by Frank Rich
I shrugged. "He's a human bomb. The last of a special unit of suicide troops formed during the wars. There's enough fusion clay in his belly to crater this town, and it can be set off by timer or the cessation of his heartbeat."
"They're jes' stalling!" Redbeard said, waving his shotgun. "Whack him, Pa's hungry."
"Damn right I'm hongry!" Pa croaked.
Leroy hefted the ax again.
"Look at the back of his head if you don't believe me," I said.
The ax wavered.
"Go ahead. Look."
"Maybe we should have a look," Clyde said nervously. "Just to be sure."
Leroy lowered the ax, took a step back and gestured to the twins. "Well, go ahead and look, ya idgits."
Clyde and his twin peered at the back of George's head.
"What do you see, boys?" Leroy demanded.
"There's a piece of metal sticking out of his head!" Clyde shouted.
"That's where they plug the timer in," I explained.
"If he was a suicide troop why's he still alive, then?" Leroy asked.
"I deserted," George explained. "I decided there was more to life than exploding on some anonymous battlefield. I'm better now."
"They're liars!" Bruce whined. "I'm the human bomb, not him!"
"Oh, you're a bomb, too, eh?" Leroy said.
"Yes, that's right."
"I think you're all a bunch of liars," Leroy concluded.
"Go ahead and kill him, then," I said, pointing my chin at Bruce. "I dare you."
Leroy hefted the ax. "Nope. I'm gonna kill this plump one."
"You sure that's the right thing to do, Leroy?" Willy said. "What if that is a bomb in the back of his head?"
"Shut yer yap!" Leroy shouted, sounding unsure. "Damn it, I ain't gonna listen to any more fool stories about human suicide bombs."
"Looks like it's gonna be a smoke out, George," I said.
"You think so?" George said hopefully, averting his eyes from the ax to me.
"Yep," I assured.
Leroy brought the ax up again, and I squinched up my face and crouched as if bracing for an explosion. Willy reflexively did the same, half lowering the pistol and squeezing his eyes shut.
I lunged forward and head-butted Willy, sending him sprawling into Leroy. I kicked hard at the huge pot, and scalding water poured onto Pa, who unleashed a bloodcurdling howl. I leapt into the air and jumped through my bonds, bringing my hands to the fore. As Redbeard brought up the shotgun, the girl leapt on his back like a cat, scratching at his eyes. The shotgun barked twice, exploding Pa's skull and blowing the tin chimney of the wood stove in half. Willy got up and pointed the gyra at me. It didn't seem to be working.
I sent him to his knees with a savage kick to the groin and jerked the pistol from his hands. Flicking off the safety, I pointed it at the group wrestling George.
"Smoke out!" I shouted, and George flopped onto his belly. I sprayed above him at stomach level, cutting down Leroy and the twins. I turned the gun to Redbeard and the girl.
"Get off him!" I yelled. She slid off his back, and Red screamed and pawed at his bleeding eye sockets. I shot him between the eyes, and he tipped over, arms thrashing. A panting silence settled on the room, and George came over, smiling. "Good show, Jake. I knew you'd think of something."
I shrugged. "A ruthless man always has a plan." I dropped the pistol into my holster and picked up the ax. I cut George's bonds with the blade, then he took the ax and cut mine.
Willy slowly got to his feet, staring at his fallen comrades. I pointed the gyra at him.
"You killed my kin," he said numbly.
"I felt I had just cause," I explained.
"Where'd the girl and Bruce go?" George wondered, peering into the thickening smoke.
"Probably outside. Let's go."
"There's nowhere you can hide," Willy said, with raging eyes. "No matter where you go, I'll track you down, to the ends of the earth if I have to. Every time you look over your shoulder, I'll be there, one step closer. Then one night while you're sleeping, I'll steal in and cut your throat." He imparted a grim smile. "I want you to remember that, no matter how far you run."
"So," I said, "you're going to haunt me until you get a chance to cut my throat? Is that what you're saying?"
