World Revolver

by Gina Ranalli

  We’re both fucked.

  Either this goddamn amusement park ride will give me a heart attack, or the cops will shoot me dead.

  The fact is driven home even further when we notice a police chopper suddenly on the scene, buzzing above us like a prehistoric mosquito, its spotlight trying to keep up with the speeding car.

  I don’t get a very good look at it but it occurs to me that they might try to shoot me from up there. It seems unlikely, given the speed of the coaster and the fact I can’t imagine anyone being a good enough sharp-shooter that they would risk missing me and hitting her, but once the thought is in my head, I can’t shake it. My skull is going to shatter and that will be the end of it.

  -They might try to shoot me!

  She looks terrified but she’s looked terrified since this whole thing began a couple hours ago when she first received the instructions on how to save her life. She didn’t go into a lot of explanation regarding that part. I only know she hasn’t been feeling well. Migraines have left her shaking and sobbing for the last day and then, not long ago, she began rocking back and forth on the bed, going faster and faster until I was sure she was having a mental breakdown.

  She explained that it eased the pain a little and even a little was better than no relief at all.

  But then, she insisted I take her on a drive. I almost brought her right to the hospital but she begged me not to, demanding instead that I drive faster and faster until I was sure we were going to go right off the road.

  I drove up to the hills above the city, where there’s usually less traffic on the curvier roads. Once there, she sighed audibly, saying the headache had eased even more. The faster I took the curves and the hills, the less pain she was in. That went on for about half an hour and the next thing I knew, she was ordering me to take her to the coaster and handing me the pistol I keep in the glove box.

  -We’re slowing down.

  Opening my eyes, I see she’s right.

  So this is it. The end is approaching and I’m petrified but also the tiniest bit relieved. The cops will get her to a hospital finally. See what’s happening in her head. Remove the tumor if that’s what it is. Hopefully, I’ll be kept informed of the situation from my jail cell, assuming I make it to one without being riddled with bullet holes. Maybe the doctors, once they figure out what’s wrong with her and see I had no choice, will testify on my behalf and I won’t have to serve as much time.

  I cling to this hope mightily.

  Beside me, she starts to scream, letting go of the safety bar and clasping her hands to her head. Blood begins to ooze from her nose, smearing back along her cheeks when we hit another drop.

  My screams join hers, but I’m screaming words.

  -Keep it going! Stop slowing it down!

  I doubt anyone can hear me and the tattooed man has been pulled away from the scene, as have all the other innocent bystanders. We probably have the entire amusement part to ourselves and under other circumstances that would be exceptionally romantic. Ridiculously, I remember hearing on the local news about a couple who’d gotten married on this very coaster last summer. I wonder if we’re riding in the same car as they did. What are the chances?

  Our train of cars slows even further and I know soon we won’t be going fast enough to make it up the next incline. They’re stopping the coaster. What else can they do? They have to take the chance that I won’t really shoot her, hope they can talk me out of it, get her to safety. It’s their only choice. They can’t let us ride the rollercoaster forever.

  -There has to be another way!

  She ignores me and keeps shrieking, blood now trickling from the corners of her eyes. She’s dying. I doubt she even knows where she is anymore.

  Slower, slower.

  Slowest and then stop at the platform where we first got on. Half a dozen cops are waiting, weapons drawn, shouting at me, their faces pallid at the sight of her, slumped forward and bloody, barely conscious.

  They think I did this to her.

  -Drop your fucking weapon!

  -Drop it, asshole! Drop it NOW!

  -Toss it!

  Too many commands at one time. I let the gun fall from my hand and clatter to the bottom of the car.

  -You have to help her! She’s dying!

  I’m a sobbing wreck, reaching out for her until I’m ordered to raise my hands and that’s when it happens. A combination of a crack and a pop and my wife’s head is gone. Just exploded into a red, white and gray mess that hits me full-force in the face.

