The Sixteen Burdens

by David Khalaf

  Gray scanned the bleachers ahead, spotting Atlas almost immediately. It was hard to miss a man who was eight feet tall and more than twice the width of a normal person. Gray saw Pickford next to him, fragile and wilting like a black flower.

  Next to her sat Fairbanks, but he was no danger at this distance. And Gray had no intention of getting close.

  They finally pulled up to where the three were sitting in the bleachers. The floats in front of them were long and had trouble turning the corner. They would be stopped for a minute or two. Gray could see Atlas focusing his sight on the Grand Marshal car. This was the moment.

  “OK!” Gray shouted.

  Lulu opened her palm with the real Eye in it. She floated it above her, a dozen or so feet in the air. It was an effort for her, but she had been practicing. She was impossible to miss. Gray watched Atlas’s gaze lock on the Eye, gleaming in the morning sun.

  Atlas said something to Fairbanks, who stood and pulled Pickford up by the elbow. He led her into the aisle, and walked with her halfway down the bleachers.

  “OK, Chito,” Gray said.

  Panchito jumped off the float and ran to the side of the Grand Marshal car that was opposite Atlas. Gray held his breath. Once Panchito sent the Eye over, there would be no pulling it back.

  Panchito aimed as Lulu steadied the Eye. Then, like a golfer hitting a ball on a tee, Panchito thrust it high in the air, lobbing it to Atlas. The giant man stood up and caught it as if it were a fly ball at a baseball game.

  Atlas held the Eye close to his face, scrutinizing every inch of it carefully. Then he clamped down on it and squeezed with all his might. When he opened his hand, the Eye remained in his palm, unscathed. He too must have known it was indestructible.

  Good thing we didn’t give him the fake.

  Atlas nodded to Fairbanks, who let Pickford go. She stumbled the rest of the way down the bleachers, supporting herself against the shoulders of strangers as she went.

  And just like that, it was over.

  Pickford was free and no one had been hurt. It was the easiest thing in the world. Lulu need only steal the Eye back. There would be no casualties. There would be no need for a Plan B.

  As Pickford hobbled over, he could see she was trying to hurry. As she stepped out into the street she got within shouting distance of them.

  “It’s a trap! You have to get out of here now!”

  Gray looked back at Atlas, who was now giving a slight nod to someone in the bleachers. He shouted to the car in front.

  “Lulu! Go!”

  The girl nodded and he saw her disappear in a blink.

  Panchito was already behind Pickford, thrusting her up onto the float. She landed roughly and fell onto her hands and knees.

  Carole looked down from her dinosaur.

  “What’s she doing on this float? It’s ruining the look!”

  Gray turned to shut her up when he saw swirls of black energy float by him. He recognized it as fear, but he couldn’t understand why Elsie would be doing it.

  “Elsie!”

  She turned around and looked at him. Her face was a question.

  It isn’t her. It’s someone else.

  Elsie wondered what Gray wanted until she felt it—a spine tingling fear that seeped into her chest like a poison. She had never felt someone manipulate her emotions, but she instinctively understood what was going on.

  How can someone else do what I can do?

  She stood up in her seat, looking around. Someone right under her nose was toying with her emotions, which shouldn’t be possible except—

  Jack Siegel.

  Everything came back to her now. While she was being held captive, Siegel had hit her, threatened her, starved her until she told him who she was and what the Eye did. It didn’t take long for them to figure out how it worked.

  Elsie spotted him easily. He was there, just on the edge of the crowd, on the opposite side of the street from Atlas. In a plain black suit and fedora, he blended into the crowd. When her eyes found his, he smiled.

  Not only did Siegel have her power, but he was already able to throw emotion to someone without touching them.

  He’s a natural.

  Elsie felt angry. She felt violated that someone had taken something from her without her permission. Even worse, he was using it on her. It wasn’t right. She raged, and it felt good. It pushed out all of the fear. She opened the car door and stepped out.

  “Where are you going?” Chaplin asked.

  “I have business,” she said, slamming the door shut.

  She came within five yards of Siegel, who stood there casually. A beam of fear hit her again and it made her stop. She wanted to turn, to run away. Or maybe just crawl up into a ball and hide. She took a half step back and stumbled.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. “You were always such a bearcat. Now you’re just a scaredy-cat.”

  She willed herself to take a step toward him.

  There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not a real feeling.

  “If you leave with me right now, I’ll let you keep all of your fingers,” he said.

  “What do you want me for?” she asked. “You have my talent now.”

  “Truth be told,” he said, “I could use some coaching. You see, I can make people scared and angry, no problem. Sadness takes a bit more effort. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t make people happy. I’ve got plans for a wife and I have my sights set on Gina. It’d be a whole lot easier if she loved me.”

  “Why would I help you get Gina to love you?”

  “Because I’ll let your friends live.”

  He opened one breast of his jacket and gave her a glimpse of the hilt of a gun in his inside pocket.

  “I’m a pretty good shot.”

  Her own anger helped her push the fear aside. For the split second she was out of its grip, she shot back fear at Siegel. He recoiled, clenching his hands to his chest as if he had just seen a giant spider.