"That's right." He smiled again. "That's exactly right."
"You shouldn't have told me that." I shot him in the heart, and he flopped on top of Leroy.
"That was silly of him," George said.
We went outside. Bruce and the girl waited beside the Caddy, unbound.
"Where'd you go, hero?" I asked Bruce.
"I was saving the girl, dickhead," Bruce snarled, stowing his pocket knife.
"You showed a fine sense of ruthlessness in there," I said, taking a good look at the girl.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked.
"From Jake it is," George said.
She pushed her kinky hair out of her eyes. "Thanks. I guess."
"What's your name?"
"Monique."
"What's your story, Monique?"
"Me and my friend were hitchhiking to Denver. We were dropped off here and were going to ask you for a ride once you came outside when that crazy man came out of nowhere and hit David on the head with a brick."
"Is that Dave?" I pointed at a figure sprawled facedown in the gravel of the parking lot. Congealed blood caked the back of his head and splattered his flight jacket.
She turned away. "Yes."
George knelt over the body and felt the neck for a pulse. He shook his head.
"We're going to Denver," I said. "You can ride with us if you like." I picked up a rucksack beside the body. "This yours?"
She nodded and took it, her eyes glued to the corpse of her friend. "We can't just leave him there."
"Why not?"
"It wouldn't be right."
I thought about it. "You're right. I'm too used to reclamation picking up the bodies."
George and I dragged the body into the roadhouse. I poured five jars of moonshine liberally around the interior and stepped outside.
"Any final words?" I said, looking back at Monique. She shook her head. I lit a match and tossed it inside.
Blue flame whooshed to life, consuming the interior, hungrily attacking the gray wood of the shack.
"You going to put that one in the tank?" George asked, pointing at the jar of moonshine in my hand.
"Nope. I'm going to drink it."
"I thought it took the enamel off your teeth."
"I can dilute it with vodka or something," I said, watching the shack burn. "I've a feeling I'm going to need it." Explosions rocked the building as the fire found the remaining jars. "Because when the Devil comes a knockin', you just got to let him in."
10
We hurtled down the mighty superway, leaving a column of smoke and death behind us. It was one of the great advantages of the road. You could leave the death and horror behind, unlike the City, where you had to stay and wallow in it.
George sat behind the wheel, I sat beside him, Bruce and Monique rode in the back. Bruce studied his maps, Monique sat rigidly, eyes alert, fearful of her company. I noticed she was staring at the back of George's head.
"Is there really a bomb inside him?" she asked.
"Yes." I nodded somberly.
"No," George said. "It's a communication socket."
"Who do you communicate with?"
"Machines. Skimmers, rotors, helos. At least when I'm plugged in to them." He scratched the skin around the socket. "I was part of an experiment during the war. An experiment to link the brain of the driver with the brain of the machine, for total control."
"Did it work?"
"To a degree. It had the drawback of driving most of the pilots insane."
"Including you?"
George sniffed. "I was spared."
She nodded. "It looks so strange to have that thing sticking out of the back of your head. Why don't you grow so
me hair over it?"
"I can't. The electronic impulses relayed through the socket killed all my hair roots."
"Oh."
We drove until dusk, skirting Nashville and bisecting the western tail of Kentucky. Missouri spread wide before us, and we pulled into Paducah for fuel and dinner.
Stepping out of Emily's Equestrian Eats, we found five bikers gathered near the Caddy, a mobile contingent of Allah's Assassins.
"I'll drive," I said, opening the driver's door.
"Great," George said, opening the passenger door. "I want to get some studying in."
"I want to sit in the front seat," Bruce said.
George frowned. "Why?"
"Because you always turn the scent generator up too high, that's why."
"Let him sit up front, George," I said. "I want to talk to Bruce about something."
George scowled and climbed in the back seat with Monique. Bruce grinned like a spoiled child as he took the passenger seat.
