by Travis Borne
Myron scurried after screaming people with the chainsaw but couldn’t manage to catch a single one. He freaked them out mostly, and herded them all the way into the parking lot, completely clearing out the lookout area. Amy followed, walking slowly but steadily, using every bit of fuel, shooting flames in every direction. She blasted it into the air and watched the breeze play with it. And it rained droplets of fire.
The two young teens Amy had spared earlier, now horrified, were frenzied with uncontrollable panic. Their parents’ teal minivan sported a bald donut spare, port side. It bounced on its coil suspension as they came to pieces within. Fumbling wildly, the girl fought the ignition with a key.
Myron was revving his saw, heading right toward them.
Vrooooom! The van started. The girl, who looked only a year older than her brother, not more than fourteen, stomped the gas and it revved high enough to cause a pop in the engine—but it didn’t move.
Myron hit the rear taillights and plastic went flying. He unstuck the saw and re-revved it up, then ran it down the sides. Sparks flew as he carved the steel.
The boy reached over and yanked hard on the column shifter. Gears grinded and tires smoked. The front tires spun themselves bald. The little donut struggled to keep up and spit rubber. And the van finally achieved motion. It took off flying, bounced over the parking pylon and veered hard left. Myron threw his saw and leapt out of the way. The girl mismanaged the steering wheel, over and under steering until all direction was lost. The little out-of-control personnel carrier barreled left then right as the two wheel-jerkers fought each other inside. Through the knee-high concrete barrier they exploded, and onto the glass overlook; it cracked loud like a semi-frozen lake. The girl finally managed some control but they’d already built up too much speed. The van was bottle-necked. The front corner hit, hard—this time the railing didn’t cede like the rock wall had. The pill-bottle shaped ride somersaulted up and over and into the canyon. Terrified hands flat-pounded the glass, their screams muffled by the wailing four cylinder revving far past maximum—a petrified foot held the pedal to the metal. Amy watched as it went over, so did Myron, both of them no longer laughing. The engine blew first, in a loud pop! Then another louder explosion as it touched down. Then, another loud pop—behind Myron.
Amy turned. He was shot.
Everything was ablaze, a fiery hell. She torched every remaining car, every remaining person, man, woman, child, baby, and pet, including the security guard who had gotten two off—into Myron's back. Myron plopped to his knees, and fell to the side.
“It’ll be okay, Myron.” Amy knelt by his side and rolled him over.
“It…hurts,” he coughed. Blood fell from his mouth. Two bullets in his back destroyed their way out the front of his chest, one in the center of his gut, the other his right lung. He wasn’t crying and tried to be strong but the pain had him compressed, wilted, and tucked.
“Myron,” she said, laying him out flat. “I need you to do one thing for me. I know it hurts but be still and try to relax.” Amy concentrated her gaze on the first of the two exit wounds. Like the green traffic light in the Future City map, she let herself focus and followed the growing intensity. The bloody gash took on a mountainous shape like the red crater of a churning volcano. Its textures grew and became staggering. Its gushing blood became a waxy lava flow, slowing each moment she held her focus. Time stopped and she allowed herself to be vacuumed in. She focused every sense: sight, until she was at the molecular level, and beyond that; sounds, until the lava coagulated into solid walls of pulpy gel. A world of gummy gloss. She could feel the edges of Myron's pain scathe her presence, and soothed it with a gentle touch. She heard his breathing, and went deeper inside until the world was anew, and perspective became malleable. A dense air wisped by and around her, until she let it pass through her essence. She took it in, all of it—now hers to manipulate. She focused with intensity, deeper until the realm she now commanded grazed her own emotions. Where the power resides, she found it, and knew instantly. She inflamed it, feeling love, feeling hate, feeling power, feeling, feeling all, and merged the perspectives. Ready now. She let the creativity seep in, the real true power, and held it. Slowly, slowly. Building, growing. Let it all mix together. Expanding, thrusting, pumping, living. She let everything in and handled the totality of it without doubt, sculpting, molding, forging it powerfully. Every feeling and thought, like a hurricane, like a diver reaching for that breath—release.
She exploded out—back.
