Pookie Chang’s Last Moments
You have heard the arguments,” Rex shouted. “Now, we must pass judgment.”
Pookie had always known that someday he would die. He’d always hoped it would be as an old man in bed with four women, each a quarter of his age. A quadruple Chang Bang with a final orgasm into oblivion. That was how a real pimp checked out.
Not like this.
Rex raised his emperor’s fist, thumb pointed in. The psycho kid had done this act twice already — you’d think the crowd would be over it. Hardly. They screamed and roared, waiting for the decision.
A surging sense of
The ledge was four feet wide, five in some places. Chairs sat near the front edge — lawn chairs, metal chairs, cinder blocks, logs, beat-up pieces of society’s discards set up as front-row seats for an execution. In every one of those chairs, standing behind them and between them: Marie’s Children.
Bryan moved to his right, along the bumpy, irregular wall. Through the packed bodies, he saw the narrow set of stone steps leading down — just like Aggie had said. No one seemed to be using it. He couldn’t take that way down, lest he draw attention to himself.
He kept moving right, sliding along between the wall and the spectators. Most of the monsters/people didn’t even bother to turn and look at him. And why would they? Bryan
He could see down into the cavern below. Nothing Aggie had said could have prepared Bryan for this. It
Down on the blood-spattered prow stood Rex Deprovdechuk, dressed in a red velvet cape and wearing a crown. Monsters surrounded Rex. Bryan recognized Sly from his nightmares, the dog-face from the fight at the hospital. He knew, instantly, that the tall one with the black fur was Firstborn.
Firstborn held someone in front of him, someone in an ill-fitting sport coat — Pookie Chang, tied at the hands and feet, helpless.
Bryan instantly started forward but stopped himself. He only had one shot at this and couldn’t afford to miss anything.
Next to Firstborn stood a nerdy kid with a horribly distended belly flipping a Zippo. Bryan didn’t recognize that one. The nerdy kid moved to the side, revealing a raven-haired woman.
Robin’s killer.
A white, broken mast rose high from the ship’s center. High atop that mast Bryan saw Jebediah Erickson,
Past the mast stood a line of posts jutting up from the deck, each with a person tied tightly to it: Zou, her daughters, Mr. Biz-Nass, Rich Verde, Sean Robertson. Three posts stood empty.
Beyond the posts there was what looked like a squashed captain’s cabin. Something moved inside there, but Bryan couldn’t make it out. The crowd screamed for Rex’s decision. The boy stood tall. He held his fist high, his thumb pointed in, parallel to the deck.
Bryan couldn’t wait a moment more. He slid farther down the ledge, pushing past his family members and moving closer to the ship.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the button-box.
Pookie didn’t bother struggling anymore. He’d tried. The devil himself held him in a crushing grip. Seven feet tall, the lean, muscular, black-furred creature wore combat boots and jeans with MK23s in sidearm holsters strapped to each thigh. Gray hairs peppered the black-furred face.
Pookie couldn’t move.
A crazy thought — maybe Rex would find him innocent, maybe the thumb would point
Rex lifted up on his toes. He looked back at Pookie and smiled a madman’s smile. Rex pointed the thumb down and threw his fist toward the deck like a singer finishing off a rock crescendo.
“Firstborn,” he said. “Carry out the execution.”
This time, Pookie would not close his eyes.
A furred hand closed on the back of his neck. Firstborn pulled Pookie close. Slanted green eyes glittered with excitement for the task at hand.
Shit. What a time to forget the Lord’s Prayer.
The hand slid to the front of his neck, lifted him, started to squeeze …
John Smith’s hands flexed on the reassuring bulk of his automatic shotgun. The cloak surrounded him, hid him, made him feel like a different person. Any moment now, he’d be called upon to step up, step forward and start shooting. Were all these monsters guilty? Would he be firing on individuals who had nothing to do with the crimes committed by others? Would he be killing based on nothing but race?
It was too late to debate morality — Bryan was out there, exposed and alone. Pookie was a captive. If John hesitated, both would surely die.
John heard a barely audible buzz. He turned to look at Adam, who held up the receiver — it blinked red.
Bryan had hit the button.
John leaned in close to Alder and Adam.
“Hit the head if you can, but if you’re rushed just shoot center-mass,” he said. “Clear the ledge, then start chucking grenades to cause more confusion. We need to make them think there’s hundreds of us, so they run instead of attacking. You guys ready?”
Alder and Adam nodded.
John wasn’t ready, wasn’t even close, but the time had come.
He turned and walked down the tunnel toward the ledge.
Black-furred hands held him aloft as if he weighed nothing more than a child.
He couldn’t breathe.
This was the end.
From off to the left, Pookie saw something small flying through the air. Had a spectator thrown a rock? It landed somewhere behind Pookie, clattering against the old wood.
Then he heard a hiss, like a hundred sparklers going up at once. Light flared from behind him,
“Mommy,” the creature said, and then Pookie felt his back start to get hot.
The crushing hands let go. Pookie fell to the deck, surprised at the sudden freedom. Firstborn stepped over him and ran toward the back of the boat, as did the snake-face, the dog-face and the girl with the metal whips. Pookie turned to see where they were going, but had to flinch and avert his eyes from the bright light blazing near the ship’s cabin. He looked back at Rex, who stood there, blinking, not moving, flickering shadows playing off his face.
Echoing gunfire sounded from up on the ledge to the left of the prow. Pookie looked in that direction. Some kind of commotion up there: muzzle flashes, people scrambling, bodies falling off the edge and plummeting to the floor below.
And then, off to the ship’s left, he saw something amazing — a man leaping off the cavern’s ledge thirty feet
