by Adam Bender
“Shit!” he exclaimed. Then, realizing his audience, “Sorry. Shouldn’t curse.”
“Don’t fucking apologize to me!” she returned. “That does suck, though. Can you still fire your gun if the brace — if the wristband’s off?”
He pulled out the Separatist pistol and looked at it like it was a strange growth. “Well, shit.”
“Where’d you get that piece of crap?”
“Canada.”
She snorted a laugh. “Canada? Are you serious?”
Charlie slapped her on the back and sprinted ahead.
“Hey, what the hell was that?” she yelled after him.
“You’re it, loser!” he shouted back.
Lindsay’s stunned gape morphed into a gleeful grin. She took chase, gray hood flapping behind her.
*
“I’m not against guns.”
The Wanderer smirked. He didn’t believe Rosa for one second.
“No, really,” she appealed. “When I was little, I used to go hunting with my brother and my dad, and I loved it. What I’m actually against is the excess of guns and the gun culture. Have you seen the Breck 100X? What regular person would need a gun that shoots that many bullets, that fast, over that long a distance? For that matter, what regular person would need any fully automatic rifle?”
A short laugh escaped through his nose. “Hey, America survived the Thompson, didn’t it?”
Rosa gave him a look like he was wearing his left shoe on the right. “The tommy gun? Really? That’s what you’re going with? Okay, first of all, I don’t think the Thompson had computer-assisted aiming as a feature —”
“I know the Breck 100X has more gadgetry — that’s not what I mean. What I’m saying is … look, everyone was up in arms about machine guns back then, weren’t they? But America survived another century, didn’t it?”
“America survived the 1920s because it had functioning police, courts, and legislatures. Anyway, you know what the government did, right?”
The Wanderer let his silence answer.
“They banned machine guns. It was called the National Firearms Act. Maybe you heard of it? It’s that law your dad got lifted so that his death company, no offense, could release the Yossarian assault rifle and make a profit.”
Errol offered a long, impressed whistle. The reporter knew her history. He remembered his father’s quest to change the law, but he’d never heard it phrased in quite those words. He had done his best to stay out of politics while his father was in charge of company. Above his paygrade, he liked to say. Also, he had always felt a little dirty about the amount of influence his dad had on public policy. Really, it’d been Gerard who’d wanted to get involved in those kinds of discussions, but Dad had been too stubborn to let him help.
“It’s not just that, though,” Rosa went on. “It’s this American attitude that like, we have the right to just walk down the street carrying guns on our waist.” She smacked her forehead. “It’s like we’re living in the Wild West all over again. It’s like … when you leave the house, you’re checking for your wallet, your keys, your phone, and your gun. Like these are equally essential things for the day ahead. And the kids — girls like Lindsay — they’re the ones who get caught in the crossfire.”
*
Charlie had to stop running at the floor of the canyon. Between heavy breaths, he panted, “Can we … can we put … this game … on hold … for … now?”
“What? That’s stupid!” Lindsay looked outraged. “Either we keep playing, or I win.”
The Kid spat a thick wad of mucus and watched it rust the copper dirt. “Fine. You win. Is it time to eat?”
“Not yet. I know a nice picnic spot a little way up ahead. Might take twenty minutes?”
He groaned. “Okay, well, I’m gonna rest here a minute and let the others catch up.”
“Whatever.” She turned back to the path, continuing full steam ahead.
Still gasping, Charlie turned to the river rapids carving through the red rocks. He put his backpack down while pulling a half-empty water bottle from the side. After a good, long swig, he tugged off his track jacket and tied it around his waist; bugs be damned. The cool air felt good against the film of sweat that had washed over his arms. He had just caught his breath when the Wanderer and Rosa came up behind him.
“She tired you out, huh?” asked the reporter.
“Naw,” Charlie said. “I just thought I’d wait up for the slowpokes of the group. What’s up, guys?”
The Wanderer looked secretly relieved to see him. “We’re just finishing up my interview.”