“What? I—” Myron gasped. He took in a mountain of air and his eyes bulged. Looking down at his chest, his bloody shirt with six-inch raggedy holes, he smiled and felt himself. The bullet holes were gone. “How did you?”
“Next time be a little more careful—you crazy shit. Come on, let’s go. Although, I think we’ll have to look for another ice cream truck.” They both laughed. The truck and all the ice cream was a gooey smoldering mess.
56. Nanny
Screams hijacked the atmosphere when the screaming mega coaster plummeted. It whooshed by and Amy followed it with a bobbing head as it dove into loop after loop. Her fingers were ten drumsticks to bouncing legs; she sat as patiently as one could be in such a stimulating place. Raucous rock music blared from afar, galvanizing her calf muscles to the beat.
She had arrived almost ten minutes ago on a bench across from the slivering snake currently captivating her, and was still waiting for her partner. Finally, after another five, the vague shape of a person fluttered the air beside her, and under them both, the black bag took form. The crowded State Fair bustled to the brim, and Nanny had arrived. She put an unmaterialized hand on her unmaterialized heart; the sheer amount of people astonished her, even before she finished solidifying.
A slow logger-inner, Nanny was the oldest lender on the team and hardly produced a result, at least not steadily, but she was wise and experienced, still having the occasional whopping success. Her methods were unconventional, yet surprisingly yielding at times.
“Nanny!” Amy greeted.
“Oh, dear,” Nanny said, gripping the bench. “They warned me, but I never imagined there would be…oh, dear. Indeed, this is something. Free ticket promotion, Amy?” Her head wandered about—the fair was jam-packed! Nanny took in a deep breath then let it out like a time machine. Her smile was a baby’s first lollipop.
Momentarily, Amy got flashes, ten billion in a millisecond. She couldn’t make them out but felt good vibes and knew they were coming from Nanny.
Compressed by the age of eighty-six years, Nanny was only a thumbnail shorter than Myron, and not obese, but not skinny either—lumpy perhaps. Her long white hair was darker on the ends and curled into a bun that sagged onto her neck. Above some baggy mint pants and under a teal sweater, she wore a lemon-yellow collared shirt—from forever ago perhaps, but stylish in its own way. With flare her colorful flowered hat really topped the look. Had she an updated wardrobe she might even look young, especially with her almost incongruous skin—likely a result of the cleansing—overly smooth and silky white, like a cartoon. Wrinkles appeared only when she made a face, making her assume true age semblance only half the time. She had trusting olive-green eyes and when Amy focused on them much generosity and warmth could be sensed; a far contrast from the task at hand, seemingly. She also sensed much experience, an abundant life of happy ups, mixed with a few terrible downs.
A white-light adorned Ferris wheel loomed behind their wooden bench. The lights pulsed from the center out then circled the colossal steel wheel. Loading slowly, a suave couple of lovebirds led the way. They had boarded first, followed by a quarter section of squirmy spitters. The goober rain made both Nanny and Amy look up simultaneously. The young girl who sat with her letterman boyfriend met Amy’s glance, and disregarding the spit momentarily, they exchanged a friendly pressed smile. Then, Amy evil-eyed the jokers dangling behind them. Her stare was so powerful the kids turned—and started spitting the other way.
Directly across
the stomped grassy ground was the entrance to Dream Dragon, the colossal coaster. Its compressed line of anxiously waiting daredevils extended past the food section. To their right were gaming booths and vendors. And left, paths led to more imagination-ticklers. To Amy it was titillating torture, a thrilling wonderland in which she wanted to immerse herself. She wanted to have fun with the DCs, not kill them. It would be nice to make friends with that nice girl and her boyfriend, she thought. And she wished she’d known about the State Fair map earlier.
Nanny and her normal lending partner Fran, younger by nine, never generated many DCs. Things were usually quiet with no more than eight or so appearing at once, fifteen on a great day, and usually in a group that clung together. Unlike Flyin’ Fran, her opposite, Nanny loved the fair, and staying grounded, and chose it often because it reminded her of her childhood so long ago.
