Date: 2025-01-14 04:00:00+00:00
Description: The Librarian has a race to win, a message to send, and he’s surrounded by clowns. Television is back and the Omega Run is the biggest show in the wasteland. Contestants from all over travel to The Cleave to compete for a chance at stardom in what is billed as the Last Race You’ll Ever Run. The Librarian and his friends are looking to send a message, and Cleave TV's reach is unmatched. All he has to do is win a race through what’s left of Cleveland where he’ll encounter the dreaded war bison, brutal ballerinas, post-apocalyptic hockey players, a circus full of killers and more. But he’s not th
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CHAMPION OF THE APOCALYPSE

A Duck & Cover Adventure, Book 6

BENJAMIN WALLACE

A Duck & Cover Adventure Book 6

Benjamin Wallace

Copyright © 2025 by Benjamin Wallace.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2025 by Benjamin Wallace.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Prelude

For those watching at home, the end of the world was somewhat of a disappointment.

On paper, the apocalypse had all the elements of a made for TV extravaganza. There was drama, action, danger, and heartbreak. Technically, it even had puppies. By all accounts, it should have been ratings gold. Unfortunately for the networks, the end of the world happened so suddenly and was over so quickly most of it went unreported.

The cable news channels were caught completely off guard by the apocalypse, even though they’d been rooting for it for years. They had the graphics packages ready to go, sound bites at the ready, and they had decided who the villains would be long ago. Even before its launch, CNN had prepared for what they planned to be their ultimate sign off.

They produced the segment on the same sun-filled day that they had filmed their opening broadcast. Members of the Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine bands gathered together to play the Star-Spangled Banner. The segment would be aired only once, kicking off the nascent industry’s birth. It was a celebration. But they recorded another song that day. One that would end their station’s broadcast run with a bang.

It became known as the Turner Doomsday Video and the segment was not nearly as exciting as the name implied. Basically, Ted Turner just asked the band to stay late and had them play Nearer, My God, to Thee. There were rumors about the segment’s existence for years, but it wasn’t confirmed until an intern leaked the footage online decades later. Once it had been exposed, most people agreed that watching grainy footage of a brass band playing an old hymn wasn’t exactly how they wanted to go out.

It wasn’t a bad song per se, but if the last sound you heard could be the voice of a loved one or a tune belted out by a marching band that couldn’t even be bothered to march; the choice was easy.

But the end of the world came and went, and Turner’s Doomsday Video never played. Instead, the apocalypse came while the viewers were watching a chyron featuring the day’s outrage fade away as the network cut to a reverse mortgage commercial. It had just been explained to them that reverse mortgages weren’t scams when the signal went dead. The cable channel had barely had time to blame Republicans for the interruption of service before they went dead, as well.

Sports fans ended up getting better coverage of the apocalypse than the news junkies. Outside of the bombs falling, doomsday was shaping up to be a fairly nice day. The skies were clear; the temperature was pleasant and most of the ballparks had their retractable roofs open, giving everyone a splendid view of the end of the world.

It may just be apocalyptic lore, but it was widely believed that a player at Camden Yards hit a home run that cleared the wall and ended its flight at the base of the mushroom cloud that got Baltimore. They say that the blast was so loud that many of the fans watching at home were woken from their naps.

Without missing a beat, the announcers switched their coverage from the game to the live events unfolding outside their broadcast booths. “It’s a swing and a long drive blast to the wall and it’s out of here. Literally another one out of the park. Looks like it landed with some impact. Can you feel the rumble on that one? I hate to be the one to clean up that mess. It looks like that was at least a ten-megaton home run. One for the record books. Here comes the shockwave, so that’s going to be the game. People are standing up and catching fire now, so that’s going to do it for us. From all of us in the broadcast booth, thanks for watching.”

The truth was, if they did get a chance to say anything at all; it started with the letter f and ended with static.

The aerial coverage of the devastation was amazing until the shockwave hit the blimps and blew them all over the country.

For those who were tuned into anything else that day, TV simply went away.

Streams froze. Screens went black. There was nothing so romantic as the soft hum of white noise or a screen full of static. There was no test pattern or even a warning from the Emergency Broadcast System. TV was just gone.

It was difficult at first. A lot of people just kept shaking their heads and clicking away with their remotes until all the clicks were used up. Those things only have so many clicks in them after all. Even then, they persisted and clicked until the icons were rubbed off the controllers and the battery covers became loose and unreliable. That’s when they started throwing things.

At first, they threw mostly dead remotes and broken battery covers, but they quickly moved onto throwing anything within reach. They hurled coasters and drinkware with such ferocity and were so satisfied with the shattering of glass that they quickly got carried away and convinced themselves that they could throw furniture. The rage was that great.

The logic was sound. How could the universe take away something as crucial as television and not compensate the viewer with something like super strength? The idea of hurling a sofa across the room was the first thought that actually got people off the couch. They leapt to their feet, bent to secure a grip on the bottom of the furniture, and heaved. It was then that they felt a tug, usually somewhere in their back, and decided they should probably lie down on the sofa for a bit. Once they had carefully lain down, they were thankful the couch was still in the same place after all.

While suffering from lower back pain, or possibly groin strain, folks found themselves appraising the TV situation with less hostility. They began apologizing to their sets for their behavior and promised that if they just came back on, they would never act like that again.

Depression set in when the sets refused to participate in the bargaining process. After a few hours, it was clear that whatever had made TV stop wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon and people just sat near windows watching nothing happen and listening to the sound of what seemed like a lot more emergency vehicles than normal.

Sirens and air horns filled the otherwise quiet day, and many wondered if it had always been like that outside. Had the TV just drowned out the chaos of the world and they had never noticed how hectic it all was?

Eventually the sirens died and their groins felt better so they finally sighed and got their asses off the couch. It was clear that TV wasn’t coming back and it was time to find something else to do.

As much as people tried to forget about it and move on to more important things like finding food and surviving in the hellscape of the new world, the idea of TV persisted.

Many people had been binging one series or another when the world ended and when they struck out into the wasteland on a quest to find a new meaning to life, they also searched for the answers that had eluded them. This quest for closure became so common that when people introduced themselves to one another, they would also add a reference to the show they needed updates on.

“My name is Matthew, Stranger Things Season 4.”

“Nice to meet you, I am Jayla, Bridgerton Season 2.”

It wasn’t quite the same hearing show updates from a stranger instead of Netflix, but at least there was some closure.

These were the viewers that coped well. Others were at a complete loss when TV ended. Without it, many didn’t know what to think. After years of not having to form their own opinions, they struggled to navigate the new reality free from its influence.

As a reflex, they tried to hold on to the last thing they had been told. But a million beliefs became obsolete when everything blew up and, without the ability to form new thoughts independently, these poor souls quickly became pawns in the games played by others.

Con men and cults quickly stepped in to fill the void left by pundits and late-night talk show hosts. A little confidence and a quick smile were all it took.

Eventually, but not without tremendous struggle, the survivors learned to live without the warming glow and the constant companionship of TV. They adapted to new forms of storytelling and communication. People wandered away from their screens out into the world and started being productive.

Things eventually got better.

But then, one day, TV returned.

1

Fidget growled at the dinosaur as the train rocked gently back and forth with only the occasional hard bang that reminded everyone that the world was still in a general state of disrepair since it had blown apart.

The person wearing the inflatable T-Rex costume paid little attention to the Beagle inside the crowded train car. Even once the dog started talking.

“You think you’re so big, Lizard-Man,” the Beagle muttered as he inched toward his foe. “You don’t scare me. I’ve bitten bigger things than you. One time I bit a lion that was really a couch, but I didn’t know it was a couch, I thought it was a lion when I bit it, so it’s the exact same as if I bit a lion.”

“Fidget!” Eve bent over and grabbed the dog’s collar and held him back. “Get back here.”

The dog looked up at the woman with a confused look that came naturally to Beagles, gave the dinosaur one more woof and sat down at the woman’s feet. He rested his head between his paws, but his hackles remained vigilant.

“We need to stay quiet,” the woman whispered. “Remember?”

“I don’t like the way that lizard’s looking at me,” Fidget said with his eyes and hackles locked on the dinosaur.

Eve patted the dog on his head. “It’s not looking at you at all.”

“Oh? So, he’s ignoring me!” Fidget tried to lunge forward but Eve was ready with a firm grip on the collar.

“It’s okay, Fidge,” Eve assured him. “I’m sure he’s more scared of you than you are of him. Let’s just stay quiet.”

Another bang from the tracks outside ended the conversation, but the train rolled on. The apocalypse had not improved the state of Cleveland’s rapid transit system. The once expansive network now consisted of a single light rail line that carried passengers from the outskirts of the fallen metro area to the interior of the fortified downtown core, where a new population had taken root.

The train itself had seen better days. The cars were plated with armor and covered in spikes and razor wire to discourage fare dodgers and wasteland monsters from jumping on board. While the new tourism board had complained that it made for a less than welcoming appearance, there was no getting around the need for such protection. They complained, but in the end, they kept the armor and spikes and tried to keep the blood washed off as best they could. Keeping the smell under control didn’t seem to be anyone’s concern.

Inside the cars, graffiti covered the original silver and blue paint job like the layers of an old master’s canvas with each etched slur or spray-painted tag covering a previous era’s work. The earliest pieces were mostly dirty words and crudely doodled dicks. It was the art of the uncultured, illiterate, and generally bored riders that had little to contribute to society beyond a little wanton destruction. Then came the end of the world, and these juvenile works were covered by the poetry of pessimists who tended to focus on the downside of the apocalypse. The medium was still paint and marker, but the topic was almost always catastrophe and destruction; hopelessness and woe expressed on a motionless train.

Once the train had been resurrected, the new authority had done what it could to clean it up and give it a fresh appearance in an attempt to promote the city’s vision of the future; a future with fewer bombs in it. They had opted for bright colors and uplifting slogans that promised a better tomorrow. It was almost cheery and gave people a much-needed sense of optimism and hope. It wasn’t long before it was all covered up by dirty words and crudely doodled dicks.

It was easy to explain why the train looked the way it did. The passengers’ appearance was more difficult.

The train was packed with more than people, dogs, and dinosaurs. While some of the riders were wearing the latest trends in apocalyptic fashion, many more seemed to have taken personal style to an outlandish level.

“What do you think this guy is supposed to be?” Eve asked Jerry under her breath while pointing out a man in a crash helmet and star-spangled jumpsuit. “It can’t be Captain America. He’s not tall enough.”

The Librarian studied the man for a moment before responding. “That is quite obviously Evel Knievel. You can tell because he doesn’t have a shield and Cap never wore a sequined cape.”

“That lizard thinks he’s so big, just because he’s so big,” Fidget mumbled.

Eve squatted down and stroked the dog’s head a couple of times before scratching under its chin. When the dog looked up and made eye contact, she whispered, “What did we say, Fidget?”

“No talking,” Fidget sighed. “But it’s really hard. I spent most of my life not talking and now that I can, I feel like I always should.”

“I know. But not here. It’s too dangerous. Why don’t you take a nap like Chewy and Sasquatch?” Eve pointed to the two slumbering dogs. Once on board the train, the mastiff and Great Dane had immediately taken over a bench and had been snoring ever since. Several riders had tried to move them to gain access to the seats, but they had been met with only flatulence and indifference.

“All they do is sleep,” whispered the Beagle.

“That’s because big dogs like them need a lot of rest,” Eve said. “Aren’t you a big dog, too?”

Fidget’s tail beat against the train’s rubber flooring. The Beagle nodded and jumped up onto the bench to join his friends. He landed on Sasquatch, who subsequently grumbled, broke wind and continued snoring while Fidget curled up between the two bigger dogs.

“Oh, the joys of talking dog ownership,” Eve said to Jerry once the Beagle closed his eyes and pretended to snore.

“Honestly, in this car,” Jerry said, gesturing to the crowd inside the train, “a talking dog isn’t even near the weirdest thing.”

It wasn’t just the star-spangled man in the crash helmet that stood out. The train car was packed with more personalities than Sybil’s group therapy session.

From where they were standing, Jerry could see a Santa, a pirate, a chef, and a woman dressed like some kind of wasteland cat. Another man with a round face wore a parka in high-visibility yellow that looked well-suited for the winter weather that was rolling in off Lake Erie. It wasn’t the jacket that seemed out of place; it was the Channel 5 microphone he insisted on shoving in people’s faces whenever he struck up a conversation.

“Chip Bennet, Channel 5. We’re talking to people about the big show. Can we get your name for the audience?”

Currently, that microphone was in a ninja’s face as the man in the yellow parka tried to make conversation. This was no ordinary ninja, however. Less master assassin and more cut-rate killer, the ninja’s ensemble appeared to be assembled from thread worn black bed sheets and strips of torn black fabric that was possibly a curtain. He wore a pair of swords across his back in such a way that he could draw them with either hand. And, while there was no way of telling if the swords were real, the nunchucks he wore on his belt were clearly just two pieces of broom handle wrapped in electrical tape and tied together with a bit of string. He probably made the costume himself, but his mother may have helped.

“I am known only as the Black Dragon,” he said. “Warrior of the Fang, Lord of the Shadow Realm, and Keeper of the Six-Demon Bag.”

“I see,” said Chip. “And are those flips flops over your socks?”

Both men looked at the ninja’s feet.

“They are,” the Black Dragon answered.

Whether the riders mingled, practiced their ninjitsu skills or kept to themselves, they were all under the watchful eye of an ever-vigilant lifeguard named Chad. Chad had perched up on the back of a seat and scanned the crowd through pitch black Ray Bans. Aside from a pair of red board shorts and a white strip of zinc on his nose, he wore nothing but a whistle around his neck. The costume was a poor choice for February in northern Ohio.

“And what about Fidget’s friend?” Jerry asked Eve, pointing to the inflatable dinosaur costume.

“That’s the Horrorsaurus Rex,” said a man standing next to them. “She says she’s your worst nightmare. And she snarls. But it’s not as scary as it is funny, because the head just kind of bounces a lot when she moves. And those little arms aren’t scaring anybody. Not that real T-Rexes are scary. Because they aren’t real. That’s what my mom used to always say because Jurassic Park gave me nightmares as a kid and she told me they’re not real, Tony. I mean, they were. But not anymore. But that’s what she told me so I could go to sleep.”

Jerry and Eve stared at the man. He was average height, average weight, and, based on nothing but the look in his eyes, average intelligence. It was actually remarkable how exceptionally average he seemed. The wordy explanation had caught them off guard and they weren’t sure how to respond.

“She’s a dinosaur,” the man said, pointing to the T-Rex.

“Okay.” Eve had recovered first. “But why is she a dinosaur?”

“Because she was going to be a dragon. But there’s this other guy who was a dragon on the last show and the Horrorsaurus Rex thought it’d be bad for her personal brand to be seen as a poor imitation of someone else’s dragon. Which I don’t really see as a problem because you could just be a different kind of dragon since there are so many kinds to choose from, especially when you consider the stark differences in eastern and western cultural depictions. But she thought it was just easier to be a dinosaur instead. Plus, she already had the costume.”

“I think what she’s asking,” Jerry said, “is why is she any kind of reptile? What’s with all the costumes?”

“Because you need a schtick, right? Yeah, you could just enter the race like normal people but they say that showing a bit of personality increases your chances of getting air time and making the audience love you. So, it doesn’t hurt to dress up a bit. Like that guy.” He pointed to the passenger who had dressed as a classic pirate. He had a patch over one eye, a stuffed parrot on his shoulder and a peg leg.

“That’s Long John. He’s a pirate and he’s really dedicated to the role because he’s got that fake leg. Or now that I think about it, he may have already had that leg and it’s a real fake leg. What would you call a fake, fake leg anyway? It would still be a fake leg, right? But so is a real one.”

“I’m not sure I’m qualified to say,” Jerry said.

“So, he’s a real pirate though, and he’s all Aargh this and Aargh that, but it’s just for the show. And that guy behind him with the gray beard. You see him? He’s a wizard. You just can’t tell he’s a wizard because he was the last one to get on the train and it was getting crowded in here and no one was really making room, so he pushed his way on but got his robe caught in the doors. It was kind of funny, because he was trapped in the door, but he wasn’t getting hurt, so some of us had laughed. But he didn’t want to ride the whole way trapped in the door, so he slipped out of his wizard’s robe and sat down.”

“Just like magic,” Eve said and smiled at Jerry.

“Right? But I hope he goes back and gets it because it’s really hard to tell he’s a wizard without it. Yeah, he’s got the beard, but that could be a hermit’s beard or a guru’s beard or like a guy that’s been hung up in a dungeon for a long time; his beard. It could be a lot of beards so you don’t really know it’s a wizard’s beard without the robes. I mean, he is wearing the wizard’s hat, and he has the staff, but the clothes make the man right? Like you should probably wear some glasses and kind of one of those tweed suits maybe with a bow tie.”

The gears of the conversation had shifted so quickly that Jerry struggled to keep pace. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about now?”

The man smiled as if Jerry had told him a joke. “I mean everyone knows who you are anyway but it doesn’t hurt to dress the part.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Eve.

“Come on. He knows who he is, right? He’s the Librarian! I’m a big fan, by the way. So, you probably don’t need anything because they’re definitely going to put you on the show no matter what. But I was thinking you could dress like a librarian, too, and it could be kind of fun.”

“Are all of these people going to be on the show?” Eve asked to change the subject.

“They wish,” the man said after laughing for a moment. “Not everyone makes it. That’s why they’re trying to stand out with all these awesome costumes and gimmicks. There’s a guy here, he puts on a pig nose and calls himself Chris Bacon. It’s hilarious.”

“Why is that hilarious?” Eve asked.

“His middle initial is P. Sorry, I forgot to say that part. That’s what makes it funny when you put it in with the other parts.”

“What about you?” Jerry asked. “Have you got a gimmick?”

“I sure do. Check it out!” The man pulled his shirt over his head and turned around to reveal a star tattoo covering the majority of his back.

“It’s a star,” Eve said after a moment.

“It’s a big star!” The man insisted. “Like, as in, I’m going to be a big star for their show. As in, I’ve got star power. I figure if I’m behind at any point in the race, I can rip off my shirt and yell, ‘Star power!’ and then kind of get a second wind and it’ll be fun. You know, for me and for the home audience.”

Jerry signaled he got the gist and gestured for the man to put his shirt back on. “So, you’re really going with the less is more approach?”

“Yeah, I’ll admit it’s a little underwhelming.” He pulled his shirt back into place. “But I thought it was a great idea until I got on the train and saw everyone else. I’m not even the only guy with a tattoo. I saw a guy that tattooed his name across his face. Now that’s commitment.”

“Maybe he kept forgetting it,” Jerry said.

“Not likely. His name was The Savage…something. Or something Savage. Whatever it was, you don’t forget a name like that.”

“No,” said Jerry. “You sure don’t.”

“Oh, my name is Lance Fury, by the way. I mean, it’s really Anthony Rogers, but I thought this would be a good opportunity to spice things up a bit. It’s hard getting used to a new name, though. Have you ever tried to change your name?”

“A surprising number of times,” said Eve before Jerry could answer.

“It never really takes hold,” said Jerry.

“Yeah, probably. But I figured it was worth a shot though, right?”

Jerry stuck out his hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Lance.”

“Yeah.” Lance shook the offered hand and grew more excited with each passing second. “That’s the first time anyone’s called me Lance. It sounds good when other people say it, too. I mean, it sounded great in the mirror, but you never really know if a good idea sucks or not until it comes out of someone else’s mouth. Man, it kind of feels like I’m meeting myself for the first time, too. I’m going to go introduce Lance to some more folks. Anyway, good luck on the race.”

“Oh, we’re not here for the race,” Jerry said. “I’m here to see an old friend.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I know I’m probably going to win, because you have to go in with that kind of attitude, right? A winning mindset is everything, so I’ve got that. But I’m glad I don’t have to compete against the Librarian, you know? No, how would you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Jerry said. There were more than a few impostors out in the wastes using his name and trading on his reputation. He’d come face-to-face with a couple over the years. And Thomas Caine was still out there, still making movies about the Librarian that were little more than recruitment films for the Remnant army. “I know, more than you know, you know?”

