Bonner, Starling, Cooker and Harvey made it back to their hidden vehicles just as a pale, watery sun rose over the broken Jersey landscape. Harvey was still hopped up, acting as if the rescue had pumped him full of speed. The exhilaration of the raid and the escape made him even more voluble than usual.

"Oh man, it was great, I mean fan-fucking-tastic. Man, when I heard the first blow I could tell things were going to-get fuckin', I mean fuckin' hot. Unbelievable, unbelievable, un-fuckin'-believable ..."

"It was fun," said Starling.

"I'll bet. When I saw Bonner there with that grease gun. Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam, you know, them scumy Stormers never knew what hit 'em."

"How many prisoners you figure got away?" asked Bonner quietly.

"Not many," said Starling, "and most that went will be rounded up again. This neighborhood is going to get hot."

"Not as hot as it is now," giggled Cooker. Over his shoulder a faint glow could be seen as the island, torched singlehanded by the little gas-hound, burned furiously.

"How much farther?" asked Starling.

"Not far," said Bonner.

The cars were as they had left them, hidden in the heavy underbrush and Bonner could see at a glance that they were undisturbed. Cooker peered anxiously into the well of his tanker to see if any gas was missing.

Harvey settled himself under the gun in Bonner's car.

"So, where we going?"

"The Cap."

"Fantastic!" That was it. He wasn't interested in why. He didn't care. Bonner slid into his seat, smiling to himself. Harvey was about as strange as you could get in this new strange world. He was pretty strange-looking too. Numerous explosive devices gone wrong had robbed him of several fingers, one hand was half blown away. It looked like a flipper. His face was scarred and pitted with black powder that peppered his skin. The line of his jaw was marked with a livid pink burn mark where he had managed to set himself on fire.

He wore his hair shoulder-length and he kept his greasy tresses in some kind of order with an old bandana. He always wore a three-piece suit, shiny with age, but he never wore a shirt. His thin little body was lost in the gray folds of the suit, but someone had told him that it was the old uniform of the movers and shakers in the dead world, so he adopted it. He thought it gave him class. The picture was completed by a pair of split old wing tip shoes worn without socks. Harvey's ankles were gray with grime. He looked, overall, ridiculous.

He wriggled down next to Bonner's gas tank and began to sing:

"I don't want to set the world on fire I'd much rather start A flame in your heart ..." "What the hell is that?" asked Starling. "A song," said Harvey. "The Stormers on the island had a crank Victrola. This was one of the songs it played." He continued singing. "In this world I have but one desire ..." "Pretty strange," said Starling. "I do," said Cooker. "You do what?" "I want to set the world on fire." "That's even stranger," said Bonner. Just as he was about to lead his little party out of the hiding place, Bonner slammed on the brakes, killed his engine and picked up the Steyr. He remained behind the wheel, his eyes focused on a thicket of bushes that still lay in the morning shadows. The others killed their engines and the sudden silence seemed to close over them.

"Bonner," hissed Starling, "what is it?" Bonner stared fixedly at the bushes, like a pointer. After a moment, the branches began to rustle slightly and the gun twitched in Bonner's hands. Starling too covered the thicket with his little semi-automatic.

"Whoever it is," said Harvey laconically, "waste 'em. And let's get going."

Just then the bushes parted and into the clearing stepped the two largest men Bonner had ever seen. They were close to seven feet and as broad as tree trunks. They wore only shorts and rough leather sandals; the rest of their bodies were covered with reddish brown hair as thick and as matted as fur. Muscles snaked around their wide chests, making their torsos look as if they were held together with strong iron bands. Each man was identical, a perfect copy of the other. The effect of the sudden appearance of these grave-looking giants was at once frightening and funny. Bonner stared. They stared back.

Harvey spoke: "Hey! Look at that! It's the Mean Brothers. How ya doin', Meanies? These are the guys what sprung you from the island."

The two men looked interestedly at Bonner, Starling and Cooker. Then they smiled at Harvey. They loped over to their friend and embraced him.

"Yeah," said Harvey, "thanks. Lemme go." The Mean Brothers stood back, as if waiting for instructions.

"Harvey," asked Bonner, "who are these guys?"

"Well, no one knows their names, on account they can't speak. So I just call them the Mean Brothers. And believe me, they are mean. I saw this one, no, it was that one, no, maybe it was that one . . . anyway, it was one of 'em, tore a fucking Stormer apart. I mean literally tore him apart with his bare hands, like he was tearing up a piece of paper . . . Bonner, man, these guys are mean and I ain't kidding."

The two men smiled happily at Harvey's introduction.

"I got to be friendly with them in stir," Harvey continued; "they ain't bad guys, really, but they don't like Stormers."

"Then they aren't all bad," observed Starling.

"Hey," said Harvey, "you Mean Brothers want to come with us? We're going for a little ride to see Leather. Wouldn't you like to meet the famous Leatherman?"

The two giants exchanged glances, as if communicating telepathically. They nodded vigorously, smiling.

"They want to come," said Harvey.

"I can see that," said Bonner.

"They won't let you down in a fight."

"I can see that too."

"Say hello to Mr. Bonner. If it wasn't for him your gigantic asses would still be in prison."

The first Mean Brother crushed Bonner in a bear hug, released him and turned him over to his brother, who did the same.

Bonner was not a weak man, but as the massive arms slid around his ribcage he could tell that he could pound these two behemoths with a hammer and they wouldn't notice.

"Nice to meet you," he mumbled. The Mean Brothers nodded and smiled.

"That there's Starling," said Bonner.

"How do?" said Starling.

"And that's Cooker."

"Man," said Cooker, "these guys are enormous."

"What kind of weapons do you use?" asked Bonner.

As one, the two Mean Brothers held out their vast hands.

"They don't have much need for weapons, Bonner," said Harvey.

"No," said Bonner slowly, "I guess not."

Slowly, one of the Mean Brothers raised his huge arm and pointed at Bonner's car.

"What's he saying?" said Harvey. The Mean Brother continued to point.

Bonner followed the line of his gaze. "Oh, I get it. They've chosen their weapons." Bonner reached up and undipped the axe from the roll bar. "Here," he said, "take it."

The giant accepted the gift as if he was receiving some kind of blessing. "You want the shovel?" asked Bonner.

The other man nodded vigorously. Bonner took it down and handed it to him. He received it with gratitude.

"Well," said Harvey, "I can see we're all going to get along fine."

"You coming with us?" asked Bonner.

The Mean Brothers nodded again.

"Okay. You can ride up on Cooker's tank. Is that okay with you?"

The Mean Brothers nodded again and climbed up behind Cooker's perch. They towered over the little gas hound, casting him in the long shadows caused by the early morning sun.

"Let's go," said Bonner and hit his starter. Harvey sang over the roar of the engine: "Just a gigolo, everywhere I go, people know the part I'm playing . . ."

What a freak show, thought Bonner, as he led his little party into the breaking dawn.

Web Site Contents (Unless Mentioned Otherwise) ©2012 By Atlan Formularies, Post Office Box 95, Alpena, Arkansas 72611-0095
Phone: 870-437-2999 - Fax: Out of Order -  Email: Addresses

[ Back ] [ Home ] [ Up ] [ Next ]