.././.\\.\/

How am I supposed to smoke in handcuffs?

It's Zandra's first thought after she's "helped" into the 'cuffs. She's searched, her pockets are emptied, and she's sat at the base of a tree. Her hands, fastened behind her back, scrape against the rough bark. Chad and Bexley are similarly detained by a man covered from head to toe in camo. He's by himself, and a gaiter and sunglasses obscure his face. He's yet to say anything, but his guns do the talking.

Guns. Plural. One long rifle with a scope. Pistols on either hip. Pistol-grip shotgun slung over his back. The ammo alone must weigh a ton. That's not counting everything in the MOLLE—a sort of tactical vest.

No identification, though. No patches. No insignias. No nothing. Beyond the handcuffs, this could be a police officer or anyone else with some guns and a hero complex. God bless America.

"Aren't you supposed to read us our rights?" Bexley says.

The man in camo doesn't respond. He organizes everything he removed from the three into piles. Zandra's nifedipine, poker cards, cigarettes, and lighter go into one pile. Bexley's and Chad's portable drug dens get divided by levels of illegality, presumably.

"Hey, shithead. I want a lawyer," Chad says and kicks dirt at the man.

Again, the man ignores the protest. He finishes sorting the piles next to his rifle, which is leaning against a tree. With that done, he stands and crosses his arms like he's pondering what to do next with his three captives.

Maybe this will get his attention.

"Surprised to see me, Glenn?" Zandra says with a crooked grin.

You'd be forgiven for thinking—in the heat of the moment—that Glenn really is a cop. His commando cosplay could easily pass, except for one thing: no radio. Police officers' lifelines are their radios. Any idiot knows that.

Well, except for these two idiots next to me.

Glenn tugs down the neck gaiter, revealing a sliver of the scar that runs down his face.

"Stand up," Glenn says to Zandra.

Zandra remains seated against the tree.

I can't, idiot.

Glenn yanks Zandra to her feet. He turns her around and around, each rotation getting faster and more panicked. Finally, he pushes Zandra's bruised shoulder down until she's back in the dirt by the tree. Zandra winces.

Glenn takes a step back and raises his hands even with the sides of his head, fingers spread apart. He says to Zandra, "Where's the bullet holes? Where's the blood?"

Zandra wants to say something sarcastic, but she stops.

This is Glenn, after all. I'd be foolish if I passed up an opportunity to fuck around.

Zandra purses her lips in a half smile. "You killed me, child."

"I know I did. I'm...I'm positive. You're dead, at the bottom of the river," Glenn says.

Chad looks confused. He starts to ask a question. Bexley shuts him up.

"I was dead," Zandra says. "And now I'm here."

Glenn doesn't take that well.

"This is some zombie stuff right here. Shit. Holy shit," Glenn says, sounding more manic with every syllable. He slips a pistol out of its hip holster and points it at Chad. "I seen'd these two on the boat before, and I thought it was just a weird thing just now that they were with someone who looked like you, like a coincidence. But no, it's really you."

"It's really me," Zandra says. "Back from the dead."

"But the dress. That purple dress! I know I shot you. I don't miss. Where's the bullet in and out? Should be real easy to see," Glenn says, talking with his hands. The pistol waves in the air like a conductor's baton.

Zandra tilts her head. "Glenn—child—believe your eyes. Yes, you shot me. Yes, I died. Yes, I'm here again. Unfinished business."

"Like a ghost?"

"Like a ghost."

Glenn scratches his head. "Are these two ghosts, too?"

Chad starts to talk again, and again Bexley shushes him.

Zandra squints. "They have unfinished business, too."

"For what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't."

"It's the same reason you're here," Zandra says. "And if it's not, why did you put us all in handcuffs? You have something against zombie hikers?"

Glenn sniffs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

You're not good at this, Glenn.

"Let me be clear then: you want what's on the Curd Queen. So do we. And we're waiting, just like you, for the police to finish up," Zandra says in that trademark Sneak Peek smoothness. "Now, I can't say exactly what you're up to, Glenn, but I know that you know we know. Let's be adults, child, and be honest about this. There's a lot of drugs hidden on that boat. The police, the rescue divers, they'll never find it. But we know where it is, don't we?"

Glenn frowns and nods and says, "You came back from the dead to steal drugs? Really?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I did," Zandra says with a straight face. She glances toward Bexley and Chad.

If there's such a thing as telepathy, I need it to work now. Hey, Bexley. Hey, Chad. I need you two to shut up for this next part. I'm in control, even if it doesn't look like it. Just, please, don't say anything.

Bexley gives Zandra a knowing nod.

Wait, that worked? Or is she just nodding because I'm looking at her? I'd know the difference if I were sharper. Last night's activities aren't helping. Fuck. I don't need to dull up right now.

"To be honest, Zandra, that seems like a lot of work, but I'm not the expert on these things," Glenn says.

"You don't have to be, but I'll tell you this much, child: I can be killed again. And, quite frankly, I didn't enjoy where I went when I was dead. I have no intention of going back there, at least for a while," Zandra says. "Which presents a problem, don't you agree?"

Glenn shrugs. "I'm the one with the guns. Doesn't seem like I'm the one with the problem."