  She stepped up to him, just feet away. He flinched, trying to get away from her.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said. “My sister and I are leaving. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  Siegel steeled himself and looked her in the eye.

  “You should be,” he said.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’m not alone.”

  Elsie felt a hand on her shoulder and fear struck her again, so strongly that she crumpled over. She looked up to see Enzo, the bodyguard, touching her. Max appeared on the other side and grabbed her arm. They were both focused on her. Siegel stood up and shook the feeling off.

  “Do you suppose it’s possible to kill someone with fear alone?”

  Elsie couldn’t answer. Her jaw was clenched shut in terror.

  “Let’s find out, boys.”

  Panchito saw Elsie get out of the car, but he didn’t have time to worry. His immediate problem included three stocky kids who were surrounding him like bullies on a school yard.

  Except they weren’t kids.

  Panchito recognized the clowns in children’s clothes. They were holding food and parade paraphernalia to sell their disguise, but anyone who took more than a passing glance wouldn’t be fooled by their hardened, weathered faces.

  Horace, the lead clown, was holding a candied apple on a thick stick. He pulled the apple off to reveal a short dagger.

  “You people have an unhealthy obsession with knives,” Panchito said.

  “Out of the way,” Horace said. “We’re here for the other kid.”

  Panchito looked up at Gray, who was on the float untying Pickford’s hands.

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  The clown made a mocking sad face.

  “Then call your lawyer.”

  The bald clown was wearing a baker boy cap and carrying a bag of popcorn. He reached into the bag and pulled out a pistol, shiny with melted butter. The clown with the hooked nose was wielding a small American flag. He ripped the f
lag from the base, which Panchito saw was actually a lead pipe.

  The float started to move again. Panchito shuffled sideways, keeping himself between the float and the clowns.

  “Gray. You gotta go.”

  Gray looked down and saw the clowns.

  “I ain’t leaving you here.”

  “I got this,” Panchito said. “There’s only three of them, and they’re each half-sized, so really it’s only one and a half.”

  The bald clown aimed his pistol at Panchito’s head.

  “You’re about to get a face full of lead.”

  Panchito backed against the float. He was going to need the support. He started to point his palms outward when the clown cocked his gun.

  “Ah-ah! Keep them down. I heard about those magic hands.”

  Panchito had always extended his hands out to thrust at something, but he realized he didn’t need to. It was just a way to help him visualize and concentrate on his courage. So, he kept his hands down and braced himself against the float.

  “What?” Panchito asked. “Are you tired of getting pushed around? Too bad.”

  Panchito focused on a wide arc and thrust with all his might. It hit the clowns at chest level and they went toppling backward, head over heels. Their weapons scattered across the street.

  He turned back to Gray.

  “They want you! You need to go!”

  “He’s right,” Pickford said. She grabbed his hand and pulled him down off the float with her.

  “I’ll hold them off,” Panchito said. “I’ll find you at the meeting spot.”

  He watched them turn away from the fracas only to run into a fourth dwarf who was wearing a boy’s pea coat and poor-boy cap.

  “Leaving so soon?” the clown said to Pickford and Gray. “But the show’s just beginning.”

  The clown pulled open his coat to reveal a belt buckle that was a spiked ball. He yanked off the belt, and the sharp buckle stayed attached to one end, making a spiked whip. Panchito was about to attack when Pickford pulled up her veil, stepping into the clown’s path.

  “Stop what you’re doing!”

  The clown screeched to the halt in front of Pickford’s radiant face. Even after weeks of captivity, her pale beauty was astonishing. She looked nearly translucent. An angel.

  “Give me your weapon,” Pickford said.

  The clown raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

  “Give me a break.”

  With a balled fist, the clown punched Pickford squarely on the cheek. She reeled backward and Gray caught her. Pulling off his hat, the dwarf revealed two long braids. It was a female.

  “The queen of silent film? Ha!” she said. “I always liked Lillian Gish better.”

  She lifted her spiked whip, but Panchito sent it flying out of her hand. She chased after it.

  “Seriously, guys, go!” Panchito said.

  Gray took Pickford’s hand and they went running ahead, down the path of the parade. Panchito put himself in-between the clowns and Gray’s escape route. The clowns had grabbed their weapons and regrouped. They spread out on all four sides so that he couldn’t take them out all at once. They began to close in.

  He didn’t know how, but he would keep them back. This felt right to Panchito; this was his chance to be a hero.

  Atlas watched as his clowns circled the boy with courage. They would easily subdue him and then capture Gray. Fairbanks stood on the edge of the parade route, ready to intervene if Atlas gave the word.

  The audience didn’t seem to notice the few out-of-place people on the street below. If they could capture Gray and the others without a hubbub, it would make things easier. But he would get Gray either way. Deda said his blood was the key. But the key to what? The old man was inscrutable, and he’d be dead weight once Atlas copied his power.

  Let’s kill him once we get his power.

  I’ve been waiting thirty years to hear that.

  As Atlas stood he saw a flash of light in the corner of his eye. There was the clink of something falling to the ground. He looked down and saw a girl in white crouched in the aisle, chasing after something rolling down the stairs. Atlas grabbed her by the tail of her coat.

