There’s a tapping noise at the door. A tall plague doctor stands there, tapping his silver-sheathed fingers on the glass, vulture-like beaked mask nearly touching the door. Behind him are two more sliders, one leaning on the other for support, the woman I saw earlier with mechanical legs, holding a crying little girl, and a gaggle of other survivors.

  The soldiers guarding the door draw their rifles, but Lance rushes forward, barking at them to “let it in,” physically shoving the rifles upward if he has to. The tall haunt slider nods at Lance as he steps inside, but his gaze seems to linger on Isaac, even as he motions the two other sliders toward the kitchen, where Ozzy and the female are.

  Lance welcomes the rest of the group, looking at the child and patting down his pockets, wincing in dawning realization.

  “We can’t find her parents,” the steamborg woman in a formerly-fine gown whimpers, the girl staring blankly ahead.

  “We’ll take care of her,” Lance insists, gesturing the woman toward a table, where she sits the girl down, telling her how brave she’s being.

  I follow them, taking the bracelet off my tail, and lean down to talk to the girl.

  “Hey,” I tell her, holding it out. “My bracelet’s magic, and it’ll keep the monsters away. Will you keep it safe for me?”

  Silently, the girl nods, her face sticky with tears, cradling the glowing blue strap in both hands like a teddy bear.

  “Thank you, miss,” the steamborg says, even though she won’t look directly at the bracelet. “That’s very kind.”

  Back in the kitchens, Ozzy seems to be trading the taller slider with the vulture-like mask medical supplies in exchange for candy apples, a pair of Jester and Harlequin climbing under the newcomer’s hat. He immediately gets to work on the injured slider, although I can’t see what the injury is or what he’s doing to fix it, using his frame to block out onlookers and tending to her in a back corner.

  “That one wanders off every so often, and comes back with more people,” Lance explains, tail coiling on itself speculatively. “Scares the bejeepers out of everyone when he does it.”

  “Yeah, well, now the plague doctors are unionizing,” Isaac growls darkly, watching how they’re forming a group in the kitchen.

  When he’s satisfied with whatever he’s been doing with the other female slider, he has Ozzy open his coat and runs his hands along the waistcoat, presumably checking the ribs. Isaac rubs the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck, looking a bit guilty.

  “Do you guys have a plan?” I ask the soldier. “Like…getting these people to their cars, or something?”

  “We’re still gathering intel,” he explains. “It looks like most things have…gotten real. There’s been reports of dinosaurs, pirates, horses of a different color…honestly, we might be better off moving everyone to Soul Survivor. The water might be radioactive, but at least it isn’t going to hunt you down.”

  Isaac jumps, suddenly realizing the vulture-faced slider has materialized behind him, staring up at the taller man, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Um…can I help you?” Isaac asks.

  “Medicum Venenum doesn’t like the sound of Patient I See You’s heart,” the slider replies in an aristocratic English accent.

  “Medi-who now?”

  The slider seizes Isaac in a smothering hug, at first glance like a frightened child seeking the comfort of an authority figure, until I realize he’s got where his ear should be, if his skull is still humanoid, over Isaac’s heart, and one hand on the eyeless man’s wrist and another at neck.

  “Um…hi there,” Isaac mutters, giving the plague doctor an awkward head-pat.

  “Shhh…” the plague doctor whispers. “He is listening to the patient’s heart.”

  Lance and I stand in confused silence, watching Isaac’s annoyed disapproval until the plague doctor lets him go.

  “Dolichostenomelia, hypermobility, and soft-hearted,” the haunt slider observes.

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that tonight,” the eyeless man growls.

  “Patient I See You should avoid stress and caffeine. He recommends rest and chamomile tea.”

  “…Right.”

  The vulture-faced plague doctor nods and then looks down at my feet. “Patient Snake Charmer needs to keep feet elevated until blisters heal. Wear socks and loose-fitting shoes.”

  Without another word, he then moves to the next patient, a parkgoer who seems to have a twisted ankle.

