by Cameron Jace
“I thought so, too,” the Pillar says. “He was the main drug supplier in Wonderland, but it seems he can hardly get a grip on this real world.”
“So how do we find him?”
“I have a feeling I’m going to steal that Jeep with the dead men in it. It looks functional,” he says. “You don’t mind riding alongside the dead. Do you?”
We duck and run like scurrying rats along the fields, pushing our luck and hoping not to get shot by a wandering bullet or a missile.
I see a man on top of a missile, riding it like a banana boat, saying hooray!
Happens all the time, I tell myself.
“How come everyone enjoys murdering each other?” I ask the Pillar.
“Humankind, dear Alice, have enjoyed that sport since Cain and Abel.” He jumps into the Jeep, and I follow. “Luckily, killing is prohibited these days, unless you do it en masse. They call it conquering.”
“So I’m supposed to accept living in such a bloody world?” I shout against the maddening sound of war, then pull a dead body out of the passenger’s seat.
“No Alice, you’re supposed to outlive it,” The Pillar ignites the ramshackle Jeep and chugs through the mist of smoke and bullets.
“Stop that,” I protest, as the Jeep bumps over a few dead bodies. “Always trying to pose the human race as a bunch of lunatic apes who’ll never learn to love and live with one another.”
“In spite of this not being the time or place to have this conversation, I’d like to point out that advertisers pay tenfold for TV ads when the news is covering major war disasters around the world. Now duck before that bullet hits you and you make the news.”
I feel so dizzy. I can’t even pull out my umbrella and shoot at anyone.
Wait. Why do I suddenly feel so aggressive, wanting to shoot people? The mushrooms must be doing this to me.
“Hey!” The Pillar points at a dying soldier reaching out at us. He’s holding a letter in one hand.
Amidst the impossible killing fields, the Pillar detours closer to the soldier and pulls the letter from his hands.
“Send it to my family,” the soldier pleads. “Tell them I love them, and that I’ve buried over a hundred thousand dollars of drug money in the back yard.”
“Nah, I’m not taking that letter,” the Pillar says. “ You should have sent them an SMS. Twitter post? You know you can schedule those, right? Maybe schedule the to the day of your death?” The Pillar tucks the letter in his pocket. “Besides, who writes letters anymore? Die, you old-fashioned typewriter!”
I don’t comment because I’m not sure this is really happening.
But then something assures me I’m not hallucinating this war at all. Every bit of this is real. Someone has shot me in my left arm.
Chapter 18
“Congratulations,” the Pillar says. “You can brag now that you went to war.”
“Why isn’t it hurting?” I stare at my bleeding arm.
“It’s just a scratch.” He is smiling broadly. “You’re not really hit. Let’s see if there is music in this car. Take the wheel.”
I take the wheel with my right hand because I can’t move my left arm.
Then Pink Floyd plays on the radio. Comfortably Numb is the song.
The Pillar tucks the cigar back into his mouth and continues driving like a tourist on safari watching the wildlife. I’m stunned at his ability to avoid bullets and missiles.
All until a tank bangs into our Jeep from the side.
As the Jeep rolls over, half of it under the tank already, I realize how much I’m drugged now. I need that coconut.
The world upside down doesn’t look much different from the normal world. Or maybe that’s how all fields of war look.
I lie on my back, listening to men jumping out of their Jeeps. They pull me up, grab me by my hands, never mind my achy, screaming left arm, and pull me toward their leader. The Pillar is pulled next to me.
We stop at one point and are ordered to raise our injured heads to stare at their leader.
I see a well-built man with a long scar on his right cheek sitting on top of the tank. He is overly sunburned. And of all things, he has his legs crossed and he is smoking a hookah atop of a mushroom in the middle of this war.
“What is a girl like you doing here in Mushroomland?” he says in a most foreign accent.
“I—” My eyelids droop as I am trying to stay awake. “I’m looking for the Executioner.”
The man stops smoking. “Is that so?” He rubs his chin. “And why would you be looking for him?”
“I need his coconut drink to survive the Mushroom Trail.” I can’t believe we’re talking with all this mess of killing still going on all around us.
“You walked the Mushroom Trail?” He doesn’t laugh or show emotion. I’ve rarely met a man I am so afraid of. He’s exuding a vague sinister personality I haven’t seen before.
“It’s a long story,” I say. “Please lead to me to the Executioner.”
“You know what they say about the Executioner?” He pulls out a Magnum .45, loads it, and then points it at me. “That you can meet him only once. You know why?”
I start to realize I am talking to the Executioner himself.
“Because you only look at me once, and then you have to die.” The Executioner aims his pistol at me with a smirk on his face. This time I think it’s real.
“Wait.” The Pillar wakes up from his fall. “Don’t shoot the girl. It’s me.”
The Executioner slowly turns his head. The Pillar is covered in dust, so it makes sense not to recognize him right away. But why would he recognize the Pillar in the first place? I am confused.
“Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar!” The Executioner squints at the professor. “Is that you?”
“In the flesh.” The Pillar tucks what’s left of his cigar in his mouth.