  “Shirley Temple?”

  She turned and looked at him, offering a guilty smile.

  “Did you want an autograph?”

  She had a slight accent and the curls in her reddish-brown hair were drooping. Atlas looked at her gloved hands. She was holding an Eye in each one. She had two Eyes.

  “You’re the one who delivered the letter. Where’s Sugar?”

  “She’s doing swimmingly.”

  The girl held up one of the Eyes to him.

  “Here you go.”

  It flew at his face. Atlas let go of her and caught it. It looked just like the Eye he had been holding. He squeezed it in his hands and felt it crush into splinters.

  “YOU!” Atlas yelled, but it was too late.

  The girl was gone. Not for long.

  Gray pulled his mother along. She struggled to keep up.

  “You should go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be fine. He has no use for me anymore.”

  “I ain’t leaving you after just rescuing you!”

  There was a series of mad honks up ahead. Gray saw that Chaplin was driving in reverse toward them. He screeched to a halt.

  “Get in!”

  Gray helped Pickford into the front seat, then hopped up on the throne in the back.

  “Hello, darling,” Chaplin said to Pickford without looking at her.

  “You look worse than I do,” she said.

  “Oh, I died for a couple of days.”

  Chaplin threw the car in drive and sped ahead.

  “Where’s Elsie?” Gray asked.

  “She ran off. I don’t know where.”

  Gray remembered the ripple of fear that had run through him.

  “Jack Siegel. It must be.”

  Lulu appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. She sat in the back seat, at the base of the throne.

  “You’re in my seat.”

  “We have to go back,” Gray said.

  “We can’t go back,” Lulu said.

  “Why not?”

  There was a blood-curdling scream, then the sound of building chaos, like the rumble of an approaching avalanche. Gray stood up and looked back to see Darko Atlas storming down through the bleachers. He was pushing people left and right, clearing a path with brute strength.

  People were screaming and running away, as if King Kong had broken out of his cage.

  “So you got the Eye back?” Gray asked Lulu.

  She nodded and handed him the Eye.

  “But he noticed.”

  She nodded again.

  “No one told me how slippery gloves can be.”

  There was a heavy crash that shook the ground. Atlas had jumped the final few rows of bleachers to the sidewalk. He ran toward them. It was a massive, lumbering run—a boulder rolling through a field of daisies.

  Police on crowd control surrounded Atlas and drew their guns. Squad cars pulled up behind them.

  “Halt!” yelled a cop in Atlas’s path. The strongman grabbed him by the front of his uniform and tossed him over his shoulder, high into the air.

  From behind, another officer made a futile attempt to tackle Atlas, who shrugged him off like a coat. The officer fell to the ground and Atlas stepped on him with a sickening crunch. It left a giant flattened footprint across the man’s body. Other officers opened fire, and the bullets glanced off Atlas, some of them rebounding and hitting the cops. The remaining flatfoots fled.

  A float they had passed by—the one with the sea horses—had stopped amid the confusion, blocking the street. Bracing himself against the ground, Atlas lifted and heaved the float out of his way with one hand; it went careening off into the crowd on the other side of the street. People scattered, screaming and running away.

  “Let’s hop off and disappear among the crowd,” Chaplin said. “With my luck he’ll never find us.
”

  “No,” Gray said. “He’ll only hurt more people looking for us. Keep on the parade route. Try to get us to the end, away from everyone.”

  “And then what?”

  Gray hadn’t planned for this. He felt foolish; he had no idea the lengths to which Atlas would go to get the Eye. His plan had been childish, and people were dying because of it.

  “I don’t know.”

  Members of the marching band had dropped their instruments and fled. Atlas scooped up a few pieces of brass and hurled them high into the sky. Gray heard a wobbly musical note coming from high above them; it grew louder and louder.

  “Watch out!”

  A trombone shot down from the sky and pierced the hood of the car like a spear. Gray looked back and jumped off the throne onto the back seat.

  “Duck!”

  They sank into their seats just as a tuba whirled at them. It sliced through the throne and then cleaved the front windshield clear off the car. The tuba clanged on the asphalt and rolled, landing among a procession of men on horses. The animals whinnied and reared, and many of them galloped away.

  Chaplin slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a man who was thrown off his horse.

  “Move along!” Chaplin shouted.

  The man pushed himself to sitting.

  “I think my leg’s broke.”

  Chaplin grumbled, then jumped out of the car and dragged the man to the sidewalk. The car sputtered and smoke rose from the hole the trombone had made.

  “The car’s dying!” Gray shouted.

  Chaplin hopped back in just as the Phaeton stopped idling. He tried the ignition. It turned over once, then died.

  “Come on,” Chaplin said. “A little luck, please.”

  Lulu tapped Gray hard on the shoulder.

  “He’s here.”

  Gray turned just as Atlas ripped the remains of the throne off the car. He towered above him, silhouetted against the sun like some kind of prehistoric statue.

  “Let’s not make a scene,” Atlas said.

  “It’s a bit late for that,” Chaplin said, still trying at the car.