“You guess so,” Lucas roared with laughter. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Did the nukes get your dick?”
“I guess they must have, Lucas,” Jerry said, and grew quiet.
They continued to laugh and talk about the woman until Eli raised a hand and quieted them all.
“Who was she?” The older man asked. There was a compassion in his voice that came less from kindness and more from a kinship of misery.
“My wife,” he answered softly. It was the kind of reply that usually drew tears, but he had been cried out for days.
“Christopher?” Eli asked.
“The Skinners.”
Joshua gasped, “My God. I’m sorry, Jerry.”
“Did they…” Lucas began to ask and stopped himself.
“Did they what?” Jerry asked.
“Never…never mind,” Lucas tried to take back the question.
“Did they what?” Jerry asked again. Louder this time.
“They’re cannibals, man,” Joshua said as matter-of-factly as such a statement could be made.
Jerry looked to each man. Lucas and Eli gave slight nods. Connor looked away. So, it could have been worse. Jerry set his plate down and answered, “No. They ran her through with a knife in front of me.”
Joshua hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
“You saw them do it?” Connor asked. “What did you do?”
“I killed the man. The woman was already dead in a car wreck.”
Connor said nothing after that. No one did. The campfire crackled alone for quite some time.
Eli finally spoke. “They got my family.”
“Mine too,” Joshua said.
Connor raised his hand. “They killed my brother.”
Lucas sighed, “Looks like we’ve all got a good reason for revenge.”
“What’s yours?” Connor asked.
“Fuck you. That’s mine.”
“Okay, tough guy, jeez,” Connor said, and changed the subject. “Did you kill Christopher, too?”
Jerry shook his head. “Invictus is behind all of this. He’s the one that has to die.”
“Get in line, pal,” Lucas said with a chuckle. “I get to kill him first.”
“We need to work together, Lucas,” Eli said.
“You can make all the plans you want as long as I get to pull the trigger,” Lucas said.
“What’s the plan?” Jerry asked.
“Well, the standard ‘give a speech, raise an army and overthrow the tyrant’ just won’t work here. Invictus is too well dug in. He's too well organized. His men are too devoted. You’ve seen the stupid capes.”
Jerry nodded.
“Do you know how hard it is to get a man to wear a cape?” Joshua asked. “And they’re all doing it.”
“He’s got half of them speaking Latin, too,” Lucas added.
“That's loyalty,” Eli said. “We’re talking way beyond take-a-bullet-for-you loyalty: going-out-in-public-with-a-cape-on loyalty. It’s the kind of loyalty most despots only dream of.”
“Where is he?” asked Jerry.
“He’s at the casino surrounded by Legionaries, Praetorians, Centurions and other delusions of grandeur. Only an army will get him out.”
“I still think my plan to sneak in makes more sense,” Connor said.
“And we still think you’re an idiot,” Lucas said.
Joshua tried to be the peacemaker with a little logic. “He’s right, Connor. Not the idiot part, but that sneaking in is all but impossible. He’s in a fortress surrounded by hundreds of men, in a town with hundreds more. They’re devoted. They’re well armed, well trained. Power, safety, authority, luxury—with what he has to offer, he’s got his pick of the best men the wasteland has ever known.”
FIFTEEN
“Because I want a damn Bandit hat!” Coy screamed at the Legionary. “That’s why!”
“The Great Lord Invictus ordered us to find the Resistance,” the soldier shot back. “Not a Bandit hat.”
Invictus had indeed ordered Coy to find the Resistance. He had also assigned a dozen men to help him. And every one of them was in some stupid metal helmet with a broom on top. Invictus himself had that shiny skullface helmet, so it was clear to Coy, despite his short time in Alasis, that hats meant something and he wasn’t going to be left out.
The Coyote ran his finger along the handle of the Bowie knife at his side. “And who did he say was in charge?”
The solider saw the threat but hardly seemed scared. Instead he seemed bothered by his new place on the Invictus org chart. He swallowed his anger and said, “You.”
“That’s right. And if I think the best way to find these Bookers is in a genuine 10x beaver fur felt hat like the one worn by Bo Darville, then that is the best way to find them.”
“The Bookkeepers,” the soldier said with a groan.
“Who?”
“They’re called the Bookkeepers. Not the Bookers. You don’t even know who we’re looking for.”
“I do. We’re looking for a fat guy.”
“Gatsby.”
“A poo.”
“Omoo.”
“Teepee.”
“Typee.”
“Fuck you,” The Coyote said. “They’re stupid names anyway. Why the hell don’t you use their real names? No one ever named their kid Teepee.”
“Because we don’t know their real names. They’re codenames. They named themselves after literary characters.”
“That’s stupid.”
“This coming from the guy that calls himself The Coyote?”
Coy shot him an evil look but let the insult slide. “So who’s this Gatsby?”
“The Great Gatsby,” the Legionary responded as if it was something Coy should know.
“You’ve got me looking for a damn magician?”
“He’s not a…He’s the leader of the Resistance.”
“I thought that was The Librarian.”
“No, he’s their figurehead.”
“So he is the head? So he’s the leader.”