“Finishing up?” repeated Rosa with alarm. “We’re just getting started!”
He shook his head no. “I reckon I better make sure the girl knows where she’s going. Looks like you’re up, Kid!”
As the Wanderer jogged away, Charlie let loose a high-pitched “Ha!”
Rosa held out her hands in consternation. “He literally just ran away from me.”
“Well, he is known to wander.”
She laughed.
“How about you interview me now? C’mon, girl, I just know you’ve been itchin’ to get the scoop on handsome Kid Hunter.”
She smiled at him. “All right, sugar.”
He winked. “That’s brown sugar to you.”
She held up her hands. “Whoa there, stallion. How’d you meet the Wanderer?”
Charlie gave a look of mock outrage. “Is this about him or about me?”
“Okay fine. Where are you from?”
“Sin City. The mean streets of Las Vegas.”
“What were you doing there?”
“This and that. Some might call me a mercenary. A mercenary with a kind heart. No, wait. How about … a mercenary with a kind but dangerous heart.”
Rosa frowned. “I don’t think you understand how interviews work.”
“Sure I do. I give you great quotes and you write ’em down.”
The reporter sighed.
Kid Hunter grinned. Winning.
“You raise an interesting point, though. You seem pretty good-natured for a guy who shoots strangers for a living.”
It was like a sucker punch to the gut. Charlie heard himself stammering incomprehensibly and it took some time before he was able to pull himself together. “That’s what I used to do. And I did what I did for my sister. To keep her off the streets. So she could have a good life.”
“A sister? Older or younger?”
“Younger. We used to be a team back in Vegas. Jane would charm the guy at 7-Eleven while I snatched the bread. You know, that kind of thing.”
“So you were thieves.”
“We were orphans.”
“Like Lindsay and Jimmy.”
He defensively waved his hand. “I’m nothing like Jimmy.”
Rosa shrugged. “So, what? Stealing didn’t pay?”
“Not those kinds of jobs. But then I started moving on to bigger things. I learned to hack, and began pulling off bigger jobs on my own. I guess that’s how I attracted El Tiburón’s notice. I’d never thought about using my skills for killing, but when I found out how much it would pay, and what that would mean for Jane, I couldn’t say no.”
“How did you learn to hack?”
He grinned proudly. “Self-taught. I always liked the planning of a theft more than the physical doing, so I got to thinking, maybe there’s a way I can do this remotely. So, I … uh … got access to a pretty slick laptop, and I started learning the skills. I found a fairly powerful hacking community online. Got a lot of great pointers there.”
“So you learned hacking to make theft easier. But then El Tiburón started using your skills to kill people. And this is the part I don’t really get. I mean, you seem like a nice guy, Charlie. How did you put aside your conscience to accept a job and take a life?”
Kid Hunter frowned. “Hey, uh, I was just thinking … do you mind not mentioning specifically that I worked for El Tiburón in whatever you end up writing? I’m in deep
enough shit with that guy as is.”
She nodded. “I don’t have to specify.”
“To your question,” he said with a shrug, “I guess I tried not to think too much about my targets. I never found out anything personal about them. I didn’t want to know who they were. They were always just targets. You know?”
Rosa smiled like she understood. He wondered how reporters remembered any of this shit later when they sat down to write. That girl must have a mind like a steel trap!
“You and Lindsay were pretty cute, running around up there,” she said.
Charlie sighed with relief. It sounded like the interview was over. “She’s an all right kid, I think. I guess she reminds me a little of Jane when she was young.”
“Lindsay reminds you of your little sister. Interesting.”
“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. “I see what you did there. You know what, Rosa? You’re pretty good at this journalism shit!”
*
When the Wanderer caught up with Lindsay, he didn’t know what to say. The girl seemed to have a good memory of the trail. He had no doubt she knew where they were headed. He took comfort also in the fact that they were walking along a river, close to good water they could use for drinking and cooling off. Follow it long enough and it just might lead them back to civilization.