I am baffled. I’m Alice’s all lost and delirious thoughts mixed in a bag of mushrooms and M&M’s.
The Executioner gets off his mushroom and stares at the Pillar with wonder. It might be my mistake, but the look in his eyes is that of a man fascinated with the Pillar. “Is that really you, Pillardo?”
Pillardo?
The Pillar mumbles something in Columbian, and the two men embrace like old friends.
“You know him?” Sorry, but I have to ask. I mean, what the mushy mushrooms is going on?
“Know him?” The Executioner raises an eyebrow. “Who doesn’t know Senor Pillardo, the most legendary drug lord of all time?”
Chapter 19
Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum, Oxford
Dr. Tom Truckle could not believe what he saw on national TV. People had come out on every street in London to stir all kinds of chaos.
He saw a man in his underwear with a baseball bat chasing his family out on the streets. Another maniac woman had gone into an unexplained episode of road rage, chasing her co-workers with her damaged car. The owner of Tom’s favorite soup shop had locked everyone inside, confessing to serving them frogs and now forcing them to drink his soup until they puked.
Tom watched the BBC’s TV host, and her crew abandon their camera and run away, leaving it to record all of the mayhem.
This must be the end of days, Tom thought. He hadn’t dared switch on the channel to take a look at what was happening in America or the rest of the world.
What troubled him deeply was everyone in Oxford had gone just as mad, which suggested his asylum was in danger now.
“Lock up the asylum!” Tom shouted at his guards. “And by that, I mean use the Plan-X system.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” the guard asked on the other side.
“I am sure. The time has come to lock every one of us within these steel walls inside,” Tom said.
Running down the stairs, he entered the underground ward and walked among the Mushroomers on both sides. They were panicking, afraid of the world outside. Tom couldn’t help but remember all of the Pillar’s warnings about the world outs
ide the asylum, how they were the real mad ones, not the Mushroomers.
“You’re going to be okay,” Tom tried to calm them down, looking for Waltraud.
“We want Alice!” the Mushroomers said.
Tom had no idea what to tell them. Alice and the Pillar had left on one of their crazy missions. As much as he loathed them both, he also felt sorry for them, having to deal with the mad world outside.
“Waltraud,” Tom called upon seeing her, mushing the brains out of a patient. “Stop whatever you’re doing.”
“Why?” she said in her German accent.
“Why?” he roared at her, his hands reaching for his pills already. “Apocalypse is why! The world is ending outside. I am issuing Plan-X. We’re closing all doors and will self-contain ourselves inside.”
“But—”
“Stop interrupting me! I’m only waiting for my children to arrive, and then the doors will seal shut. I want you to order our people in the kitchen to open up all the reserve refrigerators and start pulling out all food and supply.”
Plan-X had been the asylum’s contingency strategy since long ago. Actually, it had been Tom’s father’s idea. The old man, now in his grave, had predicted the end of the world long ago. Thus, the asylum was pre-prepared with food and living supplies for one year on.
And the time has come father, Tom thought.
But Waltraud Wagner stiffened in her place. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the TV. Something about what was happening outside seemed to appeal to her.
Tom had no time to argue with her. He should have shoved her in a cell long ago. After all, he’d only hired her because she had killed her own patients back in the day, when she was a nurse in Vienna.
Tom turned to the bald Ogier and ordered him to speak to the people in the kitchen.
Ogier nodded obediently and issued the process.
“Don’t worry,” Tom addressed the panicking Mushroomers. “You will be safe in here.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said those words. Never had he loved the Mushroomers, but with the world going down in flames outside, he saw how weak they were. He suddenly began to relate to them.
Then Tom remembered something he’d forgotten upstairs. Two stairs at a time, he dashed into the VIP ward, finally standing before the flamingo’s cell.
“I couldn’t leave you alone,” Tom said, wondering why his heart began softening toward the animal. Maybe it was the end of the world’s effect on him.
He pulled the cell’s door open and let the flamingo out.
“You have two options,” he told it. “Go back to your Queen in the mad world outside or stay with us...well, in the mad world inside.”
It was clear the flamingo wanted to stay, but it also looked puzzled, as if awaiting an answer from Tom.
“Okay,” Tom waved a hand. “I will tell you one of my biggest secrets, and I will only tell you.”
The flamingo’s eyes bulged out with curiosity.
“I’m not who you think I am, but I will not tell you about it, at least not now.” Tom swallowed another pill. “What I can tell you is that I was told about this by my father long ago. He called it the last days before the War. And by this, I mean he told me about the end of times, the appearance of the Wonderland Monsters, the end of the world, and how to build a safe house, a bunker to survive it. Only I was asked to disguise it as an asylum and gather as many mad people as I could, because those are the ones who’re going to save the world.”
Chapter 20
Mushroomland, Columbia
“You’re a drug lord?” I can’t believe it.
“Semantics. I prefer the term Professor Feelgood.” The Pillar hands over the coconut drink. “Sip it slowly. It will take an hour or two before the mushrooms’ effect wears off.”
I hesitate taking it from him.
“Come on. It’s not poisoned. I won’t hurt you.”
I’m not really sure of that, but I have no choice. If I don’t drink it, I’ll die.
