The putrid, pasty scowl of Governor Fuckface. His jowly mouth opens, baring razor-sharp teeth that slam down again and again, missing us by millimeters.
I grab Rain and stumble away from the banner just as my bike disappears into the void of his cavernous mouth. From this distance, I can see the whole image now. It’s in similar shades of black and red and gray, like the April 23 banners we all saw in our nightmares, but instead of April 23 at the top, this one simply has a bull’s-eye.
Right in the middle of Fuckface’s forehead.
His bloodshot eyes dart left and right as his teeth continue to gnash at nothing, but just when I begin to feel like he’s no longer a threat, the trees shed their vibrant leaves in a single, sudden explosion. Rust-colored confetti rains from the sky as every tree in the forest begins to age in reverse. They shrink and shrivel up, twisting and contorting until they’re nothing but saplings again.
Then, they reach for us.
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!” The banner man cackles as spindly branches grab for us like claws.
The sky goes dark, and the wind howls through the barren woods as I grab Rain’s hand and turn to run back the way we came.
“Wes!” she screams just before her hand is ripped away from mine.
“Rain!” I turn to find her six feet above the ground, suspended in the branches of a sapling.
She’s floating in some sort of pink primordial ooze, and the tree appears to be fucking feeding on her, growing bigger and stronger than all the others.
“We must return to the one true law!” Fuckface howls. “The law … of naychuh!”
My vision blurs. My fists ball at my sides. And when he opens his mouth to cackle again, I take off in a sprint. I’m going to rip him down and rip him apart and fucking feed him to himself until he chokes on his own evil hypocrisy, but before I get there, I notice his eyes go wide in fear as they focus on something behind me. I slow to a jog and turn around as people from all walks of life begin to march into the forest. The collective crunch, crunch, crunch of the leaves under their feet is deafening as they surround us, each one with a fist in the air.
“Seize them!” Fuckface shouts.
The trees come alive, snatching children from their mother’s arms, ripping families apart as they scream and reach for one another. Pink plasma surrounds their tangled, trapped loved ones as the trees feed on their screaming bodies.
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.