The Wanderer lifted his hat and wiped his brow. Talking to that reporter did his head in. Rosa made interviews feel like debates. What he’d do for a beer!
He heard Lindsay grumble and looked over. She was walking with a deeply serious pout and holding two finger guns by her hips.
“Hey, what are you —?” he asked.
“I’m the Wanderer,” she growled. “Make my day.”
“Hey!”
She started cracking up at how hilarious she thought she was, and then the Wanderer felt a deep laugh erupting from his own belly. Maybe it was the heat or the exhaustion, but soon they were bending over at the knees, nearly in tears. He took off his Stetson and slapped it playfully on Lindsay’s head. The gray hat was too big and sank over her eyes, but she lifted her head back and balanced the front of the inside against her forehead.
“Well, now!” he exclaimed, playing up the Western twang. “Ain’t you just a little Wanderer?”
A smile appeared on the girl’s face, but it vanished as thunder echoed through the canyon. There was an explosion of dust a few yards from Lindsay’s feet. The Wanderer recognized the sound as the report of a Montag sniper rifle. He shouted back to Rosa and the Kid to run for cover, while tugging Lindsay by the arm toward a red rock wall. She grabbed the Stetson off the ground and sprinted alongside him. Another crack of thunder hit, bursting against the stone just behind them.
He reckoned it was a miracle they still had their lives. He and Lindsay hadn’t been moving that fast — a good sniper wouldn’t have missed that first shot. Whoever was shooting at them wasn’t a great shot and was probably drunk. He could still get lucky, though.
“Keep running!” he roared at the others.
A low opening in the rock appeared, just big enough to crawl into. The Wanderer pushed Lindsay inside and rolled in after her. It was a cave. It had a low ceiling but there was plenty of space for all of them. He watched as Rosa and Kid Hunter came running. Another blast. The mercenary howled but kept running. He dove into the cave, and Rosa crawled in after him.
The Kid’s left bicep was bleeding.
“Are you shot?” cried Rosa.
He shook his head. “No — with that high-caliber shit he’s firing? I’d be dead if he got a direct shot on me.” He pointed to his arm. “He blew up a rock right next to me. Some of the shards must’ve scratched me.”
She took a good look and breathed a sigh of relief. “It doesn’t look serious.”
“Okay, but it fucking hurts!”
A loud, wheezing breath turned the Wanderer’s attention to Lindsay. Her face was red, and she looked like she was having trouble breathing.
He reached into his denim knapsack and brought out a small metal box labeled Breck First Aid. The company had begun producing the kits about a decade ago, in response to the increasing frequency of gunshot wounds. Rosa took the kit and procured a roll of thick white cloth. As she wrapped it around the Kid’s arm to stem the bleeding, the Wanderer went over to help Lindsay.
He smacked her in the back in an attempt to clear her lungs. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“Just … asthma,” she whimpered. “I had an inhaler … in my … pocket … but it must have fallen out.”
With trepidation, the Wanderer looked back out at the canyon. It wasn’t safe to go back out there.
“Is it that blue thing?” Charlie asked. With his bandaged arm, he pointed to a shadow near the opening of the cave.
It was close enough to the entrance for the sniper to have a shot, but the Wanderer reckoned he’d have a second or two while the hunter took aim. He scuttled toward the object, picked it up and leaped back toward Lindsay. There was another crack of thunder and the spot where the inhaler had lain burst into a cloud of dirt. With a smirk, the Wanderer brought the inhaler to Lindsay. Gratefully, the wheezing girl took the medicine and brought it to her mouth for a puff.
Charlie exclaimed, “Fucking hell! Where’s the shooter?”
The Wanderer shook his head. The echoes of the canyon had made it impossible to hear from where the gun was fired. Could be anywhere.
“Think it’s the Gang?” asked Rosa.
“No,” replied the Wanderer. “We lost them good, and anyway, sniping’s not their style. I reckon it’s our friend with the Montag — the same lone wolf who shot them hikers.”
Rosa held her mouth in fright. “What are we going to do now? He’ll get us as soon as we come out.”