“Yeah, I totally get that.” Lance said, not getting it at all. He took Jerry’s hand again and gave it a vigorous shake before walking off to be Lance in front of other people. “Good luck.”

They smiled at one another as the conversation had left both of them somewhat dizzy.

“Well, that was exhausting,” Eve said and leaned against the wall.

Jerry pointed over her shoulder out the window. “There it is.”

Before the end of the world, the broadcast tower was nothing special. But today, the fact it was still standing made it unique. The enemy, whoever they had been, had targeted communications structures across the country with several types of weapons. That the tower in Cleveland went untouched was somewhat remarkable. That the powers in the city had made it operable again was a miracle.

Eve stared at the tower. “Do you think this will work?”

“Of course.” Jerry turned away from the window. “People love television.”

Eve faced him and spoke softly. “I mean the plan.”

Jerry shrugged. “I’ve been known to give a rousing speech or two in my time.”

“It’s different on camera,” Eve teased. “You’ll look fatter, for one.”

“We have to let everyone know what the Remnant has planned. Even with Mason and Lana spreading the news up and down the river, word of mouth just isn’t spreading fast enough. We’ve lost too much ground.”

“Their advances have really slowed,” she said, trying to sound positive.

“Thank God for that,” Jerry said. “They came out of hiding and took half the settlements in the east before anyone knew what was happening. We can’t let them take any more.”

“My point is that maybe they’ve reached the limit of what they can conquer.”

“Maybe what they can take by force,” Jerry said. “But they’ve got other things in the works. I told you what I saw in that lab. People like that aren’t going to be content with a little or half. They want it all. They have to be stopped. And if that’s going to happen, we’re going to need help.”

“Do you think your friend will let you use the tower?”

“I don’t see why not. Jax is one of the good guys.”

A shout came from the front of the train. It was a command, and several metallic bangs followed as something blacked out the train’s windows and the cabin went dark.

Several of the passengers began shouting questions.

“What’s going on?”

“Who turned out the lights?”

“Whose hand was that?”

“What are you doing to us?”

“Seriously, whose hand was it?”

“Is there some kind of problem with the train?”

“Honestly, I’m not mad, I just want to know whose hand it was.”

When the interior lights flickered back on, Jerry had already drawn the gun from beneath his jacket and was ready to react.

“Hey, hey, Librarian.” Lance was standing on the other side of the train, signaling for him to lower the weapon. He made his way quickly through the confused crowd. “It’s okay. You don’t have to shoot anything because they’re just dropping the shutters because we’re coming up on The Bats.”

“The Bats?” Jerry asked.

“Yeah, well, they call it that because of all the vampires and vampires are like bats. They could call it Vampire Island. Though it’s not really an island so I guess that part doesn’t work. But it does kind of sound like a destination. You know? It gives it some more romance. But, anyway, that’s why they put armor plates all over the train. They’re there for this part of the trip.”

Gunfire from outside the train soon drowned the clack of the wheels against the rails. Jerry couldn’t tell if the bullets were coming toward them or being fired into the city from the train. The screaming was definitely coming from outside. They weren’t the sounds of fear but the wails of monsters that pierced the train’s armor plate and rolled through the car, silencing the riders inside. All conversations ceased. The guy in the yellow parka lowered his microphone. The lifeguard got down from his perch. Even Jerry and Eve stood a little closer together while the dogs continued snoring.

Looking around the cabin, it was easy to tell who was new to the area and who was used to the experience. The locals continued to chat at slightly lower volumes and going about their lives. One rider sat silently, carving a drawing into the seat. It was a crudely doodled dick.

2

The train pulled into the rail station at the base of Tower City. Once a shopping and commercial complex at the heart of Cleveland’s downtown, the building now served as the center of power for The Cleave’s post-apocalyptic resurgence.

Jerry, Eve, and the dogs stepped off the train and rode an escalator up into a voluminous atrium filled with people. Music blared, people danced, and a wave of applause and cheers exploded as the citizens in the complex welcomed the newcomers to The Cleave. It felt like arriving late to a party that had been happening for days.

The atrium was several stories tall, and it looked like there was a different party happening on every floor. Streamers and confetti fell from the upper levels, filling the air with flutters of color and covering the crowd in festive cheer.

Banners hung all around with various messages, welcoming the new arrivals. The largest of them all was hung across the center of the atrium and read, “Welcome to The Omega Run!”

Smaller banners adorned the rest of the space with slogans and mantras about competition and victory. Each was branded with The Omega Run logo, a figure depicted in mid stride before the final letter of the Greek alphabet.

“Run fast. Survive faster. The Omega Run.”

“Only the strongest don’t die. The Omega Run.”

“The Last Race You’ll Ever Run. The Omega Run.”

“Run hard. Don’t die.” Eve read one of the banners aloud. “That’s some nugget of wisdom right there.”

“It’s not really encouraging for the folks that are here for the race,” Jerry said, trying to pick someone official out of the throng to approach.

Eve searched the crowd as well. “After all this time in the apocalypse, I thought death-based game shows were the one cliché we might actually not encounter.”

“I guess, if you’re going to make a comeback, you might as well go big,” Jerry said. “It got people watching TV again.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“If there’s a chance we can reach the people and stop the Remnant, it might be.”

A new round of cheers went up as the Horrorsaurus Rex climbed onto a statue that stood in the middle of the atrium. Encouraging the dinosaur with shouts and cheers, the floppy-headed T-Rex struggled to reach the top. This turned to applause when she reached the apex, raised her tiny arms and pointed to the Greatest Show Left on Earth banner behind him.

“Hey, everyone! Who am I?” The Horrorsaurus Rex reared back and roared in an attempt to recreate the iconic shot from Jurassic Park.

It wasn’t even close, but the audience was forgiving in their love of nostalgic references and erupted in thunderous applause for the effort.

“Stupid lizard thinks he’s so big,” mumbled Fidget.

“Quiet,” Eve snapped. “You’ll attract attention to yourself.”

“There’s a girl dressed like a lizard. That cat lady is running around without her fur on. And that guy in the wizard’s robe is going around asking everyone whose hand it was. But I’m the one that’s making a spectacle of myself?”

Jerry searched the crowd for the cat lady without her fur on. It was the apocalyptic kitty from the train. “He’s got a point.”

“Please, don’t undermine me in front of the Beagle,” Eve said and turned back to Fidget. “They do seem rather distracted. But it’s best for you to keep quiet. You remember that time in Rustwater?”

Fidget hung his head. “Yes.”

“And what did we learn after that?” Eve asked.

“Not everyone likes their pants licked.”

“Not that.”

Fidget plopped down in a huff and repeated the lesson for the one billionth time. It had a singsong quality to it that helped him remember lessons. “If you don’t know, shut your hole.”

“That’s right,” Eve said. “So, let’s keep it down until we’re alone.”

“But if I’m alone, who will I talk to?”

“She meant alone with us,” Jerry said.

“Oh,” Fidget said and laid his head down. “Words are hard.”

The crowd from the train was moving about, but they didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. After a few moments spent examining the area, Jerry realized it was because there was nowhere to go. All the exits appeared to be blocked or cordoned off. The would-be contestants didn’t seem bothered by their confinement in the atrium and used their time to prove themselves worthy of the camera’s attention.

Chip Bennet, with the long defunct Channel 5, was shoving the microphone into people’s faces and asking them about the weather. More than a reporter, he was an on-the-scenes weatherman and was interviewing others in the crowd about the situation and then throwing it back to a team in studio that didn’t really exist. “Back to you, Chuck and Nancy.”

Long John the pirate had drawn a rusty cutlas and was trying to rile up the crowd to plunder, pillage and party while the Black Dragon crept around the room pretending he was stalking his prey. Every now and then, he’d drop a smoke bomb and attempt to disappear. Unfortunately for the Warrior of the Fang, they were just the cheap smoke bombs you could buy at a roadside fireworks stand, and the pyrotechnics that followed were less than dramatic.

Jerry didn’t have any sense that anything was wrong. After years in the wasteland, trapped was a feeling you got just like you did hunger or embarrassed. Despite the barricades and locked doors, he wasn’t sensing any danger. Still, he started checking the exits again for a clear, quick way out. He felt a tightness grow in his chest that he recognized as anxiousness but couldn’t pinpoint a stimulus. He scanned the massive crowd. There didn’t appear to be any reason for concern. The Cleave authorities had a strong presence in the atrium to watch over the people. Then he realized what seemed off.

“This is the largest crowd I’ve seen since…Well, since.”

Eve studied the crowd. “You’re right. I can’t remember the last time I saw this many people in one place. It was certainly before everything changed.”

“It’s a little overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to be bothering anyone else,” Eve said.

“Of course not. We just got off the train with two hundred people who all think they are the center of attention.”

The Horrorsaurus Rex had gotten down from the statue and the lifeguard had taken her place. He applied a new strip of zinc to his nose and settled in to keep the crowd safe. He put the whistle in his mouth, blew a short blast, then yelled, “Walk!”

The Black Dragon was now breakdancing even though the music didn’t really call for it.

Then the music stopped. The breakdancing stopped. The Lifeguard, ever vigilant, scanned the crowd from his perch atop the statue. He shielded his eyes from a sun that wasn’t shining and scanned the room until he saw something and pointed it out. “Up there!”

Two levels up, a lone figure stood at the balcony railing overlooking the crowd. He raised his arms and yelled for silence.

The crowd complied and the atrium grew silent.

Once the final murmurs had subsided the figure lowered his arms and shouted. “Ladies and Gentlemen, you have traveled from far and wide to arrive here today at the new entertainment capital of the world. Please allow me to introduce to you the creator and producer of The Omega Run and your hostess for the duration, Sister Oblivion!”

Spurred on by the residents of The Cleave that were seeded amid their ranks, the crowd broke into wild applause. Whoops and cheers followed until everyone was on their feet cheering for whoever this person was that they were about to see.

The woman in question came flying up to the railway and placed her hands on it as if she was about to vault into the air. Instead of plummeting, she leaned over the rail and waved wildly to the crowd with both hands. “Look at all you beautiful people!”

Her look could best be defined as Carmen Miranda meets Gladiator. Sparkling and intimidating, it was like a Vegas showgirl’s outfit with leather straps to hold all the important parts in place.

She ate up the applause, shouting out platitudes for almost a full minute before formally addressing the crowd. “Welcome, everyone! Ever since the first fire when man stared upon Prometheus’ gift, we have been captivated by the flickering dance of light and sought to conjure the images we perceive in the flames and turn them into reality.”

She let her words hang in the air above the crowd. For their part, the crowd just stared back in hopes there would be more words, a translator or, at the very least, some kind of sign language interpreter to help explain what they had just heard.

The woman threw her arms in to the air and screamed, “TV is back!”

This, the crowd loved and it was several moments before she could speak again.

“My name is Sister Oblivion and through our efforts here in The Cleave, we are once again beaming entertainment directly into homes and hovels across the wasteland, giving the weary an escape from the torments and toils of post-apocalyptic life. And I want you all to be a part of it.”

The crowd cheered even louder because they were being included in the presentation. People loved it when they were included.

This time, Sister Oblivion didn’t wait for the energy to ebb. She shouted over the crowd. “Ever since mankind crawled from the ocean, they have needed someone to clap their flippers for. Television gives mankind that opportunity. It gives us heroes and villains. It gives us champions to root for and zeroes to boo. It gives us a place to put our hope for a better tomorrow. As a contestant on The Omega Run, you could be that person. You could win the adoration of—at our best guess—thousands of adoring fans.

“And if you win. There’s no telling what heights of fame you might reach with your very own show on my network.”

The crowd was in awe at the thought as they disappeared briefly into visions of their own dreams. This is why they had come.

“Tomorrow, many of you will be a part of the greatest gameshow ever created. Many more of you won’t. That’s very sad but that is, in fact, showbiz. But let’s stay positive, shall we?” She raised her arms until the crowd settled. “We’re about to get started. Get your winning personality ready. Get your best smile set. Or you can sneer if you’d rather. The world loves a rogue.”

She gave the crowd a moment to decide between smile or sneer. And the audience tried both before they went with what felt right for them.

“All right, then,” Sister Oblivion screamed, “release the agents!”

The blast of an air horn ripped through the atrium and doors on all sides of the space opened up. Men and women dressed in suits and ties raced into the crowd and began signing contestants. They moved quickly and decisively through the crowd recruiting and dismissing people as they went.

“These are professional talent scouts,” Sister Oblivion explained from the balcony. “They know star quality when they see it. They are looking for strength, charisma, that je ne sais quoi and, at least, passable hygiene. They can spot a natural star, a diamond in the rough, or even a turd that could use a little polishing. They can be your best friend. Of course, if you win, they will get a producer credit on your show. But that’s the price of fame. No one makes it alone.”

The more colorful contestants were selected first. Several of the agents made a direct line for the Horrorsaurus Rex and fought over which one of them got to represent the dinosaur.

The other applicants saw the attention lavished on the T-Rex and dialed up their own efforts to stand out in the crowd. Channel 5’s Chip Bennet began to act like it was storming inside the atrium and did a pretty fair walking against the wind bit until one of the agents tapped him on the shoulder.

The agents made their way through the crowd with practiced efficiency, parsing potential stars from those doomed to be viewers for eternity. The chosen ones were ushered up the atrium’s stairs and assembled on the second level so the crowd could look upon the chosen few.

The dime-store ninja went next. But instead of ascending the staircase, he chose to scale the railing. Once he reached the top, he did a backflip on to the landing and gave the dinosaur a high five.

Tiffany Flexx was chosen next. This woman was dressed in a Lycra bodysuit and knit leg warmers. She aerobicized her way up the stairs and did a high kick that almost caught a man in a tuxedo in the chin.

They were soon joined by a fully geared-up football player in a blue Polk High jersey with the number thirty-three on his back. Once selected, he had tucked an imaginary ball under his arm and rushed up the stairs for an imaginary touchdown. He spiked the invisible ball and yelled, “Brock Rampage!”

Behind him, a bearded man in a Hawaiian shirt had reached the top of the stairs and tried to wrestle the dinosaur. This was Ju Jitsu Johnny. He tried to wrestle everything.

The level of swearing soon rose to match the cheers in the room as more and more of the would-be stars discovered they wouldn’t be stars at all.

The wizard shouted, “Abracadamn!” as he was selected to join the others on the platform. He raced up the stairs, moved to the front of the platform and raised his arms into the air. “Abracadamn!” he shouted once more and two fireballs exploded from his fingertips. The flames quickly vanished into trails of smoke but the applause remained.

Back on the ground, the crowd was growing testy. An animosity was building toward those who had been selected and those that had been left behind were starting to vocalize their displeasure.

Sister Oblivion smiled as the jeers grew louder. She allowed the angst to rise until just before it exploded before she spoke. “For those of you little people down there, you’ll be happy to know that your dream doesn’t end here. Just because you weren’t picked to be a winner doesn’t mean you can’t be a star.”

Another group of agents entered the floor. Though they were dressed much like the first, these talent scouts were looking for something different.

“A champion is nothing without adversity,” said Sister Oblivion. “A true contest doesn’t just need heroes. It needs its villains as well. You could be those villains. We’re looking for thugs, brutes, heels and heavies. Dirtbags, scumbags, and douchebags. We’re looking for cads, curs and creeps of all kinds.”

The new agents started pulling members from the crowd and directing them through a set of doors at the back of the room, where they entered a hallway and disappeared out of sight. There was no platform for them.

Lance Fury clapped and cheered as he was pulled from the crowd and sent up the stairs. He had finally had the mind to remove his shirt and reveal the big star on his back. It had drawn some attention from the agents and his personality had done the rest. He arrived at the top of the stairs shirtless and turned around so everyone could see the tattoo.

“Good for Lance Fury,” Jerry said to Eve and clapped a bit.

“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy,” Eve said. “I hope fame doesn’t change him.”

“That would be a shame,” Jerry said with a laugh. “We’ve got to find a way to locate Jax.”

“I think I see someone I can ask,” Eve said and stepped away.

Jerry turned to see one of the agents headed his way. He reached out and grabbed the agent’s arm as the man attempted to brush past him. “Excuse me.”

The agent looked Jerry up and down quickly and then shook his head. “Sorry, pal. You’re not what we’re looking for.”

“You don’t understand,” Jerry said.

“Oh, don’t I?” asked the agent. “Here comes the sob story. Well buddy, I’ve heard it all. So, what is it this time? Let me guess. Have you overcome a debilitating physical ailment to be here today, defying the odds and mounting a personal triumph of willpower and discipline? Or is it a sick little sister you left back at the colony, clinging to life with her last dying wish that she gets to see you compete? Or was your family eaten by mutants and the farm has been left to you but now, after years of fighting nature in its purest forms, the crop isn’t going to come in and your only hope is to risk it all by entering the most dangerous game show ever conceived?”

Jerry was about to tell the man that he was actually looking for a friend when he processed the options. “What was the first one again?”

“I don’t have time for this,” the agent said. “I’m looking for someone that an audience wants to root for. Someone with a special quality. And I’ sorry, but you don’t have what it takes. You probably don’t even have a catchphrase.”

“A catchphrase?”

“A catchphrase. That wizard says Abracadamn and does the fire thing. That Chef Rusty guy says, Order Up and does this flashy thing with his cooking knives. And the pirate says Aargh!”

“Just Aargh?”

“He is a pirate,” said the agent. “Pirates say Aargh!”

“Fair enough.”

Before the agent could walk away, Eve returned and stood next to Jerry. “What did he say?”

Jerry let out a deep sigh. “He says I don’t have it and pirates say Aargh.”

“Well, they are pirates,” Eve said. “But what does he mean you don’t have it?”

“It, Miss. He doesn’t have it.” The agent physically moved Jerry to one side so he could better study the woman. “You, on the other hand, have so very much of it. Do you want to be on the show?”

“What is he talking about?” Eve asked.

“I think he’s saying you have big boobs,” Jerry said.

“I’m a talent agent for The Omega Run,” the agent said. “And I was just explaining to your friend how we’re looking for contestants with special qualities, and, while he is lacking, you have those qualities in spades.”

“Lacking in what?” Eve looked Jerry up and down and then turned back to the agent. “Do you not know who he is?”

“Not a clue,” the agent said, taking her hand. “But I’m very interested in who you are. You have super star written all over you.”

“She sure does,” Jerry agreed. “Listen, we’re just trying to—”

“Don’t stop him while he’s complimenting me,” Eve said. “We should at least hear him out.”

Jerry stepped in between Eve and the agent. “We’re not here for the show.”

The agent took a step back. “You’re not? Why else would you…Why would anyone come here?”

“We’re looking for a friend. I’m here to see, Jax.”

“I can’t help you with that,” said the agent. “But I am interested in signing her for the race. And I promise it’s not just the boobs. You’ve got so many redeeming qualities, Miss. I’m not going to lie; they do send us out here looking for big-breasted bimbos and chisel-chested himbos. They want this type or that type. But you’ve got something special. You’re your own type. You’ve just got…pow. You’ve got…Boom. Bang!”

“Do I have zip?” Eve asked.

“Oh yeah,” the agent leaned in and put a hand on her cheek. “You’ve got zip?”

Eve grabbed the hand and wrenched it counterclockwise.

The agent dropped to one knee to relieve the pressure on his twisted shoulder.

“There’s the zip,” Jerry said.

Eve lifted a knee into the agent’s face.

“And the boom.”

The agent finally freed his arm and drew a revolver from inside his coat.

Eve grabbed the gun and tore it from his hand before it could become a threat.

“Pow!” said Jerry. “She’s got it all.”

She turned the barrel on the agent and pointed it toward the ground in front of the talent scout.

“All that’s left is the bang,” Jerry said.

The crowd went silent. Even the people at the top of the stairs had given the incident their full attention.

They weren’t in uniform, but several men in semi-matching outfits materialized out of the crowd and surrounded the pair and their dogs.