The soldier put his face in his hand for a moment. Coy had noticed it was a common mannerism around here. “How did you even make it this far?”
“I don’t know,” Coy said. “Just awesome, I guess.”
“The Great Gatsby was—“
“It doesn’t matter!” Coy shouted. “I’ll find him.”
And he would. He would hunt down this magician and his Resistance, but he was going to do it his way.
“Invictus ordered me to do it. And we’re going to do it my way. And my way is while wearing a Bandit hat! Understand?”
“You’ve already got Clint Eastwood’s poncho. Isn’t that—“
“No! It ain’t!”
The soldier threw up his hands and turned away from the conversation. Coy was proud of himself. He couldn’t recall a time he had straight-up won an argument before. He reveled in his victory for only a moment before looking up at the sign on the building. It was another wax museum. This town was lousy with them.
Under orders and veiled threats, the group had already searched several, and Coy had been one breath short of star struck every time. Some of his biggest heroes were featured in the displays, and they presented some pretty nice headwear options. Eddie Van Halen’s wig, Robocop’s visor, Arnie’s sunglasses from when he played T2. But he wouldn’t be any kind of leader unless they accomplished the objectives he had set forth, and the first objective was the Bandit’s hat. To show that he was also flexible, he was open as to which movie it came from. And, honestly, at this point he’d even settle for a Hooper hat and just lie to the men about it since they didn’t seem to know shit about Burt Reynolds.
“This just seems like a big waste of time,” one of the other soldiers said when the order was given to enter the premises and locate the hat.
“Of course you’d say that. You’ve already got a hat.” The Coyote rapped twice on the soldier’s metal helmet.
The soldier pulled away at t
he thumping. “This is stupid.”
“Oh, I get it,” Coy said. “You’re scared. You don’t want to go in any more museums because you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid of a wax museum.”
“Yeah right. Then why did you shoot that Ronald Reagan in the last one and say that he was looking at you funny?”
“That was you!”
“Not when I tell the story,” The Coyote said with a rasp. “Now, if you’re too scared to do what’s necessary…”
“How is getting you a stupid hat necessary?” another soldier asked.
“I’ll just do it myself.” The Coyote took three giant steps forward and kicked in the doors of the wax museum. He turned around and gave a look that said “See, it’s not scary,” and walked right in.
It was fucking scary. Coy had no idea who originally had the idea to make people out of wax, but they were a mean son of a bitch. With the lights out it was even worse. He put his hand on his gun and walked into the corridor.
The figures looked at him. He heard them talking about him and he had to remind himself that it was just his imagination.
Coy walked slowly down the corridor, giving a wary eye to President Clinton and his wife. He’d always liked that guy for the things he did in his office. But he didn’t like the way he was looking at him now. Willy Wonka was asking for it, too. They all were. Each figure looked different, but they all had that same look in their eye, like they needed a soul and Coy’s would do just fine.
Despite the looks, it was interesting to see what his heroes looked like up close. Sylvester Stallone was smaller than he imagined, and MiniMe was bigger. And he never would have guessed that Jim Carrey smelled like pee.
He was fairly confident The Bandit wouldn’t be in the horror wing, so he happily skipped it altogether. He’d always told Willie he was a fan of scary movies. But that was a lie. Just a glimpse of Freddy Krueger sent his imagination into overdrive.
He heard the figures whispering about him. But he ignored them because he was smart enough to know they couldn’t really talk. It was just his brain playing tricks on him. Coy and his brain had always had a contentious relationship at best. And, even though his brain would never tell him what exactly contentious meant, Coy was smart enough on his own to realize it wasn’t a good thing. Maybe his brain was catching on that he didn’t need it anymore. Because it was really playing tricks on him now.
He swore he saw James Bond move and heard Superman giggle. He was getting pissed at his brain now. Why was it so mean to him? What had he ever done to it? He had pretty much left it alone his entire life.
He had hoped that when he became The Coyote he would get a better brain than Coy’s. But it seemed like he was stuck with what he had. He did his best to ignore it. When George Washington called him ‘Cutie Pie,’ he stopped and took a deep breath and repeated to himself several times, “The dollar bill guy did not just make a pass at you. That’s just your imagination.”
Convincing himself was getting harder and harder. The whispers were growing louder in his head. He started seeing movement everywhere. He finally stopped and screamed, “It’s not real! None of you are real! You’re just my stupid head being stupid!”
He meant every word and to prove it, he rushed into the Living Presidents’ display, punched Trump in the face and kicked Obama in the balls. He knocked over Jimmy Carter, then raced across the room and tackled Brett Favre. He stood up and caught his breath.
“I told you it wasn’t real,” he said and really, truly believed it. Then Batman punched him in the face.
Coy grabbed his nose and stumbled backward as a fear rose within him. The figure was motionless now, but he couldn’t deny what had happened. Coy wanted to run and scream and generally panic, but The Coyote wasn’t having it.
The fear disappeared, and The Coyote marched up to Batman. The figure remained motionless as he eyed the Caped Crusader closely. It looked no different than the others. It smelled a bit, but The Riddler smelled like piss too, so The Coyote figured it must have something to do with the tights. He looked into Batman’s eyes and spoke softly, “I’m not afraid of you, Batman. You’re nothing but a wax figure. You’re a statue. You’re a dummy.”