“I think there might be another way out of here,” Lindsay interjected. She had crawled deeper into the cave and was pointing around the corner. “I think I see some light.”
They crawled for several minutes until they reached it. The girl was right. It was an exit out the other side. The shooter wouldn’t be able to get them without coming through the cave himself.
“And then what?” asked Rosa. “What’s going to stop him from finding us again?”
“Nothing,” said the Wanderer. “But if we head for higher ground, that Montag won’t do him any good. If he still wants to get us, he’ll have to be a little more personable.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
This Smells of Showboating!
Death was most obvious around the eyes, where the skin had darkened and begun to flake. The mouth hung slightly ajar, with yellow teeth cutting through chalky lips. A leather harness fit tightly around a shriveled chest and held the body upright, while a rope tied to the back kept it aloft. The rope connected to a butcher’s hook on the ceiling designed to hang heavy slabs of refrigerated meat.
“Stage one!” blared a megaphone. A responding blast thundered against the body. The impact sent the corpse’s bare feet back and up in an arc until they inched slightly above its skull. Gravity snapped the cadaver back down, and the feet arced forward until the soles could be seen. The human pendulum swung back and forth with decreasing energy until, finally, it settled into a breezy drift.
“Stage two! Keep it in the air!”
A drumroll of shots batted the body back up like a balloon.
The corpse vibrated under the rain of fire. Finally, unable to take any more, the thing separated at the waist as if it was slow-cooked brisket.
The gunfire ceased, filling the hangar with a heavy silence. Gerard Breck, looking splendid in a black pin-striped business suit, lowered his binoculars, pulled pink wads of foam from his ears, and discarded them on the cement floor. He was about a football field away from the corpse, standing alongside men wearing ear mufflers and white lab coats. Gerard watched with interest as they scrawled numbers and figures on their tablets.
He wet his lips as the test shooter came up from a prone position holding a Breck 100X rifle. “Tha
t was … breathtaking.”
Testing the guns had always been Gerard’s favorite. It wasn’t the firing of the guns that got him hard, but rather seeing what the guns could do to their targets. The varying effects of bullets on animal flesh was a particular delight. Changing the length of the gun barrel or the width of the bullet, for example, could mean the difference between a clean shot sunk into the meat or an explosion that sent the thing’s innards spraying in all directions. Each was a beautiful sight in its own way.
One of the white coats came up to him and began to speak science. Gerard tuned him out, choosing instead to replay the scene of the levitating cadaver. In this version, however, it was his stepbrother on the line … the so-called Wanderer. It was almost impressive, Errol’s relentless knack for intruding in Gerard’s affairs. Even after leaving Vegas in disgrace, it was like Errol couldn’t help himself. Seriously, Gerard couldn’t kill one pesky reporter without that moron interfering? How had he found her? How had he even known about her?
“Mr. Breck? Did you hear me?”
His eyes fell on Elza, who was wearing the stern, focused look that made her such an asset.
“We’ve got to get in the limo now,” she stated, all business. “You’re due in front of the board in less than twenty minutes.”
*
Gerard didn’t like to admit it, but there was actually one floor that sat above the office of the CEO. On the roof of the gun-clip skyscraper, the architect had added a clear glass bubble where boardroom meetings could be held. It was a beautiful space, with panoramic views across the city, but Gerard couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread whenever he stepped off the elevator. No matter how prepared he felt going in, such meetings never went well.
As CEO, he was one of two executive directors on the board. The other was the CFO, Francis Cohn. Fran was an okay guy. Elza had recommended him for his ability to take all orders without question and fudge the balance sheet to meet business goals. Unfortunately, the four non-executive directors were real asshats. They’d been on the board since the dawn of time, and in the whole length of their existence had never said one nice thing to Gerard. In fact, it had only been with great reluctance that they had even allowed him to assume the position of CEO. They had wanted Errol then, and Gerard knew they still wanted Errol now. Well, Errol had missed his chance.