Altered America (28 page)

             
"You can’t keep me or any of the other people down there!  I did what I had to do, to free myself.  What you’re doing is outright slavery.  It's illegal!"  Thomas yelled.  He hoped someone outside the station could hear him and would come to investigate.

             
"Look at you; so desperate to save yourself, trying to be the moralist.  Two can play that game.  I had a vision, one that would bring affordable electricity to millions of people, at far lower cost, improve the quality of life for the greater body of humanity.  But you, you fouled it all up with your stunt.  Now it will take months, if not years to fix this mess."

             
Thomas could now see the businessman’s face looming over him, the face scowling down at him like an angry taskmaster.

             
"You won’t get away with this," Thomas shouted, still defiant.  He lashed out at the businessman, knocking one leg out from under him.  The businessman grunted and fell to the steps as Thomas ran upward, ignoring the agony of his injured legs.  If he could just reach the top and tell someone!  Someone would have to believe him.

             
The businessman was quick to get back on his feet, and hurried after him, talking all the while.  "Hm, you’re still running?  Your soul is stronger than I thought.  You would have made an excellent generator, but you’ve caused enough trouble already.  I can’t have you telling the authorities the true nature of where their power comes from.”

             
Thomas heard a distinct click, and turned around to see the businessman aiming a revolver at him.  There was no doubting the man's resolve.  This was it.

             
Thomas had six steps left.  His head poked up above the ground and he got the first glimpse of the city streets that he had gotten in untold months.  The sun was hanging low in the eastern sky.  The green of the leaves and the deep red of the brick houses were almost overwhelming to eyes that had been accustomed to an austere grey and white room.  But most of all, the air was fresh and crisp.  Thomas took a deep breath, savoring the brisk flavor against his nose and sinuses.

             
And it was the last breath that Thomas Spinnaker ever took.

             
The first bullet from the businessman’s pistol hit Thomas’s left knee.  He collapsed and fell to the steps.  The second bullet went into Thomas’s back, sealing his fate.

             
"You could have been useful, Mister Spinnaker," the businessman said as he dragged Thomas' dying body back into the subway station.  "But you had to be difficult, didn't you?  Your stupid stunt posed a real threat to my operation, and threats have to be removed to keep this city running.  The people would revolt if they knew I harness their souls for electricity.  But that is the price of progress.”

             
As darkness claimed him, Thomas wondered how long it would be before the price of progress far exceeded the value of life.

* * *

              Thomas Spinnaker's body was dumped unceremoniously into the East River, during the blackout that lasted for three days—it was eventually fixed as new "generators" were installed.  Thomas' disappearance was investigated by the NYPD, but to no avail.  He was merely one of a number of disappearances in New York in the early 20th Century, as the city moved to further embrace electricity.

             
The lights of Longacre Square, renamed Times Square the next year, became renowned around the world.

             
Indeed, it was progress.

The Black Blizzard

by Philip Overby

              The minotaur  slurped the milk from his tin cup before skipping it across the floor of Rodney's Tavern.  He snorted and sulked in the corner, the soles of his dirty bare feet the only thing I could see poking out from the shadows near the stripped-down pool table. Chains rattled as he settled in for another night of groaning and scraping his horns against the wallpaper.

             
I rolled an apple to him. It hit his foot—my kindness completely disregarded. I expected as much.

             
"Just a couple more days, Rodney, I promise." My brother Jimmy sipped from a glass of water, the only thing he ever ordered—steamed Rodney something fierce.

             
The wind howled outside in answer. Rodney waited for it to die down.

             
"Getting bad out there." Jimmy smirked and plugged up his ears before Rodney could give him an answer.

             
Rodney cupped his hands over his mouth to shout across the bar, even though Jimmy, myself, and the minotaur were his only patrons. "You said that last week, Jim."

             
"Two more days," Jimmy pleaded.

             
The folds creased in Rodney's forehead. So many folds I could have sworn the old bartender's head was made of blankets. He was the first half black, half New York elf I'd ever met. He aged more like a human. Mostly he got strange looks around our parts, but he welcomed anyone to his tavern. Bad thing was, most people had left town since shit hit the fan with the stock market, the brazen goblin raids, and the drought that never seemed to end.

             
Rodney puffed on a stubby cigar. "I only have so much charity in my heart, you know?"

             
Jimmy crossed his heart as he was wont to do. "I'm telling you, Rodney, two hundred dollars, plus interest for every night."

