Volume
One: The Road Out
Chapter Two
Verse Eight: Everyone Run Now
Marion and Harley sat at kitchen table.
The basement suite was largely dark, only the kitchen light was lit.
The two were silent, looking at the table rather than each other.
Finally, Marion began speaking, "It
worse than we thought. It's not just taking away the things in our
lives, this story is going to destroy our ability to make new lives,
and I mean completely destroy it. We're in the story now and if we
don't play by the story's rules, we're going to end up in jail
forever, and now we're being framed and I really shouldn't have
killed those guards in that vision, because really got them mad, but
what was I going to do?"
"Breathe. Marion. Listen to me.
This is bad. This is all so bad that I lost tempo, lost my cool. I
don't like yelling. And I've been yelling a lot more than I would
like to be lately. So now we breathe, and we make a decision."
"We still have things left that we
get to decide?" Marion asked, "It feels like this thing has
taken all of our decisions away from us."
"We've been given bad choices, and
placed in unpleasant situations. Yes. I hear what you're saying. But
the thing it can't take from us, no matter how matter bad situations
it places us in, no matter how many impossible choices it gives us,
we still get to decide how we respond. I choose how I live. I choose
how I die. Nobody else chooses that. I choose how I die. I decide
what note my song goes out on. So now it's time that we decide
that."
"So what choices have we got?"
"Well. Choice number one, we go
meekly like lambs to the slaughter. I don't like that option. The
lord is not my shepherd, because I refuse to be a sheep. So, choice
number two: we run. As long as you're okay with the idea that we are
about to become fugitives from justice."
"I'm with you Harley. We're night
and day, you can't have one of us without the other."
"So we run. The question is, how
shall we run. I'm not running without knowing where I'm running to."
"How do we choose that? We don't
know anything useful."
"We choose what our mission is
going to be. Are we going to be part of this story or resist it? Once
we choose that, we'll know what to listen for and how to run. So, do
you want to be the Dreamer? Do I want to be the running man?"
"The Walker. We're already going
to be on Running Man."
"So what's our choice?"
* * *
The Men of black and white, clad in
suits and sunglasses despite the washed out grey light of the false
dawn arrived at the house in a small convoy of white unmarked vans.
They filed out like tin soldiers in a line and quickly surrounded the
house, positioning themselves next to all window and doors. Fingers
pressed earpieces into place and voices whispered coordinating verbal
chatter that mimicked the sounds of the crickets. They swarmed around
the building with a quiet insectile hum.
As the suited figures finished moving,
a pair of men of black and white stepped out of the van nearest to
the basement door with a large two person hand held battering ram.
Warm lights glowed throw orange curtains from within the basement as
the two agents positioned themselves in front of the door to the
basement suite.
The chatter quieted in the same way the
forest goes quiet prior to a predator attack, the world froze
as though waiting for the mountain lion to strike. The men of black
and white drew their firearms, nondescript pistols of indeterminate
make and model. The air tightened like a violence string, the wind
tasting of cold gun metal.
The two agents at the door swung the
battering ram back and up. The giant steel beam hung in the air
momentarily like a suspended judgement. And almost as though time had
frozen and then slowly begun to thaw, the battering ram began to
swing down. Speeding up as it dropped, the metal pole hurtled towards
the unsuspected door.
And then the door burst inwards,
buckling under the battering ram, and agents rushed in and noise and
violence rushed around like a landslide. Agents charged into the
entryway of the basement suite and pointed guns a the empty kitchen
table. The moved quickly into the deserted living room, noting
clothing and linens scattered across the floor. One agent stopped to
examine the computer, it's casing opened and the hard drive removed.
Three more agents entered the single bedroom and noted the empty
closet and the dresser drawers sitting empty on the naked bedroom
mattress. Upstairs Mrs. Critchwood screeched like an angry bird and
her own door was knocked inwards and agents stormed her home.
"targets have fled. No contact
with targets. Advise immediate search of the area. Spread out.
