But the people in the woods are undaunted. They continue to march forward, in unison—crunch, crunch, crunch—as the bull’s-eye in the center of Fuckface’s forehead begins to glow like a flashing neon sign.
I glance at Rain, her face distorted through the ooze, and she begins pointing frantically at something below me.
When I look down, I’m holding her dad’s .44 Magnum.
I kiss the barrel and say a silent, Thank you. Then, I close one eye and aim for the target.
When I squeeze the trigger, I expect that fucker to disappear, go up in smoke, burn to the ground, something, but instead, he simply laughs at me.
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
I raise my gun and fire three more rounds into that shithead’s forehead, but still … nothing.
Then—crunch, crunch, crunch—the sea of men, women, and children behind me step up to join me on the front line. They stand shoulder to shoulder with me, lowering their fists as they draw their weapons—shotguns, rifles, flame-throwers, hand grenades—an arsenal as diverse as they are.
This time, when I raise my gun, they all take aim with me.
This time, when I squeeze my trigger, the entire traumatized, hungry, tired, homeless, grieving, fucked up population fires their weapons alongside me. And this time, when my bullet hits the bull’s-eye, it’s joined by a thousand others.
The target jerks and flashes and rings like a carnival bell before it explodes in a giant ball of fire. I have to shield myself from the heat as Governor Fuckface lets out a pained, defeated cry.
Gasps and cheers and laughter spread through the crowd, so I lower my arm and watch as the banner burns away. The breeze blows its sparkling ashes around us like swirling silver glitter as the saplings twist and grow and sprout new green leaves.
I run to Rain’s tree and catch her in my arms as she leaps from the growing branches. The smile on her face is brighter than fucking sunshine as I spin her around, watching everyone in the woods do the same.
This time, when I inhale, the air doesn’t smell like burning leaves.
This time, it smells like burning governor.
I exhale with a content sigh as the sound of knuckles on a steel bar wakes me from my dream.
What the fuck was that? I wonder as I scrub a hand down my face.
I haven’t had a dream like that since the government was pumping them into my head, pre–April 23. Of course, those always ended with four demonic horsemen destroying everyone and everything in their path in an apocalyptic blaze of glory, not with the citizens banding together to defeat the enemy. Big fucking improvement.
I open my eyes to find Hoyt standing at my door. He’s staring at the floor even harder than usual, his mouth forming a perfect frown. It’s not until I see what he’s holding that the bliss from my dream wears off and the nightmare that is my fucking reality comes crashing down around me.
It’s a bundle of brown.
Fucking.
Burlap.
“The governor moved the Green Mile up to this mornin’.” Hoyt clears his throat. “ ’Fraid I’m gonna hafta ask you to put these on.”
The sadness in his voice makes me have to clear my own fucking throat.
Jesus, Hoyt.
I stand up and approach the bars.
“How long have I got?” I ask, pulling the jumpsuit from Hoyt’s reluctant arms.
“Don’t know.” He sighs and shakes his head, his chin practically resting on his chest.
I notice that he’s still holding something—a white plastic cup filled with caramel-colored liquid.
“A little hair of the dog?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
Hoyt’s eyes jump to mine in a panic. “I … uh … no. I just … thought you might want a fresh cup … you know … to brush your teeth.”
He brought me whiskey. Sweet fucking bastard.
“Officer Hoyt, I could kiss you.”
I grab the cup from my sink and exchange it for the one in his meaty hands. “Thanks, man.”
Hoyt nods at the ground before shuffling away.
I swirl the alcohol around in the cup, taking a deep whiff until his footsteps fade in the distance.
Then, I pour it down the drain and brush my teeth.
I have a date with the fucking devil today.
I’ll drink when it’s over.
Rain
After lying wide awake next to Lamar’s skinny, snoring body all night, I decide I’ve had enough. If I don’t stretch my legs soon, I’m gonna scream, and I don’t want to wake Lamar up. I’m sure wherever his mind is right now, it’s a hell of a lot better than what’s waiting for him here.
Reaching up, I feel around with my hand until it hits a dangling handle. Then, I yank as hard as I can. The lid pops open with a quiet click, and sunlight floods the spacious trunk. We went with a Cadillac this time—at Lamar’s request. A metallic purple one sitting on blocks.
I sit up and stretch before climbing out of the trunk, but when I do, a wave of nausea almost brings me back down to the fetal position. The blood on my jeans must have dried and stuck to my skin overnight. Every movement severs the crusty bond a little more—like a bandage being pulled off—and I smell like a corpse.
Once my feet are planted firmly on asphalt again, I suck in a few breaths of fresh air. Then, I turn and unzip the duffel bag as quietly as possible, pulling out a bottle of water Michelle gave me yesterday and a prenatal vitamin.
I just hope I can keep it down.
As I unscrew the cap, Lamar throws an elbow over his face and groans.
“Morning,” I mumble, tossing the giant, chalky pill into my mouth. I swallow with a shudder.
“Why’s everybody so loud?” he whines, making me realize that it is pretty loud out here.
I turn in the direction of soon-to-be Burger Palace Park, and my jaw almost hits the Cadillac’s chromed-out bumper. Dozens—no, hundreds of people have gathered around our