             
"The wife's getting ancy, I'm telling
you
." Rodney coughed in a cloud of smoke. "She knows I'm hiding something. The dogs are acting wonky. Howling at all hours of the night and shit."

             
"Two hundred," Jimmy said. "Swear it." He turned to me, slugging me in the arm. "I'm good for it, ain't I, Carl?"

             
"Sure thing," I said, clutching my arm. "You're good for it."

             
I punched him back in the shoulder, so hard his mouth hung open. He gave me a sly smile. That "Charmer's Smile" he used on the ladies in New York City before coming back to Oklahoma. Least he said all the flappers and elvish gals used to go wild for it. That and his accent. I wondered what they'd think of me in New York. A dream I'd held on to for too long. I imagined even during all the doom and gloom that Black Tuesday brought, there could still be some joy left. At least on the rosy cheeks of the women that Jimmy told me so much about. They'd love me in New York, I just knew it. The girls around town used to say I was sweeter and more handsome than Jimmy ever was. I believed it.

             
The minotaur scraped his horns hard against the wall. A strip of wallpaper hung loose like flayed flesh.

             
"He's got to do that?" Rodney slapped  a dirty towel against his hand.

             
"He's special." Jimmy finished off his water and swaggered over to the minotaur, just out of reach. Close enough to prove he wasn't scared, far enough away for me to know he was. "Twenty dollars at the county fair. I told you that?"

             
"Yeah, and I wish you'd stop it," I said. "Ma always said you bragged too much."

             
"Well, her and Pa sauntered off to California, didn't they? Without even a kiss goodbye, a kiss my ass, or anything." Jimmy knelt down eye level with the minotaur. "This big bastard is our ticket to meet them."

             
The minotaur lunged forward, the chains around his neck buckling from the brace on the wall.

             
"Here, eat this." Jimmy scooped up the apple and beaned the minotaur right in the head with it. It roared in response. "I'm telling you, he'll make us big money in California. They go wild for this kind of shit out there."

             
I cringed at the mention of California. Everyone seemed to think that was the ticket out of the Dust Bowl. But I had my severe doubts, about California and the minotaur. "You think?" I folded my arms. "I mean, I haven't seen him do shit except tear things up."

             
"O ye of little faith." Jimmy gave a mock gasp, stood up and poked me in the chest. I always hated when he did that. Bony damn finger. "He can fight, I'll tell you that much. Seen him gore two goblins right in the mush. Two at a time even."

             
"So what?" I laughed. "I could punt a goblin into next week myself. No big feat, that."

             
"When have you punted a goblin anywhere?" Jimmy pushed me again. "You slip off to Oklahoma City one night?"

             
"Nah," I said. "One tried to steal Missy Jade's purse and I walloped him something good. One of the bright green ones, too. Not those puny red ones."

             
"What you do, Carl?" Rodney spoke up. "A kid like you roughing up a goblin? Surprised you didn't give him a nickel for a bag of popcorn."

             
"What you mean?"

             
"You've got the soft heart," Rodney said. "I see how you look at that old beast over there. You want to let him loose, don't you?"

             
"Well, and why not?" I said. "He don't deserve to be chained up. He's a living creature of God's green Earth like anything else."

             
"He's a damn man with a bull's head," Jimmy said. "He ain't nothing but for us to play with. A joke of nature."

             
I shrugged. "I don't think so. I read in the paper— "

             
"Here we go," Jimmy said, rolling the cue ball on the pool table. "Give us some of that good college learning Pa and Ma wasted on you."

             
I scowled at my brother. He never did get the hint that that was a sore spot for me. Getting kicked out of college for practicing "black magic" wasn't my proudest moment. Perhaps Jimmy liked getting the dig in as much as he could. Being that he was a simple man and I got all the talent. I couldn't help it if I could light a cigarette with my fingers. Seemed a cute trick that the college girls loved. Just did it one too many times. Lucky they let me slide without making too big of a deal. I saw a flicker of terror in the dean's eyes. Maybe that saved me total public humiliation.

             
"Leave the kid alone," Rodney said, grinning. "He might burn the soles right off your boots if you're not careful."

             
Jimmy gave a nervous laugh, mostly covered up by the shutters cracking against the windows. "He wouldn't dare. And ruin his ticket out of here? Ha!"

