Another collision knocks the words out of Julie’s mouth and sends Nora toppling against the tailgate. As she climbs to her knees, she finds herself staring into the barrel of the flamethrower, its pilot light guttering in the wind like a tiki torch. She scampers to the window and wriggles inside, and Julie slides it shut just as the rear of the truck erupts into an orange blaze.
Such things have a way of ending an exciting car chase. As the window seals melt, as the women scream and press themselves against the front seats to escape the hair-curling heat, I see an ancient service station ahead, a place for weary travelers to grab some beef jerky and top off their tanks before continuing on into the wilderness. Both the rear tires burst. The truck careens out of control, and as I see the gas pump’s barrier post rushing toward us, I have just enough time to think, Good thing I buckled up, before we hit the post and my seat belt rips free of the truck’s rusted chassis and I hurtle headfirst through the windshield.
I AM FLYING.
I am flying in a plane. I am flying in an armored plane and there are old men in all the seats and one of them is grinning at me from across a table and explaining something about necessity and something about ends and means and justification because he thinks I still require justification, that I still want to believe I’m good; he thinks no one so young could grasp the truth of the world so quickly, but he is wrong. I sip my whiskey and listen to him drone—
The old men are gone and I am on a smaller plane and this one is crashing. An ocean of evergreens spreads out below us, and a blond woman gives me one last look, perhaps a good-bye—Julie screams my name—the trees tear into the plane—
The gravel tears into my shoulder and I roll over and over until my body slaps against a dumpster. I immediately rise to my feet, ready to fight enemies and protect friends, but then I remember: I feel pain now. I am soft and sensitive. I am human. And I have just flown through a windshield. Blood trickles into my eyes and my head is beginning to howl. I feel every inch of my injuries, but I fight my way through them. I stagger toward the burning truck.
Abram crawls out and opens the rear door on Julie’s side. I feel a twinge of unpleasant emotion as he reaches in to rescue the woman I love while I stumble toward her, a dizzy, useless mess—but he reaches past Julie and lifts his daughter out. He sets Sprout in the grass a safe distance away and by the time he looks back at the truck, I’m there. Julie and Nora look unharmed but dazed by their impact with the front seats. The rear window is a stovetop and the air reeks of burnt hair. I pull Julie out and Nora scoots out after her and as we run toward the service station to hide from the imminent explosion, a man in a beige jacket steps out of the darkness with a fire extinguisher. The reproachful glare he gives us as he smothers the truck in white foam says we should be ashamed for causing all this trouble.
Julie, Nora, and Abram pat themselves down like they’re checking for keys and wallets before leaving the house. But the guns are in the truck.
Two more Axiom soldiers emerge from the smoke, rifles drawn. The first one drops the extinguisher and joins his comrades, and I notice a gray tie underneath his coat, incongruous with the rugged utility of his uniform.
The tie is rank. The color is function. Together they show—
Shut up, I snap, throttling my thoughts into submission. You don’t know these things.
Gray Tie draws his pistol but doesn’t bother raising it. We are already thoroughly covered. “Well?” he says impatiently. “Hands up?”
We raise our hands. I feel the wetness behind my head. My blood is not yet hot, but it’s at least higher than ambient temperature. Warm blood, cold comfort.
“Parker,” Abram says. “You’re making a mistake.”
Parker is younger than Abram, mid-twenties, with a slouching stance and a lazy smirk. He looks bored. “These three,” he says, pointing from me to Julie to Abram. “We take them back to the dome.” He points at Nora. “We can kill this one.”
“What?” Nora blurts. “No you can’t! The TV said ‘Find them and bring them back.’?”
“It showed cages for these three,” Parker says. “That means capture. Fish tank for you. That means kill.”
“A fish tank is a cage, you idiot! You’re supposed to capture all of us!”
Parker glances at his comrades. “I’m pretty sure fish tank means kill. You know, like, ‘sleep with the fishes’?”
“Oh my God your code sucks,” Nora groans.
Parker shrugs. “If I’m wrong, I’m doing you a favor. You don’t want to go where your friends are going.”
“Parker, listen to me,” Abram says, taking a step forward. The other soldiers raise their guns but he ignores them. “Axiom’s a runaway train. You need to get out while you can.”
“Shut up, Kelvin,” Parker says, finally raising his gun. “And step back.”
Abram steps forward. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the change since the hiatus. We’re spreading too fast, taking territory we don’t need and can’t hold, and you never hear a word about an endgame.”
“An endgame?” Parker scoffs. “You’re a fucking transport pilot, Kelvin; leave the ‘endgame’ to Executive.”