Time Was (41 page)

* * *

And over by the pie-eating contest, the local news crew was getting all of it on tape.

The reporter couldn't help but want to smile.

What an exclusive!

Pictures at eleven . . .

Trying to gain a good headstart on anyone who might come after him, Rudy caught a peripheral glimpse of some dude dressed up like a cowboy riding a horse, just trotting toward the midway like it was only another day on the range, and he measured his chances, decided to go for it, and pistol whipped a nearby old man across the back of his skull and spun around, pushing the Auto-Mag out as he ran up beside the horse and yelled, “Get off or I'll blast your fuckin' face!” and the cowboy, who obviously wasn't raised in no barn, practically threw himself out of the saddle, and the dude hadn't gotten one foot on the ground before Rudy swung his leg up and slipped his foot into the stirrup, threw himself up onto the saddle, then jerked on the reins and made the horse turn around—then it was just a matter of kicking the thing a good one in the side with his steel-toed boot and the horse whinnied, threw back its head, and broke into a gallop. . . .

Zac looked down at the little boy and wanted to scream again, but by now Daniel Morgan had come out from the booth and was dragging a big metal box with him, a medical kit, no doubt, then Killaine was there, kneeling down with Radiant; Killaine was trying to hold Zac and keep pressure on his wounds while Radiant cradled the little boy's head in her lap and pressed a cloth against his right arm.

Zac pulled in a deep, pained breath and said, “Is he . . . is it serious?”

Radiant touched the boy's sweaty forehead and said, “He's in a lot of pain but the bullet didn't break any bones or major blood vessels. He's going to live but I don't know if he'll ever have full use of this arm again.”

Killaine felt the blood-craziness taking over again, knowing damned well she should have taken off after the Shooter but wounded innocents came first, always, no arguments; she looked at Zac, who swallowed and nodded his head, then she looked at Morgan who said, “I already called for the EMTs, they got a trailer at the other end of the park, they're on their way,” then she looked and saw the Shooter pulling himself onto a horse and galloping away, and then Zac had her hand in his and was saying, “Don't let him get away,” and that was all Killaine needed.

She gently ran her hand over Zac's face, let Morgan take over the first aid, then took off at full speed after the horse and its rider. . . .

Rudy had no idea how far away he was from the scene of his wreckage when the horse started bucking up its ass and spinning around in a circle, trying to throw him. He held on as best he could but the horse was mad, and it was scared, and it wanted him off its back, and with another snort, buck, and spin, it sent Rudy flying away from its saddle and into a cluster of tables by a hamburger stand.

Rudy crashed down onto one of the empty tables, smashing it to pieces, lay there for a moment feeling stunned, then pulled himself up and saw a family at a nearby table coming toward him, the father asking him, “Are you all right?”

Rudy shoved the Auto-Mag into the guy's face and said, “Back off!”

The guy made a move to shield his wife and kids but he was too slow.

Rudy lunged forward and grabbed the guy's little daughter by her strawberry-blond hair, pulling her into him.

He wrapped one of his arms around her waist, lifted her off her feet, and pressed the gun against her temple.

She was a smart kid; she didn't struggle.

The father made a move toward them, so Rudy snapped the gun away and fired at the guy, blowing his left knee to smithereens, and as the guy hit the ground screaming Rudy put the gun back against the little girl's temple and backed out of the snack area, making slow, small circles so he could get a good look at everyone around him.

“Go on!” he shouted at the gawkers. “Go on, somebody try something! You wanna be wearing her brains in your hair?
COME ON!
”

No one made a move toward him.

He worked his way out of the snack area, having no idea where he was going to go.

And that's when he saw the redheaded bitch come out of nowhere. . . .

Killaine saw the horse gallop past dozens of attractions and rides, and for a minute it was difficult to keep up with it because of the crowds, but then people started to make room for horse and rider and she was able to judge their location by the gaping holes in the throngs of bodies, and she couldn't help but feel satisfied when she saw the horse buck and throw the Shooter.

She made her way quickly toward them, somersaulting over a cluster of shocked carnival-goers and landing on her feet only a few yards away from the snack area.

She hit the entrance at the same time the Shooter came stumbling out with a terrified little girl dangling from his arm.

He caught sight of Killaine and turned in her direction, pressing the gun harder into the girl's temple. “Hey, bitch! Come for a little taste of my Power, have you?”

“Let her go,” said Killaine calmly, taking a step forward.

“Fuck you!” screamed the Shooter.

And it was then Killaine recognized his voice.

“You're the Stomper from the other night.”

Rudy let fly with a cackling, high-pitched laugh. “Give the bitch a cee-gar!” He continued moving away from her.

Killaine saw him glance very quickly in the direction of the merry-go-round only ten yards away.

No
, she thought.
You can't be
that
stupid.

But he was, and then some. . . .

Rudy pulled himself along with all he had, tightening his grip on the little girl who'd gone limp in his arms, and when he was about a yard away from the merry-go-round he realized that she'd passed out on him, that she was deadweight because half the bargaining power of taking a hostage was using their fear to your advantage, and you didn't get no fear out of someone who was out like a light, so he took a breath, threw the unconscious girl toward the redheaded bitch, then started firing at random, blowing out neon lights, shattering the mirrors outside the fun house, and hitting the french-fry vat in the snack area, sparking the metal and igniting the grease in a huge cloud of fire and smoke.

Within seconds most of the snack stand was in flames.

Employees and patrons alike charged away from the conflagration.

“WREEEEEEEEEEECKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!”
screamed Rudy, then turned tail and ran-limped as best he could toward the merry-go-round. . . .

Killaine checked to make sure the little girl was alive and unharmed, breathing a sigh of relief when she felt a strong pulse.

