Ransom X

  *****

  Blade looped the chain around the hitch on the rear axle of his motorcycle. It was more of a battleship than a bike, however, with a tread so wide that the tires resembled those of an economy automobile. The dual exhausts puffed out the first brown smoke off of a cold start.

  He heard the approach of Vorest and Mac, but he wasn’t concerned. The enemy was already in the air, borne on microwaves and rudder blades. Their airships would be above every road for a hundred miles, approaching like the vengeful thoughts of all of the lives they’d destroyed. Blade relished the chase. In reality, he was relieved that he wouldn’t be invisible any longer.

  His “gang”, now the size of a small jazz combo, met for the last time on the flat parking area.

  Vorest raged above the engines “What the fuck is going on? Who the fuck are they?” He pointed to the women bound and strapped down to the sled.

  “New friends, say hello ladies. Now where are your manners?” He said kicking a cloud of dirt into their faces.

  “Darci?” Mac said, causing her head to spin awkwardly toward the sound of his voice. She didn’t, or couldn’t, say anything, Mac wasn’t quite sure. Mac stood frozen, like he’d been completely erased from existence, drained of guts, heart and blood, only to have them replaced in his chest cavity with some kind of industrial foam-like emptiness. It pushed outward on his ribs. His eyes were slick black marbles, rattling from Blade to the sled and back. Each time he looked at Blade his smile seemed a little more menacing, like he was feeding it off of the pain from each look exchanged by the couple. He might have burst into laughter if Vorest hadn’t intruded.

  “We should get –”

  “I’ve got everything in my side bags. We keep the girls for insurance, fling them over a cliff once we’re free.” Blade cut him off, annoyed.

  Vorest stomped over “So you’re all set? You’re all packed, forgive the fuck out of me if this doesn’t look like you’ve been planning this solo.” He got too close and found his neck riding on the tip of a knife that Blade produced in a flash.

  “Have I ever fucked you over before?”

  Vorest took a moment of introspection. With so little cluttering his mind, it didn’t take long to conclude that the cold steel on his neck trumped anything that it could come up with. Mac was glad that he decided to take a diplomatic course. “Fuck you.” He spat on the ground.

  The knife disappeared as quickly as it was conjured; a trick that undoubtedly was the final piece of magic witnessed by those who’d lost their lives on that point. Bravery returned to Vorest – of course flagging so quickly under pressure perhaps bravery is not the right word – the bastard child of bravery scuffed the earth and grumbled every vulgarity that seemed appropriate for the moment. It was a long list.

  Mac was comforted by the streaming profanity, it created a vacuum in his mind and the pause gave him a chance to think about Blade’s question. He hadn’t really ever fucked over his crew. He’d left them to die, broken some bones, and buried one alive in Montana – something he totally deserved – but he’d never broken the code of conduct expected of a leader. If he’d ever betrayed them, he’d done it the right way and nobody ever noticed. If that didn’t garner him a little trust nothing would.

  Mac thought of the millions of dollars, and looked at the scowl on Vorest’s face, and came to a decision.

  He swung his leg over the bike as engines roared to life around him. Seconds later they were on the trail again, heading back down the mountain, sparks shooting high into the sky every time the metal from the sled skidded across a rock in the road.

  A dog bayed behind them. Mac thought it sounded like it had undergone some kind of soul crushing loss. He could feel Darci’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look over. She was farther away now than she’d ever been, the intervening space was as great as the distance between the dead and the living.

  Darci heard the mournful sound barely over the guttural sound of the muffler. A hot breath washed over them when the engines revved between gears and the sound of the dog came in that momentary shifting silence. She looked over and saw Mac – her white knight – riding beside the sled looking forward, jaw set. She couldn’t take it. She cried out in a mixture of horror and devotion that no one should have to experience together, “MAC.”

  The sled veered, CLANK.

  The concussion jolted her into pained silence. She felt the metal sled hit something and saw stars, whether they were in the sky or from the sharp knock to the head she couldn’t be sure. A glance from the driver of the bike told her that the timing was no accident. Her silence would be appreciated, even if it were due to lack of consciousness. She was numb, and disbelief churned in an empty vessel leaving her heart to pump what felt like dry powder through her veins. Darci stole another look at the fat man bouncing on the springs of his seat. Then all of the sudden, he accelerated and disappeared from view.

  She imagined that soon a rock would pierce the bottom of their sled and open it like a can opener. Then the percussion would go from bruised to bloody. She looked at Wagner struggling, with her bonds, and she found a growing curiosity with death. The sled flipped up again, catching her on the cheek, another cold metallic slap in the face.

  “I want it to be over,” played over and over in her mind. She was about to get her wish.