One of the bikers, a great bearded giant, stuck his head in my window. "We want your bike," he said, jerking a thumb toward the motorcycle strapped to the bumper.
I smiled at him. "Kiss my ass."
A hunchback, grinning like a fiend with a badge, crowded in the window, restraining his friend. "But you haven't heard our offer."
"I heard enough," I said, dropping into reverse. The antenna whacked the giant in the cheek and knocked their heads together like coconuts. I powered out of the lot, spraying them with gravel.
"Those are the wrong people to fuck with," George said.
"I wasn't worried," I said. "If they got tough, I would have had Bruce jump out and pummel their fists with his chin."
Bruce glared at me. "I would've helped them kick your ass."
I laughed. "With you on their side, how could I lose?" Bruce turned angrily to his maps, and the car rolled around long, gentle curves, the headlights illuminating the oaks crowding the superway. I listened to killbilly on the radio as Bruce looked out the window and ate a protein bar. Monique slept curled in a ball next to George, who pored over the briefing package.
"Oh, Christ." I slapped my head.
"What now?" Bruce said.
"I think I forgot to replace the gas cap."
"All our fuel is evaporating!"
"Could you stick your head out the window and take a look?" I powered down his window from my control panel.
"You really are incompetent, you know that?" He put his knees on the seat and stuck his head out the window. "You idiot!" He said through the rushing wind. "The gas cap isn't even on this side!"
"You don't say," I said, powering up his window.
"Hey, my neck is caught!" He squirmed and pawed for the window control.
"Hold on, I'll get you out of there." Keeping one hand on the wheel, I reached over and pulled his door latch.
"What are you doing?" he bellowed from outside.
"Setting you free." I twisted in my seat, braced my back against my door and kicked Bruce with both feet. His door flew open and he swung outside, hanging on with neck and hands, his feet dragging on the asphalt.
"See you, sport," I said, and powered down his window. He managed to hang on until I stomped on the accelerator. The door slammed shut behind him. I looked in the rearview mirror and watched him tumble end over end into the darkness.
It was moments before George spoke. "You're a hard man, Jake."
"I blame my upbringing and environment."
George peered out the rear window. "Do you think he's dead?"
"I didn't see him explode, so who knows?" I caught his eyes in the rearview. "You can sit up front now, if you like."
There was a moment of silence.
"Okay," he finally said, crawling over the backrest. He sat stiffly, as if there were a gallon of nitro sloshing around beneath the seat. "But don't ask me to look out the window."
"I wouldn't ask you to. I wouldn't think of hurting a friend." I cast a sideways look at him. "You are my friend, aren't you, George?"
"Oh yes."
"Good." I looked back. Monique was still asleep, or pretending to be.
"It's good she didn't have to see that," George said.
"Yes," I agreed, "I want her to trust me." I guided the car around a wide bend, and the horizon sunk to a low, flat spread. I could feel Kansas coming. "Is there any hooch left?"
George found a bottle of gin and passed it over.
A yawning sound carried from the back. Monique stretched and looked around, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Aren't we missing someone?"
"We had a falling out."
Her eyes became suspicious. "Really?"
"Yes."
George opened the manila folder. "This Remi guy is so remorsely evil and power hungry. I bet when he gets to Hell he'll try to take over."
"You believe in Hell?" I asked.
"Of course," he said. "Don't you?"
"I don't want to but I think I do." I drank some warm gin, then passed the bottle to George. "You think you're going to Heaven, George?"
He thought about it. "I haven't given it much thought, but, yeah, I guess I can make the grade. What about you, you think you're going upstairs?"
I shook my head. "I've given up on Heaven. I'm just trying to get into Limbo or Purgatory now."
"When'd you lower your expectations?"
"A while ago. After the hundredth body you begin to doubt your chances of getting a nice seat in Heaven. I think all those saints and blue-haired ladies with gold-leafed Bibles would feel uncomfortable around me." I took a turn at the bottle. "Yeah, Limbo will suit me just fine. As long as I don't go to Hell, I'll be more than happy."