  “I swear they’re getting weirder,” the soldier muses.

  I look up at Isaac. “What was that about?”

  He shrugs, “They’re nuts. Does it matter?”

  I bite my tongue. If Isaac can get fictional steampunk technology working, it stands to reason the plague doctors can do the same thing with the body. It’s more than a little disconcerting how they keep saying the same thing, although the vulture-faced one might have just been repeating Ozzy. “Soft-hearted” doesn’t exactly feel like a term of endearment, the way they say it.

  “I got more soldiers that could use your help,” Lance asks. “Some tune-ups and calibrations. Do you mind?”

  “Sure,” the eyeless man replies, following Lance, myself in tow, since I have nowhere else to be, and nothing better to do than to hand Isaac his tools.

  After fine-tuning the motor control in one soldier’s prosthetic limb, the tall, eyeless man stretches, hands at his hips, arched backward to a degree that makes my back hurt, highlighting the crookedness in his spine and a divot in his chest, accentuating the disproportionate length in his arms and legs compared to his short torso. I feel like the plague doctors are definitely sensing something about him, but for all I know it could be an artifact of his costume.

  “I hate this macho crap,” Isaac growls.

  “What?” I ask, putting his tools back in the toolbox, save for the oversized wrench he keeps at his hip.

  “Men with rifles, men working on engines, men doing man things,” he explains, shaking his lanky frame out. “I was steered toward being a theater kid early, since tap or violin or drama was less likely to get me hurt over football and soccer. Then I dislocated my shoulder during a youth production of Romeo and Juliet.”

  “Really?” I snicker. “How did you manage that?”

  “Ten-year-olds, a sword fight scene, and an inattentive drama teacher,” he smiles, showing his sharpened teeth.

  “At least your good at it,” I observe, watching the soldier he just sent on his way touch his thumb to each of his fingers on the same hand in sequence.

  “I wasn’t before,” the eyeless man shrugs. “Now it’s…it’s like I can see how the puzzle pieces fit together, what’ll happen when the wires connect. It’s weird. Pretty sure I could rebuild my car out of kitchen appliances, if I had to.”

  “Lucky,” I frown. “You get machine shop, Ozzy’s a perfume dispenser, and I’m out here dressed like the pumpkin hooker.” Suddenly, I realize I’m sitting on the table like a supermodel, ankles crossed gracefully, and self-consciously readjust, trying to find a way of sitting that doesn’t flash anyone or make me look like I’m up here for a photo shoot.

  “Hey, you got an extra set of eyes. That’s more than I got.”

  There seems to be some movement in the kitchens, where the haunt sliders are hanging out. The soldiers, lead by Lance, seem to be getting ready for trade negotiations.

  “Should we see what that’s about?” I ask.

  “Yeah…better make sure the sliders don’t start a war.”

  Hopping off the table, I follow Isaac into the kitchens, where Ozzy is seated on a stack of boxed candy apples like a throne, hands resting on his knees, tail flicking like a cat watching something small move about the floor, vanilla pouring from his mask. The other sliders, masked and silent, some more birdlike than others, gather around him, even the injured one, using her doctor stick as a crutch.

  “We will heard…or you will be…hungry…” Ozzy explains, gathering as much breath as he can to speak in complete sentences.

  “What’s on your mind, doc?” Lance asks cautiosly.

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  “This is not…sustainable,” the haunt slider continues. “We cannot…wait here…forever…Supplies are limited…”

  “And what’s stopping us from taking them from you?” Lance asks, his one eyebrow raised above one remaining, hazel eye.

  Осовец moves the hem of his coat, revealing a box of ammo sitting next to him. Lance’s spine goes rigid, his hands reaching for it like it’s the most important treasure on Earth, and, all things considered, it might be.

  “Where did you get that?” Lance demands. “Why do you have that?”

  “Magpies,” Isaac mutters under his breath.

  The box was an empty box this morning. Pretty sure it’s full, now.