Lance Fury came running down the steps.

“What’s going on here?” the biggest of the bunch asked.

Eve opened the revolver’s cylinder, dropped the rounds into her hand and gave the gun back to the agent as he got back to his feet.

“They said they’re looking for Jax.” The agent took the gun and put it away.

A couple of the guards exchanged looks but said nothing.

“Who stopped my party?” Sister Oblivion shouted from the balcony. “What is going on down there?”

One of the guards turned to face the producer and shouted back. “He says they’re here to see Jax, Sister Oblivion.”

“And who is he?”

“Don’t you guys know anything?” Lance Fury ran into the circle and threw an arm around Jerry’s neck. “This guy right here is the real and truthful Librarian.”

A lot of glances were exchanged between agents and guards and people in the crowd. Everyone finally looked up to see Sister Oblivion’s reaction to the news.

She was beaming. “Bring them to the tower.”

3

Terminal Tower rose almost fifty feet above The Cleave. A part of the Tower City complex, it overlooked what used to be Cleveland’s downtown district. Its height and vantage point made it both a symbolic and pragmatic seat of power. And it looked like the elevator was going to take them all the way to the top.

“How high do you think we’re going?” Jerry and Eve were in the elevator car with their dogs and an escort who had been introduced to them as one of Sister Oblivion’s Production Assistants.

“I don’t know,” Eve said. “Frankly, I’m just glad there’s an elevator. Do you know how many times I’ve had to run up a skyscraper just to topple a warlord?”

“No kidding. Why can’t they just live on the ground floor? Or a couple of stories up if they want a view. But I think it’s a little inconsiderate when they take up residence in the local tower.”

“It’s exhausting.” Eve leaned back against the elevator wall. “What is it with figureheads and tall buildings? You can rule with an iron fist just as easily from the second or third floor.”

“I get that it’s a ruler of all they survey kind of mentality,” Jerry said. “But sometimes my knees would just appreciate a little more humility.”

The elevator arrived at the forty-second floor and the doors opened. What was on the other side was an anachronistic mess. The room itself had served as the building’s observation deck and looked like it was straight out of the late nineteen-twenties. But it was also filled with video monitors and poorly executed cable runs that made the broadcast studio look like something out of an eighties film about pirate radio. The only thing missing was Christian Slater.

“Welcome to the Viewing Suite,” said the PA.

The room was buzzing with activity. Production assistants ran back and forth. Each had a clipboard tucked under their arm and a radio in hand. Others sat in front of monitors and control boards as programming played on the screens. From what Jerry could see, it looked like Cleave TV was currently running a block of Hogan’s Heroes reruns. There was still a lot of talking back and forth between the folks at the boards. The activity may have been unrelated to the current broadcast.

There were also people that were doing nothing. Most of them hovered near a lavish craft services table, picking at food from the plates.

“That’s some spread,” Jerry said.

“Sister Oblivion is an excellent hostess,” their escort said and gestured to the table. “Please help yourself and make yourself comfortable.”

With this, he stepped back into the elevator and disappeared behind the doors as they slid shut.

Jerry walked over to the window on the north end of the room that looked out over Lake Erie. The window was remarkably clean for the apocalypse and provided an expansive view of the city all the way to the shore. Cleveland had remained mostly untouched by the initial explosive strike. It was the secondary biological and chemical attacks that ravaged most of the population. This left many of the buildings unoccupied and rather fetid but relatively undamaged with most of the infrastructure intact.

Like most cities that people had tried to reoccupy, makeshift catwalks and bridges spanning the gaps between buildings filled the air above the streets. Not surprisingly, these rudimentary bridges usually went hand in hand with broken elevators. In those cases, they made sense. Why go all the way down if you were just to turn around and head right back up when you could just kick out a window and set down a few two by fours?

But The Cleave had elevated the practice to an art form. Catwalks laced the sky, connecting almost every building in the downtown area. Unlike most post-apocalyptic short cuts, they also had handrails. While safety may have been a reason to have them installed, Jerry assumed they were also for production reasons, as they appeared to be used primarily as equipment mounts. Lighting and camera rigs were mounted along the catwalks, and a web of cables wove through the rails and spread throughout the city.

The elevator chimed, announcing the arrival of another car. The doors opened and Sister Oblivion exploded into the room. She was all smiles and arms as she flitted around the viewing suite.

“Where is he? Where is my beautiful Librarian?” She shouted as if she was playing hide and seek. “There he is! How wonderful!”

Her smile grew ever broader when she spotted them by the window and before he knew it, Jerry had been wrapped in a powerful embrace. She was model thin, but her arms locked around him and he questioned his ability to escape her grip.

She spotted Eve and brought her into the embrace as well. “I’m so excited you’re here! I couldn’t believe it when they told me.”

Jerry almost choked on the thickness of her perfume, but managed to eke out a greeting. But not much of one. “Hello.”

She released the pair and held them at arm’s length, admiring them like a doting aunt that hadn’t seen them since the last Thanksgiving meal.

“And you brought your dogs!” She patted Chewy on the head. “It’s all so wonderful! The whole look. I love the feeling of every bit of it.”

Eve looked at Jerry for help. “It’s nice to be here?”

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sister Oblivion, but please call me Liv. I’m the creator, producer, designer, et cetera, et cetera, and everything of The Omega Run.” She leaned in close and whispered loudly, “I even wrote the theme song.”

She took a deep breath and belted out:

“We’re gonna race, a great little race. Omega.

It’s the greatest race in the whole wide wastes, come run the race with me.

It’s raiders to the left and traps to the right, Omega!

You gotta be quick if you want to get picked. Let’s race for victory.”

“What do you think?”

“You are truly a renaissance woman,” said Eve.

“Isn’t that the theme from Bonanza?” asked Jerry.

“Not legally. Look, I know it’s not a great theme song and we’re working to fix it. I’m not much of a song writer. However, I am a spectacular producer. I know what the audience wants and they want you.” Sister Oblivion clapped to put an official end to the music discussion.

Sister Oblivion steepled her hands and playfully clicked her nails together. They were long and colorfully decorated. “So, let’s talk about your big television debut.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Liv. But I’m not here to play. I’m looking for a friend of mine.”

“Yes, they told me you were looking for Jax. Jax is dead, sorry.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, very sad. I hate to be the one to tell you. So, let’s talk about what we can do to get you on the show.”

“What happened?”

“I think the official term for it is: the monsters got her. Jax was a dear friend and really helped me get Cleave TV up and running. But now that she’s gone, I’m running the show.” Liv laughed at her own little joke and added, “Literally! But honestly, it’s so much better now. The show that is. There’s more color, more fun. So much more applause. Jax was a good woman, but not a lot of laughs. What did you want to see her about?”

“We’d like to use the city’s tower to send a message to the wasteland.”

“So, you ARE interested in a career in broadcasting after all!” Sister Oblivion squealed. “That delights me. What’s the message you want to send?”

Eve answered. “You’ve heard of what people are calling the Remnant?”

“Heard of them, dear? They’re half my viewing audience.”

Jerry took a seat on the safety rail in front of the window. “Well, they’d like to be all of it.”

“Do tell,” Sister Oblivion said as she led them to the catering table and swooped up a piece of bread. “Forgive me I haven’t had a bite to eat all day.”

“They’re planning something called Project Lazarus,” Jerry explained. “Their hope is to seize control of what used to be the US and beyond. They are well armed, well trained and have been taking over everything they can get their hands on. We need to warn people about the threat they pose.”

“Warn people?” Sister Oblivion tore off a piece of crust and popped it into her mouth. “It doesn’t sound so bad to me. If you ask me, I think we could use a little order. Not too much, mind you, but a little.”

“But their values are twisted,” Eve explained. “These are dangerous people.”

“I guess that all depends on your point of view, dear,” Liv said. “But all that aside, why would anyone believe your message?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Eve said.

“The truth?” Breadcrumbs fell from her mouth as she laughed. “Do you know what people believe is the truth these days? Just about anything. I’m afraid it will only be a couple of years before we’re back to bloodletting, leaches and people thinking dwarves are living in our bodies. Why would anyone listen to you?”

“Like you said,” Eve said, “he is the Librarian.”

“That’s very true, my dear,” Sister Oblivion said as the elevator chimed. “But so is he.”

The doors slid open and several men in Remnant military uniforms stepped from the car. After they had filtered into the room, another man followed. He wore sunglasses and a flowing canvas duster.

He stopped just outside the elevator, removed the glasses and gave the room a smile.

Before Eve could say, “Don’t.” Jerry had crossed the room in three large steps and landed a right cross on Thomas Caine’s smug face.

“Dammit, Jerry!” Caine shouted as he fell back against the wall with his hand over his face.

The contingent of Remnant soldiers rushed to aide their associate but were stopped in their tracks when the mastiff and the Great Dane intervened.

Fidget was a little slower off the line but rushed to join Chewy and Satch.

Eve swept in and picked up the hound dog and held his muzzle shut before it could speak. The dog growled instead.

Jerry landed another blow.

The Remnant soldiers were shouting and trying to find a way around the dogs while Sister Oblivion laughed with delight. She put a hand on Eve’s shoulder. “I just love the drama your Librarian brings,” she said to Eve. “They really don’t like one another, do they?”

“Well, you see, Caine started making movies about Jerry without his knowledge and has now taken on the identity of the Librarian and used it to undermine all the good Jerry has tried to do with his life.”

“Well, I would want to punch him, too,” Sister Oblivion said.

“Yeah. He has that effect on people.”

“I do enjoy a good revenge beating as much as the next person, but he is really concentrating on the face. And I’m going to need that face.” Sister Oblivion snapped her fingers and waved for her guards to get involved. “We should probably stop him. Please, call off your dogs.”

Eve whistled. “Chewy. Satch. Heel.”

The large dogs ceased their aggression immediately and found a place on either side of Eve.

Jerry backed off and let the guards help Caine to his feet. The movie star’s nose was bleeding profusely and the area around the bridge was already starting to bruise.

Caine touched his face gingerly. “That really hurt, Jerry!”

Fidget squirmed free of Eve’s grasp and hit the ground running.

“Fidget! No!”

The Beagle made it to Caine before anyone could react and nipped the man in the ankle. Caine grabbed his ankle and began hopping on one foot. “I did not miss that damn dog.”

Fidget jumped out of kicking distance and continued to growl.

The next few moments saw a lot of shuffling around the room as the three factions regrouped. Before anyone knew what was happening, lines were formed, weapons were drawn and hackles were raised.

“Oh, this is exciting!” Sister Oblivion exclaimed as she waltzed in between the two groups and spun around. She placed a hand on a Remnant soldier’s gun and lowered it, and then turned and lowered Jerry’s weapon. The others followed suit and holstered their guns.

“So, introductions,” said Sister Oblivion. “Librarians, it looks like you already know one another. But this mysterious character here, with the mustache and dark features and the brooding stare is Colonel Marcus Briggs.”

The colonel was indeed mustached, brooding and had zero smile lines to speak of despite being well into middle age. His uniform was cleaner than any garment in the apocalypse deserved to be and the medals on his chest sparkled.

Jerry raised a finger at Caine. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Oh, they want to use my tower to broadcast to the wasteland. You see, they want to tell everyone about this wonderful plan they have to fix everything called Project Lazarus.”

The weapons had been put away, but Caine and Jerry continued to stare holes into one another.

Sister Oblivion saw this and put a finger to her lips. “Two Librarians. Only one tower. What ever should I do?”

Jerry sighed, instantly resigned to the fact that he would be participating in Sister Oblivion’s stupid race.

“I have it!” Sister Oblivion snapped her fingers. The crack was like a gunshot. “I have a great idea. We will make it a competition. You could both race in The Omega Run. All you have to do is win the race and you can use my tower! Tell them all about it, Don Lardo.”

A small skinny man who had been sitting quietly on a sofa eating from a bowl of peanuts stood up. “I know you think that’s funny, Rachel. But I’ve made it clear that I don’t find it amusing when you make fun of my weight.”

“Oh, come on, Paul. You know it’s just a joke for me.” Sister Oblivion pinched the man’s cheek. “But you are putting on some weight. Maybe try sitting farther away from craft services.”

Paul Sterling was tiny, thin and frail and had nothing in his hand but a small plastic cup of water.

“Now tell them about the game.”

The small man set down the cup and took a big breath. The voice of a much larger man boomed and filled the room. There was no way it was coming from the soft-spoken Paul. “The Omega Run is a contest of skill, wits and strength where players race through The Cleave on their way to victory and fame. From the Halls of Justice to the Tower of Doom, runners will experience it all as they race for the ultimate prize, their very own show on Cleave TV. Do you have what it takes to race against the best athletes the wasteland has to offer? Can you survive the most dangerous game known to man? Can you outrun your competitor or a creature of the night?

“That is where our friend Jax failed, by the way,” Sister Oblivion said to Jerry softly. “She never made it out of The Bats. Very sad.”

“The Omega Run is all about points,” the big voice of little Paul Sterling continued. “Win stages. Get points. Complete challenges. Get points.”

“Hell, sometimes I just award points to give points,” Liv said. “I love giving points.”

The announcer was unfazed by the constant interruptions and continued with his well-rehearsed spiel. “The contestant with the most points…and a pulse…at the end of the race will be declared The Omega Run Champion. They will find fame, fortune…”

“We can’t promise that!” The voice came from a man standing at the back of the room absently stirring a cup of coffee.

“Oh, ignore him,” said Sister Oblivion. “That’s just Darren, our legal department.”

“Ignore me at your own peril, Liv,” the man said.

The producer made mock scary fingers in the man’s direction which turned into a shooing gesture. “Please finish, Paul.”

The little man sat back down on the couch and started picking through a bowl of peanuts. “I was basically done, anyway.”

“Wonderful!” Sister Oblivion applauded his performance and then turned to the two Librarians. “Look, it’s really simple. Whichever of you gets the most points and isn’t dead at the end of the race, gets to send their message to the wasteland. If you win, Mr. Jerry, you can tell everyone that the Remnant are the big scary bad guys. But if they win…then vice versa. Or whatever.”

Caine spoke up, “We will be telling people that—”

“And I’m sure it will be great,” Sister Oblivion cut him off. She then took a deep, self-satisfied breath. “Now then, this is exciting. Librarian vs Librarian!”

“Wait. What?” Caine looked to the Remnant commander for an explanation. “What is she talking about?”

“This was not the deal, Oblivion.” It was the first time Briggs had spoken. His voice was devoid of any emotion or humanity. He was just stating facts.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Caine said. “I don’t want to be in a death sport!”

“It’s not a death sport!” The way Sister Oblivion said it made it clear that it wasn’t the first time she had to deny the accusation. She started snapping toward the lawyer. “It’s a…it’s a…”

“It’s sports entertainment,” Darren said.

“It’s sports entertainment!” she said with a lot more excitement than the lawyer. “Sure. The Omega Run can get rough, but it’s not a death sport. My game has a little of everything for everyone. Sports, action, maybe a little sexiness—but that’s really up to the contestants.”

“So, I won’t die?” Caine asked.

“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Sister Oblivion said. “I’m not saying you can’t die; I’m just saying death isn’t really the objective. But The Omega Run is a full contact sport after all. Things can get rough. And shit happens.”

“I’m not doing this,” Caine said.

“Relax, Caine,” Briggs said. “I wouldn’t trust you to win at checkers. We’ll have Wilson enter in your place.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it has to be him,” Sister Oblivion said. “Or the deal is off.”

“You should feel fortunate that I’m making a deal at all,” the colonel said.

The threat made Sister Oblivion laugh. “You don’t want to start making threats here, colonel dear. I know how far your reach really goes. Why would you want to waste your precious resources here in The Cleave when you can get what you want just by making your off-brand hero play my little game?”

“Off-brand?” Caine shouted. “How dare you!”

“Dare I? Dare I?!” Sister Oblivion was getting more and more excited as she rolled the phrase around. “I do indeed dare! This is going to be our biggest show ever. Do you understand what’s about to happen?”

“Of course, I do!” Caine sounded a little nasally as he was pinching his nose to speak. “You’re talking to the writer, producer, director and star of the biggest films ever made…after the world ended. I understand the allure. But this is not happening.”

“It’s happening,” Colonel Briggs said and shook Sister Oblivion’s hand to seal the deal.

“Wonderful! It’s settled. This is going to be amazing!” Sister Oblivion walked over to one of the north windows and raised her arms as she shouted, “Two Librarians enter! One Librarian leaves!”

“What?” Caine shouted. “What do you mean, ‘One Librarian leaves’?”

“Or Wins…Whatever. It’s Librarian…” Sister Oblivion moved across the room and grabbed Jerry by the shoulders. She positioned him in the window with the Cleveland skyline behind him.

“Versus Librarian.” She went and got Caine and stood him next to Jerry. She gasped and held up her fingers to frame the shot while slowly backing away.

“It’s magnificent!” she declared. “We start tomorrow. May the best Librarian win!”

“Well, in that case…” Caine looked at Jerry and put out his hand.

The jab caught Caine in the nose and the bleeding got worse.

Fidget nipped Caine’s heel.

4

There was no dress code for the gala, but The Horrorsaurus Rex had managed to find a dinosaur sized top hat and tail and dominated the dance floor.

The drunken crowd gave her room to move and clapped and cheered as she got down. She did the dinosaur.

“I may not approve of the whole death race concept,” Jerry said as he and Eve watched the T-Rex dance. “But a person in an inflatable dinosaur costume is never not funny.”

The couple sat at a table on the outskirts of the dance floor in a ballroom dressed like they were attending prom.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” Eve asked, stroking Sasquatch’s head as the dog’s eyes rolled back on the way to sleep.

“I wouldn’t do it,” Jerry said. “Can you imagine how hot it gets in that thing? And your visibility has got to be terrible. You’d be tripping all over the place. But it’s always good for a laugh.”

“You know I mean the race,” Eve said. “Is making the broadcast worth the risk?”

“I don’t know.” Jerry had been nursing a drink all night. The Cleave had rounded up the best liquor this side of Armageddon and Sister Oblivion was being awfully generous with the pours, but the last thing he wanted to be on the morning of a death race was hungover. He pushed the glass away and watched the amber liquid slosh around before he answered. “We’ve been running around for months trying to rally allies to our cause. Even after splitting up and having Mason and his crew work the rivers…We’re just not covering enough ground. The news is spreading, but I’m afraid it’s not spreading fast enough. As horrific as this show is, they have a reach like no one else in the world right now. It could save us a ton of legwork.”

Eve lifted her glass. She wasn’t racing in a death race in the morning. “Plus, you get to beat Caine.”

That thought put a smile on Jerry’s face. “Plus, I get to beat Caine.”

“I thought that the whole stolen identity thing didn’t bother you.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you said it didn’t bother you,” Eve said.

“Yeah, but I said it didn’t bother me every single day.”

“Believe me, I know.” Eve rolled her eyes and took another long sip of her drink.

Jerry chuckled and put a hand on her knee. “Why can’t anything be easy? I was hoping to come into town, see an old friend, borrow her high-powered broadcast tower and then spend some time with you celebrating a win that didn’t involve gun play. Now, I’ve got to enter a death race, beat the man who’s been running around the wasteland pretending to be me and his literal army of friends just to tell everyone that the people who are murdering their way across the country are actually the bad guys.”

“It does sound silly when you put it that way.”

Jerry retrieved his drink. “It would have been a lot easier if Jax were here. Her death is a big loss for team good guy.”

“Oh, my God! You’re here!” Lance Fury dropped into one of the table’s open chairs.

The motion alerted both Chewy and Satch and they quickly looked around the room for danger. They immediately went back to lazing once they’d established the disturbance wasn’t a threat.

“This is amazing!” Lance said. “You disappeared during the draft, and I didn’t know what happened to you. But here you are!”

“And so are you,” Jerry said. “You made the cut. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, I’m so excited. They said they liked my chutzpah and I told them I didn’t have any of that but I think maybe my grandma used to make it, so maybe that’s why they thought I still had it. And they said it was like pizzaz which I figure is pretty close to pizza and I know I’ve had that but I don’t know what it has to do with TV but I’m going to be a contestant.”

