Crossing Bedlam by Charles E. Yallowitz Read Free Book Online Page B

an unmoving jeep for several hours makes him hungry for violence. An idea to pass the time comes to his mind, so he turns in his seat to get at his collection of knives. Searching another pack for a marker, the serial killer whistles while writing names on his weapons. Each moniker is carefully chosen and run by Cassidy, who humors the madman more out of a sense of self-preservation than any real interest in his newest quirk.
    *****
    Tossing an empty bottle out the window, Lloyd squints in the dying sunlight to see if any of the bodies sprawled around the overturned truck have moved. He counts seven corpses that have been left by the overprotective Guardian, who he assumes is atop the ivy-covered remains of a hotel. Sliding further down in his seat, he tries to stretch the muscles in his lower back without startling the distant sniper. A previous attempt cost them the CD player after the bullet passed through the rear window and narrowly missed Lloyd’s arching torso. The pair have spent the last two hours in near silence, the only utterance a grunt that is a sign for the other to put a jacket over his or her head during private moments.
    “Why won’t those fucking animals leave?” Cassidy finally asks when the rhinos move back to the other side of the road. The two beasts hunker down and get ready to sleep, their comfort feeling like an insult to the trapped travelers. “I admit that I don’t know anything about rhinos, but I’m sure they don’t stay in one spot for hours. Unless one of them is about to give birth or there’s something attracting them to this specific area. Kind of like catnip, but for rhinos. Betting there are motion sensors on them too, so the Guardian can tell when someone is nearby. That’s how the bastard or bitch is aware of threats. Probably isn’t even bothering to consider if there’s real danger or not. I mean, she shot a teenager back there. Oh my God, when will these things get out of our way?”
    “Sounds like you needed to get that off your chest,” Lloyd says, his foot repeatedly pressing the power button of the broken CD player. With a chuckle, he taps his companion on the shoulder to make sure he has her attention. “I know we’ve only been together for a week, but we still barely know each other. Both of us must have questions. What if this is the part of the story where we get to learn more about our pasts?”
    “Why do you keep doing that?”
    “Oh goodie. I was hoping you’d ask first. Doing what?”
    “Talking about being in a story.”
    Abruptly somber and thoughtful, Lloyd scratches his head and stares at the ceiling as if he is peering at the darkening sky. “Because we’re two strangers going on a unique trip through an altered homeland. That just screams main characters in a story to me. I mean, most people exist without an adventure. They’re born, grow up, work, have sex, have kids, and die with nothing more than photo albums left behind. The two of us are doing something amazing. All of the stories I read in jail had people doing stuff like this, so it makes sense that we’re characters. After all, somewhere out there are worlds where our fiction is reality and our reality is fiction. How do you know a person isn’t curled up in bed reading about us?”
    “Not that I believe you, but I guess that makes sense in your mind,” Cassidy says while reaching back for an apple. Pulling a knife out of her pocket, she carefully slices part of the fruit off and tries to eat it without making a noise. “Though if this is a story, it could be a tragedy where we both die. It also means we have no influence over our own actions. A person is out there writing us into existence. That’s too depressing to think about considering this creator would also be the one who destroyed our world. A real bastard if you ask me.”
    “My turn then,” Lloyd claims with a maddening cackle. A rumble in his stomach causes his mind to lose its first question, so he blurts out the