“I gotta ride some of these,” Amy said, reaching for the black bag under their seat. “It’s really too bad we have to—”
“Uh, uh, uh.” Nanny waved a crooked finger. “We don’t use the bag here, Fran and I. And I’m not about to start now. You’ll have to be a little more creative than that, while in my company, dearie. Might I start first to give you an idea?”
“Uh, okay sure, Nanny. You do know they’re not real, though?”
“Of course I do, sweetie,” Nanny said. “But I just don’t like all the violence. At my age, I like to keep things as peaceful as possible. There are quite a lot of people here though. Fran and I usually only have a few to get rid of, then we relax and enjoy the rest of our day.”
“Ride the rides?”
“Yes, but of course. I might be old but I’m not dead.” Nanny chuckled. Then she looked around. “My my, there really are a lot of them aren’t there?”
“So, we might actually need to use the bag in this case?”
“Nope. Watch and learn, young one. Watch and learn.” Nanny tilted to the side onto one butt cheek and her face got really red. She puffed her cheeks and pushed. “FFFRRRRBBBT! FFFeeeRRRRBBBeeeT! FFFRRRRBBBT…eeek!”
Nanny let out the loudest fart Amy had ever heard. It was more massive than any of the ones Daddy Jerry used to let out, and his were Brobdingnagian blasts. Most at the fair heard it. And Amy was taken aback by how loud it was, amplified-like, and a moment later, the stench set in. She was about to talk, tell Nanny: GROSS or WHAT IN THE—then the turmoil began.
“Oh, gawd!” yelled a woman contemptuously. She picked up her two young children and disappeared in the opposite direction. People scattered left and right and amazingly the fair emptied by at least half.
Amy burst out laughing then swallowed a mouthful: rotten eggs and roadkill in one drowning gulp. It expunged her exuberance, forthwith, and she covered her nose using her shirt and hands, but the fart had already lodged itself onto her tongue—among other senses. Not only could she taste the smell; it was so bad she saw it. Everything had a green tint, even her hearing went dull. She couldn't take it any longer. Amy got up and ran with the scattering-buffalo crowd. She stopped near the candy-apple stand and barfed, and kept spitting into the grass for a good five minutes. Her nose was running and her eyes were watering—it was worse than tear gas, or any type of gas.
Finally, the haze cleared a bit and Amy yelled from the other side: “Jeez, Nanny, warn me next time, would ya! Yuh-uk!”
Nanny’s body bounced as she chuckled. She was the only one not holding her nose; she just sat there with a devilish grin. Amy composed herself then noticed how much the fair had cleared. And her sight became clear. A good ten minutes later she was finally able to join Nanny in a laugh, from afar. Nanny, face still red, had a wheezy laugh; it was apparent she got a kick out of the surprise because she couldn’t stop once she got started. Amy knew it was all part of the plan, and she knew it had worked because she could sense the drain. She could feel the output seeping away, sponged by the system. She was getting a feel for many things, many things she now knew couldn’t be explained—things that have to be learned, by experience. Getting rid of them, it’s about making them disappear suddenly—one way or another… Nanny sure is going to be fun to be around, she thought. But really gross!
“Come on over here, honey,” Nanny said. “I promise I won’t let any more farts loose. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone except Fran in here with me. That was like the one she planted on me shortly after we’d met.”
“But how did you make it so—”
“You learn things, after doing it for so long,” Nanny said. “I think you have already learned quite a bit. I saw your eyes with the spitting kids. My advice, don’t hold yourself back. Now—how about let’s see what you’ve got. And remember, no violence—” With her heel, she kicked the black bag back further under the bench. “—just be creative.”
Amy thought for a few, while feeling her chin, like Ted always did. It wasn’t long before an idea bounced into her head. There were only half as many people since the fart but more were already arriving. Amy reached down for the bag.
Nanny goalied her, sending her legs to the left like two prison bars. “Uh, uh, dearie,” she said slowly. “Remember what I said.” She waved a ticktock finger.
“Trust me, Nanny. I’m not even gonna open it,” Amy said. Nanny tilted her head diagonally and relented with a flat smile and a breath of trust. She moved her legs aside and let Amy grab the bag.
