Toll Road: A Short Story of Murka
Page 4
couldn’t let him,” Kish said.
“Thankee,” said Bayle. “Guess I owe you one of those.”
Kish looked at the guitar.
The gun fired fine. Bayle put all three bullets into the crazy man’s face. He tossed the gun into the river, returned the tube with Danny’s ashes to the knapsack, and settled it on his back.
“Quarter mile left,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The Art Museum was high on the far riverbank when the walls came into view. Cobbled together from stone and concrete reclaimed from the city, the walls of Philadelphia appeared far older than they really were. The gates, accessed by freeway overpass, had been lovingly installed by the Knights of the Coming Dawn. Cast in bronze, they depicted the Founding Fathers in bas relief. Bayle saw those gates and his heart seemed to swell, the old pride filling him. Beyond those gates, Old Philadelphia stood as it had since the nation was born. Horses drew wagons of groceries, and pedestrians went about their day on cobblestone streets.
First, Bayle thought, he would see about a new guitar for Kish. Then he would find a place to spread Danny’s ashes. Then, perhaps, he would stay for a while.
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About the Author
Christopher Keelty is a writer, non-profit fundraiser, and goalie. He enjoys cooking, the outdoors, and micro-brewed beer. He lives in Philadelphia with his two cats (which is in no way depressing) and blogs at ChristopherKeelty.com
Connect with Chris on Twitter: @keeltyc
Copyright Information
This story originally appeared in Collective Fallout magazine, Vol. 3 No. 3, July 2011.
www.collectivefallout.com
Christopher Keelty asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This story is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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