Question all possible targets. Highest priority."
As the men of black and white began to
fan out and search, a single figure in a white latex gloves and a
grey long coat stepped out of the furtherest van. He had a white
trimmed moustache and goatee, and dressed in a linen suit the colour
of pale bone china. He was slim and tall and regal and lethal in his
posture and demeanour. On the lapel of his long coat were a row of
seven silver pins: a sewing needle, an easter egg, a flying duck, a
running hare, a treasure chest and an oak leaf. He walked slowly and
arrived quickly. Standing beside on of the agents.
"You do not have them?"
"No, sir. We are surveying the
area, we will find them."
"This is not the way to chase
them. This game board is of little relevance. I will pursue them with
my forces within the wild hunt."
"We have orders from our superiors
to apprehend them, sir."
"You are not my concern. Do as you
like. I am merely observing. The real game will be played on other
battlefields."
"Yes, sir."
The agent's earpiece crackled, "We
have a witness."
The agents had converged around an
older man in grubby brown clothing standing with a massive neapolitan
mastiff who was leaning into the older man's leg so strongly the old
seemed to be held upright by the dog.
The man was pointing northward as he
spoke, "Oh yes sir, I saw them two. They left less than an hour
ago. They were heading north on Highway sixteen. Yes sir, I saw them
sir."
The men of black and white touched
fingers to ear pieces and began to speak, "Send pursuit north on
Highway 16, Repeat targets are travelling north on highway sixteen.
One hour head start. Pursuit is still viable."
* * *
The pre dawn light was gradually
deepening to a heavy red. The light bathed the goblin as Harley drove
the ancient van south on Highway thirteen. They had stopped at an ATM
machine downtown first and cleaned out as much money from Harley's
account as they could before the bank machine had stopped them. And
now they were running.
"So you know," Harley said,
"Between the two of us we've got very little in the way of
personal belongings, virtually no money and we are fugitives from an
unjust system and some weird amorphous force people keep referring to
as a story. We've got no legal recourse and no way out if and when
we're caught. And we've got no homes to go back to."
"This was your idea. And besides,
I'm used to being unlucky. How are you doing."
"I will endure. Sometimes that's
all you can do."
* * *
There is a place within every story where people do not wish to go. There is a place in every story where even the bravest are driven to panic and chased by their fear. This dreaded place is often named, but these are mere echoes and the names mean nothing. The place in which fear dwells is unknown, a void of understanding.
The Hound stirred in the darkness of
the void. The Hound became aware that it was the subject of
conversation.
"Send the Hound."
"Do not presume to order us little
King. We are not your servants."
"We have to find them. Without
them the Golden Age ends. The Empire falls. You owe me this."
"We owe you nothing, remember that
well. You made a bargain with us and we have honoured every part of
that bargain. If you fail and your little empire falls, that is you
failing to honour your half of the bargain."
"Unless you want everything we
built to fall apart, you'll send the hound. YOu have as much in this
game as I do."
"Perhaps then, it is fortunate
that we both know that it is a game."
"Stop trying to play mind games
with me and send your super monster after my kids. The Bone Man
pursues them already, why send the Hound as well?"
"The line can't be broken. I won't
let my line end."
"Lines end eventually little King.
Do not forget that."
"Well just make sure it doesn't
end here and now. Let the next generation drop the ball. Send the
Hound."
"We have honoured our side of the
bargain. This requires a new deal. What do you offer?"
"You could at least dress up in
red and horns if we're making deals again."
"Red is the colour of life, the
colour of fire. The colour of fear is grey."
The Hound was not interested in the
bargaining. the Hound did not care about the deal. The Hound listened
only enough to understand that the deal would be reached. The Hound
would be freed. The Hound would help. The Hound would hunt. Would the
prey run? The Hound would see them run. See if they run. Soon.
"For though the righteous fall
seven times, they rise again."
— Proverbs 24:16
