Paws
Page 22
I glare at Preston. “Spoilsport! I bet you even told the Hulk he’s not really a dog killer!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. I’m sure he’s gotten over it by now.”
“Can I have my dog back now, Santa?”
“Your…” I look at Snuffles. I look at the child, her small hands outstretched.
Preston looks at me. “Wade?”
“Look, I’ll let him go, okay? But it’s got to be his decision. Not hers, not mine—his. I’ll put him down between us, an equal distance. We’ll both call to him, and whoever…”
The little bastard leaps out of my arms and does a five-foot jump into hers.
“Mr. Snuffles!” she cries.
“Snuffles! Get back here, right…aw! Do you have to lick her face like that right in front of me?”
The girl giggles. “Thank you so much, Santa!” Then they both vanish into the hover-flier.
Preston blocks the entrance. I could take her easy, dump the girl, then fly off to live on an island for ten or fifteen years. How long do Labs live, anyway? Kid’ll be in college by then…
But I don’t. Instead I grab the head from under the cart and give it to Preston.
“Might as well give this to her, too. It’s…his favorite toy.”
“Kill me! I beg you! Kill me!”
Holding the head like it’s a big piece of snot, Preston gingerly places it in a biohazard case. “Not gonna do that…but I will take it back to the lab.”
I sigh. “You know, Em. I was kinda hoping for a happy ending.”
“This is a happy ending. You did a good job for once, Deadpool.”
The head answers. “Thanks.”
“Not you, him.”
“Him who?”
“The real…oh, forget it.”
Before they can go into a Señor Wences routine, the door does its hissy fit and seals them in. Whatever makes hover-fliers hover goes hum. It lifts and twists away.
I watch, the same way I watched with Mr. Snuffles a minute ago: arcing my head as the flier rises above the smoking pile of crashed cars.
Only it doesn’t peak and come back down so I can go chasing after it. It just keeps going.
“Fare thee well, Mr. Snuffles. Fare thee well.”
And then, for the longest while, even the city seems quiet.
I am alone. Alone as I get, anyway.
Who’s a good boy?
You are, Wade! YOU are!
“The world flatters the elephant and tramples on the ant.”
— Indian proverb
PROLOGUE
WILLIE DUGAN was crawling in the dark tunnel—on his way to escaping from Attica State Prison in upstate New York, where he’d been holed up for nine years—when Keith, one of the guys busting out with him, said, “I’m stuck, bro.”
“What?” Willie had heard him—just didn’t want to believe it.
“I said I’m stuck,” Keith said. “I can’t move at all.”
“Try, man,” Willie said.
“I am trying, bro. I can’t move. I can’t, I can’t.”
Willie tried to push him forward, but it was so cramped in the tunnel that he couldn’t get much leverage. Something had to have happened to the roof; it must’ve caved in. Keith was a big guy—six-two, maybe two-twenty—but he wasn’t fat. He should’ve fit through the tunnel easy.
“You gotta move,” Willie said. “Dig into the ground, make more space.”
“Tryin’, bro. But the ground’s like steel here.”
“Try harder.”
Willie counted to ten in his head, trying not to panic or think of worst-case scenarios. Then he said, “Okay, try again.”
“I still can’t move, Willie.” Keith sounded like he was crying. “I’m sorry, bro, I’m sorry.”
“Just shut up and try,” Willie said.
“I can’t. I can’t, man, I can’t.”
“Try, goddamn it.” Willie summoned up all his strength to push. “Move, come on, dig!” he kept saying, but Keith didn’t budge.
Now the worst-case scenario was hitting Willie. There wasn’t much air in the tunnel, especially with Keith clogging it up, so there was a chance Willie would suffocate to death. Or worse: What if they found him here alive and dragged him back to prison? They’d put him in max solitary for organizing the break, and he’d have zero chance of ever getting out.
This was it, his one chance—do or die. If he didn’t escape tonight, his life would be over; he’d die in jail an old man, unless he figured out a way to kill himself.
Yeah, if they brought him back alive, suicide would definitely be his only way out.
Willie tried to shove Keith again. Then Willie felt something hit his head—a chunk of dirt from the roof of the tunnel.
Keith said the words that could’ve been Willie’s own thoughts: “It’s caving, it’s caving!”
Was this how Willie was going to die? God’s last laugh? Given the choice between getting buried alive or going back to jail, Willie would’ve taken buried alive. But he wasn’t planning to have to choose either of those options yet.
He hadn’t spent nine years on that tunnel—all that planning, all that work—to go down like this. He used all his strength to somehow shove Keith forward.
“Go! Faster!” Willie shouted.
The tunnel was crumbling; there must’ve been an inch of dirt on his head. Willie had no idea how much farther they had to go. If they were a minute away, maybe they had a chance. Maybe. The tunnel was caving so fast now, he could hear it, like the beginning of an avalanche. Then the crash came, behind him, where Keith had been stuck just moments earlier. They’d be buried now if they’d stayed there, but Willie wasn’t thinking about that. He was just thinking about moving ahead, getting out of the darkness.
“Faster!” he shouted again. “Come on!”
There was more crashing behind them. The whole tunnel was caving now. There was dirt everywhere—all over his body, in his mouth, in his eyes. And then he felt the ground beneath him begin sloping upward.
He kept clawing at the dirt. If he could still claw, that meant he was still alive.
And then, as the tunnel collapsed, he felt something different— grass, actual grass. The hole was about four feet wide, a bigger version of a groundhog’s hole. His hands slipped on the dew a couple of times, but finally he was able to hoist himself up and out. He ignored the stinging in his eyes and saw light: It was coming from a lamppost, maybe fifty yards away. He didn’t stop to marvel over his close call. Although his body was stiff as hell and he could barely see in front of him, he knew he couldn’t waste any time. He spotted Keith and the other three guys scattering ahead of him, and he took his pre-planned route: He ran along the road for about a quarter mile, then made a left down a narrow street and a right two blocks later. Finally he reached the corner and waited.
Two minutes later, he saw the headlights of a car approaching, right on schedule. After the near-disaster in the tunnel, everything was working out. He had plenty of money put away—money he could live on for the rest of his life. It would be about five hours till wakeup time, when the guards would find out about the break. He had time to get to Canada, then use a fake Canadian passport to fly to Belize, then Kuwait, and then to that island in the South Pacific.
He could do all this, but he wouldn’t. He’d spent too much energy over the past nine years dreaming about this day. Freedom was great, but there was one thing that would make everything right, that would give him real happiness.
Yeah, it was time to get some payback.
Continued in:
ANT-MAN: NATURAL ENEMY
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