             
"Go on, Carl," Rodney said. "Tell us about what you read in the paper. "

             
Most of my thoughts on the subject of other living beings were shut out. I knew better than to even open my mouth. Anything that didn't jive with the "human suffering" story was struck down by folks like Jimmy. "The stock market crash hit other living beings harder than us, all I'm saying. You know how many elves committed suicide? Thousands. How many goblins lost their coal mining jobs? Thousands."

             
"Well, elves were living high on the hog," Jimmy said. "They don't know what it's like to live in the thick of it like us." Always picking and choosing what he wanted. I guess Jimmy always danced around the truth the best way he could. He still never directly asked me about my magic. I was surprised. Seemed like the perfect thing to exploit for a gambler and vagabond like him.

             
"I've seen some elf farmers now and again," I mumbled.

             
"You both forget I'm half-elf?" Rodney slapped the towel on the bar. "Now shut it with the politics. I got to close up for the night."

             
Before Jimmy could open his mouth again—most likely to shout me down—the door flung open. A hot wind blew in, kicking up dust in Rodney's Tavern. A frail figure tossed his hat on the floor and shook the dust from his skeletal frame. He turned and spat several times before forcing the door shut again. Coughing, he slammed his hand on the bar. "Water."

             
Rodney recoiled back, frozen in the midst of cleaning a glass. "Huh?"

             
"Water, man," the figure said, his voice raspy. "Please."

             
Rodney poured the man a glass from a heavy pitcher. His eyes narrowed as he slid it over to him. "Here you go."

             
I stepped forward. "What's going on out there, mister?”

             
He slurped noisily from the glass of water. "Damnit. Another?" The frail man lunged for the pitcher of water.

             
Rodney snatched it out of his reach. "Answer the kid. What's going on? Why you all in a fluster?"

             
"Black blizzard." He panted, the droopy skin hanging from his face wobbling to and fro. "About two miles out."

             
"Shit," I said. "I knew it."

             
The minotaur snorted in the corner, jerking on his chains. Even though he never spoke, I suspected he understood English.

             
"Water?" The frail man reached out again.

             
"One more cup, then you have to go," Rodney said. "All of you have to go. I have to get back to the house."

             
"You don't want to do that," the frail man said.

             
"My wife and kids are there," Rodney said. "I'm going and all of you will just have to find somewhere else to hang out."

             
"But—" Jimmy began.

             
"And take that beast with you." Rodney pointed to the minotaur and then commenced gathering up his coat, hat, and ring of keys. "I'm serious. Get the hell out."

             
The frail man pulled a pistol from his pants and waved it at Rodney. "Didn't want to do this. But, yeah. Go on. Sit. And keep the water coming."

             
I raised my hands. Jimmy did the same. A minute passed with the frail man pointing the gun at us, coughing into the back of his hand several times, body shaking. It was the quietest I'd ever heard Jimmy in my whole life.

             
"Things have to go smoothly," the frail man said. "You understand? Don't want to do this. I have to, though. If we all want to live."

             
"What do you mean, mister?" I asked. "Please just let us go."

             
"My wife," Rodney said, his voice barely a whisper. "My kids. I need to get to them. Get them to our storm shelter."

             
The frail man shook his head, dust falling from his straw-like hair. "I'm taking that beast you have there. Then, I'll go."

             
"Wait a minute," Jimmy said, stepping forward. "You look a little different with all that dust on you, but—"

             
The frail man pointed the gun squarely at Jimmy's chest. "Remember me, right?"

             
Jimmy's face went pale. "Yeah, yeah. You're the guy from the circus. Mr. Moss?"

             
Moss nodded. "It was a mistake selling that beast to you. I need to get it back. Now."

             
"Now, you sold it to me fair and square." Jimmy's voice went up in volume. Even with a gun pointed in his face he still had to use that "I'm right, you're wrong" tone with everyone.

             
"Jimmy, just give the man—"

             
Moss pointed the gun to me. "You got the key?"

             
"Me? No."

             
"Who has the key?" Moss frantically pointed the gun to each of us, eyes darting and wild. "Cough it up. I won't say it again."

             
The wind howled louder. The minotaur made a horrifying lowing sound in response. It reveberated in my ears.

             
"You're wasting time!" Moss pulled the hammer back. "I won't say it again."

             
Jimmy lowered his arms, seething. "Go on then. Shoot me. I should've known better. That minotaur's my one chance at success and you're stripping it away from me. Just go on. Put me out of my misery."