Dead Edge

by Jack Ford

He rubbed his head, for all the good it did. Glanced at the sun. Knew he was looking due east. And then Cooper looked some more. But it wasn’t the direction that interested him. It was what was on the crest of the hill.

  Without hesitation, Cooper floored the accelerator, forcing the old ’83 Honda’s speedometer to touch and quiver at ninety. The engine was racing faster than the car seemed to be able to move. Smoke was billowing up and the smell of burn-out filled the car, but it could’ve blasted right in half for all Cooper cared. As long as it got him over that ditch he was headed for… He angled the car so he could hit it like a ramp. Fast. Forward. But most of all up. Cooper knew it needed to go up.

  A dense cloud of smoke thickened in the car’s interior, making it difficult to see, while the car juddered at maximum speed. ‘Come on…! Come on…! Come on!’

  Wheels hit the edge at well over a hundred. A brief sense of suspension followed by a bone-shattering impact.

  Head flicked back.

  Front teeth sunk deep into his tongue.

  Blood filled his mouth.

  The Honda nose-dived, crashing into the hard ground on the other side. The engine seized and the grey driver’s door swung open. Fell right off.

  Desperately, Cooper rolled out. Running. Scrabbling. Holding his shoulder at the same time as trying to pop it back into its socket. He ignored the pain and the cold sweat and the clothes sticking and the blood dripping down his chin like he was the Guacamole guy.

  But none of it mattered to Cooper because now he could see the President’s black motorcade in the distance. And as crazy as he knew it was, right there was where he was heading.

  *

  Cooper felt it before he knew what was happening and it took him clear off his feet. Sending him through the air. Heat and energy expanding, blast-waves of air rushing out from the Honda as it exploded into a fireball of orange flame. Black smoke storming up to fill the skies.

  The explosion flung him down as unceremoniously as it’d picked him up. Thundering him into the ground. Pain shot through his ribs, ricocheting into his shoulder, whilst teeth once again found his tongue to sink deeply into.

  Sucking up the pain Cooper crawled onto his knees. Pushed himself up onto his feet. He didn’t turn but he could hear sirens. Cars breaking away from the motorcade. Drawn by the blast, racing towards him.

  Instinct had him running but he was aware there was nowhere to run on the grass covered plain. They were closing in. Herding him up like the buffalo.

  He could almost feel the heat from their engines as the Tannoyed words crashed across the quiet of the Colorado land.

  ‘STOP! THIS IS THE FBI… GET ON THE GROUND… DO IT NOW…! I REPEAT, THIS IS THE FBI… GET ON THE GROUND OR WE WILL SHOOT!’

  Then, like someone had reached into his body to tear out his muscles, a raw torture of fifty thousand volts surged through him, dropping Cooper hard onto his knee caps.

  Neck snapping back.

  Eyes rolling up to sockets…

  … teeth through tongue.

  8

  d5 Ne7

  It was the call he was expecting. Later than he thought. But with the same meticulous pronunciation. And once again there were no surprises. None.

  The caller said, ‘I congratulate you on your initiative. I must say I’m impressed. I did wonder how it’d play out because there’s no doubt that you couldn’t afford anyone to find out exactly what it is you’re doing. Have done… Are about to do. Though next time there won’t be any warning. There’ll be casualties. Lots. Next time we’ll let slip the dogs of war. Unleash hell. And make no mistake, there will be another 9/11.’

  FIVE MILES OUTSIDE GOROM-GOROM,

  BURKINA FASO, WEST AFRICA

  9

  Nd2 a5

  On any other day the boy would’ve wiped away the large droplets of sweat which sat and mixed with the dust on his sun scorched skin. But today was different. Today he needed to concentrate and finish off the present he’d been making for his mother. And although the brightly colored paper collage had been trickier and taken longer than he’d imagined, he was certain she’d be pleased.

  His faded Mickey Mouse T-shirt, and bleached out jeans held up by a piece of string, gave him little cool. And the corrugated roof, like iron waves sitting on the brick house, painted in hues of summer barley, gave him no shade. But he smiled, his happiness as it always was; warm and strong like the winds which blew across the burnt yellow grasslands under the African skies.