She shielded the girl from the Stomper's panic-fire, feeling one of the bullets wing off her own back, puncturing her flesh but doing no real damage.

Then the snack area exploded into flames and the frightened mob of people poured over them.

Killaine covered the little girl with her own body as people stomped, kicked, and clawed their way past, often over them, more than a few stepping on her back in their mad dash to survive.

When she at last dared to lift her head, she saw a woman in tears, kneeling over a man with a bloody leg a few feet away.

“Ohgod!” screamed the woman. “John, John, I can't see Emily, I can't
see her anywhere!”

By then the little girl was coming around.

Killaine gently tapped the girl's cheeks, helping her back to consciousness.

“Who . . . who're you?” whispered the girl, hoarsely.

“Is your name Emily?”

“Uh-huh . . . where's . . . where's the bad man?”

“The bad man's gone, hon. Do you think you can walk?”

“. . . think so . . .”

Killaine helped the girl to her feet, then shouted, “Ma'am! Ma'am, over here!”

The woman saw her daughter, safe and unharmed, and ran toward her.

Killaine kissed Emily's forehead, patted her on the cheek, then went after the Stomper. . . .

Rudy fell onto the rotating platform of the merry-go-round and damn near hit his head against one of the wooden horses.

Damned if he hadn't had his fill of horses today.

He reached up and grabbed on to one of the poles and pulled himself to his feet, noting that this was an older model carousel and that was a good thing, damn lucky thing because it gave him another advantage, and he waited until he passed the door to the controller's booth located in the center of the carousel.

Then he jumped down, elbowed the door open, and pushed the gun into the controller's face. “Open this damn thing up!”

The controller held up his hands and said,
“What?”

“Full speed,” screamed Rudy, grabbing the controller's hands and slamming them down on the handles.

“But there's people still on the ride,” said the controller. “Top speed is forty miles an hour and I ain't permitted to go over fifteen.”

“DO IT.”

The controller fixed Rudy with an icy stare. “Sorry, boy. I won't endanger them folks. Guess you're gonna have to use that thing.”

Rudy screamed and smashed the gun against the controller's head, splitting open a good section of his head.

Then he kicked the guy out of the way, grabbed the handles, and slammed them all the way to the right.

The prerecorded organ music grew louder, faster, and more frantic as the carousel picked up speed.

This would buy him a little time.

Not much, but a little.

Even a damned robot would have trouble jumping onto a platform that was rotating at forty miles an hour.

At least, that's what he was hoping. . . .

Killaine saw the Stamper fall onto the carousel, then pull himself to his feet and vanish as the platform spun.

She ran toward it and was just about to leap on when the thing suddenly tripled its speed, the music screaming like operatic insanity.

She caught glimpses of the few people and children who were riding it, all of them clutching to the poles of their bouncing wooden animals for dear life.

She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the momentum would start throwing them.

She ran back a few feet, steadied herself, then sprinted forward, leaping out and landing squarely on the platform.

She was unprepared for the sheer
force
of the speed and almost lost her balance.

The wooden animals no longer glided along and bounced gently in time with the music; they screeched and pumped like pistons in an overheated, speeding engine.

On the first full-throttle revolution, she caught sight of the Stomper in the controller's booth, taking aim at her and firing.

The bullet winged off the arced metal roof of the carousel and blew off a lion's head.

Killaine ducked down and made her way back toward the control booth, walking against the momentum.

The screams of the riders blended with the insane music to create a nerve-shattering cacophony in Killaine's ears.

So this is hell
, she thought.

She pulled herself forward until she faced the open door of the control booth once again.

The Stomper fired.

Killaine snapped up her right arm.

The bullet ricocheted off her elbow, and this time it
hurt.

In the same instance the bullet ricocheted, she threw herself forward and into the control booth, knocking the gun from the Stomper's hand and grabbing him hard by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

With her other hand she grabbed the control handles and slowly pulled them back, back, back, not daring to stop the carousel all at once because the sudden force would send the riders flying as if they'd been shot by a cannon.

The carousel slowly came to a halt, and the riders, all of them badly shaken-up but unhurt, groaned their relief.

It was only after she'd made certain that the riders were all right that Killaine thought to see how the Stomper was doing.

She looked up at him and felt herself go numb.

She must have been too angry, too blood-crazy, because she'd squeezed his throat so hard that she'd crushed his neck and created such internal pressure in his skull that one of his eyes had actually popped from its socket.

He was dead.

Killaine knew she should put him down and go get someone,
anyone
, but she couldn't bring herself to do it, no matter how intensely she willed herself to move.

She had never killed anyone before.

And I shouldn't have been able to!
she screamed to herself silently.

The I-Bots, because of their modified programming, and the variability of the DNA and RNA that governed their biological components, could harm human beings, but only for one of two reasons: 1) If there was an active, immediate, and irreversible circumstance or set of circumstances that would result in the deaths of innocent bystanders if immobilizing force was not exercised at once, or 2) if it would serve the greater good. . . .

This still felt wrong.

She had killed the Stomper, but not while the
Stomper
was actively trying to kill anyone.

He'd wounded others, yes;
endangered others
, yes, but there had been no
active, immediate, or irreversible circumstance or set of circumstances
involved at the moment when she'd killed him, and though her actions at that time had undoubtedly saved a handful of humans from
possible
death later, it had not served the greater good at that exact instant.

Or had it?

Killaine continued to stare up at Stamper's dead body, her mind a runaway train of regret, shock, self-condemnation, and grief.

She had committed an act that all her programming was supposedly designed to
prevent
her from committing.

Wasn't it?

A part of her detached itself from the rest and began to look at the situation in coldly objective terms, then wondered how long it would be before her entire system locked up and shut down irreversibly—because wasn't that what was
supposed
to happen when a robot killed?