Brian Evenson - Last Days

They got close enough for Ramse to prod Frank with his boot. "Poor bastard," said Gous.

"He deserved it," said Ramse.

"He was just doing his job," said Gous. "His only mistake was not realizing there was a second car. There's always a second car. Except when there's not." He gestured with his gun at Kline. "By all rights this should be our friend Kline."

Ramse shrugged. "That's Kline," he said. "We know and love him. He's like a person to us."

"More or less," said Gous.

"Yes," said Ramse. "More or less." He prodded Frank again with his foot. "What do you think, Gous? Shall we kill him?"

"No point overdoing it," said Gous.

"No," said Ramse. "I suppose not. Besides, we should be going."

"We should indeed," said Gous. The sirens, Kline suddenly realized, sounded quite near. "Into the car, Mr. Kline," he said, gesturing behind him with his gun. "Time to go."

He sat in the front seat. Ramse drove by placing his stump in the cup attached to the steering wheel, while Gous in the backseat trained the gun at Kline's back or his head, sometimes one, sometimes the other.

They passed a police car, siren flailing, going the other way. Ramse didn't even give it a glance, didn't seem at all nervous.

"Back to the compound?" asked Kline.

"Back to the compound," said Ramse, and smiled.

They drove through the suburbs, signs of habitation slowly giving way to dry, withered trees.

"They're planning to kill me?" asked Kline.

"Yes," said Ramse. "We."

"What?" asked Kline.

"We're planning to kill you," said Ramse. "Slowly and painfully. We're part of them."

"It's semantic," said Gous. "There's no point correcting him."

"We know him, Gous," said Ramse, watching his friend in the rearview mirror. "He's shifty. He's trying to draw a line between us and the others."

"So?" said Gous.

"So, we have to watch ourselves," said Ramse. "We have to be on guard."

"I don't think it's that big of a deal," said Gous. "We're smarter than that."

They kept arguing back and forth about it, and then Ramse shouted, and then finally, both furious, they refused speak to one another. The sun slipped down in the sky and disappeared, the car and the landscape it traveled through cast now in an orange light, as if everything were slightly underexposed. When the light was completely gone, Ramse asked him to reach across him and turn on the headlights. He thought fleetingly about jerking the steering wheel and trying to crash the car, but before he'd even started to reach he felt the snout of Gous' pistol push into the nape of his neck. "Careful now," Gous said.

He reached slowly across and pushed in the light button and fell back again. Gous' pistol wavered for a moment beside his ear, then darted away.

They kept driving.

"I'm sorry," said Gous to Ramse. "I didn't mean to say anything to hurt you."

"I'm the one that's sorry," said Ramse. "There's no reason to fight."

Kline rolled his eyes. They kept driving. Kline felt like he should recognize the road, but, in the dark, didn't. "Why do they want us to bring him back?" said Gous. "They're just going to kill him. Why don't we just kill him ourselves?"

"They're not just going to kill him," said Ramse. "They're planning to crucify him." He leaned over to Kline. "Sorry," he said, "but you might as well know."

"It's all right," said Kline.

"If it was our choice," said Gous, "it might turn out differently."

"But it's not our choice," said Ramse.

"I understand," said Kline.

"Very kind of you," said Gous. "You always were considerate."

"Don't overdo it, Gous," said Ramse.

"Sorry," said Gous.

"It's the thought that counts," Kline offered.

"I hope so," said Ramse, "because there's nothing beyond that."

"No?" asked Kline.

"No," said Ramse.

"Ah well," said Kline. "I had a good run."

But he wasn't thinking that. What he was thinking was, When do I try to crash the car?

The city had faded entirely behind him, miles back. The road was dark and deserted. When? he wondered. When? But every time he felt almost ready, he felt the presence of Gous' pistol just behind his ear.

"What are you?" Ramse asked after a few dozen miles. "A four still?"

Kline thought it over. "Yes," he said.

"But it's the whole arm," said Ramse. "Shouldn't it count for more? See what I'm saying? Shouldn't an arm count more than a hand?"

"I don't know," said Kline.

"Sure," said Ramse. "And shouldn't a hand count more than a few fingers?"

"Ramse," said Gous. "You know that's not how it's done."

"I'm not challenging the doctrine," said Ramse. "I'm still faithful. I'm just asking."

They drove for a time in silence. After a while, almost without knowing it, Kline dropped off, jerking awake some time later when they turned down a dirt road.

"Almost there," said Ramse when he realized that Kline was awake again.

They went down the dirt road, the car jouncing with each dip and bump.

"It's nothing personal," said Ramse. "Gous and I both like you."

"Yes," said Gous. "We do."

"But we have our orders," said Ramse.

Gous didn't say anything.

Kline said, "I'd prefer not to die."

"No," said Ramse, distracted. "But we all die when it's our time."

Gous was still there, still always alert. I'm running out of time , Kline thought. He would have to reach over, pistol or no, and pull the steering wheel sharply, try to jam his foot onto the accelerator as well. How much time was there?

"Almost there," said Ramse. "Mr. Kline," he said, "I have nothing but regrets."

"Then let me go," said Kline.

"Ah," said Ramse. "If only we could. But alas we cannot."

"Speak for yourself, Ramse," said Gous.

"Excuse me?" said Ramse. His eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, then his face went slack. "You wouldn't," he said.

Kline half-turned to see the gun pointed no longer at himself, but at Ramse.

"I wouldn't like to," said Gous. "Pull over."

Ramse took his foot off the accelerator an instant, then put it back again. "What's this all about, Gous?" he asked.

Gous rapped him sharply on the shoulder with the butt of his gun. "Pull over, Ramse," he said. This time Ramse complied, letting the car grind slowly to a stop and then, on Gous' command, handing over the keys.

"I can't say I'm not hurt, Gous," said Ramse. "After all we've been to each other."

"It hurts me more than it hurts you, Ramse," said Gous. "Now suppose we all get out," he said. "I'll go first, then Mr. Kline, then finally you, dear Ramse."

The car swayed slightly as Gous made his way out, leaving the door open. "Now you, Kline," he said, and Kline opened his door and climbed out as well. "In front of the car," said Gous. "In the lights. Put your hand on the hood and wait."

Kline nodded and did as he was told, looking in at Ramse who was pale and silent, lips tight. The hood was warm under his palm.

"Now you, Ramse," said Gous. "Right beside friend Kline."

"You're planning to kill me?" said Ramse.

"Why would I want to kill you?" asked Gous. "I have no desire to kill you. But yes, if you don't get out now, I'll have to kill you."

"You'll kill me anyway," said Ramse.

Gous sighed. "Ramse, don't you know me better than that?" "Apparently I don't know you at all."

Gous gestured impatiently with the gun. "Ramse," he said, "please."

Ramse sighed and clambered out.

"Turn around and raise your hands," Gous said, and when Ramse did so he stepped quickly forward and struck him in the head with the butt-end of the pistol.

Ramse crumpled quickly. Gous prodded him with his foot, then came back to the car.

"You'll have to drive," said Gous. "Get in."

Kline did, and Gous clambered in beside him, looking suddenly worn and tired.