  Above the sound of the exciting buzzing of flies, a noise in the distance made the boy look up. He tilted his head, listening again. Not recognizing the sound. Frowning, he got up, only then wiping the sweat off his face, leaving the precious collage on the ground.

  He walked forward to the wide dirt road, the dust like a haze making the sun seem darker than it should be and the afternoon seem later than it was. Beneath his feet a rumble. He looked down at them curiously, as if somehow they would speak and tell him of the mystery of shudder.

  The tremble began to become harder and with it the noise greater. Roaring louder, reminding him of the stories of the animals which preyed and stalked in the forests. He shivered at the thought of such creatures but curiosity moved him forward. He was, after all, seven years old, and at seven years old, he knew he was almost a man.

  With renewed vigor, the boy stood in the middle of the road, looking into the thick haze which swirled and churned. Then like his mother pulling back the tattered drapes each morning, the curtain of dust parted, sweeping aside to reveal a huge object which reminded him of the giant horned beetles.

  His face smiled, delighted at whatever it was that was moving towards him. His face a spectacle of amazement, of wonder, as the mechanical insects trundled forwards.

  ‘Run Bako… run!’

  The boy whipped round at the cry of his name then watched as a vision of red burst up from the man’s head like a sequencing fountain before it imploded, splitting apart into pieces.

  Bako’s scream seemed to freeze in the air, almost as if his anguished cry hung suspended, trapped between the visible heatwaves rising up from the road.

  A loud explosion behind Bako triggered him to run as balls of flame fired from armored tanks burnt and blazed alongside him. He heard the cries of people, of neighbors, of friends as they fell, picked off, and pools of red became their final resting place.

  Tears welled and ran down Bako’s cheeks, causing his vision to become blurred. But he was glad. He didn’t want to see the woman he knew dropping her baby as gleaming metal struck into her face, splitting it in half as if it were his grandfather cutting the cassava. And he didn’t want to see the tiny brick church crumble as the monster tanks blew it into rubble. Nor did he want to see his mother’s friend, filled with terror. Her top torn. Her skirt missing as two men dragged her inside a house. But he did want to cover his ears to drown out her screaming.

  Through the machine gun fire and the grenades, Bako scrabbled along, tripping over the freshly dead. He turned the corner to see a man coming towards him holding a blood-soaked machete. Whites of eyes marbled, ruddy with rage yet laughing, opening his arms as if to embrace Bako like his uncle had done this morning.

  Bako backed away, running again, now through the smell of the kill and the screams which cut through the air as violently as the parangs did.

  Quickly, he headed round the back of the small brick houses, making his way home, the thought of it spurring him on to run faster, helping him to push through the pain of his torn feet.

  In front of his house Bako could see his mother. Searching. Calling his name as smoke filled the skies. She cried out. Waving as he ran into her arms.

  ‘This way, Bako, we’ll be okay if we go into the bushes. But quickly… quickly.’

  They began to run, but without warning, Bako slipped his hand from his mother’s, heading back towards the house.

  ‘Bako, no! Bako! Stop!’

  He could hear his mother calling but he didn’t turn. He wa
nted to make her happy. Wanted her tears to stop falling and he thought he knew how.

  Quickly Bako grabbed the collage before speeding back towards his mother.

  ‘Bako…! Come…! Bako.’

  He reached out to take her hand but it was his mother’s hand which now suddenly slipped away from his, as she began to sink to the ground. Her yellow dress turning red, her eyes holding Bako’s stare one last time before rolling. Closing.

  This time Bako’s cry splintered the air. He pulled at his mother’s arm.

  ‘Get up, mama, get up! Please get up… Look, mama, look what I made you.’

  He pushed the collage to her as she lay in the tributary of blood which flowed and bubbled, stemming from the countless dead.

  ‘See what I made for you… See, mama, see.’

  He stood up, stumbling backwards, tilting his head to the sun. Blinking. And just for a moment he didn’t know what it was he was feeling. A sudden warmth. Then cold. Such cold.

  Glancing down, Bako touched his Mickey Mouse top. A hole where the face once was. Red. Wet.