  Before Lance can approach, Ozzy adjusts his coat again, the box is gone.

  “You have not…the ammunition…to waste on…infighting,” Ozzy explains. “We merely…wish to be…heard.”

  “What do you propose?” Lance asks.

  “Props and Costumes…” the haunt slider elucidates. “…Bring back the…useful things…before…someone else…does…”

  “You remember the loading dock, right?” Isaac interjects. “You almost blew yourself up.”

  Ozzy is contemplatively quiet for some time, before replying, “Many hands…light work.”

  “The loading dock is just what we know was down there,” the eyeless man continues. “We also know there’s at least one dinosaur, and anything from any part of the park could have wandered in.”

  “You said there were civilians in need of rescue,” Lance mutters. “We could get to them, if they’re on the way.”

  “That was awhile ago,” Isaac muses, scratching his chin with a nailless index tentacle. “And that’s just what we saw. We heard more in the tunnels, and we don’t know what’s going on in Props and Costuming. The dinosaur chased me all the way here. They’ve got the big snake stored there, too, spare statues from the stage shows. There’s no telling what we’ll find, or if anything useful’s left with pirates running around.”

  “It’s, um…” I start, turning red when I realize all present are staring at me, miniskirt and crop top and all. “It’s not just weapons and water…we…um…we don’t know what people need…”

  I catch a whiff of lavender from Ozzy as Lance blinks his good eye at me, fingers fumbling together in front of me, my clawed feet pawing the ground nervously, one of the straps of my sandal digging into a raw spot.

  “We…we don’t know if…um…help is coming,” I continue, hearing my heart in my ears, black developing at the corners of my vision. “We don’t know if it’s safe to get these people to their cars…if the roads are safe…if it’s safer to be…here or…um…home right now. We’re going to need blankets…and clothes…and…maybe more stuff…”

  Lance’s soldiers convene with one another, the haunt sliders looking from mask to mask as if discussing what I said, wordlessly. Isaac smiles supportively.

  “You did good,” he whispers, his predator’s teeth in his smile not looking so scary.

  “We recommend…a small group…grab what we can…and get out,” Ozzy continues. “Haunt sliders are…fast. We will—”

  “Probably claim everything you can get your hands or claws or whatever on,” the soldier that was yelling at the female slider earlier snarls.

  “As though I would let someone under my command go without escort,” Lance barks at the argumentative soldier. “Obviously I’d go with them.”

  “Me, too,” Isaac agrees, chewing his bracelet. “I need to see what machines are down there…to know what I need.”

  “I’ll come,” I add quietly.

  “You’ll be safer here,” the eyeless man advises.

  Right. Surrounded by stressed-out soldiers while wearing less than a bikini.

  “I’m…poisonous—”

  “—venomous—”

  “—and I have eyes in the back.”

  “Nothing’s been decided yet, don’t get excited,” Lance points out, before turning back to the sliders. “Okay, so we get to this side’s Props and Costuming, load up, and get back here. Then what?”

  “Soul Survivor…is safe…empty…”

  “And toxic, no thank you,” the one-eyed soldier growls. “But we might be able to get to the parking lots…find out what’s easier, employee or guest.”

  “Nearby…hotels…might be…empty…”

  “True,” Isaac agrees. “Most people staying there are probably here, but the ones still in their rooms aren’t going to want a bunch of ghoulish weirdos showing up armed and armormed, harboring refugees or not.”

  “…Clear out…service tunnels…more defensible…”

  “Also, dark,” Lance reminds the slider. “The park guests aren’t built for seeing in the dark like you or me.”

  “There’s locker rooms with showers,” Isaac interjects. “Rooms that lock, lack of windows. It’s an option.”

  “Can we…um…” I begin, turning red again when they turn and look at me. “Can we…get word to the outside?”

  “Emergency services haven’t been answering,” Lance explains. “Probably got their hands full.”

  “There’s also…everyone else to consider,” Isaac points out. “We’re right next to the Master, and the circus. We don’t want either of them marching on us.”