Jerry raised his glass. “That makes two of us.”

“That’s terrible,” Lance said. “I mean it’s amazing! I mean, Yay! But also, Oh no! Right? I guess I’m not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, I’m really excited because you’re like my hero and stuff, but on the other hand you’re going to make a really great contestant and since I’m also a contestant, too, that means we’re going to be competitors. Oh man, this is like getting a box of chocolates but half of the chocolates suck and you don’t know which half, so every time you pick one up it’s like a fifty-fifty chance of something sucking or being delicious.”

“It’s going to be okay, Lance,” Jerry said. “You’ll do fine.”

“I hope so. I really want to win so I can get my show, but I really want you to win because you’re awesome, so I don’t know quite who to root for.”

“I think you should root for yourself, Mr. Fury.”

“Mr. Fury. Man, that sounds cool.” Lance smiled as he stood and started to walk away. “Good luck, tomorrow. Mr. The Librarian.”

“He may be confused. But the others won’t be.” Eve was using her serious voice now. “You’re going to have people gunning for you, you know?”

“I know.” Jerry surveyed the room. The news was getting around that a couple of people claiming to be The Librarian were going to be in the race and the contestants were starting to stare. Channel 5’s Chip Bennet was standing in a corner as if he was patiently waiting for the studio to tell him his segment had begun. He held the microphone in front of him, but kept his eyes locked on Jerry.

Tiffany Flexx, the woman in the workout gear, was leading some kind of dance class, but every time she instructed people to bend, she just stayed standing and stared at the table where he and Eve sat.

Eve didn’t have to look around the room. She knew what was happening. She always knew. “Every one of these people is giving you the eye. Aren’t they?”

“That pirate is giving me both of them.” Long John had indeed removed his patch so he could leer at Jerry with two eyes and get a better look at his competition.

Chewy and Satch stood up and growled as Caine approached the table. The phony librarian had a drink in his hand and light swelling around the eyes.

“Well, if it isn’t the Librarian,” Jerry said without getting up.

“Growl!” said Fidget. Sometimes the Beagle got his languages mixed up.

“Shut up, Midget!” Caine snapped.

“It’s Fidget,” the Beagle barked.

“Hello, Tommy,” Eve said and pointed to her eye. “That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there.”

Caine’s black eye had swollen and turned into a shiny purple. “You caught me sleeping with that sucker punch, Jer. But it won’t happen again.”

Jerry wasn’t interested in engaging in a round of smack talk. “What are you doing here, Caine?”

“I’m here to win the race and tell the world that—”

“I mean why are you here at the table? What do you want?”

“I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Eve chuckled. “Quitting already?”

“Hardly.” Caine put his foot up on one of the chairs and leaned forward. “But you know what this race means, don’t you, Jer? It won’t just decide who gets access to the airwaves, it will decide once and for all who gets to the be the real Librarian.”

“You’re nothing like him, Caine. You know that.”

Caine clutched his chest to feign hurt. “You’re absolutely right, Eve. I’m not like him. I’m the reboot. I’m the Librarian for a modern audience. A younger audience. It’s time for the old man to pass the torch.”

“You stole my identity, you son of a bitch.”

“Please, you weren’t even using it when I stole it. You were hiding on the river.”

“I was looking for peace and quiet and had finally found it. The world had found it before your new friends came along and ruined it.”

“Yeah, they can be a little insistent, but believe me, they have everyone’s best interest at heart.”

“They were running experiments on people in an underground lab.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure they had some very good reasons. No one just starts experimenting on humans without a very good reason, Jer. Who would do that? That would make them monsters.”

“I think you’re making my point.”

Caine pulled the chair out and sat down. “Look, they’re clearly not monsters. They took me in. They’ve treated me great! Did you know that they made me the Director of Social Sentiment?”

“Congrats,” said Jerry. “You’re Goebbels.”

“I don’t know who that is,” said Caine.

“You’re their mouthpiece,” Eve clarified.

“Yes, I’m a spokesperson.”

“They’re puppet,” she continued. “They’re head liar and deceiver. You make their lies sound good. Their propagandist. You’re their bullshit spreader. You open your mouth and their bullshit comes out.”

“Hey, I am nobody’s puppet!” Caine growled. “They respect me! They respect the Librarian.”

“I’m the Librarian!” Jerry snapped and shot forward in his chair. “You stole my name!”

“Yeah, well, it’s my name, too. And possession is nine-tenths of the law and all that.”

“I can’t believe you even had the guts to enter the games at all. Wouldn’t you normally have your stuntman do all this?”

“Very funny. You know that I do one hundred percent of my own stunts most of the time.”

Fidget nipped Caine’s ankle, causing the man to jump back and fall backwards in his chair.

He stood up quickly and straightened his shirt so he could move on to acting as if nothing had happened.

“You know what, Jer?” Caine sounded angry and he took a moment to calm himself before he continued. “I’m actually looking forward to this. This is my opportunity to settle this once and for all. After this there’ll be no more of this whiny ‘you stole my name’ nonsense. No more, ‘you are only playing me because you’re afraid to be yourself’ bull. No more of these ‘you’re just pretending to be him because he’s more handsome and confident than you’ accusations.”

Eve turned to Jerry. “Sounds like someone’s turning a little self-reflection into a lot of projection.”

“It kind of does,” Jerry agreed. “It actually sounds like you may have a conscience in there somewhere, after all, Caine.”

“Whatever.” Caine looked around to make sure no one had seen him fall. “This competition will be the end of it. Like that crazy bitch with the fingernails said, two Librarians enter, but only one of us is leaving.”

The gala attendees applauded as Sister Oblivion entered the room. She was impossible to miss. She didn’t just enter the room; she arrived. The double doors flew open, and she stopped for everyone to see. She had changed into a crimson dress and an insane amount of gold jewelry that caught the light as she posed, smiled and laughed. When she started moving again, she never moved in a straight line. She twirled around the room, greeting everyone and telling everyone how beautiful they were.

“She certainly knows how to make an entrance,” Eve said.

Sister Oblivion danced her way to a small stage at the far end of the ballroom and took the microphone. “Ladies! Gentlemen! Dinosaurs! Tonight is all about you. Look around this room and you will see your fellow contestants for tomorrow’s episode of The Omega Run. And I have a feeling that it is going to be one of our best shows ever!”

The crowd cheered and Sister Oblivion fanned the applause toward her face and breathed it in like it was a fine aroma.

“What an amazing roster we have for tomorrow. We have dinosaurs. We have ninjas. We have pirates. We even have Santa Claus. Twenty fantastic contestants. You have all really outdone yourselves. You should all give yourselves a pat on the back.” She patted herself on the back to demonstrate. “Someone help the dinosaur, will you? The small arms aren’t helping.

“You are all wonderful, beautiful, amazing people, but I need you all to remember that tomorrow is about the viewer. I want you to put on a good show. I want you to run like your life depends on it. Because it probably does.”

“We can’t say that!”

“Shut up, Darren!” Sister Oblivion continued. “I want you to put your heart and soul and all the other little bits and pieces of you into your performance tomorrow. But I’m not expecting you to be totally selfless. I don’t expect you to do it all for the viewing audience. I know you’ll be doing it for you. That’s why the prize for this Omega Run is a place in The Cleave TV family and your very own show!”

The room cheered.

The pirate said, “Aargh!”

“That’s right, you’ll get to be a star on our new network! Your face will be famous across the wasteland. And remember, any one of you can win. But with that being said…This is going to be a very special episode of The Omega Run because we have not one, but two Librarians running!”

The room gasped. The rumor had been confirmed.

Two of Sister Oblivion’s PAs appeared at the table and instructed Jerry and Caine to stand. Caine didn’t need to be asked twice to step into the spotlight. He was on his feet and halfway across the room before Jerry could stand up.

Jerry crossed the room in silence. Whether it was Jerry’s exploits or Caine’s cinematic interpretation of Jerry’s exploits, there were few people in what was left of the world that hadn’t heard of the legendary Librarian. But not everyone was aware they weren’t necessarily the same person. Everyone shifted to get a look at the pair of Librarians.

Caine bounced up the steps and stood next to Sister Oblivion. He waved to the crowd while Jerry mounted the stage at a much more measured pace.

Two PAs had them stand next to one another and instructed them to wave to the audience. The crowd applauded. Some of the applause was out of genuine excitement. Others clapped because it was polite or obligatory, but every runner in the room was sizing up the two men on stage.

“I bet you’re not use to this kind of attention,” Caine said eagerly waving to the crowd.

“Not really,” Jerry said. He nodded to the audience. They were studying him and he was studying them right back.

“It’s a lot to take in, if you’re not used to it,” Caine conceded. “You want to know the secret to being a public figure?”

Jerry leaned in close to hear the secret. “Tell me.”

Caine leaned in close to share it. “The secret is—”

Jerry brought his fist up and popped Caine in the face

The crowd liked this and applauded. This time, it was unanimously genuine.

Caine reeled back a couple of steps and grabbed his nose, which was bleeding again. “Dammit, stop hitting me!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Save it for the game, you two!” Sister Oblivion forced her way between the two Librarians. She turned back to the crowd. “What did I tell you? This is going to be our biggest show ever, people. And it all starts bright and early. So, party all you want, but you better not miss your call times.”

5

Galen stood with his back to the audience and looked up at the pyramid in front of him. Morning light filtered through the glass windows and illuminated the interior of the building where some of the greatest treasures known to man had resided before the world ended. He took in a deep breath and held it in his lungs; absorbing the rarified air. This place was a testament to greatness. It was historical. And, in just a few moments, Harmegeddon would become a part of that history.

Surely the other members of the band had to feel it. To be given the opportunity to rock in the shadow of giants wasn’t something that should go unappreciated. They had spent time in the hallowed halls and even helped themselves to several mythic level souvenirs.

He looked at their drummer sitting behind Alex Van Halen’s drum kit from the World Invasion Tour. Cord took the cue and counted off four with the sticks before dropping into the beat.

Zane waited a full measure before joining in with the bass line on a red Rickenbacker 4001 once played by the legendary Cliff Burton.

Then came the opening riff as Trent’s fingers flew up and down the psychedelic Gibson Flying V known affectionally as Love Drops. He played four full measures before Max’el brought the rhythm in on a black ESP he’d plucked from the museum’s metal exhibit.

As for himself, Galen had made a wardrobe enhancement or two. He wore a black leather jacket and a dozen scarves hung from his microphone stand.

The song’s opening was subtle. As subtle as metal could be. It was a wake me up song for an early morning; a reverse lullaby. Galen’s intent was to ease the runners into the day so they played Dusk to Dust which started out with a slow intro and then exploded with a bang. He took the microphone and sang:

All the world’s a RAAAAAAGE!

And the men and women merely ragers.

Coming. Going. Getting older. Babies turning into soldiers.

Going to war to fight for honor. Wounded, finding only RAAAGE!

* * *

Jerry listened as the boys from Harmegeddon butchered Shakespeare and remembered how he never liked being so close to the stage. He was more of a hover near the soundboard type of audience member. It was out of the way of teenage mosh pits and tossed drinks and he felt the sound would be mixed best closest to the sound engineer. Being so close to this particular stage made even less sense. The platform rose fifteen feet above them and he couldn’t even see the band. All he could see was a wall of vinyl sheeting strung across the base of the platform with The Omega Run written in ten-foot-tall letters.

But the stage wasn’t for them. The performance wasn’t for them. It was for the cameras and the crowds that had gathered at the starting line. The live audience lined up along a series of barricades marking the first leg of the run and was more impressive than the crowd they encountered during their arrival.

The contestants had been instructed to line up at the base of the stage and wait for the start of the race. But they had been forced to wait in the cold for an hour while the band's singer had adjusted the scarves on his mic stand over and over. Every time he was satisfied with their placement, a gust of wind would come along and the process would begin anew.

Sister Oblivion finally snapped and ordered them to start the show or be slowly shot to death. So, they had played and desecrated Shakespeare’s words while the runners did what they could to keep from freezing.

Jerry had dressed sensibly, wearing the same winter jacket and layers of clothing that he had arrived in. But many of the other runners were shivering and regretting their choice of costume. Channel 5’s Chip Bennet was doing all right and Santa seems unfazed by the falling snow, but ice was forming on the handlebar mustache of a runner named Stash O’Halloran and Chad the lifeguard probably wished his costume had a shirt or pants. Even The Horrorsaurus Rex was visibly shivering by the time the last note faded.

The wind was driving more than snowflakes and freezing air. Every gust that came off the lake traveled beneath the massive stage and blew a musky odor across the starting line that reminded Jerry of livestock. It was repugnant and he turned his back to the wind to avoid the smell as much as the cold.

Like the lifeguard, Lance Fury was also shirtless and showing off the tattoo that was going to make him a big star. Jerry had only briefly seen it on the train and hadn’t paid much attention to it. Now, he could see that the work was poorly done. Not just aesthetically, but also hygienically, as parts of it were clearly infected. Once the race was over, he’d suggest the young man get it looked at.

Lance spotted him and made his way through the field of runners, greeting everyone and having a dozen small conversations, even if the other person wasn’t involved. After wishing Chef Rusty good luck, he finally reached Jerry.

“Good morning, Mr. The Librarian!”

“Lance, shouldn’t you be wearing a shirt?”

“No. I should, but it was part of the deal when I got signed. I showed them the star, and they said they loved it, but it was no good if people couldn’t see it, so I’d have to race without a shirt so everyone could see it. It’s okay though because once I get moving and really get the blood flowing, I figure I’ll warm up so much that I wouldn’t want a shirt anyway.” He rubbed his arms and stomped his feet. “It is a little cold though.”

“It is cold,” agreed Jerry.

“Great band, right? You don’t see a lot of live music anymore. I mean there was this one guy that came through our camp one time and he had an accordion and he played for food. And we were listening because we hadn’t heard any music in a while. And it was okay, for an accordion. But then people got into it and they started thinking of music they really wanted to hear that they hadn’t heard in a long time so they started shouting all these old songs they knew. Things we hadn’t heard since before The Crappening because we all threw away our CDs and went digital and if we’d known then what we knew now, we wouldn’t have done that, right? But everyone started shouting out ‘play this song’ or ‘play that song.’ It was a pretty great time.”

“He was that good of an accordion player?”

“Oh no, he didn’t do requests. Actually, he only knew one song and it was really bad. But the part I was telling you about where everyone was yelling songs they remembered…that was fun for all of us.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, good times. Anyway, I wanted to wish you good luck today. I still want to win but I thought if I wasn’t here, who would I want to win and that’s you, because I’ve kind of always looked up to you. And then I thought, but I need the luck for myself because I really want to win as well so I can get my kid’s program on the air. Then I thought, that’s really selfish. So, here I am to say good luck,” Lance said and stuck out a hand.

Jerry shook it. “Good luck to you too, Lance Fury.”

“Yeah, good luck. Though you probably don’t need it, right? I mean, you’ve always been pretty awesome and you’ve probably done this kind of thing lots of times, right?”

“I’m not sure this kind of thing has been a thing before.”

“Sure, it’s kind of like those bad ass obstacle courses from before. I always wanted to enter one of those big mud ones but my mom was all like, you’ll get grass stains on your pants. She really hated grass stains. But you probably ran them all the time.”

“No but I did walk on the curb as a kid and pretended it was a tightrope.”

“There you go, see, that’s why you’re so smart. You can take an unrelated experience and use it to your advantage. That’s ingenuity, right there.”

“Yeah, but I can’t see how my mad curb walking skills are going to help me here.”

“Good morning, fellow contestants.” Caine appeared out of the crowd and joined the two men. He quickly realized he was standing within striking distance of Jerry’s fist and backed up a step to put Lance between the two of them. “This reminds me of those Tough Mother races I used to run before the Crappening. I had a whole wall full of medals.”

“Did you say tough mudder or tough mother?” asked Lance.

Caine looked at Jerry for help. “Mudder?”

“Oh,” Lance said. “Because what you said sounded like Tough Mother.”

“It did sound like that,” agreed Jerry.

“Yeah, it did,” continued Lance. “Which would lead one to believe that you ran a different version of the race that was intended just for Mommies.”

“Mommies and their families!” Caine said defiantly.

“Can they hear me?” Sister Oblivion’s question was followed by a squelch of feedback over several loudspeakers that surrounded the runners’ paddock. Her face was everywhere as well. Monitors were placed all over the museum grounds so everyone could watch the show’s broadcast.

“Welcome, everyone to The Omega Run!” Sister Oblivion shouted once she had been assured they would hear her. “I want to extend a particular thank you to the spectators that have braved the cold this morning to see our amazing contestants start their race.”

The crowd cheered. They had been lined up behind barricades for the last two hours, waiting for this moment.

“And thank you to you beautiful runners. Without you, this show would be pretty damn boring. And thank you to Harmegeddon for being here and coming all the way from wherever you were last to open today’s festivities. I told you; this show draws the biggest stars. And that includes you, my wonderful players. Well, some of you. Some of you will become breakout stars. The others will just break. Now the broadcast is about to begin and our amazing announcer will take over. I want to see big smiles and lots of energy from everyone. Here we go! Three. Two. One.”

Sister Oblivion’s face disappeared from the monitors and was replaced by an Omega Run montage of runners and aerial shots of The Cleave.

Paul Sterling’s booming voice replaced Oblivion’s over the speakers. “Good morning viewers! Coming to you live from The Cleave, the new entertainment capital of the world, comes the greatest game show of all time. Filled with action, suspense and thrills for the whole family, this is The Omega Run!”

The montage faded out and The Omega Run logo filled the screen. The show’s theme song played over the loudspeaker and Jerry could not shake the image of a burning map.

“Isn’t that the music from Bonanza?” Asked Caine.

“The aim of the game is simple,” Paul continued as the song ended. “The race is run in several stages and contestants are awarded points for their place at the finish line of every stage. But there are other ways to earn points. At the discretion of our judges, points will be awarded for performing acts of sportsmanship, feats of athleticism, creating all-star moments for our viewing audience, and more. The contestant with the most points at the end of the race wins. As far as the rules go…there are only two; no guns and everybody runs! May the best runner win.

“Now, live from the wasteland, here’s your host, your director of destruction, the creator of chaos, producer of pandemonium, Sister Oblivion!”

The cameras cut to a full shot of Sister Oblivion sitting in her producer’s throne, an impressive seat surrounded by monitors and control equipment. It was like mission control and the national seat of power rolled into one. Her dress was gold with leather accessories and had twice as much fabric as seemed necessary. “Thank you, Paul, for that wonderful introduction. Welcome everyone to The Omega Run. The greatest program in the world. Thank you, everyone, for tuning in. We have a very special show for you today. As usual, twenty runners are ready to race for your entertainment! But we have a couple of very special guests today.”

The camera swept over the runners’ paddock, finally coming to rest on Caine and Jerry.

“There they are! Today, we have not one but two people claiming to be the legendary Librarian of the wasteland. Today they’ll go head-to-head in an attempt to claim the title once and for all.”

Caine pointed to one of the cameras and waved. “That’s the live camera,” he said to Jerry.

Jerry leaned over to see where he was pointing. “Which one?”

Caine leaned in closer to Jerry and pointed to the camera again.

Jerry punched him in the face to the amusement of the crowd.

Caine spit blood on the ground and walked off, holding his nose.

“They’re going to be great, ladies and gentlemen!” Sister Oblivion said as the screen cut to an overhead view of their location at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. “As you all know, the first stage of the game will take place at our historic courthouse down the street. But there’s no reason to drag our feet getting there, is there? We want to see you hustling out there, so we brought a little motivation in from Montana.”

The vinyl skirt behind Jerry dropped revealing the face of a mutant buffalo inches from his own. The creature was behind a paddock door but was staring right at him. It snorted and a cloud of anger formed from its nostrils.

“That’s not good,” he said to himself.

“Damn!” Lance jumped back as the beast snorted out two nostrils full of steam. “What’s wrong with that cow?”