Amy noticed a security guard, far to Nanny’s left, near the Merry-Go-Round entrance. “Okay, here goes,” she said. Nanny was getting antsy about Amy with the bag, when suddenly Amy leapt forward screaming.
“Bomb! There’s a bomb in the bag! Bomb! Bomb! It’s a bomb!”
Catching on fast, as always, Amy used the same trick Nanny had used. Her voice was amplified, more so than the fart even, and everyone in the park heard it.
Nanny knew right away, this one is special. She could feel the urgency in the screams as Amy took off running with the bag, holding it out in front of her. Her screams weighed heavy with emotion: fear and panic infected every DC in the park. The screams instigated a virulent pandemic. Panic reverberated throughout. Screams overlapped: “Run for your lives!”, “Save yourself!”, and “Fuck this, I’m outta here.”
The trembling security guard radioed in the threat while getting bumped side to side by the stampede. People jetted by in every direction. Compared to the green gas Nanny had ejected, it was at least twice as effective. Amy really put her essence into the screams and sent fear deep into the—if there was such a thing—souls of the DCs.
The guard was overwhelmed with people passing him by as he attempted to make his way a little bit closer. By the look on his face, he really didn’t know what to do. And Amy just kept on, “There’s a BOMB in there! Bomb! It’s gonna blow! 15 seconds!”
The ride operator pulled back on the lever, stopping the Ferris wheel before running away to save his own life. The spitters, probably having had much practice on the jungle gym, were already monkeying down the bars and leapt away to safely. Getting stuck at 10 o'clock, the lovebirds remained but were attempting to climb down. Letterman went first, then his gal. He stepped out onto the beam in front of their carriage. It was clear he wanted to reach the safety ladder at the wheel’s center. He descended the beam, sidestepping, and his brunette girlfriend did the same behind him. They stepped over the large flashing bulbs. Almost there.
Amy stopped screaming. The park was empty except for the two, and she hoped, for reasons she didn’t know or understand, they’d make it down safely.
Letterman grabbed the bars at the joint, but it was tainted with black grease. It was slick at his next step too, slightly, but just enough. His foot slipped on the bar. He had one oiled hand on the bar above, and the other in the grip of his love. The first held for two seconds, the second was a clammy last touch. Fingers departed to the very last tips.
Thud, clonk, thud, ding. His body somersaulted clockwise end over end, then, after taking a bar to the back, his yelling ceased. A ri
ppling back crack echoed through the steel. He folded more than was healthy, floated for a second, then slid feet first, spinning the other way. He descended pounding cables and pipes—a human pinball. He probably didn’t feel the end, but it was enough for Nanny. Landing vertically, his ride finished with a double smack—hard pop neck, loud crack skull.
Nanny cringed. She didn’t like any of that. If only Fran was here to see this shit, she thought.
Splayed like an X and trembling, his newly acrophobic girlfriend gasped. She gagged for air like a deflated blowfish until her palpitating lungs finally got traction. She let out a tear-gurgling, mucus-blasting scream. She still possessed the fear Amy had instilled so deeply but attempted to climb back into the carriage, which was closer, plus she knew of the grease. Regaining a sliver of composure, she made the attempt.
Amy felt bad. This was all new to her. With the other lenders she’d always done things in such a linear fashion. This time it was something new. Nanny’s advanced tricks. And she truly felt sorrow this time, and wanted to take it back. She’d instilled the fear so powerfully, so deadly…
But it was just too unbalanced. On the outside, pushing down, it tipped unstably, wobbling her teetering feet. The heavy carriage she’d sat in with her love, so happily just moments ago, swayed downward as she grabbed it, then bobbed upward, uppercutting her balance. She fumbled, her muscles tensed, her teeth clenched, and her flooded eyes went round. Her last thrill ride. Except for a scathing knock to the back of the head, she missed the bars—luckily perhaps, in one futile perspective. The landing was brutal, more of a mushy crunch. Both Amy and Nanny turned away.
Nanny was watching this with her head cocked up backward from the bench. She wasn’t quite happy with the result; Amy’s plan. But the fair had been cleared out, and really, as she thought about it, was almost never happy with Fran’s plans either. Even the security guard had timorously retreated after Amy’s second vociferation. The fair was empty.