Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

“Stay behind me,” he told Pax.

The tunnel ran in a straight line, and even in the brilliance of the Sea of Gehenna, Ellis thought he could see two wavering objects in the distance, like cars on the horizon of a sunbaked highway. This was the apocalyptic hellscape he’d been expecting, but he had never thought that he and Warren would be the two road warriors facing off.

Maybe it wasn’t Warren at all. Maybe Pol was there, or Dex, or Hig, but Ellis couldn’t imagine Warren giving his gun to anyone. Still, they might have all left by now. Maybe Delta team had caught Warren just as they were wheeling the bomb through, and, after shooting, they had jumped back through the portal to Firestone Farm. The bomb might just be sitting there ticking. And maybe Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny shared a condo in Tampa—and maybe Isley didn’t kill himself, and Peggy didn’t become an alcoholic because I’m a selfish ass. Maybe was just a convenient shield to hide behind when reality proved to be a bitch.

Reality’s bitchiness didn’t let Ellis down. As they got closer, he could see the white plastic crate; beside it stood Warren. He was alone, dressed in a radiation suit, but the hood and gloves were off and lying on the ground in front of him. He was busy fumbling with something and didn’t notice their approach.

“Goddammit!” Warren cursed at the thing in his hands. “Fucking piece of shit.”

Ellis kept the gun in front of him, cupped for firing just as he’d been taught, but he aimed the barrel at the ground. In his mind, he imagined he looked like one of those dashing detectives rushing up a New York City stairwell. In reality, he felt sick and was sweating so hard he wondered if the heat really was leaking through the tunnel.

“Warren,” Ellis said, his voice a little shaky.

Warren’s head jerked up. As it did, Ellis saw the Port-a-Call in his hands.

Fear flashed on Warren’s face, then confusion, and finally a nod. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Rogers.”

“I told you I wasn’t going to let you do it. And I found my gun. Move away from the bomb.” Ellis looked for Warren’s rifle, but didn’t see it. “We’ve neutralized the other bombs you placed. All five of them.”

Warren narrowed his eyes, then laughed. “Nice try, but you’re lying. We only ever had the three.”

“Thanks for confirming that,” Ellis said, and watched as it took a second for Warren to scowl. Then Ellis raised the barrel of the gun a bit. “Now back up. I don’t want to shoot you, but I will if I have to.”

“You’d shoot me? You’d fucking shoot me? I’m your best friend, Ellis. I protected you in school. I got you your first real job. I loaned you the money for your first car. I was the best man at your goddamn wedding! And you’re gonna shoot me? No fucking way.”

“To save millions of people—you’re damn right.”

“They aren’t people. You and I are the last real humans, Ellis. All these others”—he pointed at Pax—“are an abomination—test-tube sideshow freaks. This is our one chance to fix it. Don’t you see? That’s why we were sent here. That’s why God chucked us through time. He needed our help in putting His world back together. God needs us to kill off these abominations so that His real children can fulfill the scriptures. You have to be able to see that.”

Ellis shook his head, taking slow steps forward. He wanted to close the distance in case he did have to shoot. He wasn’t a good shot. He’d only fired the gun a few times. He’d managed to hit Hal because he was at point-blank range. Warren probably wouldn’t let him get that close. “I have a problem anytime anyone uses kill and God in the same sentence.”

“That’s because you haven’t read the Bible. God— the real God , not the liberal-bullshit-hippie God—is like a Mafia boss. The God of the Bible ordered killings all the time. Ordered his number one follower—Abraham—to kill his own son. Talk about some messed-up shit. Then He had Moses slaughter all those Egyptians and the others who were on the wrong side when he came down the mountain—they changed that scene for the movie The Ten Commandments , but it happened. And God ordered Joshua to take out Jericho—killed a whole city, every man, woman, and child slaughtered. Why? To make room for His chosen people. And that’s what I’m doing. That’s what God wants us to do.”

“Not today.” Ellis took a step forward. “Now back up—I mean it, Warren.”

“Shoot him,” Pax said.

Ellis was shocked. Pax’s tone was dead serious. More than serious—earnest. Remembering how Pax had reacted to the last shooting, he couldn’t understand. “ What? ”

“He has a pistol,” Pax spoke quickly. “Tucked in the belt of his pants behind his back. It’s his little Sig P245, the one he never told you about because he bought it when he decided to rob Olson’s Liquor over on Fenkle. Ford was on strike, and Kelly was whining about money. He hid the gun for years. Only now he’s going to pull it out and shoot you with it.”

“Warren?” Ellis stared across the length of the golden tunnel at his friend.

“He thinks you can’t be trusted anymore,” Pax went on. “He thinks you’ve been brainwashed by us—by me especially. He’s thinking I’m controlling you right now like a puppet master. Maybe we did something to you when we operated on your heart and lungs—put something in your brain, a chip perhaps. Yeah—that has to be it. The fuckers put a goddamn chip in Ellis’s brain, and now they control the poor bastard. He’s a zombie for them now. Holy fuck! How is that freak—that fucker is reading my goddamn mind! Saying out loud everything I’m thinking as I fucking think it! Oh shit! Oh shit! Sorry, Ellis—Jesus, man! I really hate to do this, but if there is any of you left in there, you know I have to. Goodbye, buddy.”

Warren twisted, reaching around behind him.

“Shoot him! Shoot him now!” Pax yelled.

Ellis flipped off the safety. He could do this. He took aim at Warren’s left thigh and pulled the trigger. He was rushed, frightened, and the instant he pulled that trigger, he knew he’d missed.

Squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it!

That’s what the instructor had said at the gun range; that’s what the instruction manual had indicated too. Take a deep breath, let a little out, hold it, and very slowly, gently, squeeze the trigger.

Maybe that worked on a gun range where they had nice earmuffs and nonthreatening targets with concentric circles. Things were a tad different when you were standing near a ticking H-bomb in a transparent corridor over a lake of lava, and your best friend was about to blow your head off because he thought you were a zombie.

The gun shoved Ellis back, his arms popping up like they had last time. He needed to bring the gun down, take better aim, and shoot again before—

Ellis hadn’t missed. He could tell because Warren jerked.

There was a hole in the center of Warren’s radiation suit. Not in his thigh, but in his chest. If Warren had been one of those silhouette targets at the range, Ellis would have scored a perfect bull’s eye. His oldest friend glared at him, shocked. He tried to speak, the mumbled gasp drowned mostly by the echo of the gunshot. Knees buckled, and Warren crumpled face-forward to the floor of the tunnel.

Ellis didn’t understand.

What just happened?

He stood frozen, looking at Warren, confused.

I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have killed him.

Ellis expected Warren to get up even though he knew he wasn’t going to.

Warren can’t be dead. I aimed for his leg! I aimed for his leg!