Sister Oblivion “All the way from the Wild Western wasteland where buffalo roam and the antelope glow…”

“War bison,” said Jerry and started backing away from the stage.

“War bison!” Shouted Sister Oblivion.

“What the hell are war bison?” Lance said, chasing after the Librarian.

“On your mark!”

“What are war bison, Librarian?” Lance asked again.

“Get set!”

The bolts of the paddock door released.

“One, Two, Three, Four!” Cord shouted from behind the drum kit as the ground rumbled beneath the stage.

“Go!”

An airhorn sounded and the gates holding back the war bison crashed open as Harmegeddon began their next song.

“You’d better run!” Galen wailed into the microphone.

The contestants were already running. The course creators had laid out a clear path with steel barricades that lead straight from the stage and into the city.

“You’d better flee!” the vocalist continued.

The war bison charged out from beneath the stage. The fur covered beasts had four to five horns and were slightly bigger than their pre-apocalyptic cousins. Alone or in herds, the bison itself was a formidable threat. But the war bison was even worse; they were covered in leather armor studded with metal spikes and ridden by the mysterious Riders of the Purple Rage, faceless warriors who dominated vast stretches of the Western Wasteland.

“Get away or you’ll be down on your knees,” Galen shrieked “Gasping for breath, trampled beneath stampeding death.”

Snow crunched beneath his feet as Jerry raced past the Horrorsaurus Rex. The dino was moving surprisingly fast inside the inflatable costume. He passed by the Channel 5’s weatherman and Chad the Lifeguard who seemed relieved to be moving toward somewhere indoors. Lance Fury was keeping up with him.

“Hailing from the wilds of Montana, the war bison come to us from our friends at our western affiliate station,” Paul read over the speakers. “Not accounting for the armor, these beasts average twenty-five-hundred pounds and have been used since the end of time to keep the Western plains safe from lawlessness. The Rider of the Purple Rage use a modified ten-foot cattle prod to control their mounts and are renowned for their fearlessness in battle.”

Jerry could feel one of the animals bearing down on him and broke right just as the war bison dashed forward. The Librarian bounced off the war bison’s flank, stumbled right and crashed into the course barrier.

Unconcerned, the buffalo rider moved on to chase down another contestant that was still on his feet.

Savage Havoc jingled when he ran. His punk persona included countless piercings and a wardrobe that consisted of many heavy chains that were probably doing more to slow him down than he’d planned.

The war bison caught him square in the back and knocked him flat to the ground. He barely had time to scream before the massive hooves of the beast crashed down on him, ending his run permanently.

Jerry jumped back to his feet and started running again. Getting traction was difficult as the surface beneath the snow was almost pure ice.

One of the war bison discovered this about the same time he did and started scrambling on the slick surface, trying to find its footing before it toppled over and spilled its rider into the street. The bison continued to slide and took a couple of contestants off their feet and sent them sliding in different directions. It couldn’t have felt good, but if you had to get hit by a buffalo, that was the way to do it.

Jerry spotted Caine running past him and it was enough to get his head back in the race. He found purchase in his footing and raced to catch up.

Lance hadn’t made it far on his own and the Librarian soon caught up to him.

“You ever seen these things before?” Lance asked through heaving breaths.

“I have.”

“So, how do you deal with them?”

“You run.”

Santa screamed as he flew over their heads and landed with a bone cracking snap on his shoulder. The not so jolly elf slid on his face for a few feet before stopping.

Lance pointed to him as he stumbled to his feet. “We need to help Santa!”

A war bison arrived a moment later and dropped its head as it plowed into the staggering Christmas icon. Santa took flight again, this time over the race barrier and into the crowd.

“Never mind,” said Lance.

Galen’s voice rang out once more as Harmegeddon hit the second verse. “Dust clouds rise. Choking out light. You’re in a race for the fight of your life.”

Just ahead, Caine got tangled up in a small cluster of runners that had hit a patch of ice. Purriosa, the sexy wasteland kitty cat, went down and swept out the legs of several other runners as she slid down the road.

Caine was struggling to get back to his feet and was more than happy to use the other contestants to get himself off the ground. He grabbed the wizard’s beard and pulled himself up. This caused the wizard to scream and he launched a flash paper fire ball at Caine in return.

“The ground shakes, the earth quakes. Your lungs ache, don’t touch those brakes.”

Caine was barely back on his feet when several members of the crowd reached out over the steel barricade and dragged him into the audience. For a moment, Jerry thought he’d caught a break. Maybe the crowd was on his side instead of the impostor’s and they were taking matters into their own hands. The hope quickly faded as he recognized one of the men that grabbed Caine was one of the Remnant soldiers they had seen in the viewing suite the day before.

Once they had dragged him over the rail, a small contingent of men helped Caine to his feet and rushed him through the crowd toward the first stop in the race.

“Hey!” Lance looked around for an official. “That’s cheating.”

Jerry nodded. “You can expect that from him.”

A war bison crashed into the barricade in an attempt to crush Chad the Lifeguard. Whether he dodged out of the way or shivered clear at the last second was immaterial; he avoided being crushed between the barrier and the four horns. Relieved, he raised his arms in victory. The bison rider tagged him in the armpit with the electric cattle prod and sent him to the ground, quivering.

“Stampeding death, no time to pray! Hooves pound the ground in a deadly ballet!” The band was only a dot on the stage behind them now, but the song chased them as they ran.

Jerry finally hit a solid patch of ground and made use of the traction to get some distance from the other runners. Even Lance fell behind. He had no obligation to his fellow racer and he should be focused on winning above all else but his curiosity got the best of him and he turned to see what had happened to the kind hearted competitor.

Lance was still running, but it was obvious that cardio had not been a substantial part of his pre-race training regimen. His arms and legs moved like he was running, but his pace was falling somewhere below a jog.

Lance saw Jerry looking at him and gave a weak wave. “It’s okay. I’m just getting my second—”

A war bison flattened him.

“Bones will break, blood will be shed. You’ll find no mercy in this sea of dreams! Stampeding death!”

Lance was trampled beneath the bison as it raced over him.

The Librarian stopped and turned.

Lance got back to his feet. “I think I’m okay.”

A second bison charged out of nowhere and sent Lance Fury into the air, over the barricade and into an unsuspecting crowd.

The Rider of the Purple Rage turned the mount’s attention to Jerry.

He had faced these warriors before. They wore as much armor as their mounts and hid their faces behind horrid masks made of leather and cloth. They were fiercely protective of their identities and were feared warriors. Even the Train Lords respected their fighting prowess.

The rider held the electric prod out like a lance and charged.

Jerry would like to say that he’d stood his ground. But panicking often looked like standing your ground. The truth was, there was nowhere to run, so he locked up and tried to stare down the buffalo.

By the time the war bison won the game of chicken, it was too late to run anywhere. The best he could do was sidestep the tank of an animal. He dodged to the rider’s right and grabbed the prod’s shaft. He directed the weapon’s tip into the ground and let the momentum take over. The rider merely grunted as the electric prod turned into a vaulter’s pole and carried him into the air.

When the riderless bison turned back on him, Jerry had the prod under his control. One jolt was enough to turn the buffalo away.

He studied the field behind him and saw a course filled with broken and bloodied contestants. Many were still on their feet, but their immediate concern wasn’t running the course as much as it was running away. Several had scrambled up the barricades, attempting to escape the stampede. The riders laughed as they shocked them from the fence and watched them fall to the snow-covered ground.

It was chaos behind him and he had faced the war bison before. Experience had taught him that all you could do was run. He dropped the livestock prod and ran down ninth street toward the courthouse and was relieved to find that the bridge over the rail lines had collapsed. This forced him to make his way downhill to the railroad bed and back up the other side. But he knew that he could climb better than a war bison and felt the threat of being trampled or gored was finally behind him.

Other runners kept pace with him through the bed of railroad tracks, but more of them faded on the other side of the hill. There were only a few contestants within sight when he climbed the steps to what had been the Cuyahoga County Courthouse.

A new name had been spray painted across the northern face of the building declaring it to be The Omega Run Hall of Justice.

Jerry pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside.

When the door shut behind him, the music finally stopped.

“It’s about time,” Caine said.

6

Eve and the dogs were back in the observation deck in Terminal Tower where they had first met with Sister Oblivion. The room had been set up as a VIP suite for guests of The Omega Run. It was filled with comfortable seating, bountiful spreads of food and, at the center of it all, Sister Oblivion’s command center. She sat on her broadcast throne, surrounded by TV monitors and sycophants constantly buzzing in her ear.

“The buffalo were an inspired idea, Sister Oblivion,” said a PA that was holding up a tray of drinks.

“They worked out beautifully, didn’t they?” She took a glass of wine and took a sip. “Way better than those armed Shriners. Go-karts are fun, but they don’t have the same get along as horny three-ton cows.”

Eve studied a map of the course that hung on the wall. There were multiple stages in every Omega Run, but not every episode of the show used the same stages. She was looking at the stages selected for today’s episode, beginning with the Hall of Justice.

“There she is!” Oblivion squealed as she spotted Eve. “Someone get that woman a drink. Did you see how her Librarian threw that rider from his bison? That deserves a cocktail.”

Before she knew what happened, Eve had a drink in her hand and a small lineup of people waiting to meet her.

Sister Oblivion waded through the crowd and started making introductions. She pulled one man from the crowd. He was dressed in a black suit and shirt with a black cloak tied around his neck. “Eve, dear, this is the Amazing Gunderson. He is going to be a big star. We’re launching his program in a few weeks. It’s a magic show and it’s magical. You should see the things he does. It’s amazing. Won’t you tell us how you did that trick where you cut that mutant woman in half?”

“I really cut her in half,” the Amazing Gunderson said.

“It was amazing. I don’t know how he does it. In fact, the only thing not amazing about The Amazing Gunderson, is his name.”

“I told you I’m not changing it, Oblivion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make some more of that whiskey disappear.”

Sister Oblivion shouted after him, “You know I’m right about the name, Ernie!”

Eve tried to step away but almost collided with a woman who looked like she’d just stepped out of wardrobe. She stuck out a hand and introduced herself. “I’m Cindy Collins.”

Eve took the hand. “I know you. You were on TV before. On that design show.”

“Heavenly Havens,” Cindy said excitedly. “Were you a fan?”

“I mean, it was on, right? Sure, why not?”

“Cindy is working on a new program for us here at Cleave TV,” Sister Oblivion said. “It’s a whole new look at interior design for the modern survivor.”

“It’s called Wasteland Havens. By using found items and simple design principles, we’re going to help viewers take their homes from rubble to radiant. From ashes to aesthetic. From a total mess to a masterpiece.”

“That sounds great,” Eve said.

“I really want to focus on upcycling. My whole philosophy is just because the world is a wasteland, doesn’t mean we should be wasteful.”

“Of course.”

“What kind of show are you going to do?” asked Cindy.

“Who, me?”

“Of course, you.” Sister Oblivion was all smiles. “You, the dogs, and our friend the Librarian of course. I have a feeling by the time the race is over today, we’re going to have a real breakout star on our hands.”

“Sister Oblivion,” one of the PAs said. “You’re needed back in the control room.”

“Of course,” Sister Oblivion dismissed the PA. “Think about it, dear. Why make one silly little broadcast when you could change lives every week?”

Once Sister Oblivion stepped away, Cindy ran out of things to say and the conversation fell apart.

“Tell me, Cindy.” Eve stepped aside so the woman could see the map. “I’ve noticed almost all the stages happen on this side of the river. Do you know why that is?”

Cindy took a sip from her own drink. “Mostly because of the vampires, I assume.”

“Vampires? Like real vampires?”

Cindy shrugged. “Real as far as it matters. They only come out at night. They drain the blood from their victims and if you drive a stake through their hearts, they die. So even if they aren’t vampires, they’re playing the part. The Cleave controls everything this side of the Cuyahoga and west of 90, so the race mostly happens here.”

“You’re getting a show. Did you win an episode?”

“Hardly. True talent doesn’t have to run.” Cindy upended her glass and emptied its contents into her mouth. “Oh, look at that. It looks like I need a refill.”

Eve looked back at the board. The Bats was the only segment that lay across the river and it was a segment included in that episode of the show. Eve wondered what was really there. The weapons unleashed at the end of the world had created all kinds of real horrors. Mutants and monsters were everywhere. But the odds of them creating a monster right out of folklore were pretty slim.

She felt a tugging at her pant leg and looked down to see Fidget trying to get her attention. Eve bent down to pet the Beagle so she could speak quietly. It was best if no one knew the dog could speak. There was no telling how they would react or what they would do. There was also the risk they wouldn’t care at all, and that meant Fidget could talk all day. And that dog really would talk all day.

“What is it, Fidget?”

“Do you see that guy over by the table that smells like cheese?” Fidget asked.

Eve looked and saw Colonel Briggs watching her. “I see someone but I don’t know what they smell like, remember?”

“Right. Well, I don’t like that guy,” Fidget said. “He smells like that time I ate a whole pizza and then found out that it was just a picture of a pizza.”

The Remnant officer looked up and saw that she was watching him. He smiled in what was probably an attempt to be charming but the grin triggered every warning bell in Eve’s body.

“I don’t like him either,” Eve said.

“Do you want me to bite him?” Fidget asked. His tail started wagging at the idea.

“No.”

“Do you want me to pee on him?”

Colonel Briggs began making his way across the room.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Okay. I’m going to go drink some water just in case.”

The colonel arrived and Eve had to admit that he did smell a little like pizza that wasn’t really pizza. It was a stale smell, not unlike cardboard, and must have come from spending years beneath the surface plotting to overthrow the weak and defenseless.

“You know, when we were underground, we had an entire group of science fiction writers dreaming up scenarios of what the new world might look like. The team called themselves Delphinians. I called them the Nerd Squad. Their job was to sit around, play make believe and think about what we might find when the doors opened up. I don’t believe any of them imagined anything like this.”

“I’m afraid I never heard about that project. I just heard about your monster lab full of mad scientists.”

“I don’t agree with everything we do, miss.” Briggs smiled and picked an hors d'oeuvres off a passing tray. “But I can assure you that we have the people’s best interest at heart.”

“Oh, I believe you. I remember thinking the whole time your people were shooting at us, ‘This is probably for our own good.’”

“Not all of us are so quick to shoot,” Briggs said. “I don’t agree with how you’ve been treated. We’re not all the same.”

“I see you’re playing ‘good cop.’ Are you okay with letting people determine their own fate?”

“Of course, we are. We’re not looking to control anyone. We’re just trying to restore order so we can all move forward together. But we have to be pragmatic. Reestablishing a free and safe nation will require a period of despotism.”

“Oh, really?” Eve crossed her arms and cocked her head. “How long a period do you figure, Mr. Marx?”

“Our best estimate is several years.” Briggs swirled the drink in his hand and studied the liquid as it sloshed about. “No longer than a generation or two.”

“Oh, just a generation or two?” Eve looked to see if Fidget was ready to do some peeing. “Well, that’s reasonable.”

“My counterpart was wrong about shooting at you and your friends. But he wasn’t wrong about what you all could bring to the effort to restore order. Your involvement could save time, lives, and resources.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I’m not going to pretend that your influence is not considerable. If you and the Librarian would be willing to talk, the transition time could be reduced dramatically. Think of the lives you could save.” He dropped the smile. “Starting with your own.”

“There it is,” Eve said. “You were starting to disappoint me, Colonel. We’d been talking for almost three minutes and not one thinly veiled threat from the transitory despot.”

“Hardly. No matter how much you choose to deny it, you’re the antagonists here. You’re the ones that chose to draw a line and stand on the opposing side.”

“Your side has monsters.”

Briggs’ smile returned. “All sides have monsters.”

Eve smiled back. “Put your leg down, Fidget.”

Briggs looked down to see the Beagle standing by his shoe with its leg raised.

Fidget complied with Eve’s command, but whimpered as he lowered his leg and walked away.

“Well, would you look at this, Colonel,” Sister Oblivion called from the producer’s throne. She turned a monitor around to display a replay from a portion of the race. In the footage, Caine was being pulled over the barricade and rushed through the crowd to the courthouse. “It appears your Librarian has cheated. So early in the race, too.”

“You said there were no rules, Oblivion,” Briggs stated coldly, unfazed by the accusation. “If you’re changing—”

“Oh, don’t get your camouflaged panties in a bunch, Colonel dear,” Sister Oblivion laughed. “I’m not upset. Cheating enrages the virtuous and those little do-gooders will hate-watch every minute of my show in the hopes that the transgressors get their comeuppance. And congratulations are in order. It worked. Your Librarian arrived at the courthouse first.”

“Good to hear.”

“But he gets no points, so…” Sister Oblivion balled up her hands and held them under her eyes. “Sadness.”

“But Caine was there first! You’d better not be changing the game, Oblivion.”

“First off, Colonel, I do what I want. Secondly, this wasn’t the first stage. We explained that. It was just getting to the first stage. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll give him a bonus point for creative navigation.

“Mr. Announcer, if you’d please.”

Paul Sterling stood in a sound booth in the corner of the room drinking room temperature water. He nodded to Sister Oblivion and spoke into the microphone positioned in front of him. “Driven by thunderous hooves and the beat of the fabulous Harmegeddon, our contestants have arrived at the first stage for this episode of The Omega Run. While points are not awarded for finishing a transitory stage, Sister Oblivion has graciously given out several bonus points.

“For Best Distance, five points will be awarded to Santa Claus for flying twenty feet by way of war bison. Santa comes to us from the town of New Hope Gorge. He leaves by way of war bison and will not be finishing the run tonight as his landing was quite fatal.

“Savage Havoc has also been awarded five points in the most trampled category. Mr. Havoc comes to us from a small settlement out east with the hopes of starting a music-based program to celebrate the new sounds of the wasteland. It looks like those plans will have to be put on hold as he was crushed to death.

“The Riders of the Purple Rage are being awarded a collective fifteen points for trampling the most people with war bison and let me tell you people, the competition in that category wasn’t even close.

“And finally, Librarian Number Two has been awarded a point for creative navigation. By making his own path he has found a way to skip the line and save some time.”

Briggs stiffened. “Why is Caine Librarian Number Two?”

“One of them had to be,” said Sister Oblivion. “Otherwise, it would have gotten confusing for the audience.”

Paul continued with his announcement. “Our contestants are now arriving at the first stage of today’s Omega Run, where they will face judgement. Welcome runners to the Hall of Justice.”

Sister Oblivion jumped up and down in her chair. “People love a good courtroom drama.”

“And remember, in The Omega Run Courtroom,” Paul concluded his speech. “Everyone is guilty of something.”

7

The interior of the Halls of Justice was cold and harsh. Marble floors and stone pillars radiated the cold and bounced sound around the cavernous lobby and barreled ceiling with little regard for burgeoning headaches. The ceiling rose two stories with the second floor overlooking the first from several balconies. It looked like courthouses looked in movies and TV and nothing like they had in real life. It was a space that demanded reverence and whispers. The interior looked almost flawless except for a cracked depression in the middle of the marble floor.

Jerry and Caine weren’t alone for long before the other contestants filed in through the doors, and the seething silence was soon replaced with the panting of tired runners and the banter of newborn compatriots who had been through something together. The runners cheered their victory and joked about near-death experiences at the horns of the bison.

“I’ve never seen a cow that angry,” said Chris P. Bacon after removing the plastic pig nose so he could better catch his breath.

“That wasn’t a cow, moron,” Chef Rusty said. “They were bulls. Cows don’t have horns.”

The runners found places near the walls and sat to catch their breath while waiting for the rest of the racers to arrive.

The last one to enter was Lance Fury. He limped through the door, holding onto his left side.

“You made it.” Jerry met him at the door and helped him find a spot on the wall to rest against. “I saw you go flying. I thought you were done.”

Lance leaned back and then stood back up with a yelp.

“What is it?” Jerry asked.

“That wall is really cold,” Lance said and slid to the ground to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry you’re cold, but at least you’re here. I really thought you were dead.”

