Free Humanity by J.D. Knutson Page A

leisurely waltz, continuing
to lead me along.
    “Open your eyes,” he finally said.
    I did, meeting his. I looked around us,
noticing the white stucco columns that encased us, and the open roof above our
heads. We were dancing in a gazebo.
    “This is where the orchestra would have
played, I think,” he whispered, watching for my reaction.
    I smiled up at the open sky, then at the
columns around us. “It’s perfect. It doesn’t look touched at all.”
    “Well, there’s a chunk of rock missing
over there.” He indicated it. “But I thought you’d appreciate the feel of it.
It’s a little easier to imagine the reality of this structure, since nothing is
really missing.”
    “Can we camp here tonight?”   I asked. “It would be really neat to see the
stars through there.” I pointed at the open roof.
    Gideon smiled. “Sure. I don’t know that I
could walk much more today, anyway. But, before we get settled, maybe we should
look around and see if there’s anything to forage for dinner.”
    “Alright,” I replied, considering the
landscape. “Maybe if we. . .” I was in the act of lifting my arm to point when
there was a roar; a giant blur of orange landed on top of me, forcing me to to
the ground. Then it was up again, pouncing at Gideon.
    I noted that Gideon had his gun out, then
noted that our attacker was an animal. A big, hairy animal with a long, thick
mane. The fur was matted and tangly, patchy in some places, and the beast had a
starved look to it – weak, like it had been wasting away in our absence.
    Gideon raised his right arm defensively
toward the lion, and the lion knocked the gun from his hand; I watched it fly
toward what used to be a pretzel counter as I staggered to my feet. Gideon
whipped his knife out with his left hand, his right hand still buried in the
lion’s fur. The lion whacked at him with horribly ragged claws, tearing long
ribbons of flesh out of Gideon’s already healing arm.
    I stood there, shock holding me to the
spot. Where had this lion come from? Was it originally from this carnival, one of
the escaped attractions?
    Gideon wrestled with the lion, falling to
the ground under its weight and doing everything he could to hold the animal at
bay.
    The animal didn’t seem to think I was a
threat at all. It had simply pushed me out of the way, then gone for Gideon.
Not that I provided much meat. . .
    But I could probably suffice for dessert.
    Something fuzzy occupied space in my
brain, other than the bloody, bizarre scene in front of me.
    The gun.
    I turned away from Gideon and jumped from
the gazebo, sprinting for the pretzel stand. I looked around for the gun,
finally dropping to my knees to check under the stand.
    There it was.
    I grabbed it, racing back to the gazebo,
recognizing the bloody state of Gideon’s fingers as they grazed the lion’s
fangs.
    I held the gun with both hands and pulled
the trigger.
    The first bullet to enter its hide just
seemed to make the lion angry; it roared and leapt from the gazebo, lunging
toward me, away from Gideon. The second bullet brought the lion down. The third
bullet ended its life. The stench of filth met my nose.
    I looked at the gun in my hand, then
opened it to check how many more bullets I had. Only five. That would have to
be enough.
    I walked back to the gazebo.
    Gideon was pushing himself back to his
feet; his knife was nowhere in sight and, with my gun trained on him, he
wouldn’t have an opportunity to fetch his spare – the spare I had originally
taken from his attacker three weeks before.
    Gideon met my eyes, not even glancing at
the gun.
    Waiting.

 
    Chapter 7
    This was the moment I had been
anticipating. A month had passed since the deaths of my parents. The loss was
still fresh in my mind, in my gut, in my chest. I could immediately recall the
horror I felt when I saw my father’s glazed eyes. I ached with hurt, with
loneliness, with pain. The death of their killer would give me the triumph, the
closure, I so