Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days #1)(35)

Dee shrugs. “New world, new names. We were going to be Gog and Magog”

“Those were our online names,” says Dum.

“But why go all doom and gloom?” asks Dee.

“Used to be fun being Gog and Magog when the world was Tiffany-twisted and suburban-simple,” says Dum. “But now…”

“Not so much,” says Dee. “Death and destruction are so blasé.”

“So mainstream.”

“So in with the popular crowd.”

“We’d rather be Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

I nod, because, what other response is there?

“I’m Penryn. I’m named after an exit off Interstate 80.”

“Nice.” They nod as if to say they understand what it’s like to have parents like that.

“Everyone’s talking about you,” says Dum.

Not sure I like that. That whole fight thing didn’t really go off the way I had planned. Then again, nothing in my life has gone the way I had planned.

“Great. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go hide now.” I tip my bag of frozen peas at them like a hat as I try to step between them.

“Wait,” says Dee. He lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper. “We have a business proposition for you.”

I pause and politely wait. Unless their proposition includes getting me out of here, there is nothing they can say to get me interested in any kind of business idea. But since they aren’t moving out of my way, I don’t have much of a choice but to listen.

“The crowd loved you,” says Dum.

“How about a repeat performance?” asks Dee. “Say, for a thirty-percent take of the winnings?”

“What are you talking about? Why would I risk my life for a measly thirty percent of the winnings? Besides, money doesn’t buy you anything anymore.”

“Oh, it’s not money,” says Dum. “We just use money as a shortcut for the relative value of the bet.”

His face becomes animated like he’s genuinely fascinated by the economics of post-apocalyptic gambling. “You put your name and the bet you’re making on, say, a five-dollar bill, and that just tells the bookie that you’re willing to bet something of greater value than a dollar bill, but less than a ten dollar bill. It’s the bookie who decides who gets what and who gives what. You know, like maybe someone loses a quarter of his rations and gets extra chores for a week. Or if he wins, then he gets someone else’s rations to add to his, and someone else scrubs the toilet for him for a week. Get it?”

“Got it. And the answer’s still no. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”

“No.” Dee gives me an over-the-top used car salesman’s smile. “We’re looking for a guarantee that you’ll lose.”

I burst out laughing. “You want me to throw a fight?”

“Shhh!” Dee looks around dramatically. We’re standing in the shadows between two buildings, and no one seems to notice us.

“It’ll be great,” says Dum. His eyes shine with mischief. “After what you did to Boden, the odds will be so far in your favor when you fight Anita—.”

“You want me to fight a girl?” I cross my arms. “You just want to see a cat fight, don’t you?”

“It’s not just for us,” says Dee defensively. “It’ll be a gift to the whole camp.”

“Yeah,” says Dum. “Who needs television when you’ve got all that water and laundry suds?”

“Dream on.” I shove through them.

“We’ll help you get out,” says Dee in a sing-song cadence.

I stop. My brain runs through half a dozen scenarios based on what he just said.

“We can get the keys to your cell.”

“We can distract the guards.”

“We can make sure no one checks on you until morning.”

“One fight, that’s all we ask.”

I turn to look at them. “Why would you risk treason for a mud fight?”

“You have no idea how much I’d risk for an honest-to-God mud fight between two hot women,” says Dee.

“It’s not really treason anyway,” says Dum. “Obi’s gonna let you go, it’s just a matter of timing. We’re not here to keep human prisoners. He’s overemphasizing your risk to us.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because he wants to recruit you and that guy you came with. Obi’s an only child, and he doesn’t understand,” says Dee. “He thinks keeping you around for a few days will get you to change your mind about leaving us.”

“But we know better. A few days of singing patriotic songs ain’t going to convince you to abandon your sister,” says Dum.

“Got that right, brother,” says Dee.

They touch fists in a fist bump. “Damn straight.”

I look at them. They really do understand. They’d never leave each other behind. Maybe I have a genuine ally. “Do I really have to do this silly fight to get your help?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Dee. “No question.” They both grin at me like mischievous little boys.

“How do you know all this stuff? About my sister? What Obi’s thinking?”