“I am the night!” screamed Batman, and planted a foot in The Coyote’s chest.
The kick sent him reeling back across the corridor into Neil Armstrong, who in turn kicked him in the ass and sent him diving into Captain America. The Coyote grabbed the Sentinel of Liberty’s shield from the statue and turned to face the Dark Knight. But the caped crusader was gone.
“Where are you, Batman?” The Coyote screamed. “Come back here and face me, you caped freak!”
There was no movement from the gallery, but a commotion arose behind him and he turned to face the threat.
His soldiers rushed into the room.
“We heard shouting,” the captain said. “What happened?”
“Batman sucker punched me and Neil Armstrong kicked me in the ass.”
“I’m sorry?” the guard asked.
“You heard me.” The Coyote dropped the shield and drew his gun. “He disappeared somewhere in here. Now help me find him.”
“Help you find Batman?” the guard chuckled at the question.
“Well he’s not really Batman, you idiot.” The Coyote said. “He’s a wax figure of Batman.”
The guards laughed at this.
“Just shut up and spread out.”
The guards broke off into teams of two to search the museum. The commander stayed with Coy, and the two quietly made their way deeper into the museum.
Coy heard the whispers again.
“Did you hear that?” the captain asked quietly. “Whispering.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. It’s just my imagination.”
“I’m hearing your imagination?”
“I’ve got a really good imagination,” Coy said.
“Someone is hiding in here,” the captain explained.
“No shit, Sherlock. I told you, it’s Batman. And that Neil Armstrong fucker, too.”
They moved into another gallery, and the captain spotted the space suit first. He bent over and picked up the suit and held it out to show Coy. “Do you know what this means?”
Coy took the outfit and threw it down on the floor in disgust. “Not what you think it does?”
“I really want you to tell me what I’m thinking.”
“Well, you’re thinking that it was the ghost of Neil Armstrong that kicked my ass. But that’s just stupid because everyone knows that ghosts don’t have feet. Obviously, it means it was just someone dressed up like Neil Armstrong. Someone’s hiding in here.”
Shouting and gunshots grabbed their attention, and the two men raced through the wax museum. Batman was standing over two fallen guards as several more surrounded him.
“I told you it was Batman!” The Coyote said, and started forward.
Batman, three other men and a couple of dogs moved about the troops, disarming and engaging the soldiers. Their metal armor clattered as they fell to the ground.
The captain pulled a whistle from around his neck and blew. The sound was deafening inside the walls of the museum, but the other guards quickly rallied to its sound and began to fire on the attackers at once.
With the element of surprise gone and with Neil Armstrong no longer on their side, the four men turned and ran for the exits.
SIXTEEN
The emergency exit was tucked away behind a diorama that featured dust-covered reproductions of three of the four Golden Girls. Jerry hit the door with his shoulder at full speed and exited into the alleyway behind the museum with Chewy at his heels.
Batman wasn’t far behind them. Connor was trying to shed the costume as fast as he could while still running for his life. The cape, the cowl and the gauntlets went flying.
Jerry kept his pace even to make sure he wasn’t leaving the kid behind. But once Bruce Wayne managed to struggle out of his tights, the younger man sprin
ted past him with little more than a wave.
Chewy loped along beside the Librarian as they ran through the back alleys of a half dozen abandoned sweet shops and souvenir stores. The pair quickly lost sight of Connor as the man rounded a corner and disappeared.
Jerry turned the corner to follow the Stranger and ran into a host of Legionaries as they stepped out onto the street. They were joking and chatting with one another and unaware of what was happening in their fair city. From Jerry’s reaction, however, it was clear that he was up to no good, and they quickly reached for their guns.
Chewy gave the men a good barking, but that didn’t stop them, so Jerry turned and ran as the soldiers chased after him.
They ran past a tattoo parlor, another wax museum and a place selling Cuban cigars to Americans under the impression that contraband was a flavor.
He crashed through the doors of an old sandwich shop and interrupted the meal of several more Legionaries.
Jerry and Chewy were able to make it through the back door before the men got to their feet and joined in the pursuit. He barred the door shut as best he could and heard the armored men crash into it. The barricade wouldn’t hold long, but it gave him a chance to put some distance between himself and his pursuers.
The pair worked their way around the base of an old inn, and he envisioned it as a barracks filled with still more soldiers. They were everywhere this side of the river, and the risks of the hide-in-plain-sight plan were now evident. Of course, it did have its advantages.
Behind the old Ramada Inn, a pair of soldiers, convinced that they were alone on their side of the river, stood beside a pickup truck complaining to each other. The truck’s tailpipe poured hot exhaust into the cold air and Jerry ran for it.
The two soldiers were engaged in conversation with their backs to the truck and didn’t see him approaching. Jerry waved a gesture to Chewy that they both understood to mean “settle,” and began to creep forward.
“So what are you saying?” one soldier asked. “You want to head back out into the wasteland?”
“No. Not that.”
“You’re never going to get it as good as it is here.”
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