wheel. A howl of wind and traffic hiss filled the car, and that rhythmic throbbing you get when you open one window but not the other.
I cracked my window to equalize the pressure.
“Shoot at them, you idiot!”
“The assholes!” Faith wailed. “Assholes!”
I leaned back and checked her for damage, trying to avoid looking into her bulging eyes. The top left corner of her carseat was missing, sheared clean off.
“Stay in the seat,” I yelled. She ignored me, wriggling horribly.
Helen ground her teeth. “Shoot back! We’re six miles from the checkpoint!”
My first shot went wild. Was it possible I’d killed some innocent person ten cars back? I braced the gun in both hands, resting the stock on the baby seat – Faith had slipped the harness and made it to the floor and was burrowing through the trash, shrieking continuously.
The gun bucked in my hand with every pull of the trigger. The sedan’s windshield starred, and I shouted “Yes!” Another shot hit the windshield, and another.
I was clicking off rounds as fast as possible, screaming like a happy redneck when a tire burst, sending us into the guardrail. At our fantastically inappropriate speed, the rail tore like tissue paper, and the car flipped over into the drainage ditch. Time slowed down.
We were in free fall. I looked back.
Faith floated in midair in a constellation of fast food garbage. Through the rear windshield, the horizon slowly rotated 360 degrees.
Crash balloons blossomed throughout the cabin with the stench of gunpowder.
My head hit something, hard, and I blacked out.
***
“YOU ARE BLEEDING TO DEATH. DO YOU WANT TO BLEED TO DEATH?”
The voice came from somewhere over my left shoulder. I twisted, sending daggers of pain through my ribcage, many things broken inside. Many. More blood than I thought I had in my body soaked my jeans and my flannel shirt, which was warm and stiff and reeked of copper. There was a shard of bloody plastic jammed into my left thigh. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it should. The crash balloons had deflated.
Beside me, Helen lay motionless. I pushed my fingers into her neck, and thought I felt a pulse.
“I don’t want to bleed to death.” I pulled the shard out of my thigh. The wound pulsed dark blood once, then stopped.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?”
The voice wasn’t coming from over my shoulder. It was inside my head, quiet and infinitely gentle.
I smelled gasoline.
“I want to do the right thing,” I croaked. There came a rustling from behind, a soft moan. Faith wasn’t dead. Yet.
“DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR YOURSELF, OR FOR OTHERS?”
I knew what it meant by others. The people around me now. “Both. Myself and others.”
“BOTH IS IMPOSSIBLE. COGNITIVE ENHANCEMENT NECESSARY.”
“Do it.”
“COGNITIVE ENHANCEMENT MAY NOT CORRELATE WITH HAPPINESS—”
“Do it!”
“EXECUTING.”
People were walking around outside the car. Shiny black shoes, and dark pant legs swished around us. The Kia was still in one piece, upside down, tipped up with its hood ornament crushed into the tarmac. Damn safe car.
“Fix me,” I subvocalized. “Make me strong. Fast. Make me fearless.” I closed my eyes.
“Make me a good person.” Somehow, in that instant, I knew exactly what being a good person was, as if I’d always known, somewhere, deep down inside. I knew what I was saying, I knew what I meant.
“EXECUTING,” the voice inside repeated.
I fumbled through the garbage and broken glass littering the car’s roof. There was no chance in the world I’d find the gun. I knew that.
I did anyway. I checked the magazine. It held three bullets, plus the one in the chamber.
There was a splashing sound. The people attached to the legs were pouring something over the car. Gasoline. So help me, I expected them to ask for Faith, to save her and kill me. But they didn’t.
Faith crawled towards me along the roof, blood streaking her face like Apache warpaint.
I held my finger to my lips.
I cracked my window to equalize the pressure.
“Shoot at them, you idiot!”
“The assholes!” Faith wailed. “Assholes!”
I leaned back and checked her for damage, trying to avoid looking into her bulging eyes. The top left corner of her carseat was missing, sheared clean off.
“Stay in the seat,” I yelled. She ignored me, wriggling horribly.
Helen ground her teeth. “Shoot back! We’re six miles from the checkpoint!”
My first shot went wild. Was it possible I’d killed some innocent person ten cars back? I braced the gun in both hands, resting the stock on the baby seat – Faith had slipped the harness and made it to the floor and was burrowing through the trash, shrieking continuously.
The gun bucked in my hand with every pull of the trigger. The sedan’s windshield starred, and I shouted “Yes!” Another shot hit the windshield, and another.
I was clicking off rounds as fast as possible, screaming like a happy redneck when a tire burst, sending us into the guardrail. At our fantastically inappropriate speed, the rail tore like tissue paper, and the car flipped over into the drainage ditch. Time slowed down.
We were in free fall. I looked back.
Faith floated in midair in a constellation of fast food garbage. Through the rear windshield, the horizon slowly rotated 360 degrees.
Crash balloons blossomed throughout the cabin with the stench of gunpowder.
My head hit something, hard, and I blacked out.
***
“YOU ARE BLEEDING TO DEATH. DO YOU WANT TO BLEED TO DEATH?”
The voice came from somewhere over my left shoulder. I twisted, sending daggers of pain through my ribcage, many things broken inside. Many. More blood than I thought I had in my body soaked my jeans and my flannel shirt, which was warm and stiff and reeked of copper. There was a shard of bloody plastic jammed into my left thigh. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it should. The crash balloons had deflated.
Beside me, Helen lay motionless. I pushed my fingers into her neck, and thought I felt a pulse.
“I don’t want to bleed to death.” I pulled the shard out of my thigh. The wound pulsed dark blood once, then stopped.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE?”
The voice wasn’t coming from over my shoulder. It was inside my head, quiet and infinitely gentle.
I smelled gasoline.
“I want to do the right thing,” I croaked. There came a rustling from behind, a soft moan. Faith wasn’t dead. Yet.
“DO WHAT IS RIGHT FOR YOURSELF, OR FOR OTHERS?”
I knew what it meant by others. The people around me now. “Both. Myself and others.”
“BOTH IS IMPOSSIBLE. COGNITIVE ENHANCEMENT NECESSARY.”
“Do it.”
“COGNITIVE ENHANCEMENT MAY NOT CORRELATE WITH HAPPINESS—”
“Do it!”
“EXECUTING.”
People were walking around outside the car. Shiny black shoes, and dark pant legs swished around us. The Kia was still in one piece, upside down, tipped up with its hood ornament crushed into the tarmac. Damn safe car.
“Fix me,” I subvocalized. “Make me strong. Fast. Make me fearless.” I closed my eyes.
“Make me a good person.” Somehow, in that instant, I knew exactly what being a good person was, as if I’d always known, somewhere, deep down inside. I knew what I was saying, I knew what I meant.
“EXECUTING,” the voice inside repeated.
I fumbled through the garbage and broken glass littering the car’s roof. There was no chance in the world I’d find the gun. I knew that.
I did anyway. I checked the magazine. It held three bullets, plus the one in the chamber.
There was a splashing sound. The people attached to the legs were pouring something over the car. Gasoline. So help me, I expected them to ask for Faith, to save her and kill me. But they didn’t.
Faith crawled towards me along the roof, blood streaking her face like Apache warpaint.
I held my finger to my lips.
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