  I scream through the gore and cops are yelling, cursing, backing up. I hear the word ‘bomb’ multiple times and think, no shit, Sherlock. The thought is inexplicably hilarious and I stop my screaming and crying to laugh instead. A crazy, high-pitched laugh I’ve never heard before. It sounds like the laugh of the truly insane and forever damned but I can’t help it. I know it’s wrong, not the reaction I should be having to such a horrific, nightmarish event, but it just goes on and on and on.

  I’m grabbed roughly and dragged out of the coaster car, thrown face down on the concrete platform and handcuffed. I fully expect police brutality, but no one hits or kicks me. Maybe they’re too shocked.

  When they lift me up a little while later, one cop gets in my face, shouting questions I have no answers for.

  My wife is dead and now we might never know why. I taste her blood on my lips and my chest heaves. It could be laughing or crying. Right now both are pretty much the same thing.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN—The Junkie (6)

  The first thing I do is scream, not because I’m tied up but because there’s blood and brains all over my face.

  Or so I think for a terrifying instant.

  I come out of it and this time—it takes me mere seconds to discover—I am strapped down. Still in the basement, but not in the usual chair. Instead, Halleck or Hoop have kindly gifted me a comfy cot to stretch out on and be shackled to with thick leather straps.

  -What the fuck!

  Lifting my head, I look around and see Harvey at long last. He’s seated in my old chair and it’s on my lips to say something to him, but then I notice his face doesn’t look quite right. Warped somehow. Like the left side of his face is bulging oddly and I flash on the time I had an abscessed tooth and my face looked kind of like that until my pal Bruce yanked the tooth out with pliers. I was high as a fucking kite and barely conscious when he did it so it wasn’t a big deal at the time. The big deal came hours later when my high wore off and I was still bleeding buckets out of my mouth and had to talk Bruce into stitching up the hole with sewing thread. There were shards of tooth imbedded in my gums for years after. They’re still there to this very day, in fact.

  Studying Harvey now though, seeing his gray pallor, and a dribble of dried blood on his right temple, I put two and two together to come up with he is seriously fucking dead.

  Shot in the head by the looks of it and someone is going to get an earful when they get back down here to dose me or torture me or whatever it is they plan on doing to me next. I definitely don’t appreciate being tied up but being left alone with a corpse seems particularly cruel to me. Especially since I know the guy. Or knew him, I suppose.

  I test the restraints and find they’re pretty solid. Kudos to whichever fuck did this to me. My only recourse is to start yelling my fucking head off so that’s what I do, shouting for help until my throat is hoarse. There must be someone in the bar upstairs, right? Sooner or later, someone is bound to ask who the hell is doing all the screaming. Even shit-faced, I’m pretty sure I’d be able to tell that not everything is copasetic if I heard a dude yelling his damn balls off for help.

  I can feel the muscles in my neck, arms and legs bunching up and bulging as I struggle to get free and shout at the same time. Sweat is beading up all over my body, which is pissing me off even more. I fucking hate to sweat. It’s too close to work.

  All my struggles pay off though because a couple minutes later I hear the door open and sure enough, here comes
Hoop looking like he’s ready to commit a homicide. Well, another homicide.

  He growls at me in a way I’ve never heard before.

  -Shut the fuck up, Eon! You want to end up like your buddy there?

  Again with the threats.

  -Untie me, you sick fuck! Right fucking now!

  I try to sound as ferocious as he does, but I doubt I succeed. I’m just not a tough guy, as the pain in my jaw where Halleck hit me keeps reminding me.

  Hoop stands over my prone body and points a meaty finger in my face.

  -I’m not fucking around with you anymore, Eon. This is seriously deep shit we’re in.

  -What do you mean, ‘we’? I didn’t do shit except apparently get fucking kidnapped by you rat shit eating fuckers!

  -Believe it or not, this is for your own fucking good.

  -Oh, really? Was putting a bullet in Harvey’s head for his own good?

  -That couldn’t be helped.

