Death Wishing by Laura Ellen Scott

Author:Laura Ellen Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: IG Publishing
Published: 2011-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

3.

Orange clouds over New Orleans. That was a magical thing. No such feature in desert Montana, however, where cold blue sky hit ruddy hot dirt, and a layer of shimmer seemed to describe the tension between the world we once knew—a world of killing storms and other cataclysms that could be explained if not always predicted—and the one we knew now, which was capricious and truly unstable. Come the next morning, we could all wake up as turtles. And I might’ve been in favor of that since I’m pretty sure turtles can’t make wishes.

So Montana. The big sky state without orange clouds. A black helicopter rose up from a valley hiding place, skimmed low over the horizon and scattered dirt and bent brush, to angle toward five strong men on horseback who paused to watch the commotion. The helicopter swooped overhead and upset the horses, who lurched and stomped.

One of the men was simply handsomer than the others, under any circumstance, even in silhouette. He radiated a godlike warmth that was at once loving and sad. Loving, because that was his vocation. Sad, because that was his job. Even if you didn’t know he was The Elvis, you would understand that the other men did not work for him so much as they worked around him, that their livelihood was based on maintaining proximity. But with this helicopter overhead, there was confusion and anxiety. It made a slow arc in the eastern sky for a return run.

Now the guns. Hard to control the horses, and perhaps that was the point. The helicopter dipped, and from within several shots were fired from what appeared to be a military weapon designed to delete small gatherings efficiently. The Elvis’s protectors drew handguns but were mentally unprepared for assault from above. Before they were able to position themselves, every one of their horses collapsed into bloody, suffering heaps. Screaming. Then not.

Two men had been shot and pinned under their beasts. They were as good as dead. Another was merely pinned, his hips crushed against a long angle of ragged stone that had breached the desert crust a thousand years ago. The Elvis, somehow unwounded, scrambled for his life, running back down the trail they had taken to get to this place. The last man did his job, stood free and took aim at the helicopter.

The pinned men would die out there. So would the shooting man, but he would vex the helicopter before its violent passenger took him out, giving The Elvis just enough time to lose himself in the brush.

Despite the urgency of his predicament, The Elvis had a moment of doubt before calling for help, awkwardly thumbing a cell phone he had barely learned to use. Who to call? His protectors were from the government. But his would-be assassins looked like they were from the government, too. He canceled the call. Who wanted him dead?

Who wanted him alive?

He didn’t know anyone anymore, except his family. Every time The Elvis recalled a time

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