Free We Live Inside You by Jeremy Robert Johnson Page B

stress-bath this night had become.
    “Alright, man. I swear. I fucking swear on everything—no more of that shit.”
    This is another chance. I’ll show Kane I mean it. I’ll prove I’m an EndLiner. The next asshole that gets in my way is going to find out what kind of a man I am.
    “Okay, then,” Kane said, “let’s keep moving.”
    Jackson agreed. Staying in motion kept your blood pumping. It would keep the thoughts about Jackson’s lies on low/conflict on high.
    The beast who struggles most survives, and all that.
    Besides, if we slow down we’ll have time to think about what’s going on. About the fact that we’re running around town assaulting people at random. Because Frank said to.
    And because it feels good. No, great. It feels great.
    Some part of Jackson’s mind felt guilt at this last thought, but he started to walk with Kane and let the feeling fade in the face of motion. The air across his skin felt warm, almost a caress over his throbbing forehead slash. He’d ditched his pillowcase back at the first rumble, as had Kane, and he felt streamlined by their forward inertia. Jackson’s weapon of choice, a five pound barbell he’d planned to hold in his fist, had proven unwieldy. Kane still had a small, steel-rod enforced bat with the word “Grendel” written on the side.
    They’d grown up in this town, and now Jackson felt they were wandering its streets like a Death Squad. The idea gave every second a bizarre power.
    “Kane, we’re changing everything tonight.”
    “I know, man! It’s fucking awesome! I’m so glad we’re on this squad and didn’t get stuck with the grocery store run. Maybe those guys will catch up later tonight.”
    On the short walk from the clearing to downtown Jackson and Kane had managed to listen in on a few mission details. Rumors or not, neither had any idea. Supposedly there was a crew headed up to the reservoir. Frank had instructed everyone to stock up bottled water the week prior, so Jackson guessed this detail might be true. Another crew was likely headed to the warehouse-sized grocery store on Berger to inject the butcher shop’s meat with some homegrown bacterial culture. A third crew was headed to the real pillow fight at the Sternwheeler Mall parking lot that Frank had set-up as a decoy. They would watch the cops there and walkie-talkie out to Frank when the lawmen were made aware of the more serious rumbles that were being launched elsewhere.
    Jackson pictured the cops there at Sternwheeler, laughing, watching the feathers fly, thinking, “Man, kids these days…” while downtown had gone slaughterhouse.
    He actually hoped they’d catch on sooner than later. Part of him wanted an excuse for their crew to slip back into the shadows, and part of him just really wanted to beat up a fucking cop.
    The faster he walked with Kane, the more the latter felt like the truth. They walked like giants. They were lions/Kodiak bears/sharks that never slept. And this town was theirs until someone else could prove otherwise.

    The Black Rabbit was a dive bar on the southernmost tip of downtown.
    It was here that Frank had begun his series of public executions.
    The public, of course, had no idea that this was to be the case. Nor did Jackson until he and Kane approached and saw Frank bring the mallet down.
    The man in the brown corduroy jacket let out a scream that squelched on impact. Metal met skull and kept moving, bone went smashed-pumpkin wide and slid curbside on brain. The man’s body spasmed until Frank brought the mallet crushing down again, this time at the neck. A woman in a red denim skirt and cowgirl top screamed out, “Harold!” and two EndLiners held her back, one seizing the opportunity to score a fist full of tit.
    Frank lifted his head from his work, smiled, and shouted out, “NEXT?” He used one thick leg to roll what used to be Harold to one side, clearing a space in his impromptu killing floor for whoever else was to be randomly doomed.
    Two