have anything like that.” Cole opened his jacket. “Go ahead and check.” He’d left the paw safely in their cubby.
The old man shook his head. “All right. I’m sorry, son. That’s what the money was for, so I thought maybe you’d followed the man who got it. He says it was pinched from his pocket.”
“He probably changed his mind and wants his money, without giving you the paw back. People do that kind of thing. They’ll take whatever they can get here.”
“I know.” The old man’s words came out on a sigh.
“I could look for it,” Cole said. “I’m pretty good at finding things.”
A faint smile. “No. With any luck, it’s gone for good. I only hope that bastard got a chance to try it first.”
“Try it?”
The old man clapped Cole on the back. “Nothing. Go on, son. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
As the old man started to walk away, Cole called, “Wait. If I do hear about it, should I tell you? Or does it go back to your friend?”
“Oh, he’s not my friend. And I would most gladly see him take the accursed thing. In fact, I’d pay to give it to him again.” He paused. “Let’s say ten dollars. If you do hear of it … ”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
Cole had no idea what the old man had been talking about, but at least now he had a plan. He’d wait a day, and then say he’d scoured the alley where they’d first met and he’d found the paw there. Ten dollars was more than he’d hoped to get selling it.
Maybe the “accursed thing” did work, in its way. It was just like everything else in New Chicago. You had to lower your expectations. Significantly. Wish for five hundred bucks. Get ten instead.
Cole laughed softly as he approached his building. Then he stopped. There were three men outside. Two huge thugs and an older man in the middle. Russ McClintock.
When they heard him coming, they all turned. Cole couldn’t see their expressions in the gathering dark, but he called a greeting.
“Is Tyler looking for me?” he asked, hooking his thumb toward the building.
“No, Cole.” McClintock stepped away from his goons. “I came to talk to you.”
“Me? If this is about a job—”
“It’s about Tyler.”
Cole’s heart began to thump. “T-Tyler? Where—?”
“There was an accident on the job tonight. Tyler’s team was scouting in one of the abandoned skyscrapers. The floor gave way. Your brother fell.”
“Fell? Where is he? Is he okay?”
“No, Cole. He’s … not okay. It was a long fall. He didn’t make it. I’m sorry. I know how close you two were and, while it was an accident, I take care of my own.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “This is five hundred dollars. For you.”
Cole sat in the dark, shivering and alone. He’d already flown into a rage. He’d already broken things. He’d already cried. Now he sat on his crate with the pile of money in front of him. But he wasn’t looking at the stack. He was looking at the crate where he’d hidden the paw.
That accursed thing.
Cole hadn’t been specific enough—he hadn’t said how he wanted the money. So the paw provided it, in the worst possible way. That’s why the old man gave it to Murray. Cole had no idea what Murray had done to the old man, but it had been something, and that “gift” was revenge. That’s why he hadn’t taken the bills.
I killed my brother. I was foolish and I was greedy, and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could be lucky. I got my money and it cost me the only thing I cared about.
Unless …
Cole rose and made his way to the crate. He reached in and found it, down in the bottom.
The monkey’s paw.
He could use it to bring Tyler back. He’d learned his lesson. He took the paw’s powers seriously now and he knew to be very, very careful what he asked for. That was the trick. And if it failed? Well, it had already done its worst.
Still, he formulated his request with care.
“I wish my brother—”
Was alive again? Hell, no. That wasn’t nearly specific enough. Tyler would probably rise from wherever McClintock dumped him, his broken body crawling back—
Cole shivered. No, he’d read too many horror novels to make that mistake.
“I wish my brother, Tyler, was alive and healed, just as he was before he fell, and I want him to be right outside our building, safely standing on the ground, in two minutes, with no memory of how he died or how he arrived there, just thinking that he’s come home, tired, after a regular job.”
There. You couldn’t get any more specific than that.
Cole stuffed the monkey’s paw back in the crate. He crawled out into the dark alley, looked one way and then the other. There was no sign of Tyler.
Had he done something wrong? He ran through the wish again. No, it was specific—
“Hey,” said a voice behind him. “What are you doing out here? Locking up?”
He turned and saw Tyler. His brother managed a faint smile and then rubbed his eyes. He yawned and looked around, blinking as if confused.
Cole’s heart thudded and he wanted to run over and hug Tyler like he hadn’t since he was twelve. But he didn’t dare, as if Tyler might evaporate the minute he threw his arms around him.