It’s actually not just that. Since I heard about the Pillar being a drug lord, I’ve had the unexplained urge to shoot him dead. I don’t know why I feel so aggressive. It could be the hallucinations.
Maybe all this world really needs is to get rid of the Pillar.
“So Senor Pillardo”—the Executioner guides us into his missile-proof Humvee—“let’s go back to my castle. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Actually, I’m running out of time...”
“Trust me, we have a lot of time—and drugs and mushrooms. And hookahs. And girls. All you need, like in the old days,” the Executioner says. “I understand that you didn’t just come here to see me. We know that is definitely not the case.”.
For the first time ever, I see the Pillar lower his gaze, just a little. What is going on between those two?
“I promise I will look into whatever you need to talk about, but first we have to enjoy some time in my castle. Just like the old days, Senior. Remember those? Man, you were some psycho maniac back then, but you sure made the deals of the century selling drugs, and a lot of money.”
My hands slide down and reach for my umbrella. What if I just shoot both of them? Wouldn’t the world be a better place?
Entering the Humvee, we watch the world burn in flames behind us as we’re driving to the Executioner’s castle.
“So what’s this war all about?” I ask. “Aren’t you all friends here, selling mushrooms?”
“I think Senor Pillardo can tell you himself.” The Executioner laughs.
The Pillar takes a moment then returns to his sarcasm. “It’s nothing. The Executioner’s boys are having fun. Killing for sport.”
The Executioner eyes the Pillar. “Ah, so you don’t want to tell her?” He turns to me. “Let me tell you why my men are killing each other, little girl. But right after we have some drinks in my castle.”
“We don’t have time for your damn castle!” Is it the drugs? Is it me? “We came for...”
The Executioner pulls out another machine gun, a bigger one this time, and points it at me. I’m starting to get bored of this. If you’re going to point a gun, better use it. “I really don’t like shooting.” His sinister intentions show through now. “We’re going to have a welcome meal, then I will listen to what both of you want with me, and then I will decide whether I will kill you or not.”
Chapter 21
The Executioner’s castle looks as if it was cut from the pages of a fairy tale, except the part with the guards and their machine guns. It’s hard to believe this man lives in such an expensive mansion while enjoying the world burning all around him. I’m still not over this dark world I have been thrown into. But I can’t do anything about it before the mushrooms’ effect wears off completely.
I don’t want to end up spreading violence to an already violent reality, and then figure out later I had a chance to bring some peace into the world with a little patience instead.
Crossing the lush landscape full of hedges shaped after Wonderland characters, the Executioner informs me he had the March Hare design it for him. “I had to put my business on halt for two months and inject him with a hallucinogen so he wouldn’t know who I was,” he explained. “The March with his naive child-like attitude wouldn’t have designed it if he knew who I was.”
“And who are you, really?” I pretend I have given in to his reality.
“I’m the Executioner, like in the Alice books. I used to work for the Queen to chop off heads, but now I’ve gone solo, and trust me, she fears me more that anything else.”
“So you’re just another Wonderland Monster.”
The Executioner laughs again, entering the vast entrance of his castle. The architecture looks like something from a thousand and one nights.
“That’s not an answer,” I say.
“It’s not meant to be,” he replies without looking at me, then sits himself on his throne in the middle of a sky-lit hall.
“What a fabulous job you did to the castle.” The Pillar, ci
gar in mouth, admires the place. “I feel like I’m in Taj Mahal.”
“I’m humbled,” the Executioner says. “Senor Pillardo himself compliments me.”
“What happened to the horses?” the Pillar asks.
“Sorry, senior. They all died after you left. I tried to be nice to them, but they kept kicking my men, looking for you. I had to shoot them all,” the Executioner says, pouring himself a pink drink. “We built a casino where your horses used to live. Very profitable, but nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.”
The Pillar grins. “How does no one go there anymore if it’s too crowded?”
I sense it’s not a question, but some kind of an inside joke.
“It’s Wonderland logic,” the Executioner explains to me. “It’s like saying: it ain’t over until it’s over.” He hands the Pillar a drink.
“Ah, I remember those.” The Pillar sips his drink. “I remember when we used to say: always go to other people’s funerals, otherwise they won’t go to yours.”
The Executioner is amused. “I loved that phrase. Because if you went to their funeral, they were dead already.” He turns to me with a smile. “I bet your friend here hasn’t seen the Wonderland days.”
“Be careful.” The Pillar winks. “She thinks she is Alice. The Real one.”
This throws the Executioner off. “Oh, my.” He chuckles. “That’s a new one.” He turns to me again. “Alice is dead, darling. True, we can’t remember what she looked like, but she’s dead.”
Just when I am about to ask why he’s so sure, a horde of young and skinny children are brought into the castle, wearing tattered clothes, dirt sticking to their sunburned skin.
“What now?” The Executioner pouts at the man who brought them in.
“I thought you’d like to see that we cut their fingers like you asked us.” the man says.
My eyes flip, staring at the children’s bandaged hands. They cut their fingers? What the hell?
“Two knuckles from each kid,” the man says. “Just like you always demand. Should I send them to the field now?”