“Yeah, me too. As I was flying through the air, I figured I was a goner for sure. And you know how they say your life flashes before your eyes. It does, and it was going through even the most embarrassing bits like when I called my teacher Mom and all the kids laughed, and it kind of made me cringe. But then I landed on a bunch of people, so I started feeling really bad about that instead. And they were pretty mad, but, for the most part, everyone was okay, so I started running again. And I think I got faster because I was running to get here but also to get away from the angry mob at the same time, so I was like double running.”

Jerry looked at his hands. They were covered in blood. He looked at Lance’s side. “You appear to be bleeding an awful lot.”

“Oh yeah,” Lance said. “That’s probably from all the goring.”

“Seriously, man. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I mean, it hurts, but after the buffalo hit me, he kind of got bored and moved on. They’re kind of like dogs. Bigger. Meaner. And I’ve never been gored by a dog before.”

Jerry held up his hands to show Lance the blood. “This doesn’t look good.”

“No, I think it’s okay because when it happened it was really painful but now it’s just kind of warm and numb. I think that means it’s getting better. I just need some time to rest.”

A sudden brightness filled the room as hidden studio floods popped on and bathed the Hall of Justice’s interior with light. With the lights on, the runners could see the active cameras placed at different angles around the room. The first true stage of The Omega Run was about to begin.

A woman in white appeared above on the second-story balcony. She walked slowly to the railing as the contestants moved to the center of the room.

Jerry helped Lance stand up and together they joined the crowd.

The woman was dressed in a flowing robe and held a set of scales in her outstretched hand. The other hand held a sword and a white muslin cloth stretched across her eyes. This was Lady Justice. Traditionally meant to symbolize the law’s blindness to wealth, power or status. Jerry could see that a couple of slits had been cut to let the woman see clearly the people she condemned.

Once the contestants had gathered in the middle of the lobby, she spoke. “The new world has brought a new demand for justice. The harsh realities of the wasteland have created new depravities, new sins and new crimes. While some crimes can be expected and even excused in a quest for survival, there is still no shortage of evil. There is a new standard in the Hall of Justice; guilty until proven innocent. Here in this courthouse, you will all be judged before the new law. All rise for Judge Whomper.”

There was a crashing sound above them as heavy footsteps shook the courthouse. And a black shadow leapt from the balcony and soared into the air above them, a mass of black cloth trailing the shape like the folds of death’s cloak caught in the wind.

The crowd fell over one another trying to get out of the shadow’s path and had barely cleared out of the way when the figure came crashing down in the center of the floor and landed on the cracked marble with its back to the crowd.

There was silence in the court.

The figure rose up to its full height and set the head of a massive mallet on the ground with a thud.

“What is that?” asked Brock Rampage.

Jerry answered. “A Hot Springs troll.”

“Why do they call it that?” This question came from Ju Jitsu Johnny, the bearded man in the Hawaiian shirt that Jerry had met only briefly at the cast party. He had introduced himself and asked Jerry if he wanted to wrestle. When Jerry had declined, the man smiled and moved on to the next guest.

“Because it’s a troll from Hot Springs.”

Lance shook his head. “See I could never name things like that, I’m just not that clever.”

The creature turned to judge the contestants. It stood seven feet tall and wore a black judge’s robe over a broad bare chest. The beast was pure muscle and held in its grip a giant cudgel shaped like an oversized gavel. Judge Whomper raised the war gavel above his head.

“Prepare to be judged,” said Lady Justice as she stepped back into the shadows and disappeared.

“So how do you think this works?” Lance asked. “Do we need to be sworn in or—”

Judge Whomper cleared part of the crowd with a swing of his arm, took three giant steps forward and swung the war gavel.

The head of the club caught Lance in the chest and knocked him off his feet, over the balcony, and sent him somewhere into the shadows of the second floor.

“Abracadamn!” shouted the wizard.

“Aargh!” agreed the pirate.

“Stash O’Halloran says, run!” screamed the man with the ridiculous mustache named Stash O’Halloran.

Everyone did their best to scatter. There was no clear path laid out for them. It was just the lobby with a dozen closed doors and an angry troll. The crowd ran in every direction, looking for a way out of the Judge’s courthouse.

The troll roared as it raced around the atrium, smacking contestants and judging any defendant he could get his hands on. Screams bounced off the marble walls as panic set in.

Chef Rusty had entered The Omega Run with hopes of winning his own cooking show. Now all he wanted was a way out. He raced to one of the doors and opened it, only to discover that it wasn’t an exit. A bricked in doorway sealed the path. By the time he turned to run, the judge had him cornered.

Judge Whomper laughed as panic crossed the Chef’s face. The troll reached out with a giant hand to seize the man. It screamed and pulled its hand back quickly to see a streak of blood running across the palm.

Chef Rusty was scared, but he was armed. The Omega Run forbid contestants from carrying guns, but the themed runners were allowed to carry props and the chef still had his butcher knives. He drew the blades from his belt and made a stand.

Judge Whomper’s rage reverberated off the lobby walls as he raised his war gavel and ended Chef Rusty’s culinary dreams once and for all.

The disembodied voice of Lady Justice gave them hope and her voice returned. It was more ethereal this time, emanating from unseen speakers instead of the woman herself. “Like the choices we make. Some doors lead to doom while others lead to freedom. Find your way free before justice finds you.”

The contestants raced to the remaining doors and started trying the handles. Black Dragon, the off-brand ninja, opened a red door only to reveal a man in an officer’s uniform. He charged out of the door wielding a collapsible baton and the two squared off as the ninja tried to get around the blocker.

While they were occupied, Channel 5’s Chip Bennet made a break for the open door only to be tased by a second officer coming to join the fight.

“Beware of the bailiffs,” Lady Justice warned from the darkness. “They will not tolerate disorder in the courthouse.”

Jerry made it to a door and opened it, ready to face whatever may emerge. Like the first door, he found only a brick wall.

Too slow to dodge the Judge’s attack, the tuxedoed contestant that fancied himself a suave and dashing super spy found himself being curled like a dumbbell by the massive troll. After about the third rep, Judge Whomper held the runner up over his head for everyone to see and growled, “Bail denied!”

The troll hurled the tuxedo-clad contestant through the air and smiled as he crashed against the wall and fell to the floor, motionless.

The Librarian did his best to ignore the terror that was in the room with him and tried another door. This one wouldn’t budge.

“Objection overruled!” Whomper growled over the fallen body of the spy.

Even though he doubted this troll had a sheepskin or even a cursory understanding of the law, he was impressed by the Judge’s vocabulary. Most trolls he had encountered had a limited vernacular and not one he had encountered knew a thing about legal proceedings.

Jerry raced toward another door and another possible way out.

“Ha! Beat you!” Caine had arrived a moment before him and grabbed the handle first. The impostor librarian yanked the door open and went stiff as a board.

The bailiff on the other side had fired the taser as soon as the door opened and the twin barbs shot through the air and stuck in Caine’s skin before unleashing the voltage.

Caine locked up and shook all the way to the ground.

“Damn, that is satisfying.” Jerry watched Caine convulse on the ground as the taser did its work.

The bailiff dropped the empty taser and turned his attention to Jerry. He drew a telescoping baton and snapped it open. The steel segments shot out and locked in place to form a fairly sturdy metal stick.

Jerry ducked as the bailiff swung at his head. It was close; the baton glanced off the top of his skull and caught a few hairs in one of the weapons joints.

The bailiff followed the blow with a low backhanded swing.

The Librarian fell backwards to the ground and let the strike pass over him once again. From his back, he shot out a heel that connected with the bailiff’s knee. The uniformed guard twisted as his knee collapsed beneath him. Jerry struck out with the other leg and clocked the guard in the jaw.

The blow may not have been hard enough to knock the bailiff out, but the man wanted nothing more than to drag himself away to recover.

Jerry got back to his feet, stepped over the still twitching actor and grabbed the dropped baton as he dashed through the door.

8

The camera stayed on Caine’s twerking body as Jerry disappeared through the doorway.

Eve was enjoying the impostor’s situation more than she probably should have, but she knew Caine too well to not get a little smile out of his suffering.

Colonel Briggs, however, was not the least bit amused, and he ground his teeth as he watched the action in the courthouse unfold.

“Is that one of your creations, Colonel?” Eve asked as the troll continued to wreak havoc on the screen.

Briggs didn’t care for the question or its implications. “We’ve created nothing, Miss Evelyn. We only seed to understand the new world we find ourselves in. Monsters are a part of it and if we are to protect people, we must have a thorough understanding of every potential threat.”

Sister Oblivion appeared between the two of them and put a hand on their backs. “Isn’t this wonderful? Everyone is making new friends. You know, a lot of people say it was OJ that made watching courtroom dramas so popular. And while it’s true, his trial launched the 24-hour news cycle, the viewing public’s fascination with legal TV shows had been around long before that.”

It was obvious that Colonel Briggs was not the least bit interested in the topic, but he stood next to the show’s producer and listened as she explained the genesis of The Omega Run’s legal stage.

“Judge Wapner, Perry Mason, Harry Stone, these were the pioneers who built the courtroom genre with drama and intrigued and paved the way for the latter-day greats like Judge Judy.

“There were a lot of theories about why the format endured for so long. Some said it was the slow building tension. Others said it was the last-minute reprieves and that sudden piece of evidence that vindicated the innocent and brought justice to the guilty.

“And all that is well and good, but I think it’s much simpler than that. I think we like to see people getting in trouble when it isn’t us. The judge is there to right every wrong that’s befallen us; to make sure the bully finally gets theirs. Mom finally picks the right kid to scold.”

“But why the troll?” asked Briggs.

“As you know, people respect power, but they also detest authority figures. It’s wired into our brains. We tried the stage with just Lady Justice and the bailiffs. It worked to some extent. But once we added the judge, the presence of authority really dialed up the emotion. The tension became more tense. The juris became more prudent. The mortis more rigorous.”

“And you’re sure it’s not just because you locked them in a room with a monster with a giant meat tenderizer?”

“I mean, one can never be sure,” Sister Oblivion said. “But that is one of my favorite parts of being a producer. Do I like everyone falling all over themselves to do my will? Of course. But it’s the idea part of the job that I really enjoy. Finding these little adds, these little tweaks, that take the show from good to great. Throwing a judge’s robe on a mean old troll is just one of those tweaks.”

“Wait a minute,” said one of the PAs. “You mean Judge Whomper isn’t a real judge?”

Sister Oblivion pat the PA on the head with a fair amount of sympathy. “Oh, it tries so hard.”

“But trolls are generally dumber than your average PA,” said Briggs. “How do you control it? Our attempts have been…discouraging.”

“Trying to control trolls?” Eve scoffed. “Sounds like more of that work you’re doing for the common good.”

“I control it the same way I control everyone else.” Sister Oblivion winked at Eve. “With the promise of fame. Everyone wants to be a star, Colonel. Even trolls.”

The colonel turned back to the screen and studied the troll. “I find it hard to believe that a monster like that cares about fame.”

“More flies with honey, colonel. Everyone wants to be loved.”

“Hrrmph.”

“Honestly, getting him to be a judge was easy. Getting him to wear a robe was something else. He thought it was a dress and kept getting upset.” Sister Oblivion broke into an impression of the beast. She used a low guff voice and rocked back and forth at the shoulders. “Troll not girl. Troll not girl.”

Sister Oblivion was taken by her own impression and enjoyed a lengthy laugh before adding, “He’s really taken to it though. And he just loves being a star. And also hitting things with his club.”

“Sister Oblivion,” one of the PAs called from the production throne. “The director has a question for you.”

“Excuse me, dears,” Sister Oblivion said as she twirled away from the pair. “It’s time to get back to our show.”

9

Jerry followed the dark passageway past boarded up doors and blocked corridors until he arrived at what must have been the end of the building’s outer wall. The chaos of the judge’s onslaught was behind him but still raging; he could hear screams and thuds as the Judge rained down terror with his war gavel.

The final door in the hallway wasn’t blocked; it was missing. The doorframe was unobstructed and led to a staircase. The lighting was poor, but Jerry could see cameras mounted along the path and assumed they were using night vision for the sequence. This had to be the way forward.

He climbed the stairs, casting glances at his feet in the dark, looking for traps. Between the judge and brick walls, the Hall of Justice was more madhouse than courthouse and he wouldn’t put it past Sister Oblivion to rig traps along their path. By the time he cleared the staircase, the noise from below was finally too distant to be heard.

Lady Justice’s voice, however, was clear as a bell and rang out through speakers hidden somewhere in the dark along his path.

“Everyone is guilty of something,” she whispered. Her voice was sweet and tender and filled with sympathy. Almost implying that being judged was good for you.

But guilt was a hard sell these days. It certainly wasn’t as popular as it had been before the end of polite society. Times had changed dramatically and morals had changed immediately. Guilt wasn’t something that was on a lot of people's minds as the occasions for it had become fewer and far between.

Even when people should have felt guilty, they found a way around it. A lot of the watering down of the emotion was done with the transformation of language. The end of the world saw a litany of new definitions. Looting became scavenging. Robbery was redefined as the redistribution of goods. And murder turned into preemptive self-defense.

Jerry worked his way down the hallway and was forced by a lack of options to follow a path to his left. Blocked corridors and sealed doors continued to lead him down a dark path while Lady Justice continued her lecture.

“Some philosophers believed that guilt was divorced from specific actions,” Lady Justice said. “They believed it was an existential experience tied to our relationship with ourselves and God.”

Jerry came to a fork in the hallway. The doorways on either side were open, providing him a choice forward. He went left and found himself in a dark courtroom.

“What will your guilt tell you?” Lady Justice asked.

The lights snapped on and the door slammed shut behind him with a distant metallic clang. It wasn’t a door but a steel panel. He wasn’t getting back through.

And he wasn’t alone.

“Hello officers,” the Librarian said.

Two men dressed as cops stood in the room waiting for him. Jerry recognized one of the men from the train ride into town. He had been in the crowd of applicants. He must have been one of the potential contestants the agents had passed over in their search for champions but taken him when recruiting for miscreants.

“I can’t believe they took you?” the officer sneered. “You’re nothing special?”

“I tried to tell them that,” Jerry said.

The failed contestant held up a stun gun and depressed the trigger. The electric arc jumped between the two metal studs with an aggressive clicking sound.

The second cop snapped open another extendable baton and wasn’t sure how to hold it. He gripped it like a baseball bat for a moment before he realized it was too short to wield with two hands.

“I’ll show them you’re nothing special,” said the one with the stun gun.

The officer with the baton turned on him. “Dude, that’s not our line. They gave us lines, remember.”

“I don’t care, I’m going to zap him.”

“Don’t screw this up for me!” He pointed the baton at Jerry. “You’re under arrest!”

The new guy raced across the room, eager to work out his frustrations on the Librarian and beat the other officer to Jerry’s fist by five seconds.

The cop with a chip on his shoulder had lunged forward with the stun gun set to full zap only to have the device knocked from his grip with a strike from the baton Jerry had taken from the first floor. If the blow from the metal stick didn’t fracture the man’s wrist, it certainly caused it to go numb. The stun gun fell from his grasp and he grabbed at the struck limb with his left hand.

Jerry came back with a left uppercut that sent the man stumbling back.

The second policeman had finally gotten a comfortable grip on his own baton and stepped in for an overhand.

The Librarian spun into the blow and locked his arm over his opponents, wrapping the baton around his wrist and hyperextending the man’s arm. He then threw an elbow with his left that sent the man reeling into the courtroom.

By the time the two men had recovered, Jerry had both batons and had kicked the stun gun into a dark corner of the room.

The two cops shared a determined look and attacked together.

Unfortunately for them, they were both new and hadn’t trained together. Their coordinated attack ended when the first one hesitated leaving only one target for Jerry to handle. He made three quick strikes with the batons and the man fell to the ground unconscious.

The other policeman was still upset that he hadn’t been chosen and put that energy into a tackle that took them both back against the wall. He drove a fist toward Jerry’s ribs, but the Librarian was able to drop his elbow to intercept the blow. He then speared his attacker in the base of the neck with the end of the baton and lowered him slowly to the ground.

With both cops motionless on the floor, another door opened at the far end of the room revealing the path forward.

Jerry approached the open door with caution and examined the hallway. It was dark but appeared to be empty, so he stepped through the door. Once again, the panel slammed closed behind him, shutting off any possibility of retreat. Forward was the only option.

He heard other similar mechanisms firing elsewhere on the floor. Oblivion must be toying with her contestants, opening and closing paths to direct contestants where she wanted them to go.

If it wasn’t for the voice of Lady Justice in his ear, he would have been alone.

“John Carroll argued that guilt drives culture, history, and character,” she said. “They say that guilt is what built the Western world. Is that why our rebuilding efforts are slow? When a populace no longer feels guilt are we no longer compelled to move forward? Will bringing back guilt spur us forward once more?”

Lady Justice was right about one thing; in the new world, everyone was guilty of something. You would be hard pressed to find someone who had not betrayed a part of who they had been to survive the harsh new reality imposed on the world. Even in his efforts to help people, Jerry had been forced to do many things that would have been considered unlawful before the end of the world. He had hurt people. Some in very spectacular ways; like throwing them off Niagara Falls. Maybe it was foolish for him to carry the guilt of those actions. They were justifiable. But he never took a life lightly and maybe he carried more guilt than he was ready to admit. But that didn’t mean the actions he took weren’t necessary.

“We do what we have to,” he said to Lady Justice, not knowing if she could hear him or if she was even truly speaking. It could be a recording for all he knew.

“Everyone is guilty,” was her only reply.

Jerry heard a door slide open in the dark somewhere behind him. Before he could find it, an arm reached out in the darkness and wrapped around his neck. The unseen attacker dragged him backwards into another room while he scrambled on his heels in an attempt to regain his footing.

He heard the door slam shut and the lights came on. This room was designed to look like a jail cell and was occupied by three sailors dressed in padded riot gear.

“This is your home now,” one of the jailers said and hit Jerry in the midsection with a club. The blow knocked the wind out of him and the person choking him allowed him to pitch forward and fall to his knees.

The one who hit him laughed and launched a kick at Jerry’s head.

Jerry shifted right and let the boot pass over him. He seized the leg with his left arm and held it fast. He brought the bailiff’s stun gun up in his right hand and zapped the jailer in the crotch.

The jailer squealed and collapsed. He rolled on the ground with his hand between his legs while the other two doubled over in hysterics.

Jerry held up the baton in a practiced stance and squared off against the remaining sailors. Each had a ballistic shield and solid club for breaking up mobs and limbs respectively.

One of the jailers was eager to get screen time and charged with his shield.

He collided with the Librarian and shoved him across the room.

The jailer was an actor however, and had only been trained to hold the shield cinematically, not effectively. One good twist of the shield took it out of the guard’s hands leaving him open to a quick series of strikes.

The jailor hadn’t been trained on how to use a baton either and it soon clattered to the floor.

Not long after the world ended, Jerry came across a book on eskrima, a stick fighting martial arts from the Philippines. Assuming he would always be able to find a stick, Jerry practiced the drills in the book daily. There was a quick clatter of his batons smacking against the guard’s helmet and armor before he forced an opening beneath the man’s chin and struck him across the throat. It wasn’t enough force to collapse his trachea, but it was enough to take the fight out of him.

The third jailor laughed and threw his shield down on the floor. He held his baton out in front of him and performed a quick flourish with the weapon to demonstrate he was no stranger to hitting things with sticks.

The attacks came in fast, and Jerry worked both sticks frantically to intercept the blows. Some of the strikes made it past his defenses and landed hard. Nothing was broken, but he would be badly bruised by morning. His opponent was good.

Jerry attacked again. This jailor was smart enough to keep his chin down and hide behind the helmet, so he focused his attack low, going for the man’s legs and knees. The steel batons were formidable weapons and mixed with Jerry’s practiced skill, the blows soon slowed the man and limited his mobility. He started stumbling around the room, chasing after Jerry, the weight of his armor now slowing him down.

The Librarian finally succeeded in knocking the club from the guard’s hand. The jailor held up his hands and sunk to his knees. He stayed there, making no effort to continue the attack.