  And then slowly. So slowly. Bako dropped to the ground. His head lolling back as his body snaked, winding as it fell on top of his mother with his blood oozing, coloring the brightly painted collage red, whilst the chill of death rose and mixed with the warm winds of the ensanguined African plains.

  JEFFERSON COUNTY

  COLORADO, USA

  10

  Rb1 Nd7

  ‘Get your ass up!”

  Cooper could hear a voice but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. He didn’t bother trying to open his eyes to find out. Hell, he’d already attempted that one. And the way he saw it, no man was born to suffer a pain like that. And as for any attempt to move, from the position he was lying in, it wasn’t even an option. And so if that meant staying here forever, wherever here was, well, Cooper reckoned, all things considered, that was fine by him.

  ‘You listening to me…? Give me that water, Officer.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  Cooper scrabbled up as the water hit him. The sudden movement caused jolts of pain to tear through parts of his body he’d forgotten he owned. His limbs cried out in agony, along with his swollen, dried tongue which shrieked in searing, primal pain.

  ‘Okay, now we have blast off. That’s more like it… You look like shit, by the way.’

  Cooper stared at Earl through paint-peeled bars whilst cold water trickled, dripping off from split ends to channel down the side of his nose and balance on his philtrum like a circus act.

  Cooper cleared his throat, imagining his hands round his long term buddy’s neck. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Earl?’

  ‘Too damn right I am. At least in jail, you can’t go and run off on me.’

  ‘Where am I anyway?’

  ‘Where they brought you after your cannonball run, over a week ago. You were lucky they didn’t throw you in the county jail. Someone must’ve called in a favor.’

  Cooper wiped his lips. Big mistake. Felt like he’d just been kicked in the mouth. ‘Don’t play games, Earl, tell me where I am. I haven’t got time for this.’

  ‘Oh, I think you’ve got plenty of time, Coop. In fact, with the list of things they want to charge you with, time seems to be all you’ll have. So off the top of my head, it goes something like this. Grand theft auto, aggravated motor vehicle theft in the first degree, reckless driving, exhibition of speed, vagrancy…’

  ‘Vagrancy?’

  Earl nodded, his over-gelled, jet-black hair staying perfectly in place. ‘Take that one on the chin, Coop; something tells me that charge is going to be the least of your worries. Oh, and just in case you didn’t realize, this is before you add on skipping Judge Saunders’ afternoon court session, and everything he wanted to throw at you. Want me to carry on?’

  ‘Nope. I get it… How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Officer Monroe called me. He recognized your sorry butt. He was the officer who picked you up the last few times. Anyway, once the Feds realized you weren’t a significant threat to the president, and once you’d been checked out by the doc, they placed you in the custody of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department… Jeez, Coop, you got a big problem if you can’t remember any of this.’

  And he was right. Not remembering was a problem because right then it led on to him remembering. The dam of amnesia crumbled, the flood of memory came crashing in, bringing an anxious tide of tight, strangling breath. ‘Is he… is he okay?’

  Earl looked puzzled. ‘Who?’

  Cooper gripped onto the cell bars as if a drowning man. He spilled his words as quietly as he could. ‘The President. Is he okay? Was he hurt…? Just answer me, Earl.’

  ‘Coop?’

  Banging on the steel bars blasted an agony through Cooper’s shoulder. ‘Just answer me! Please!’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Earl, Goddamn it!’

  Puzzlement drilled into Earl’s words and if Cooper hadn’t known him so well, it might’ve sounded like scorn. ‘Yeah… yeah, of course. He’s fine. Coop, what’s this about? What’s the President got to do with anything? I…’

  Cooper didn’t hear the rest of Earl’s words. He just vomited. Right there. Retching up his relief. His fear from the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Christ, Coop. You okay? I’ll go and get someone.’

  Cooper slumped hard on the iron contraption they called a bed. ‘No, it’s okay. Wait, look. I just need you to get me out of here. How much bail are they asking for?’

  Earl’s feet shuffled. ‘Here’s the thing Coop, I can’t.’

  ‘Can’t what?’

  ‘Can’t get you out. Rather, I’m not going to do that.’