“You okay?” Cole asked finally.
“Yeah. Just a long day.” Another tired smile as Tyler clapped Cole on the back. “Come on, bud. Let’s get inside.”
Tyler had conked out as soon as he lay down. It took hours for Cole to fall asleep. He kept crawling over and listening to make sure his brother was still breathing. He was. He seemed fine. He’d rubbed his right arm a few times, but there was nothing wrong with it that Cole could see. He must have knocked it before the fall and it still stung.
Finally Cole drifted off. He’d barely gotten to sleep when Tyler bolted awake, Cole jumping up, too.
“Jake,” Tyler said. “Goddamn, Jake. That son of a bitch!”
Cole scrambled over, his heart thudding again. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jake. That bastard pushed me—” Tyler stopped and blinked. He looked around, as if getting his bearings. “Okay … ”
“What?”
Tyler shook his head sharply, the anger gone from his voice. “I was dreaming that I was on the job last night. We were in a building, ten floors up. Jake pushed me over the edge.”
“Well, obviously he didn’t.” Cole’s laugh was strained, but Tyler didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, obviously not.” Tyler rubbed his arm again.
“Are you okay?” Cole asked, pointing at the arm.
“Yeah. Must have done something to it.” Tyler clenched and unclenched his fist. “Seems fine, though. Sorry I woke you.”
“No problem.”
Cole lay down again. Jake was the leader of the gang Tyler worked with. Had he actually pushed Tyler? Had Tyler found something that Jake wanted? Or could it have been on McClintock’s orders? Was that why he’d been so generous with the payout?
Cole hadn’t decided yet what to tell Tyler about his death and resurrection. He’d need to say something. Tyler couldn’t just walk back to work tomorrow. If McClintock had ordered Tyler’s death, he really couldn’t walk back to work.
He’d have to tell Tyler the truth, as crazy as it was.
“Cole? How much money do we have now?” Tyler asked in the darkness.
Cole stiffened. “Uh, five hundred and thirty-two dollars. Like I said this afternoon.”
“Right.” A pause. “Can I see it?”
“Now?”
“Sure. I just want to … ” Tyler trailed off. “No. I don’t … Why … ?” A soft laugh. “Damn, I really am tired. I have no idea what I’m saying.”
“Oh, I know what you’re saying. You want to see where I’m hiding the money so you can slip some out and buy me more books. Uh-uh. That money is hidden for a reason. I do not want more books.”
Tyler laughed again. It was true—he had a bad habit of raiding the kitty to buy things that he decided Cole absolutely must have, which was why it was hidden.
“Go back to sleep,” Cole said. “Everything’s fine.”
Cole jolted awake to see Tyler’s face over his. His brother’s eyes were wild and bloodshot, his face twisted, nearly unrecognizable.
“Wh-what?” Cole managed.
Tyler grabbed him by the shirtfront and yanked him up. “I want my money, you goddamn little punk. It’s mine. I earned it.”
I’m having a nightmare. I must be. This isn’t Tyler.
“Can you hear me, brat? I said I want my money.”
Something’s wrong. Look at him. Something’s really, really wrong.
“You’re having another bad dream,” Cole babbled. “Like earlier. With Jake. You’re overtired. You’re just—”
Tyler wrenched him up and threw him across the tiny room. Cole hit the wall and slumped to the floor, staring as Tyler advanced on him.
This is not my brother. Something went wrong. The monkey’s paw. It tricked me. It did something to …
Cole’s gaze dropped to Tyler’s arm. The spot he’d been rubbing earlier was bright red now.
Cole remembered their father coming home one night, while they were still at home, while they still had a home, before the military began sending people into walled neighborhoods like Garfield Park and bombing the rest, trying to exterminate the infected.
Their father had come home, tired and dazed. In the middle of the night, he’d woken up. And he’d come after them.
You brats. You ungrateful brats. Spending my money. Eating my food.
As Tyler reached for him, Cole’s gaze shot to his brother’s arm. To that fevered red spot. To the white semicircles around it. The faint scars of a bite mark.
They say that one of the infected got in.
It’s Jake. That bastard pushed me.
Because Tyler had been bitten. He’d gotten ambushed by one of the infected, and Jake saw it happen and pushed him over the edge because he knew what was coming. Because Jake was a friend and that’s what you did if a friend got bitten. You gave him a quick and merciful death.