The next door slid open at the back of the room, and Jerry was relieved to find that having an opponent yield was victory enough to continue on. He nodded to the guard and moved on to the hallway.

And another door opened that led to another hallway. Cops, Jailers. He saw where this was all going. He still had his court date, and there was little doubt in his mind that he would have to go before the judge at some point.

A soft spotlight turned on at the end of the corridor. Lady Justice stood in its beam. She raised her sword, and leveled its tip at Jerry.

“There is also guilt in inaction, as well,” said Lady Justice in her ghostly voice. “Voltaire stated that everyone is guilty of all the good they did not do.”

This was perhaps her truest statement. If any adage summed up the new world, it was damned if you do, damned if you don’t. How many had suffered for actions he had not taken or had hesitated to take? It would be easy to say it wasn’t always his responsibility to do harm to protect others. But as his reputation had grown, the responsibility fell to him more and more. He had run from it. He had hidden from it. But it always found him. So, he had decided to embrace it. Did that absolve him of guilt? You couldn’t blame an animal for its nature.

Jerry walked toward the light and Lady Justice only to have it suddenly disappear, leaving him alone and in the dark. He heard the sound of another metal door opening nearby and stood still in the silence listening for any sign of attack.

None came.

A light came on farther down the hall revealing the open doorway.

Jerry stepped into an empty courtroom and he was relieved to see there wasn’t a troll sitting behind the bench. As he had come to expect, the door slammed shut behind him and his foes revealed themselves.

Two bailiffs stood up from behind the bench.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a hostile witness, Bill.”

“Sure does, Terry.”

Bill leapt over the witness stand and charged across the room.

“Dammit, Bill.” Terry struggled to run around the large wooden structure to join the fight. “We were supposed to do this together.”

“That was all your idea,” Bill said. “I just want to hit the guy.”

Bill reared back with his baton to strike Jerry, but the Librarian closed the distance faster than the bailiff expected and punched him in the throat with a left. Bill sank to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Dammit, Bill,” muttered Terry as he engaged Jerry alone.

The fight was brief and ended with Terry unconscious and Jerry standing behind the bench searching for a door.

Unlike in the previous two rooms, the passage did not reveal itself once the guards had been defeated. He searched along the wall, looking for the hidden door. There was a door labeled Robing Room. But it would not open. He tried the knob and then knocked.

The floor dropped out from underneath him.

Jerry fell a couple of feet onto a slide that took him back to the first floor. The slide wasn’t long, but it dropped him on his ass into a cavernous space dressed like a courtroom where Judge Whomper sat behind an oversized bench.

“Welcome to chambers,” growled the troll.

It was Jerry’s first good look at the judge without all the smashing and screaming going on. He had seen trolls in Hot Springs. Even there, no one really knew where they had come from. So many horrible mysteries had been unleashed by warheads during the exchange. The creatures were most likely a group of mutated people. Though most of their humanity had been lost to their new forms. For the most part, they were now simple-minded brutes and the one before him was no exception. Even if its vocabulary was larger than most.

The judge’s war gavel was massive. It wouldn’t take more than one hit to end Jerry’s participation in the race.

“You will now be judged,” the judge growled and rose from behind the bench.

Jerry backed away, looking for a way out of the room.

The judge was fast for his size and covered ground quickly but Jerry was still able to out maneuver him and keep a decent amount of furniture in the monster’s path.

The judge threw pews out of the way in his pursuit of the defendant. The monster grew frustrated that Jerry wouldn’t engage and finally roared, “I demand violence in the court!”

This couldn’t be what Sister Oblivion wanted. Not one contestant could be expected to fight the judge and live much less win. There had to be another solution to the puzzle.

He ducked behind the judge’s bench in an effort to avoid the troll and spotted the exit. It was a wooden door with a small window in it. He knew he could get it open if he just had a distraction.

The distraction arrived in the form of a screaming dinosaur.

The Horrorsaurus Rex yelled as it slid to the end of the slide and dropped into the middle of the room with as much grace as Jerry had arrived. Long John arrived a moment later and landed on the dinosaur just as it was trying to stand, deflating the costume and driving the T-Rex back to the floor.

“Ouch,” said the Horrorsaurus Rex.

“Aargh,” apologized the pirate.

The contestants began arriving in greater numbers. They had made their way through the labyrinth of justice above and were being dropped in with the rest of the defendants.

“New blood,” said the Judge and turned his attention on some of the newcomers.

The ones that had fallen from above were easy targets as they arrived stunned from the fall.

The judge grabbed the wizard by an ankle, raised him from the ground and flung him across the room.

The real screams began a moment later when the Judge picked up Chris P. Bacon and bit into his neck. The man squealed as blood spurt from the wound much to the Judge’s delight. Judge Whomper chuckled. The chuckle quickly grew into a roar of laughter and the troll went berserk as bloodlust consumed it. It stormed around the room smashing the furniture with its massive war gavel when it couldn’t reach a victim.

Lady Justice’s soothing voice returned. But her words were no longer meant for the contestants. “Judge Whomper!” she scolded.

“Me, your honor,” the judge roared as he destroyed one of the spectator benches.

“Your honor, you’re just supposed to scare them!”

“Dey look scared!”

The contestants were more concerned with trying to keep their distance now, but the judge gave them no quarter. He grabbed Purriosa and lifted her from the floor.

She hissed and scratched at him with claws sharp enough to draw blood.

The judge winced at the pain and tore his arm off at the shoulder.

“Pop,” chuckled the troll.

More runners arrived in the room, dropping from above to face the horror of the rampaging troll.

The covered eyes of Lady Justice appeared in the door’s window. She ripped the blindfold off her head and pleaded with Jerry. “You have to do something!”

“What?”

“That isn’t supposed to be happening,” she said, tapping on the glass. “That monster’s gone berserk.”

“Sounds like someone is feeling a little guilty,” Jerry said.

“Don’t you understand?” Lady Justice snapped. “He’ll kill everyone in that room unless someone stops him! He’s not supposed to hurt anyone, but he’s killed four of you already. That’s not in the script. You’ve got to stop him.”

Jerry pulled the stun gun out of his jacket pocket and studied the device. It was foolish to think it would have any kind of effect on a creature that size. Especially in its current state of rage. Jerry waited for the troll to turn its back on him, took a deep breath and rushed across the room. He leapt onto the troll's back and drove the stun gun’s contacts into its neck.

He depressed the trigger and felt the troll's muscles tighten. But aside from the involuntary seizure, little happened. The troll grabbed the stun gun from Jerry’s hand and said, “Dat tickles.”

Judge Whomper shrugged Jerry off his back and crushed the stun gun in its grip before moving on to threaten another contestant.

Jerry scrambled back to the door at the back of the chamber.

Despite only being able to see her eyes through the window, he could tell Lady Justice was visibly disappointed in his efforts. “That was pathetic.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Jerry asked. “You can’t fight the law and win when the law is four hundred pounds of nothing but muscle and rage?”

“Here!” The small window opened and the tip of her sword came flying out, almost catching him in the face. She dropped the blade, and it clattered to the ground at his feet. “Just stop him!”

The window slammed shut and Lady Justice disappeared.

Jerry picked up the broadsword and checked the edge. His fears that it was only a prop vanished after running his finger along the edge of the blade. The sword’s edge was sharp and the blade was well oiled and free of rust. The guard and the handle were heavily ornamented, but it appeared to be a functional weapon instead of a display piece that was meant only to hang on a wall.

He lifted it up to test the weight. Lady Justice’s sword was a symbol that justice should be swift and final. The Librarian hoped this fight would be both.

The judge wrapped a hand around the Horrorsaurus Rex’s throat and picked the dinosaur up off the ground.

The T-Rex’s tiny arms held on to the judge’s wrist to prevent her neck from snapping.

The judge laughed as he flicked the dinosaur’s head and watched it flop back and forth. He was just about to shove the costumed head in his mouth when Jerry shouted.

“Your honor!” It was his hope that some of the camp surrounding the show would bring the troll’s focus back to his role instead of its rage. “I’d like to approach the bench.”

Judge Whomper spun toward Jerry and saw the sword in his hand. The trolled smiled. “Overruled!”

Judge Whomper dropped the dinosaur and raised his war gavel. The troll charged across the room, scattering the furniture out of his way as he went.

Jerry cowered. He wasn’t proud of it, but he instinctively fell back across the room until his back was against the judge’s bench.

The troll leapt into the air and moved the war gavel behind his back for a powerful overhead swing.

Jerry dropped to the ground.

Judge Whomper brought the hammer down and smashed the bench in half.

Surprised to find himself not smushed, Jerry dove between the judge’s legs and hurried back to his feet.

The troll spun around and raised the club to strike again.

Jerry was barely able to raise the sword in time to block the blow. And it ended up being a bad idea to begin with anyway.

The shaft of the mallet connected with the blade and drove it back toward the Librarian’s face, stopping only inches from his cheek. The troll was too strong to parry.

Judge Whomper leaned down and laughed in Jerry’s face.

Someone crashed a chair over the troll’s back and screamed “Aargh!”

Judge Whomper stood up and shrugged off the blow. He turned to the pirate, who was holding the remains of a chair in his hands.

“Aargh,” the pirate said dejected.

The Judge caught the pirate with the back of his hand sending the privateer stumbling across the room into Stash O’Halloran. Between the startled “Aargh!” and the clip clop of the pegleg, it was a ridiculous sound that delighted the judge and caused the troll to laugh.

The distraction gave Jerry enough time to get to his feet and prepare for a second round.

The war gavel came down again, but this time, he sidestepped it and let it crash into the floor rather than trying to block it.

He swung the sword down on the hammer’s handle and split the shaft in two.

The troll wasn’t happy about this and screamed at the useless stick that was left in his grip. Judge Whomper turned that rage toward Jerry and made a grab for the Librarian.

Jerry thrust out the sword and caught the troll in the palm.

The judge pulled its hand back in pain and looked at the bloody wound caused by the sword. He roared and drew back a fist roughly half the size of a beer keg.

“Ju Jitsu!” shouted Ju Jitsu Johnny as he dove for the troll’s leg and locked it in a fairly useless hold.

The attack was enough to distract the troll and leave its belly exposed.

Jerry slashed through the Judge’s robes with the blade of justice and cut deep into the troll’s stomach.

Judge Whomper kicked the wrestling enthusiast away and grabbed his stomach with his right hand. He continued to throw punches with his left, but they grew wild and slower with every swing.

Blood poured over his right hand as the wound in his stomach gushed with every move the troll made.

Its steps became clumsy and uneven as it chased Jerry around the room.

The other contestants fell back and let the two face one another. Judge Whomper finally came to a stop in the middle of his chambers and held his right hand in front of his face. It was coated red and he could barely hold it in front of his eyes. Exhausted, he crashed to his knees and fell to the ground, literally drained.

The courtroom was silent until the door in the back of the room opened and Lady Justice stepped into the Judge’s chambers. She was wearing the blindfold once more but pointed to Jerry and waved him over.

The other contestants made no attempt to beat him to the door. They all took a step back to form a path and let him pass.

Jerry met Lady Justice at the door.

She looked at him and silently mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Jerry held up the sword. “I’m afraid you’ve got some blood on it.”

He handed her the sword and passed through the door.

10

“He can’t just kill Judge Whomper!” Sister Oblivion was standing in her production throne, pointing her longest nail at the monitors. “That isn’t supposed to happen! I want Lady Justice’s head on a platter.”

“But, Sister Oblivion, she saved the game,” one of the PAs said with some hesitation. “The Judge was out of control. He would have killed all the contestants.”

“I can always get more contestants!” Sister Oblivion shouted, leapt out of the throne and grabbed the PA by the throat, her ornate nails breaking the skin and drawing blood. “I have people coming in by the trainload every day. Lining up to dance for me. Dangle a little fame and food in front of someone and they will come. But where am I going to get another troll that can deliver lines on cue?”

“But if he killed them all, the show would have ended early.”

Oblivion released her grip.

“I thought it was exciting,” said another PA once she realized the tension had been released.

“Oh did you, Denise?” Sister Oblivion stormed across the room and grabbed a drink from one of the servers. “I don’t know how much you know about Hot Springs trolls, but they don’t grow on trees. Actually, they might grow in caves. But it was hard enough getting one to leave Hot Springs at all much less convincing it to wear clothes.”

Sister Oblivion took a drink and closed her eyes. When she opened them, the rage was gone, and the smile had returned. “I did promise the biggest show ever, though, didn’t I? I need someone to work on finding us another troll. We’ll have to hold off on the Hall of Justice as a segment until we get one in here. See if you can get one with fewer anger issues this time.”

Denise scratched down the comment on her clipboard and dashed out of the room, eager to deliver the producer’s big ask.

“It’s a hell of a show you put on, Oblivion!” said one of the VIPs in the viewing suite. “Where did you find this contestant?”

Eve shot the colonel a satisfied smirk. She enjoyed watching him repress his anger at Jerry’s success. Caine hadn’t even been seen in the judge's chambers. For all they knew, he was still shaking in the lobby.

The colonel slammed down his drink and moved to another corner of the room where several of his soldiers were watching the broadcast. They snapped to attention as soon as he approached.

Eve felt something bump against her foot and looked down to see Fidget stomping on her toes with both of his front paws.

The Beagle was whispering the process to himself. “Hop. Stomp. Hop. Stomp. Hop. Stomp.”

Eve bent down and pet the dog. “Careful, tough guy. You’re going to break my foot.”

Fidget stopped hopping and stomping on her foot, sat down and glowered at the corner of the room where the colonel was giving orders. “I don’t like him.”

The hound dog’s memory wasn’t the best. Goldfish had worse memories than Beagles. But Beagles wouldn’t be able to remember that much less who was who. “He’s the bad guy, Fidget. You’re not supposed to like him.”

“No, not him. There’s another bad smelling person somewhere here. He smells bad like that time Sasquatch chased a squirrel into a power line with a cheek full of acorns.”

“Oh my God!”

“I know,” Fidget said. “It smelled awful; kind of like burnt hair and roasted nuts. But it tasted great; kind of like burnt hair and roasted nuts. It was a very confusing time for me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Fidget.” Eve was trying not to think about the squirrel. “A lot of people decided baths were something they could do without.”

“He doesn’t smell stinky,” Fidget said. “He smells bad. Like he’s a person that does bad things and like he’s thinking about doing more bad things. I don’t know how to explain it to you because your nose is dumb. But some people smell like they’re going to give you treats. And then some people smell like they’re going to pretend to give you treats but then laugh and put those treats back in their pocket. He’s got that smell like he’d tease you about the treats smell to him.”

Eve looked around the room. A person that looks like they’ve done bad things wouldn’t really stick out in a crowd like this. She wouldn’t be able to sniff him out because, like Fidget said, her nose was dumb. “Which one is it, Fidget?”

“Oh boy, how do I describe him? He has hair. A face. Oh, he has a couple of those things people have that they pet dogs with.”

“Hands?”

“Yeah, I love hands.”

“Fidget you just described everyone in the room. Try again.”

Fidget concentrated. His face was twisted and his eyes half closed as if he was trying to move something with his mind. He spoke slowly, “He has hair.”

“What color is his hair?”

“Color?” Fidget asked.

“Right. Sorry,” Eve said. “That one’s on me.”

“If it helps, he’s the one that also smells like he cried a lot as a kid.”

“That does sound bad. But I’m afraid it doesn’t help me. Maybe you can go point him out for me.”

Fidget thought about it, looked like he forgot what he was thinking about, remembered what he was thinking about and then said. “Okay.”

“Just don’t let anyone see you,” Eve said.

“Okay.”

“Or hear you.”

“Right,” he said through closed lips and snuck off slowly, keeping low to the ground. He moved up against the wall first and kept along the baseboards before disappearing under a tablecloth.

Sister Oblivion was standing there, waiting for Eve when she stood back up. “Your Librarian is full of surprises, dear. He just cost me a judge.”

“I’m not sure him stopping a homicidal monster that was clobbering people is something I should apologize for.”

“Of course, it isn’t. I’ve thought about it and decided that I’m actually delighted. Denise is a bit of a pill-head but she’s right that the Judge’s demise made for great television. And, despite causing a minor production concern going forward, he probably did save this week’s episode. And if not him, who? I’m not sure our pudgy little weatherman could have done anything to stop Whomper.”

Everything about Sister Oblivion was a production. From the nails and the hair to the way she conducted herself in a conversation, it was all about drama. Fortunately, that kept her attention focused solely on herself and it was easy for Eve to stay involved in the conversation while keeping an eye on Fidget.

The Beagle had decided that catering tables made for good cover. There was also no doubt a reward or two under each one and the dog started moving quicker and quicker between tablecloths. Eve would sometimes catch a glimpse of a tail but more often it was the flash of a tongue darting out to snatch a quick snack that had fallen from the table above.

She had tracked him to one table and tried not to wince when a grape started rolling out from underneath it into the middle of the room. She knew what would happen next. The Beagle burst out from his cover in full pursuit of the grape. He got to the grape but was caught by a woman who thought he was adorable and kept him from his mission with a quick petting session that had the dog’s leg beating out a happy rhythm for several moments. It would be a miracle if the dog remembered what he was doing after that.

“It’s a very interesting game show you’ve got here, Oblivion,” said Briggs as he joined the conversation.

“Ah, there you are, my dear colonel,” Sister Oblivion said with a smile and then pointed to a nearby screen that was replaying the highlight from the level. “Tell me, do you think your librarian could have done that if he wasn’t knocked unconscious in the first few moments of the round?”

“Caine is a late bloomer,” said the colonel.

The woman stopped petting Fidget and walked away. After his leg stopped shaking, the Beagle took a moment, looked confused, and then started smelling the ground.

“I should hope he’s not too late of one,” Sister Oblivion said. “I promised the people a battle of the best. Right now, your man isn’t holding up his end of the Librarian’s reputation.”

“He’s just waiting for his moment,” Briggs said. “He has a flair for the dramatic.”

Fidget dove beneath another table.

Between the petting and the food, Eve was concerned he might have forgotten what he was looking for and had decided to find a place to take a nap.

“I’ll say he’s dramatic,” Sister Oblivion said. “Cheating right out of the gate and then taking a nap in stage one.”

“He’s laying the groundwork for a comeback,” the colonel said confidently.

To Eve’s relief, Fidget reemerged from behind the tablecloth and looked around. He spotted Eve looking at him, lit up and started heading her way.

Eve shook her head and tried to point the Beagle back in the right direction using her chin.

Fidget barely spoke English and he knew less about how to talk chin. But he knew she was trying to say something so he sat down in the middle of the room to figure things out.

Briggs smiled. “Everyone likes an underdog.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Colonel. Everyone likes a winner. If your dark horse never shows, he’s not an underdog; just another loser.”

Eve began sniffing the air and then making a repulsed face in an attempt to jog Fidget’s memory and remind him that he was looking for something that smelled bad. She’d sniff and then wriggle her nose, sniff and then wriggle her nose. She did it a couple of times before she realized Sister Oblivion and Briggs were staring at her.

“Are you all right, my dear?” asked Oblivion.

Eve brought an elbow up to cover her face and sneezed. She worked up a second one to make the act convincing.

“Bless you.” Briggs produced a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“Isn’t that nice?” Sister Oblivion said. “The bloodthirsty warlord is a gentleman.”

Eve took the handkerchief and held it to her nose.

Fidget had either understood her charade or remembered his mission on his own. Either way he was back on the trail of the man who smelled like a bad person. He wondered into a group of men and sat by the one’s leg.

Eve blew her nose into the handkerchief several times to sell the phony sneezes. The weather outside made filling the handkerchief easy enough. She handed it back to Briggs. “Thank you, Colonel.”

Fidget paced in circles next to the man.

“Don’t mention it.” Briggs held the handkerchief by one of the dry corners before setting it on the tray of a passing server.

Fidget lost patience and bit the man in the leg.

The man yelped and spotted the dog. He made a kick for the Beagle but the hound was too quick and raced back across the room and leapt in between Sasquatch and Chewy, waking the two dogs from their slumber.

