The Speculative Short Fiction of Phyllis MacLennan by Phyllis MacLennan

Author:Phyllis MacLennan [MacLennan, Phyllis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The “boys” milled around in the street, frightened, wanting to escape, yet held by the fascination of the grotesque, the unthinkable crime committed before their very eyes, by one of them. Someone had called an ambulance. The emergency helicopter flupped in over the roofs, set down beside him. Two attendants ran over, lifted Angie from his unresisting arms, took her away.

He turned to face the plebes. They encircled him, but at a respectable distance, motionless, as if mesmerized. As he looked at them, he noted with detachment that he actually did see red: a brilliant vermilion haze filled his vision, he was blinded by it, he didn’t know for how long. When it faded, he was possessed by a clear, cold fury he would have thought himself incapable of, if he had been capable of thought at all.

“All right, you bastards. Get in your cars and run. I’ll show you pinball.”

He didn’t know if he whispered or shouted it, or if he even said it out loud at all; but as he strode to his Special, they scurried like frightened rabbits for their puny little Standard Issues, piling into them pell-mell with shouts and curses: "Let's get out of here I don't want to get mixed up in this the guy’s gone crazy —"

He got in his car with deliberation, donned the crash helmet he kept in the back but had never worn before, belted himself in. He turned the switch, swung away from the curb.

And started after them.

He didn’t mean to scare them, he meant to kill. If it had been a game, he would have showed some sense of fairness. As it was, he hunted them down without mercy, for the vermin they were. They had no chance against him. Fools! They never had had, if they had only had sense enough to realize it and leave him alone. But no. They couldn’t quit when they were ahead; they would have to be taught what whipped curs they were, and he taught them.

One by one he picked them off, remorselessly. They were the cowards now, not a grin or a smart remark among them as they bent over the wheels, struggling to get away. Not one of them stood his ground; they made no attempt to band together against him. It was every man for himself, but none of them could escape. He read their feeble minds, and kept two jumps ahead of them all the way. With twice the speed, his vehicle twice as heavy, he met them at every turn, sent them spinning and crashing into each other, slamming off the high curbs, turning turtle. They were dazed and battered and bleeding, helpless, more than willing to surrender; but he wouldn’t stop.

Only the communicator stopped him. It had been shrilling “Emergency!” at him for some time before he pressed the button.

“...your wife. She’s conscious, she’s calling for you. Come to the hospital immediately.’’

He scowled at it, slow to cool down. Was it a trick? Some subterfuge to call him off? They put Angie on.

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