  Am I mistaken or does Hoop look like he might be feeling a little guilty about that particular incident? I think so, so I press it.

  -What a scumbag, shit-heel move, man. Harvey was a good guy. I think he had kids somewhere. Fucking dickhead.

  -Halleck killed him, genius. He was getting too mouthy, telling people what he knew. He told one guy about Sennacherib’s! Came asking about Satellite, where could he get the shit. I had to play fucking dumb. Once Halleck heard about it…

  Hoop sticks out an index finger and drags it across the front of this own throat.

  -He’s not fucking messing around, man.

  This gives me serious cause for concern and I start hollering again.

  -Un-fucking-tie me, you prick! He’ll kill me too!

  What was once Hoop’s pretend knife turns into a real fist, which he brandishes over me.

  -I’m serious, man. I’ll knock you out.

  Then he pauses, as if making sense of what I just said.

  -Who did you tell?

  -I…huh?

  -Why would Halleck kill you too, unless you told someone?

  I have to think fast, which has never been my forte.

  -No one! I just assume—you know, silly fucking me—that being tied up means I’m dead fucking meat here. Let me go before he gets back.

  Hoop looks suspiciously down at me and I do my best to appear innocent.

  -Come on! This is no joke!

  -You think you’re telling me that? This is my fucking bar! My living! And now look at this shit! I have one guy dead in my basement and another one tied the fuck up. I could end up doing serious time for this shit.

  Starting to pace, Hoop rubs both hands over his bald head. I feel a little better, hoping the idea of hitting me has left his brain in favor of shitting his pants instead.

  -That’s my point, Hoop. You want two dead guys in your basement? Let me go before he gets back. I won’t say shit. Hell, I’ll fucking get out of Dodge. There’s nothing here for me anyway.

  The upstairs door opens again and both of us go pale, looking towards the stairs with dread. We yelp when the body of a man comes tumbling down the stairs, yipping in pain. I fully expect Halleck to come down, following in the body’s wake and I have to strain my neck, lifting my head in order to see that Halleck isn’t chasing after the fallen body because the fallen body is his.

  Hoop backs up several steps and I hear him make a high-pitched whining noise, like a scared dog.

  I’m still struggling to see what’s going on, simultaneously trying to free myself from the restraints. I see boots coming down the stairs and I’m confused by the sight of them, but then come the legs and I’m even more confused.

  When she’s all the way down, Luna kicks Halleck in the face, hard. Blood and teeth fly and he makes a low, groaning sound that might be one of the most pitiful things I’ve ever heard.

  -Luna!

  Hoop looks at me, amazed.

  -You know this bitch?

  I don’t know if it was her intention all along or if it was being called a nasty word, but Luna walks over to Hoop and punches him square in the face.

  He’s a stocky guy and doesn’t go down, but he definitely wobbles, stumbling backwards as blood gushes from his mouth. He reels back, swinging up a fist from his hip but Luna kicks it away and lays into him again. I have time to wonder if she’s secretly a ninja. Everything is happening in slow motion. Hoop is down—maybe unconscious—and Luna is at my side, undoing the bounds at my wrists and ankles.

  I try to smile.

  -Sorry I didn’t meet you in five.

  -Let me guess. You were tied up?

  -Good guess.

  Once I’m free and on my feet, we both step over Hoop and start for the stairs. I look one last time at Harvey, then look away. There goes my best connection.

  We have to step over Halleck too, then we’re up and out, through the bar and into what I’m surprised to see is still night.

  A long black car is waiting at the curb for us and Luna practically shoves me into the backseat, climbing in after me, the car screeching off before she’s even got the door closed.

  In the driver’s seat is a man, turned around to examine me, eyeing me with doubt.

  -This is him?

  -Yep.

  Luna turns in her own seat, looking out the rear window.

  I give the dude the same look he’s giving me.

  -Who are you?

  Answering for him, Luna faces front again.

