Candy Pop Corpse

22. Roasted S'mores Raincheck

Wind carried my frizzed hair and slapped it on my face. I held onto Charles' back as he petaled down blocks and skirted corners like a madman. "Hey, Charles? Quick question," I called over the bike's rattling, "why didn't we just drive there?"

He gave a short laugh, then shrugged his shoulders. "Figured you'd wanna see more than just the ol' hotel, and feel the breeze."

That might've been true, but I at least wanted to be comfy during the trip. And to think we had to bike all the way back, ugh. Despite the autumn breezed forcing me to squint, I kept my eyes on the scenery we passed by. Some zo―no, mortems―sat in quaint cafes sipping coffee or eating breakfast, while others paced into what was left of what I assumed to be their workplaces baring crisp suits.

Once in a blue moon we rode by those who decided to take it easy in a park or two. There, mischievous screams and laughter rang in my ears. I looked to the children playing together under their guardians' watchful gaze, melancholy drying my tongue. Mary would've loved to come here with Bonnie.

At the thought, Bonnie's last request rose to the front of my mind. Was it right to let her slip away? If I would've held on harder, o-or dragged her out no matter how hard she screamed, would she be happy? Instead, she perished in Bonnie's arms. At the hands of those savage bastards, to boot.

I tightened my hold, forcing myself to look at Charles' back instead. Seeing their apparent joy somehow didn't fit well with me. But at the same time, I couldn't blame them for my grieving. Mary's comforting words, masked by forced bravery, was still etched into the crevices of my mind. Don't waste tears, Lulu. You could do it!

With a sigh I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as their laughter grew distant. There were so many ways that incident could've been avoided, but they didn't matter. Bonnie and Mary were dead, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Light trembles trickled down my body, and I hoped Charles brushed them off as an effect of the autumn winds.

"Thanks for doing this," I mumbled, loosening my grip on his shoulders, "It's nice to get out the hotel once in awhile."

He nodded. "No problem, I can tell you needed it."

The rest of the ride was silent, and I didn't have enough courage to break the ice. Instead, I relaxed my muscles and absorbed what my senses could grasp, from the smell of freshly cut grass to the auburn trees standing at attention down a number of blocks catching my eye. But past the ordinary autumn scenery lurked a stench making my nose crinkle. It was vile, like someone took hold of a junkyard, doused it in puke and let the sun have its way with it.

After slapping a hand over my nose, I looked down to the source. Green specs polka-dotted my skin, most of them lingering near my dried cuts and bites. My lips leered back at the sight. There was no avoiding withering away, even in death. Still, these questions wouldn't go away until I reached a conclusion, right? Might as well enjoy myself while searching for the jackass before that happened.

Charles' bike turned towards a huge white building, its walls still in good standing despite the chaos. Above the walkway, a thick banner covered its original plaque title, reading Career Training Assistance Center.

Even past its glory days, the center's rows of windows and seemingly wide floors screamed to be a school versus some other company building. Was this where Charles, Wastia and Styke went? Curiosity and wonder pushed away my bitterness for the moment as Charles circled CTAC for the parking lot.

Meanwhile, I squinted at the windows for signs of the lifeless. Lights flickered on in some rooms, probably to combat the cloud-filled weather. Mortem carrying books and bags jogged past or scribbled in their notebooks. I gulped, then looked away.