"Are you sure, child?" Zandra says. "The police aren't far away. You fire a gun, you've got a problem."

Glenn holsters the pistol. He pulls a small, black tactical knife from a sheath from somewhere in his MOLLE vest.

"I'll just use this then," Glenn says.

"And risk one of us screaming? You can't cut all of our throats at the same time," Zandra says. "You've got us in handcuffs, but we're all three staying quiet for a reason. We don't want the police over here any more than you do. It's a standoff, but only one side can win."

The agitation on Glenn's face spreads. He sneers. "You're playing mind games on me again. Stop it."

"It's not mind games, child. I'm simply describing the situation," Zandra says. "And don't get pissy with me, either. This is your fault, Glenn. You could've let us walk on by. You could've avoided this whole thing. But you didn't. Whoever is paying you to do all this won't be happy. You fucked up, Glenn. You fucked up so bad that I came back from the dead to tell you that you fucked up. I'm sure there will be consequences."

Glenn pounds the butt of the knife into a nearby tree in frustration.

He's feeling trapped. Good. Now to offer him a way out.

"There is one way we could settle this," Zandra says.

"Uncuff you and pretend none of this happened?" Glenn says.

"And risk you shooting us in the back? I don't think so," Zandra says. "I say we leave it up to chance. Winner take all. See that pack of cards?"

Glenn slips the knife back into its sheath and picks up the pack of poker cards up from the ground. He opens the pack and counts the cards to 55. That's 52 playing cards, the two jokers, and a rules card.

Chad's breathing gets louder. The air wheezes in and out of his nose while he fights to keep his mouth shut.

Quiet, child.

"What do you mean by 'winner take all?'" Glenn says. He holds the cards to his chest and mixes them so that Zandra can only see the design on the backs.

"If I win, you let us go. We won't yell for the police. You back off and let us get what we both know is on the Curd Queen," Zandra says, again being vague about the exact type of drugs on the sunken vessel. She isn't sure.

"And if I win, the prize is all mine, is that it?" Glenn says. He pauses to think. "How can I know you'll play fair?"

Of course I won't play fair. I'm already rigging the card game we're about to play.

"I promise I won't tell anyone about you," Bexley says in a wobbly blurt.

Zandra shoots Bexley a look that says everything it needs to. Bexley stares up at the tops of the trees.

Turning back to Glenn, Zandra says, "Then how about I tilt the odds in your favor, child? We'll play three games. Three ways for you to win."

Glenn shakes his head. "You're going to do your mind tricks on me, I just know it. You're talking that way you talk when you're going to do that black magic psychic shit on me."

Who, me?

"Fine. Not only will I tilt the odds in your favor, but if I lose the first game, you get to kill Chad. Bexley and I won't say a word while you do it," Zandra says.

Chad lets out a yelp.

"And if I lose the second game, you get to kill Bexley," Zandra says.

Tears stream down Bexley's cheeks. She continues staring up at the treetops, hoping for some relief from above.

It's not going to come from up there.

This gets a grin from Glenn. He slaps the cards together as he shuffles and says, "And if you lose the third time, I get to kill you again."

"Exactly," Zandra says. "But I get to choose the game. It's an extremely simple one: three-card monte. Have you heard of it?"

"Heard of it? I used to hustle lunch money on the playground playing three-card monte," Glenn says and laughs like a supervillain about to blow up a planet. "You picked the worst possible game, Zandra."

Did I? Are you sure?

Three-card monte, for those unfamiliar, involves three cards: two similar cards and one "money" card that's different from the first two. For example, two aces and a queen. All three cards are placed facedown. The goal for the mark is to guess where the money card is. This sounds simple enough, but the catch is that the con running the game uses sleight of hand to confuse the mark about where the money card is.

The raw odds of correctly guessing which of the three facedown cards is the money card are one in three. That's before you throw in misdirection, though. And, of course, cheating.

"Let's put a twist on it," Zandra says. "You turn the cards over one at a time after I make my guess. I get the chance to switch my guess after you flip over the first card."

"What? No."

"Yes, child," Zandra says. "Because I'll be blindfolded while you mix the three cards up. The odds stay exactly the same even if I choose to change my choice after the first card is revealed. I've got a one in three chance of winning. You've got a two in three chance. My psychic hits, so to speak, are only slightly better than pure chance, so you can count on those odds. I'm basically guessing."

Overload your opponent with math. This is the way. Make them default to conventional wisdom.

Relax, Chad and Bexley. I can feel your body heat rising from over here. Smell it, too. It's that stress stink people get. I'm in control. Trust me.

"You trust me not to fuck with the cards? Like switch them out?" Glenn says.

Zandra smirks. "You are going to turn over all the cards, aren't you? If you switch any cards out, we all start yelling as loud as we can. Right?"

Chad's head bobs in a nervous agreement. Bexley is on another planet.

"I don't know about this," Glenn says. "Maybe I should just kill you all."

"If you've got a better idea, I'd like to hear it. This is as fair as I can make it, seeing as how I'm the psychic and you're the one with the weapons," Zandra says, although that's not entirely true. The lawnmower knife is still up her sleeve, just beyond reach of her fingers behind her back.

Glenn thinks this over.

Just agree to this so we can get this over with.

"It's a deal," Glenn says.

With that, the game begins.