“This is where they lived,” I said, reverently, the last word, lived, very nearly breaking a heart that had long ago shattered into brittle, little pieces.
By then, it was just the five of us again, the crowd silenced once the front door to the statue was shut behind us. “The House of St. James,” informed Ginger, that prayer thing again taking place. Creepy. Very creepy.
“And the other houses?” I asked. “The House of Kat, the House of Bombshell?” I was only joking, of course.
Suffice it to say, it wasn’t taken as such. “Down the hallway,” said Flo. “The House of Kat is on your left.”
VaVa spoke up next. “The House of Bombshell on your right.”
“All sacred,” said Ginger.
“Sacred,” echoed Flo.
“Sacred,” echoed VaVa.
I scratched beneath my wig. “Uh, right. But we’re tired now, from the long flight. Maybe you can come back for us in a couple of hours.”
The three queens nodded, smiled, and then promptly left, their high heels loudly clanking down the hallway before they exited the building, pooped out of Libby herself. It was then that Dara turned to me. “We don’t get tired, hon.”
I grinned. “I know, but a little of those three goes a hell of a long way. Now I know why the guys at the drag bar were always so drunk: out of necessity.”
Dara chuckled. “I used to know a drag queen by that name: Nessa Titty. Or was it Messa Titty?” She shrugged. “Anyway, point taken, girlfriend. One and one doesn’t seem to be adding up to two around here.”
I nodded as I had myself a look around. This had clearly been Destiny’s room, a one-time office converted to living quarters. Even after all these years, I recognized her taste (or lack thereof). But what most caught my interest were the Polaroids, all clearly taken post-apocalypse, all of my friends. Oh to be able to cry again, to feel the bursting of my heart upon seeing them after so long.
Dara trudged over and patted my back. “They were . . . beautiful.”
I laughed. “Nice try.”
“They were your friends.”
I nodded. “Better. And, yes. In fact, they saved me, turned me, even at their own peril. I could’ve just as easily eaten them.”
She pointed at Kit Kat, a Snickers Bar in one hand, martini in the other, her smile blinding. “Well, maybe not all of them. At least not in one sitting.”
I turned and rubbed our foreheads together, a kiss added to the mix. Thankfully, though I couldn’t cry or pump my heart’s now stagnant blood, I could still very much love. “I wish you could have met them.”
She smiled and kissed me in return, her purpled lips lingering on my own. “It looks like I have, though, right? Ginger and VaVa and Flo: they emulate them down to the clothes on their backs, their wigs, their makeup. Like I used to dress up to look like Britney, they do so to your friends. But why? And all these years later? All of them doing it, too. Every man and woman and child on this island of theirs.”
“Back to the beginning, as they so frequently put it.” I set the picture of Kit back down and touched my fingertip to the glass. I sighed, if only in my head. “My friends survived the solar flares and headed to New York. Makes sense that they’d end up here, surrounded by water, safe from the zombies. Others would have done the same, created a community out here. Plus, they had the ferries at their disposal, so they could’ve made excursions to New York, hence the clothes, the makeup, anything else they would’ve needed until they could plant some crops and barrier trees, once the radiation levels diminished enough. But, by then, my friends would’ve been long dead (it smarted even to say it), so why the cult following? This House of St. James we’re in, it might as well be a church, or at least the reliquary of one.”
“And why us?” she added. “Here, now, I mean? What could they possibly need with us, or, more than likely, you? Everything appears normal enough.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Apart from an entire race of drag queens, you mean.”
She shrugged, grinned. “It could be worse, though.”
I nodded my head. Worse indeed. I, after all, intimately knew of worse. “Funny thing is, I literarily saved all of our humans. Their ancestors owe their very existence to me. But they don’t worship me, minions though they are. In fact, they keep their distance whenever possible, the forces of life and death at odds with one another. So why my friends, why worship them?”
Dara walked around the room, admiring the furnishings. We were so used to the bare minimum, to an existence in a salt factory, to concrete and rust. This, at least, reminded us of what we once had, what life had once been like. “Well, your friends weren’t zombies, for one. Have you noticed how these queens are nice to us, but still don’t much like to look at us too closely, to touch us, to even acknowledge what we are beneath the dresses and makeup?”
I nodded, frowned. “Well, we are zombies, dearest. The walking undead. Like I said, opposing forces to them. If the pump was on the other foot, I would feel the same way, I suppose.”