Under a Broken Sun by Kevin P. Sheridan Read Free Book Online Page B

purpose?”
    “Relax,” I said, pushing Ashley away.
    “What is she, psycho or something?"
    I snapped around to Ashley and drew my sleeve up, revealing my own scars.  “Yeah and so am I.  If you don’t like it you’re free to run the fuck away.”
    That shut her up, but not without some colorful language under her breath to close it out.  Marilyn stayed silent as she wrapped her arm up.  “Sorry,” I said to Ashley. 
    “Forget it,” she replied. 
    A quick rip of tape and Marilyn’s arm was an instant long sleeve of white.
    I looked into her eyes.  “Marilyn.  Look at me.  You can’t do this.  You could seriously screw yourself up.  We can’t afford to be causing injuries on purpose.  You understand?”
    "Don't worry about me, ok?  Just worry about yourself."
    “We can't take any chances.  The cutting's gotta stop.  For both of us.”  Finally, a slight nod.  “If you wanna cut, you let me know.  Grab me.  Whatever it takes.  Just keep it pain free, ok?”
    She smiled.  I loved that smile.  It’s one of those types of smile that makes you return it just so you can keep it going.  I brushed strands of jet black hair away from her face.  "Promise," she whispered.
    “Uh, guys?” Ashley said. 
    I turned.  A fight had broken out down the street, a cop and some other guy.  More guys appeared, followed by more cops.  The crowd turned into a mob.  Before we knew it, a throng of people with clubs, baseball bats, crowbars, all matter of destruction devises, marched towards us.  A noise like a crowd roaring at a baseball game grew on the other side of the building.  The throng heading towards us turned the march into a marathon.  Some broke off into other stores.  Some came out of other stores with TV’s, radios, even DVD’s spilling out of their arms.  Electronics.  I had to smile.  Worthless pieces of shit now. 
    A pop sound on the other side of the building, something fired from a tin-can.  Then a hiss.  Then the smell.  Tear gas.
    The riots had officially begun, and we sat smack dab in the middle of them.
     
     
    I grabbed Marilyn’s hand and pulled her down the alley away from the crowd to our right.  Shattering glass reverberated from behind and the sickening sound of screaming as billy-clubs bashed rioter’s heads in.  Or maybe it was baseball bats the other way.  I didn’t stop to look.
    I wanted to get out of the street but all I could find were locked doors and dark windows.  Every few feet a small crowd of rioters ran to where the action was, but they left us alone.  As we continued up Market Street, the noise shifted to something a little more organized.  I couldn’t make out what they were chanting until we cleared the last street and stepped in front of Independence Hall.  Someone shouted about Hell.  “The Lord has come!”  “We‘re all gonna die!”  “It’s the wrath of God!”
    Doomsday shit.  Great.  The last thing we needed.
    I tried to pull Marilyn with me up the street away from that mess, but the words of the man at the podium hypnotized her.  She snapped her arm back and shuffled towards the man in the middle of it all. 
    Jesse Hill - the Right Reverend dickhead who we unfortunately saved, paraded on some sort of platform in front of the throng.  I followed Marilyn up further as she bumped and jostled her way through the crowd.  What the fuck was it about this clown that fascinated her so much?
    “Remember Revelations 3:3," he shouted, raising his right hand.  "‘If therefore thou shalt not watch I will come on thee as a thief, and thou shalt not know what hour I will come upon thee’” Hill proclaimed.  People had their eyes closed, tears streaming down their face.  Fucking children, no more than ten years old, raising their faces to the burning sun.  One started to quiver and speak gibberish.  Others praised Jesus.  “And Matthew Chapter 24,” he went on, “For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the