  ‘I love you, Earl, and I’m sorry about everything. Truly. But let’s put it right on the table; your jokes have never been funny, and right now, they’re even worse than usual.’

  Earl’s expression became pitiful. ‘I’m sorry, Coop, this isn’t a joke. I promised I wouldn’t help to get you out, not this time. But I still wanted to come down to see if you were alright.’

  Cooper stood up. Too fast. Pain ripped through. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I promised I wouldn’t. Look, I’d better go, I’ll get one of the officers to come and clean that up for you. And I am sorry… I’ll see you soon. Okay?’

  ‘Earl…! Earl! Don’t you leave me here…! Promised who…? I’m talking to you, Earl. Come back here—’

  ‘Hello, Cooper.’

  That voice which sang the backdrop of his childhood. Screamed the setting of his youth. Cried the resentment of his military days and the chant of sorrow. That voice, it explained everything.

  Cooper stared at his Uncle. Captain Beau Neill. Commandant and kin. One-time martinet, these days a monk.

  With as much hostility as he could muster, Cooper said, ‘I take it this is your idea, Beau, not to get me out of here.’

  Beau chewed on his unlit cigar. Dug his fingers into the top of his throbbing sciatic nerve, something he often told Cooper was his test of suffering. With disappointment dripping from his voice, Beau pulled a disappointed face. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing, Cooper? You never change do you? But no, for your information, keeping you here wasn’t my idea.’

  Cooper gritted his teeth. Regretted it straight away. ‘Just get me the hell out.’

  ‘Sorry, no can do. There’s a person who thinks keeping you here just for a little while longer might help you think about what you’ve done, and I have to agree.’

  ‘I’m not a kid, Beau.’

  ‘No you’re not, Coop, but you sure as hell act like one.’

  ‘Is this what they teach you in the monastery, Beau? How to be compassionate?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry about me, Coop. I’ve got a lot to learn and a hell of a lot of sins to repent, so I’ll just go on and add this one to the list. And hey, I can live with that.’

  ‘Is this funny to you?’ Cooper said.
/>
  ‘Not one Goddamn bit…Tell me something, Coop, because I need to know if you’ve lost your mind completely… Enlighten me as to what made you think it was a good idea to follow the President’s motorcade? Because I’m guessing that’s what you were doing. But here’s the really big question… Why?’

  ‘I dunno… maybe it wasn’t the smartest of things to do.’

  The shaking of the head in cold disapproval was the epitome of disdain. Something Cooper knew Beau was well versed at. ‘You got that damn right.’

  Cooper took a deep breath. Tried to hold onto his temper. Gave up trying. ‘What the hell was I supposed to do? Come on, tell me, seeing as you’ve got all the answers.’

  ‘What the rest of us did. Keep our damn heads and find out the facts first. If I’d had a knee jerk reaction and acted like that when I was a Captain in the US Navy, just because I’d heard something, what kind of Captain would that have made me? Or when I was serving in…’

  Cooper cut Beau down. ‘You don’t have to give me a history of your military career, Beau. I served under you and I know exactly the kind of Captain you were.’

  Beau stepped closer to the bars. Hissed his words. ‘Are we going to go through this again? Cooper, I was not responsible for the accident, and you know that.’

  Hurt bobbed off Cooper’s words. ‘I never said you were, Beau. Problem is, when I’m stuck on one side of the bars – the wrong side – and you’re on the other and you won’t help me out, well, I can’t help but feel resentful… Reminds me of that day.’

  Beau came back with hostility. ‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’

  ‘You were not only my Captain, you were my Uncle, and when I asked you… begged you to help, you turned your back and you walked away…’

  ‘Now you listen here, Coop, I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve had to say it, but it was too damn late. Now let it go.’

  Quietly Cooper said, ‘You make it out like it’s a bad thing to love someone.’

  ‘You puzzle me, Coop. I don’t understand you, because the only relationship you seem to have or want is with a dead woman. What about with all the other people who care about you? You push them away. You don’t give a damn about them or how they feel. That’s why I don’t get this crazy car chase you did. The majority of the time you don’t want to know. But yet, you do a mad dash. Was it the drugs? Turn your mind?’