  “If the Master wants his flesh, he’ll have to come and take it,” Lance growls, revealing pointed, metal teeth. “We can get a group together to get supplies from below, and then plan our next move after. That work for you?”

  “You will…be armed…and you will be…accompanied,” Ozzy nods, revealing boxes of ammo behind his coat.

  Lance moves back to the restaurant, trying to get volunteers and organizing which soldiers will stay and defend the restaurant and which ones will come. Isaac gathers his tools, flipping his wrench over in his his long fingers.

  “You stay here, the soldiers will look after you,” he advises me, picking a few pieces from the toolbox he can stow in his pockets.

  “That’s kinda what I’m afraid of,” I tell him. “If you and Ozzy are going, I’m coming, too.”

  “It’s going to be dangerous,” Isaac presses. “We don’t know what’s down there.”

  “You are not built for this,” the vulture-faced slider states.

  “Yeah, gender equality wasn’t a thing in the 1300s,” I sneer.

  “He wasn’t addressing you,” the slider continues, inclining his beaked mask toward Isaac.

  “Schei? auf eure Bauvorschriften!” Isaac snarls, pointing the wrench squarely at the thin, corvid-like man’s chest.

  The haunt slider must be a full six feet, dwarfed by the even taller Isaac. His thin limbs seem to be filling out with toned muscle, which could be tension he’s carrying, but I wonder if he’s still changing, not just becoming someone who can climb under chassis but can move engine blocks.

  “There are soldiers here you can help,” the slider continues, less than unimpressed.

  “I’m not sending people to get hurt for me,” Isaac growls.

  “Noble, but you will drag others down with you, mutant,” the slider replies.

  “You let me worry about me, you buzzard,” the eyeless man hisses.

  “What Patient I See You does is against medical advice,” the vulture sighs, before returning to his flock, evidently being seen off by the two female sliders, one injured, one remaining with her inventory.

  “What was that about?” I ask, watching Isaac flick his tail in disgust.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he insists. “But, listen. It could be really dangerous. If you’re that nervous, stay next to Ozzy, he’s…”

  “…Coming…as…well,” the small haunt slider says, offering us each a bottle of water and a dose of over-the-counter pain reliever, some bandages for my blisters, too, which I set about to putting on.

  “You nearly blew us up the last time,” Isaac protests.

  “He will not…send people…into danger…for him…” Ozzy says, watching Isaac take the pain reliever, paraphrasing what the spidery man had said a minute ago.

  I swallow the bitter pills and then say, “If this is about those people we left…look, it was bad, but we didn’t have armed soldiers with us, then. If you’re sick, tell me what you need and I’ll grab it.”

  Isaac growls, probably a less human sound than he intended.

  “I’m not si—I can’t tell you what I need. I…don’t know how to explain it.” His voice drops off from anger to confusion.

  “…Should have…thought to…milk Snake Charmer…no time…now…” Ozzy mutters, looking down at my tail.

  “Do what to me?” I snarl, wrapping my arms around my chest, causing Ozzy’s smoke to take a rubbing alcohol tang. “And neither of you can talk about not wanting people to bleed for you, and then ask me to stay here.”

  In truth, I don’t know why I want to go. I don’t know if it’s because I’m afraid of losing them, or because I feel like I have something to prove.

  By the time Lance is ready to go, his rifle having been returned, we have two haunt sliders, three soldiers, one mutant mechanic, one regular guy, and myself. It’s not a big crowd, but they’re wanting to move fast, and it’s the best way they found to divide the ammo the carrion birds had accumulated.

  Lance stands at the door, checking his rifle out. Isaac flips his wrench over and over in hand. Ozzy’s smoke has an underlying bleach smell, beneath lavender and chamomile, serrated shovel at full length. The vulture plague doctor has his doctor stick brandished like a club. My hood is spread, fangs bared.

  “Ready?” the laser-eyed commander asks. “Let’s roll.”