Matthew Costello - Rage

In a moment he could break the guy’s arm.

He saw Black go for his gun with his free hand, and Raine reached down and grabbed that wrist. Now, right up to Black’s ear, he whispered.

“I wouldn’t do that”-he gave the trapped arm a slight pull up for emphasis-“if you know what I mean.”

“You’re fucked.”

“Could be. I’ve heard that before. Now if you can talk in a civil manner, I will let your arm go. Just keep those hands away from those six-shooters, pardner. Deal?”

Black hesitated, perhaps weighing if he had another shot to get Raine off him.

Then: “Deal.”

Raine let Black’s trapped arm slide free. “You’d be a dead man. If Clayton didn’t want something from you.”

“I’ve been a dead man before. There we are. So-we were talking about TV?”

“You-” Black adjusted his tone a bit.

Good. Lesson learned. Though Raine guessed if Black didn’t need him to do the show, he might indeed be in big trouble.

“You will go on the show tomorrow night. The audience will love it. Win there, and you just might have enough for a new buggy.”

“Sounds like a dangerous show.”

“Oh, it is. You can consider what happened out there”-he gestured at the stadium-“as a warm-up. The Bash Arena is not a happy place.”

“Then why the hell would I do it? I’ll go back to Clayton and-”

“Clayton sent me.”

Raine stopped. He remembered seeing Clayton with the men from the Authority, their black uniforms standing out from the ragtag clothing worn by the people of Wellspring.

“He sent me. With this offer.”

“And if I pass?”

“The mayor gets a lot of pressure. Ark survivors are a highly valued commodity out here.” Black smiled. “Yeah, we know. We’re not fools. You’d be a nice prize to turn over. But the mayor’s a man of his word. He’ll keep quiet. For now.”

“ If I do Mutant Bash.” Man of his word? His word seemed to change daily.

Black nodded. “And I’ll be quiet as well. Though the day will come, stranger, when you and I will deal with each other.”

Raine heard a noise from down the hall. One of the other drivers limping his way down. He and Black stood there, quietly, as he passed. The man was not so quiet as he passed Raine.

“Fucker.”

He kept limping down the hallway.

“Another new friend,” Black said.

“I see.”

“You show up at the studio on the east side of the city, near the mutant pens. About seven tomorrow night, an hour before the show. You do that, and the Authority will just see you as some other lucky guy who wandered in from the Wasteland…”

“And about to die in the arena.”

“That,” he said, adjusting his hat, “will be up to you. I know one damn thing, Raine-I’ll sure as hell be watching.”

And with that the sheriff walked away.

Raine went to a table in the back of the bar and sat down. His aches now mixed with a numbing fatigue as his body screamed for rest. Despite that, the race and the move he pulled off to win-and then the threat from Black-had his mind in overdrive.

Sally had a full bar. A skinny guy with a domelike head and jittery moves helped her. When she got a break, she walked back to him, two drinks in hand.

“You won.”

“Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?”

“Not that anyone expected it.”

“Not even you?”

“Can I sit?”

“Your bar, right?”

Sally sat down, the place full enough that she had to lean close to speak to Raine.

“Heard Starky took a nasty spill.”

“About as nasty as they get when the person’s still able to walk away from it. Except he didn’t walk away.” Raine took a sip of the drink Sally had brought over. “He got carried.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, you know, the funny thing is that when I was in there, I kind of forgot what you said he did to your driver. But I could see how he operated. Taking drivers out right and left, even if he didn’t need to in order to win. And suddenly I wanted to take him out. I wanted to win.”

“So-more races?”

Raine shook his head. “The buggy’s a wreck. Besides, Clayton has other plans for me.”

“What does he want you to do?”

Raine nodded toward the tube television suspended over the bar. Had to be over a hundred years old and still working. Pretty amazing.

“Going on Mutant Bash TV.”

Without thinking, Sally’s hand covered his as she said, “No. You can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“You ever see a Bash?”

He shook his head.

“You have to fight and kill mutants, or at least get past them. Each setup is different, like a puzzle, only you have mutants coming out from all over. If I could, I wouldn’t even let it be shown in the bar. But they’d tear the joint apart. I don’t even look. You can’t do it, Raine.”

“I wasn’t given an option. It’s this or the Authority. Guess you figured out that they’re looking for me, hm? And since Wellspring is my only option for now, especially without wheels…”

Sally leaned even closer.

“ They know about you. Someone will be coming. Not sure when.”

Raine raised his eyes. “You mean Enforcers?”

“No.” She lowered her voice even more. “The Resistance.”

“You’re with-” He looked around. “Okay. Good to know that. I got something for them. And maybe I can find out what I’m supposed to be doing in this world. Other than races and bashes.”

“I don’t want to know too much, but I was told you will be contacted. Won’t help, though, if you’re dead.”

Raine drained his glass. He noticed some of the men closer to the table looking over, perhaps flashing on the fact he was the out-of-the-blue newcomer who’d won today’s race. No one smiled.

Cost them money, he imagined.

“Don’t have much choice, Sally. Tomorrow night at eight.” He laughed. “A star is born.”

She didn’t laugh back.

“If you do it, win, Raine. Do whatever you have to… to stay alive.”

“Always do.”

She looked around.

“Like I said, I don’t know much about the Resistance. Don’t want to know much-not healthy. But I do what I can, and I’m sure of one thing: they sure as hell can use someone like you.”

He nodded.

“Another drink?”

He shook his head. “No. That bed in the storeroom still free?”

She hesitated, and he wondered whether another offer might be on the table. Then the moment passed as she smiled.

“Sure. Rest up.”

The possible offer… vanishing with the idea that he might be a dead man.

And as Sally walked away he thought…

Not if I have anything to do about it.

Captain John Marshall, his vision blurry from blood and sweat dripping down his face, looked up at the man standing in front of him.

He had been drugged for his transfer here, but he now knew where he was.

That much, at least, was clear.

Inside Capital Prime, inside its prison-with who knows how many other political prisoners. The ones still alive.

Or had they all been killed?

The man before him, dressed in a black officer’s uniform and flanked by two Enforcers, waited until he felt Marshall’s eyes on him.

“Tomorrow you will meet the Visionary. Quite an exciting moment for you.”

Marshall looked right into the man’s eyes. “The Visionary can kiss my-”

Before the word was out, an Enforcer smacked him with the back of his hand and sent him flying to the ground. Another Enforcer put his boot on Marshall’s back, keeping him pinned there.

“You think this is a joke, Marshall? You think that we, the Authority, can permit scum like you to create problems in this world? There is much work to be done, and we’ve just started. You, and whatever is left of your Resistance, will not stand in our way.”