Monday, May 12, 2014


©Ernest Hogan 2014

The driver cold-bloodedly punched the accelerator, causing the limo to lurch ahead just before the Magnum coughed up a slug. His hand hovered over a red blinking button as he asked, "Should I nuke 'em?"

"Just get us off the freeway," said the man.

"And don't lose them," said the woman, "just keep far enough ahead to be a difficult target."

We sped away in a path that was lightning fast and just as crooked. The g-forces and bodily collisions nearly killed me.  My head, my head . . . 

"Let's take advantage of this situation," the man said, "and start the field experiment now."

"Excellent idea," she said.

The Cadillac kept on our tail, far back, but dead on.  The triggerman kept taking aim, but couldn't get a bead on us.

"This area looks suitable," said the man.

We were in that industrial area next to downtown Phoenix that could be used to film a low-budget remake of Bladerunner.

"Pull over and park somewhere," she told the driver.

We became stationary over cracked asphalt and broken glass so fast if felt like my brain crashed into the top of my skull, pulling my spinal cord and all my nerves up to fuse with it in an implosion of pain.

"As we were saying," the man said, "you are a lucky young man, escaping death to become a prototype for the 21st century."

"The Krell chip should allow you to survive in the chaos of the fractalized Information Society," the woman said.

The Cadillac screeched to halt nearby, taking a bite out of a chain-link-topped-with-razor-wire fence.  The homeboys piled out, and they all had guns.

"In some ways," the man said, "I envy you; I really do."  

The woman smiled, and opened the door that wheezed like an airlock.

The man gave me a swift kick, sending my ultra-sensitive head into the post-holocaust pavement.  I kept thinking that I couldn't possibly hurt any more; then, I would hurt more. I was getting sick of it.

Through some weeds growing through the cracks, I saw the limo skid around a corner.  With my other eye I could see the homeboys, glaring at me.

Something, maybe the Krell chip, made me stand up.

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