Then I brought him back. I asked for Tyler back as he was before the fall, whole and healed. So the bite healed, but his body was still infected.
Cole swung as hard as he could, plowing his brother in the jaw. Tyler stumbled back. Cole leaped up and raced to his dresser crate. He snatched the monkey’s paw and tore out the door.
Cole didn’t lead Tyler out onto the street. He might attack someone else. More important, though, he could be spotted. Cole had to solve this himself. So he stayed inside their bombed-out building, leapfrogging over small debris piles and hiding behind bigger ones, keeping one step ahead of Tyler as he tried to figure out what to do next.
He remembered the night their father got infected. Tyler had put Cole in the locked bathroom and told him to stay there, but Cole had snuck out. He’d followed as his brother led their father through the dark streets, steering him straight to a guard station. Tyler had shouted a warning and the guards came out and … And then there was a shot.
For weeks, Cole had hated his brother. He’d run away. He’d fought when Tyler came after him. He raged and shouted and called his brother every name a ten-year-old knew. He remembered Tyler explaining that this was what their father told him to do. Once you were bitten, even if you seemed normal for a while, something inside you had changed and no matter how good a person you were, you’d hide the bite, and you wouldn’t warn anyone. So they had to kill you before you killed them.
Eventually, Cole had understood, and they’d come to a pact. If either of them was bitten, they’d do the same thing. Don’t hope for a cure. Don’t hope it would get better. They knew it wouldn’t. A merciful death. That was the final gift they could give, as Jake had for Tyler.
Except this was different. Cole still had one wish left.
One cursed wish. One wish that would almost certainly go wrong.
The first time, he’d blamed himself for being careless. Yet he hadn’t been careless with his second wish. He just didn’t know all the facts, and there was no way around that, no way to account for every possibility.
Cole knew what Tyler would want him to wish for. Grant Tyler a merciful passing. Undo the second wish. Protect himself. Don’t take a chance.
For six years, everything Tyler had done, he’d done for Cole. To give him a better life. Now that dream was within Cole’s grasp. He had the money to get into Garfield Park and plenty of extra to help him lead a good life, a safe life, a hopeful life.
A life without Tyler.
What kind of future was that? His brother had already sacrificed everything for him and now he had to sacrifice his life, too? Tyler didn’t deserve that. Goddamn it, Tyler did not deserve it. If the world was a just place, Cole would be the one infected and Tyler would put him down and get the kind of life he truly deserved.
But that wasn’t happening. Cole had two choices: undo his second wish or pin his hopes on a third cursed one.
Cole rounded a chunk of wall and nearly ran into his brother. Tyler snarled and lunged at him. Cole stumbled, twisting and getting his footing just as Tyler caught his shirt.
“Give me that money, you ungrateful brat. It’s mine. I worked for it while you sat on your ass and—”
Cole wrenched free. As Cole ran, Tyler continued shouting after him. Shouting insults and curses. Maybe that should help his decision. It didn’t. Cole couldn’t even tell himself that maybe this was what Tyler really felt, deep down, because he knew this was the infection talking. His brother had given him everything because it gave him a purpose, it made him happy.
And you know what he’d want to give you now. The best chance possible.
Which is exactly what I want to give him.
So once again, they were at an impasse. And Cole had to break it. He had to make a choice.
Cole saw a door ahead. It led into a rubble-filled room. When they’d first arrived here four years ago, they’d tried to clear that area—a room with four standing walls and a door was rare. But the ceiling was half caved in and the rubble too heavy to move.
Now that’s where Cole ran. He raced through the door, banged it shut, and leaned against it. Then he took out the monkey’s paw and gripped it tight.
Tyler slammed into the door. It jostled Cole but stayed closed. His brother pounded, as if his mind was too far gone to even try the handle.
Now Cole had to make a choice. Wish for a merciful death? Or wish for his brother back, uninfected and healthy, and pray, just pray, that it worked out this time, because if it didn’t, he was out of wishes.
Was there a choice? Really? Was there? No. Not for him.
“I’m sorry,” Cole whispered. “I know what you’d want me to do, and I know what I have to do, and if I make the wrong choice, I’m sorry.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and very carefully, he made his wish. The words had barely left his lips before the door went still. Cole stood there, listening and hoping and praying. Then he took a deep breath, reached for the handle … and opened the door.