  -His name is Circe.

  The guy gives the tiniest of nods.

  -Pleasure.

  I nod back, alternately rubbing each of my sore wrists.

  -Cool name.

  The guy raises an eyebrow.

  -Thanks, Eon.

  I frown.

  -That’s my last name, man.

  -Sure it is.

  Luna leans forward and I hope she’s gonna pound Circe in the face but she doesn’t.

  -We have to get him inside fast. He’s going to spin again soon.

  Circe faces front, gives me the stink-eye from the rearview.

  -How soon?

  -Maybe five minutes, tops.

  -Fuck.

  Circe groans and stomps harder on the gas, causing both Luna and I to press back into our seats.

  I touch Luna’s leg.

  -Spin?

  -You’re riding again, friend. You passed the point of no return the last time you spun.

  -And…that’s bad, huh?

  She gives me a look and I shrug.

  -Well, I don’t know. I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  -We have to get you to Atropos.

  -Where’s that?

  -It’s not a place, it’s a person.

  -Oh, okay. Well, then who’s that?

  I don’t stick around long enough to hear her answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE—The Survivor

  Picking through the rubble is an almost meditative pastime at this point. I try to keep my eyes and ears open for other scavengers but I’m so damn tired and weak all the time that I’ve been snuck up on before. Not good. Knocked out, stripped, robbed of everything, violated. They would have eaten me too if I hadn’t had a few cans of food when they caught me. They were so giddy, I was forgotten almost as soon as they were finished with me. Left naked and bleeding.

  They were savage children, grown up in this harsh environment. Thievery, rape and killing were all they knew-a means to an end—the end being they were the living, unscathed for the moment and their bellies weren’t scraping rock bottom.

  Not all of the city has been leveled, but I’ve found that this ruined area is, surprisingly, the safest. Where buildings still stand, wars are fought, sometimes with stones and pipes, sometimes with automatic weapons, but the ammo won’t last forever, while the stones just might. They’ll outlast us anyway.

  I spend the most time in the destroyed parts of cities, bedding down with rats and sometimes eating the same scraps they do. I’ve found following them, studying them, will often lead to what amo
unts to riches these days. Once, on a particularly blessed day, they led me to a buried bag of dry dog food. Fifteen pounds worth, barely touched by the vermin. I ate like a king for nearly two weeks, dragging the thing into the backseat of a car beneath a collapsed parking garage. The accommodations were tight and more than a little claustrophobic but it was worth it. A good hiding place and grub. I only went out to collect rain water in a few empty tin cans and I did that in the dead of night, my usual scrounging hours.

  Here though, on the south side, most everything has been picked clean. People passing through, moving on to warmer climes, just like me. That was the plan anyway but now I’m starting to think I might just be better off where I am. I try to go wherever people aren’t. People are dangerous. People have always been dangerous but now there’s no pretending about it. No hiding from it.

  I just keep moving on my own, no ties. Those are long gone.

  Limping past a shattered mall, I need to find somewhere to bed down soon. My left knee feels like it’s going to explode and it won’t support my weight much longer. Smashed it about two years ago in a fall and it’s never been the same since. Hurts the worst on rainy days though and the overcast sky is already spitting down on me, getting ready to open up and unleash hell.

  There’s an apartment complex a little ways up from the mall and even though I’m scared shitless some roamers might be holed up there already, that’s where I’m headed, hoping for a dry spot anywhere. Safe and dry until daylight doesn’t seem like a whole lot to ask for but it’s close to everything nowadays. If the spot I find feels safe enough, I’ll sleep on through the day, rest the knee and search for food tomorrow night.

  I stick to the shadows, taking my time, watching where I step so I don’t inadvertently kick something that might make a racket and draw attention to me.

  Everything is dark and tomb silent. Even the scavenging animals have moved on from this place.

  Studying the windows from a safe distance, I see no flicker of flames, no blur of light from a shielded flashlight. Nothing is moving.