Free Pursuit of the Apocalypse by Benjamin Wallace Page A

script spelled out the words Cancer-Cola.
    A cartoon mouse was curb-stomping a toddler.
    A string of dollar signs depicted a jail cell.
    And, one just said, “Fuck Sea World.”
    At first glance the people of the town didn’t seem to be for much of anything. The flags and banners had a definitive “anti” slant, but if one looked close enough, it did seem they were “pro” a thing or two. But, according to the flags, it was mostly weed, unicorns, and hugs.
    Mr. Christopher grimaced as he turned the Jeep’s steering wheel. The bullet had passed through his waist and he had done what he could to clean the wound and stop the bleeding, but he didn’t have the dexterity to stitch himself up. Every turn of the wheel caused it to bleed more. He could find the help he needed here. But, he would have to be careful.
    Alasis was on friendly terms with the town’s leadership, but only because it bought the town’s allegiance. Its location wasn’t of any strategic importance, and the town itself produced nothing worth having. Mr. Christopher wasn’t sure they produced anything at all, actually. But, by sending regular shipments of supplies, Alasis bought peace and their citizens were welcomed legally, if not warmly, and granted no special privileges.
    The small town fell away as he approached the former college campus. The flags directed him to the main avenue and he brought the Jeep to a stop in front of a gate. Red and white bars taken from a railroad crossing blocked the road between a pair of guardhouses. They weren’t large, there were just enough to keep a guard out of the rain or sun. A man emerged from each guardhouse with a combat rifle across his chest.
    They wore no uniforms but each guard examined his car from behind the oversized smile, upturned mustache, and squinty eyes of a pale Guy Fawke’s mask. One circled the SUV while the other approached his door and tapped on the window with the barrel of his weapon.
    Christopher rolled the window down and looked into the eyes of the man behind the mask.
    “What do you want?” Guy Fawkes asked.
    “My name is Mr. Christopher. I am on official business from Alasis and I require medical assistance.” He leaned back and moved his hand to reveal the bleeding wound, hoping its severity would speed things up.
    Guy Fawkes looked away and repeated, “Alasis?”
    “That’s right.”
    He looked back. “Can’t say that I’m a fan.”
    Mr. Christopher shrugged but held the gaze behind the mask. He wasn’t too concerned with what a man in a Halloween mask thought. He was only concerned that he was in pain.
    “I don’t like the way you treat people up that way.”
    Mr. Christopher took a deep breath while deciding just how rude he could be. “But you do like the food we send you.”
    It was the guard’s turn to shrug. “I don’t like your attitude either.”
    “Then I take great confidence in knowing that it doesn’t matter what you think,” Mr. Christopher said.
    A chuckle escaped from the behind the mask. The guard stood up from the window as the second Guy Fawkes finished his circle of the vehicle. Guy One asked Guy Two, “Did you see anything?”
    “There’s a woman tied up in the back. But, nothing suspicious.”
    The first guard opened the Jeep’s door. “Please step out of the vehicle.”
    “I am in great discomfort from an inconvenient gunshot wound, so may I ask why you need me to step out of the car?”
    “I’m going to search you and your car for weapons. You see, unlike Alasis, we are a peaceful town. And we don’t want anyone disrupting that peace. So step out of the car before I drag your ass out and beat you to death.”
    Mr. Christopher sighed and stepped gingerly from the car driver’s seat. Once he had swung his legs out, the guard grabbed him by his lapels and yanked him to his feet.
    Guy One spun him around, pushed him against the Jeep and started frisking him with violent handfuls, squeezing the soft areas until they bruised and