Free Pursuit of the Apocalypse by Benjamin Wallace Page B

paying special attention to Christopher’s wound.
    Mr. Christopher bit back a scream and fought the murderous reflex the pain activated.
    “What’s with the girl?” Guy One asked as he patted down Christopher’s thighs.
    “I told you, it’s official business.”
    The guard found Christopher’s weapon beneath his arm and pulled it out of the shoulder holster. He tossed it to Guy Two. “Any more in the car, Mr. Official Business?”
    “There’s a rifle in the passenger seat and another pistol under the driver’s seat.”
    Guy Two moved into the car to inspect the rest of the vehicle. He located the two weapons and continued to search. A moment later he emerged with a tire iron. He handed it to Guy Fawkes number one and returned to the car.
    “I thought you said there was nothing else, Mr. Alasis.”
    “What?” Mr. Christopher asked. “It’s a tire iron.”
    “It’s a weapon.”
    “It’s just a tire iron.”
    “Do you have any idea how many people tire irons kill each year?”
    “Do you have any idea how many tires they change?”
    Guy One tossed the tire iron to the ground where it bounced with a wobbly clang.
    Guy Two returned and handed the first guard a screwdriver. “I found this.”
    The guard held it in front of the mask’s eyeholes. “A shiv!”
    “A screwdriver!” Mr. Christopher argued.
    “And who exactly were you planning to screw, Mr. It’s Just a Tire Iron?”
    “A man named Philips, I suppose.”
    The joke went unnoticed and the screwdriver went into the pile as the second guard went back into the rear of the Cherokee.
    Guy One spun Christopher around. “It seems like you weren’t being too truthful with me.”
    He felt the force of the spin in his wound. It was getting worse. “Well, I didn’t account for your wild imagination.”
    “We’ve got a problem here,” the second guard’s voice was muffled inside the car. He backed out holding a plastic bag full of trash.
    Guy One grabbed it and held it in front of Mr. Christopher. “You want to try explaining this?”
    Mr. Christopher cocked his head at the bag trying to see what the guard thought he was seeing. He couldn’t see it so he shrugged. “I like to keep a tidy car.”
    “This is a plastic bag!”
    “Indeed it is. And I am aware of the danger that it poses to infants and pets should they not heed the warning clearly printed on the bag that it is not a toy. But, I assure you it has no nefarious purpose. I intend to suffocate no one.”
    “Suffocate nothing. It’s a plastic bag! It’s a blight on our community. Don’t you even care about the planet?” He dropped the bag in the pile. “I’m going to let this one slide, but next time you come this way, you had better be using a reusable shopping bag for your refuse.”
    Mr. Christopher winced at the pain in his side and the pain in the conversation in general. “I appreciate your leniency.”
    “All right, then,” Guy One stepped back into the guardhouse and emerged a moment later with a sheet of paper. “It sounds like you’ve been here before, but just for good measure I’m going to read the welcome note.”
    Mr. Christopher rolled his eyes and climbed back into his Jeep.
    The guard held up the note in front of the mask’s slits and cleared his throat before reading. “Welcome to our fair town. Here we value freedom above all else. Here you are free to say, do, and be whatever it is that makes you happy ... or sad. Freedom means different things to different people.
    “To ensure freedom for all, Freedom Enforcement Officers will be enforcing the following rules: There are no weapons allowed except for those of the Freedom Enforcement Officers. Anyone displaying a weapon will be arrested.
    “There is no fighting. All disputes are to be settled by Freedom Enforcement Officers as they have been trained in conflict resolution. Anyone caught fighting will be arrested.”
    “What about self-defense?”
    The guard was able to express a surprising amount of