"Is that why you became a revolutionary hero? To save your soul?"
"No, I just realized my bogeyman job was obsolete. I wised up to the fact that there aren't any innocents left. All I was doing was protecting the less guilty from the more guilty."
"You're a bogeyman?" Monique asked.
"I was."
The tires hummed on the road, and I noticed she was watching me closely.
"Were you expecting horns and a forked tail?" I asked.
She laughed uneasily. "I guess I sorta was."
"I had them cut off when I quit. What's your business in Denver?"
"That's where I'm originally from," she replied.
George's head jerked up. "You're from Denver? What's it like?"
She shrugged. "Cities are all the same to me."
That apparently wasn't the answer George wanted to hear. "No, I mean, it's like one big concentration camp, isn't it? A giant cult center with Remi as the high priest. A Stalinist bubble of oppression and persecution. A brutal police state with…"
Monique laughed. "It's bad, but not as bad as all that."
George shook his head. "How can anyone live like that?"
"I guess you get used to anything," she said. "Remi's not that hard to get along with as long as you obey his rules."
"Oh, yeah, just stay in step and you won't get flogged," George said, touching my arm and secretly mouthing the word brainwashed to me.
"Why are you going to Denver?" Monique asked.
George raised his eyebrows at me. "Can we trust her?"
"It doesn't matter. She wouldn't believe you if you told her."
"Believe what?" she asked.
George cleared his throat importantly. "That we are going to bring about a revolution in Denver."
"I don't believe you."
I smiled at George. "See?"
Monique sat forward. "How are you two going to overthrow a whole city?"
George waved a nonchalant hand. "Don't worry, we have a plan."
"What are you?" she asked sardonically. "Roving revolutionaries?"
"That's right," I said. "Another town, another revolution. It's all the same to us. Just another gig."
"I think you're crazy."
George passed the bottle to me. "They say that about ever
y great prophet that comes along," he said.
I tipped the bottle and caught Monique looking at me in the rearview. "Why don't you let me drive?" she said.
"Are you sure you can handle this monster?" I asked. "It's a great unforgiving beast."
"If it's an automatic, I can handle it."
"All right," I said, and pulled over. George moved to the back seat, and I slid over to let Monique take the wheel.
She pulled out and smoothly accelerated down the blacktop. After a few watchful minutes we relaxed and George said, "Remember how drunk we used to get on Tango, at the Bunker Club?"
"Oh yeah," I said. "I remember."
"What's Tango?" Monique asked.
"Firebase Tango!" George said proudly. "Most active firebase in the Rockies. Jake and I served there together, during the war."
"Which war?"
"The Party mop-up," I said. "When it was nailing the coffin lid down on the corporations and nationalists."
"You fought for the Party?"
I shrugged. "I enlisted in the U.S. Army, before all the world's services were combined to form SPF. I was just a kid looking for adventure. Didn't matter who I fought for."
George laughed. "God, I remember the drunkest we ever got. It was after that tower raid in Milwaukee, remember that, Jake? I've never seen a man drink like Jake did that night."
"What's a tower raid?" Monique asked.
"You don't want to hear it," I said.
"A tower, a skyscraper," George explained. "Y'see, Party Intelligence had determined that the corporate holdouts had this big communication and administration complex in what was then the northern U.S., back when there was a U.S., but for the life of them they couldn't figure out where. Finally this high-level defector comes over to the Party and tells them. Guess where it was?"
"In a tower," Monique guessed.
"That's right! Right in the middle of downtown Milwaukee. Full of techs and clerks. The corporate powers were so confident of its cover they barely had any guards, so as not to raise attention, or so the defector said."
"So you raided the tower."
"Well, not so much me. I just piloted one of the skimmers that landed on the roof. It was Jake and his Ranger buddies who went in."
She looked at me. "What did you do?"
"We killed them," I said. "As many as we could catch."