When the man arrived a moment later, the mastiff and the Great Dane weren’t certain of what was happening but they knew exactly where to point their teeth. They were on their feet with hackles bristling before the man could put his heels into braking.

After he finally came to a stop, he put up his hands, actually said the words nice doggies and slowly backed away.

Eve hid behind her elbow again, this time to let out a bit of a laugh instead of a fake sneeze.

The pill-head PA, Denise, stepped up to the trio. “Excuse me for interrupting Sister Oblivion, but Paul needs the bonus points breakdown for the next segment.”

“Of course,” said Sister Oblivion. “We’ll be giving that pirate five points for aggressive seating or some such thing. Five points to that man for creative use of a police baton in the jail cell. And we won’t give her any points but instruct everyone to give that woman who lost her arm a hand.”

“What about Jerry?” asked Eve.

“I was getting to that, dear,” Sister Oblivion said. “It is a loss to us but give Librarian Number One five points for disrobing the judge in his chambers.”

Eve turned to Briggs. “So that’s twenty points for Jerry this round.”

“I’m afraid not, dear,” said Sister Oblivion. “It’s just the five.”

“But I thought it was fifteen points to whoever won the round.”

“It is. But your man was not the first person to escape the Hall of Justice.”

11

“All rise. We have a winner in the court!” Paul Sterling’s voice played over a quickly edited montage from the courtroom raw. “Stage one is done and justice has been served. But we’re just getting started on this edition of The Omega Run.

“We’ve already had triumph and tragedy with the last round as we witnessed the loss of Chef Rusty, Chris P. Bacon and the delightful Purriosa at the mighty hands of Judge Whomper.”

The scene changed to an in memoriam segment. Black and white images of the three contestants and gentle music played briefly.

“The players will be missed. But more importantly, we have points to award; including those for our first win. For escaping the long arm of the law and finding a loophole for the ages, Lance Fury takes the stage and is now our current leader with fifteen points.

“And, while there are no points for second place in The Omega Run, there are bonus points. These points are awarded by our fantastic producer, Sister Oblivion, to those runners who went above and beyond to give our viewers a great show.

“Five bonus points are being awarded to Long John the pirate for taking the stand and hitting the judge with it and another five to Ju Jitsu Johnny for thinking he could wrestle a troll.

“And, finally, for taking the law into his own hands and then straight up murdering it, Librarian Number One has been awarded five points.”

The screen replayed the footage of Judge Whomper’s death before transitioning to a map of the course.

“While they make their way to the next stage of The Omega Run, let’s get to know some of our contestants. Our own Nigel Sommerville had a chance to meet our athletes and learn a little more about them.”

The screen cut to a profile photo of the poorly dressed ninja and a man with a British accent and a BBC presenter’s delivery took over the narration.

“Our first contestant is the Black Dragon, Lord of the Shadow Realm, Warrior of the Fang and Keeper of the Six Demon Bag. And even though it appears as though his costume is made of nothing more than bedsheets and dyed rope, he assures us, he is quite deadly.”

The screen changed again to show a sequence of the Black Dragon demonstrating his proficiency with a variety of ninja weapons.

“If the Black Dragon should win, it is his plan to host a weekly retrospective of Hong Kong cinema.”

The ninja performed several ninja rolls that often ended with him getting to his feet and adjusting a portion of his ninja outfit that had fallen apart during the acrobatics.

“The Black Dragon isn’t the only one playing with swords. We sat down with Long John the Pirate to get to know him a little better.”

The Black Dragon kicked at the camera, blacking out the lens. When the picture returned, the pirate was sitting in a chair speaking to an off-camera interviewer.

“Thank you for sitting down with us today.”

“Aargh,” said the pirate.

“They tell that if you win, you want to host travel show called Arrgh We There Yet?”

“Aargh,” confirmed the pirate.

“Do you travel quite a bit?”

“Aargh,” explained the pirate.

“So you’d use this as an opportunity to do more exploring yourself? And the viewer is joining you on these new adventures. Sort of like being a part of your crew.”

“Aargh,” agreed the pirate.

“I don’t want to call attention to it, but I’ve noticed one of your legs is of the peg variety. Do you think that will affect your performance in the race?”

“Aargh,” denied the pirate.

“May I ask why they call you Long John?”

“Aarrrrgh,” bragged the pirate with a hearty chuckle.

“Well, I think that says it all. Back to you Paul.”

Paul’s booming baritone returned. “Thank you, Nigel. It’s always great to know what makes our contestants tick. Now it’s time to get back to the race.”

12

The streets outside the courthouse were covered in snow but notably free of armored buffalo.

Jerry was relieved to see the war bison bit was a, hopefully, one and done segment. He would hate to have to run for his life between each stage of The Omega Run. But, repeating herself didn’t feel like Sister Oblivion’s style.

Or maybe there just wasn’t enough road for the buffalo to roam. The next stage of the race was located across the street and down a block in the Cleveland Public Auditorium. He could see a large Omega Run banner draped over the entrance of the impressive neoclassical building directing the runners to the next stage.

The frozen air still carried the smell of the lake on the gentle breeze and did little to stop the snowflakes on their way to the ground. Above him, Jerry could see the catwalk and some of the rigging for the camera equipment and lights. He felt no need to hurry. He didn’t expect a surprise on the street; there was only one camera capturing the shot. It would hardly be enough to catch the action of a second stampede or an ambush. But he broke into a brisk jog to keep his blood flowing.

While he ran, he wondered what kind of influence TV’s return would have on the new world. In general, mass communication could be considered a step back toward normalcy. The Omega Run, however, was hardly normal. The show was a bad idea and bad TV, but people would watch anything; especially if it was the only thing. But as a broadcast medium, TV was already proving to be a powerful divider. It had barely returned from the ashes, and two of the most powerful factions were already warring over access to the airwaves.

There were voices behind him. The other contestants were emerging from the Hall of Justice and, no doubt, looking both ways for war bison before crossing the street. Jerry quickened his pace and arrived at the auditorium first just in case it was worth a handful of Oblivion’s mystery points. The morality of TV’s return could be settled at a later date. First, he had to win the barbaric game show so he could warn the wasteland of what was coming for them.

The Librarian ran up the steps and entered the doors to the auditorium.

The building was just as impressive on the inside. He was surrounded by even more marble, and his heavy breaths echoed off the polished surface. They just didn’t make lobbies like they used to.

The auditorium’s lobby retained its original look and feel and had obviously once been a grand setting for important events.

Now it was still. Dead like the rest of the world.

A toilet flushed, and a door opened. Lance Fury stepped out of the men’s room and into the lobby, washing his hands with a piece of paper towel.

Jerry held his arms wide in disbelief. “Lance?”

“Oh, hey there, the Librarian. Mr. Librarian? You know, I’m not really sure how your name works.”

“How are you okay?” Jerry asked. “I mean, are you even okay?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because in the last half hour I’ve seen you get gored by a buffalo and hit by a troll with a giant gavel.”

“Right. Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, it hurts when I breathe, but I’ve always been really good at holding my breath. One time, when I was a kid, I held my breath so long that my brother thought I was dead. But then I passed out and my parents told me not to do that anymore because my brain needs oxygen, so I’m a little out of practice, but I think I can still do it pretty good.”

“It’s amazing that you’re even here.”

“Yeah, funny story, really. You know that big guy that got me with his out-of-order hammer. Like he got me right in the stomach and it lifted me off the ground and I’ve got to admit that I don’t really know what happened next but, when I woke up, I was already on the second floor and there was this open window. I thought I should close it because it was letting in a draft. But then I saw this place down the street. So, I just kind of climbed out the window and wandered over. I’ve been in the bathroom for a little bit, trying to get cleaned up and stop some of the bleeding.”

The auditorium doors opened and Caine rushed into the lobby. He looked winded but less battered and bruised than Lance or Jerry.

“Oh, good,” Jerry said conveying the absolute lack of joy he felt. “You made it.”

Caine studied both men before him and noted their bloodied faces and torn clothes. “You both look terrible.”

“And you don’t,” admitted Jerry. “I guess hanging back while you let everyone else do the work is just your way.”

“You know what, Jer?” Caine stepped closer to Jerry to argue but covered his nose and stepped back quickly to stay out of punching distance.

“Oh, no,” said Jerry. “It looks like someone is learning.”

“I got past the last stage just like everyone else. Work smarter, not harder. That’s something you never understood. I just used my brains to get out of the courthouse.”

“I’m just surprised the judge didn’t lock you up for plagiarism.”

“Show’s how little you know about the legal system; plagiarism isn’t really a crime. It’s only criminal if it’s brought by the aggrieved.”

“I’m the aggrieved!” Jerry spat. “And I’d be more than happy to bring it.”

“Okay,” Caine said and crossed his arms. “Sue me!”

“Oh, I’d rather settle this out of court.” Jerry took a step toward Caine.

“You want to go?” Caine leapt back and banged up against the door startling himself into a slightly higher register. “Let’s go.”

Caine raised his fists just as the door he was leaning against opened and propelled him forward into Jerry’s fist.

“Dammit, my nose!” Caine held his hand over his face and stomped his foot. “Can’t you hit me anywhere else?”

The other contestants entered and started sizing up the remaining runners. Most gave Jerry a respectful nod as they filed into the auditorium’s lobby.

The Librarians were also taking stock of who was left in the running.

The Black Dragon had survived the encounter with the judge, but had lost a flip-flop. Long John, the pirate, was shy a hat but still had the fake leg that Jerry was beginning to suspect was a real fake leg. Chad the Lifeguard shivered his way into the room and moved far away from the door to stay out of the breeze. The only thing he had to lose was the silver whistle, but it still hung around his neck on a string that had frozen solid.

More and more contestants arrived. Some limped, but most of the original roster had made it through the courthouse, including The Horrorsaurus Rex. The dinosaur shuffled past Jerry and hit him with a shoulder as she passed. The T-Rex did not look back. It appeared that the respect Jerry had earned in the Judge’s chambers was only temporary.

A soft chime rang and a voice spoke. It was a voice born for public broadcast; calm, measured and judging you for your crude tastes in popular culture and neanderthal way of thinking. The voice sounded liked opera and art but not the cool art that had boobs in it, but modern art where the boobs are just squares. It sounded like it thought contractions were lazy and loved debating the Oxford comma. “Thank you all for attending tonight’s performance. This is your two-minute warning. There is still time to get your tickets before the show begins.”

Standing like sentries in the middle of the lobby was a pair of marble clad ticket booths. Interior lighting showed that each was occupied by a ticket agent standing behind a gilded gold cage ready to assist the patrons.

“Please step up and get your ticket and we will get the show started.” Another soft chime ended the announcement.

No one in the crowd moved. Everything was beginning to feel like a trap. Anything could be a trick, and no one was willing to be Sister Oblivion’s fool. Except for Lance. He eventually moved toward the ticket booth sparking a rush for the windows.

Several of the runners passed Jerry, and he ended up having to wait in line behind Tiffany Flexx to get his ticket. There were worse places to wait, he decided. Besides, he didn’t think it would do any good to complain, so he took the view in stride.

“One please,” he said as he stepped up to the window, only to realize the ticket agent was more of a ticket mannequin; a creepy ass mannequin that had no face but was wearing a tweed coat and a flatcap Someone had tried to draw a smile on the mannequin’s white head and placed google eye stickers in the empty sockets. He would have preferred they’d kept the face blank.

Jerry took a ticket from a pile near the mannequin’s hand and stepped out of line. He followed the dinosaur across the lobby floor and through a set of doors that led deeper into the interior.

Much like the interior of the courthouse, the path before them had been laid out by blocked corridors and locked doors. The contestants moved forward, down a staircase and out onto the main floor of the massive auditorium. It was dark inside and all he could tell was that they were walking on hardwood.

The uptight voice returned over the PA. “Welcome to the historic Public Auditorium. Designed before WWI, this building was the preeminent example of public spaces. It has hosted presidents and rock stars; boxing legends and midget wrestling.” The voice said the words midget wrestling like it was trying to distance itself from their existence.

“At the time of its construction, the building set records for interior volume and for the world’s largest pipe organ in the world. It had more than ten thousand pipes. It was a truly remarkable and versatile venue where almost anything could happen.”

“What do you guys think it is this time?” asked the bearded man in the Hawaiian shirt. “Boxing or midget wrestling?”

“I kind of hope it’s midget wrestling,” Channel 5’s Chip Bennet said. “That last stage took a lot out of me. I’m too tired to box anyone.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” The Black Dragon pulled down the black stocking that served as his mask and gestured to Chip’s yellow jacket. “What is with the slicker and the microphone?”

“I used to be the inclement weather guy in a top 5 market. This is what I wore to report on hurricanes.”

“Sounds like a tough job,” the lifeguard said.

“Tough enough to survive the apocalypse. I was covering a tornado outbreak when all hell broke loose. When we heard what was happening, my team and I jumped in our weather van and started driving. Right through an F5 tornado outbreak. We never looked back.”

“Well, you look ridiculous,” said the ninja and pulled his mask back in place.

“You’re one to talk,” said the wizard. “I’m pretty sure that’s a sock tied around your head.”

The Black Dragon grabbed the handle of one of the swords on his back and threatened to draw one of the blades. “It’s a headband!”

Lights came on to reveal a proscenium arch and red velvet Omega Run curtain at the end of a long and large room. The arguments ended as the players migrated toward the stage.

An unseen orchestra started warming up. The orchestra pit was empty. The entire auditorium was empty. There was only the giant hardwood floor and the red velvet curtain.

The orchestra fell silent and the voice returned. “For tonight’s performance, we travel back to a simpler time. A time of gaslight and garland. A magical time for children and families. Whether it’s your first time experiencing this classic or hold it as a cherished tradition in your family, we’re glad you chose to join us for this celebration of wonder, joy, and the power of storytelling through music and dance. We’re thrilled to bring this holiday treasure to you, here on The Omega Run.”

The red velvet curtain drew back to reveal a performance already in progress. The stage was dressed like an elegant parlor room from the eighteen hundreds. At its center stood a giant Christmas tree around which twirled a dozen or more dancers.

“Oh shit,” the football player from Polk High moaned. “It’s ballet.”

13

“It’s the Nutcracker Suite,” Caine said. He pointed to an old man on the stage. “Look, that’s Drosselmyer bringing in the Nutcracker as a gift for his Goddaughter.”

The Horrorsaurus Rex reeled back so far to laugh that its head fell backwards over its shoulders. The other contestants joined in the laughter. The pirate’s laugh was the most distinct of the group because every “ha” ended with an “Aargh!”

Jerry watched as Caine took the slings and arrows of laughter poorly and tensed up. He was used to being praised by those around him. It was why he hired them in the first place; probably to avoid situations just like this. Jerry imagined Caine’s high school experience was much like this.

“What kind of person knows about ballet?” asked Abracadamn!

“Your betters! That’s who!” Caine’s response just inspired more laughter.

“Girls do,” cackled Tiffany Flexx. “That’s what kind of man knows ballet. Girls.”

“Oh, way to make sure the sexism survives the apocalypse, Miss Flexx,” Caine said.

“She’s not wrong, though,” said the football player.

“Why do you macho types find art and culture so threatening?”

“I’ve never seen ballet.” Lance hadn’t joined in the laughter. He was busy watching the performance on the stage. “I don’t know if I like it or not, but I’m willing to give it a chance, you know? I don’t want to be too quick to judge.”

“I’ve seen it,” said number thirty-three. “And I hate it.”

“What’s wrong?” Caine’s whiny, mocking voice was more whine than it was mockery. “Are you worried you’re going to get a little culture on you?”

“There’s lots of things that can happen on a stage,” the bearded guy in the Hawaiian shirt said. “Why bring back ballet when they could have brought back something people actually liked, like a wet t-shirt contest?”

“It’s freezing in here,” said the Black Dragon.

The bearded guy in the Hawaiian shirt shrugged. “That just makes it easier to judge.”

“Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite begins on a cold Christmas Eve, where the Stahlbaum family is hosting their annual holiday party,” said the soft-spoken voice. “Then their uncle arrives. A toy maker and magician, Drosselmeyer brings with him a most unusual gift.”

The music grew louder as the dancers began moving off the stage and onto the floor.

The ballerinas pirouetted, twirled and leapt amongst the contestants in the audience. They danced so close their tutus were brushing up against some of the runners, tickling the lifeguard and Lance’s exposed skin.

The choreography changed from a family-friendly holiday performance to something a little more burlesque as the dancers became friendlier to the contestants. The dance moves required a lot more bending than normal and more than a few times the ballerina’s pressed their lithe bodies against the runners and ran their hands across their chests.

“I think I like ballet!” Lance shouted to Jerry as one of the ballerinas was paying extra special attention to him. “These girls seem very talented. Think of all the things I missed not going to the theater.”

The Librarian was trying to keep his distance from the dancers, though several were persistent in their dance routines. Even he had to admit that if ballet had always been this interactive, it would probably have found more fans in the old world.

“I think this one likes me,” Lance said as the ballerina twirled around behind him and draped an arm across his chest.

Caine’s inner director was losing it. “You’re doing it all wrong! This show is a time-honored tradition, and this is just not right. I’m all for experimental theater, but there is a time and place and Tchaikovsky’s classic should be held sacrosanct.”

One of the ballerinas pirouetted into his embrace and draped her arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, gorgeous? Don’t you like how I dance?”

“Of course, I…your dance is beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Caine stammered trying to find the words to tell her off, while still keeping any possible chance of romance alive. “It’s just that this is not how I remember the Nutcracker.”

The ballerina smiled and drove a knee into Caine’s crotch. She spun away as the impostor dropped to both knees in agony. The ballerina came bounding back in three great leaps and scissor kicked Caine in the face.

As soon as Caine hit the floor, the rest of the ballet company turned violent.

Lance Fury was still love struck when the girl in front of him did three high kicks that caught him under the chin. He went stiff and fell back on the ground like someone had pushed over a tombstone.

The finely choreographed performance turned into a chaotic donnybrook as the contestants began defending themselves from the vicious ballerinas.

“While the magic of The Nutcracker dazzles on stage, it is the dedication of the dancers that breathes life into this timeless masterpiece. For every graceful leap and delicate turn, there are countless hours of rehearsal—of repetition, focus, and unyielding commitment to the craft.”

Lance’s ballerina leapt on top of him and continued her assault by doing something not unlike the river dance on his chest and testicles.

Jerry pulled the girl off him and twirled her away into the ongoing brawl. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Lance wheezed. “Is it weird that I like ballet even more now?”

“Come on.” The Librarian grabbed the runner’s hand and helped him to his feet. “I think this one might take a team effort.”

As the contestants overcame the shock of the ambush and tried to regroup, the ballerinas retreated gracefully to the stage.

Brock Rampage grabbed a still staggering Caine by his shirt. “What’s going on here, Mr. Culture? Where are they going?”

“I don’t know what’s going on!”

“You said you knew the play!”

“Yeah, well, they’ve taken liberties with the material!”

The lighting on the stage changed. Night had fallen inside the Stahlbaum parlor and the background setting had changed. The Christmas tree had been rolled away during the skirmish and a new backdrop had been installed to change the perspective. The tree was now huge and the dancers, like toys, twirled around its base.

The announcer gave the contestants a clue as to what was happening. “As the clock strikes midnight, the world begins to shift. The warmth and cheer of the parlor dissolve, replaced by something far more mysterious. The Christmas tree looms larger, towering above all, and from the shadows, an army begins to stir.”

Jerry jumped into the conversation. “It’s like Caine said, this is Oblivion’s version of The Nutcracker Suite. It was always popular around the Holidays.”

“Oh, now you speak up,” Caine whined. “Where were you when everyone was laughing at me?”

“I was laughing at you, too,” Jerry said. “But you weren’t wrong.”

The music changed dramatically and a gunshot sounded.

Years in the wasteland had them all trained to seek cover at the sound of gunfire and the crowd of contestants crouched out of reflex when the shot went off. A moment later they realized it was a stage prop that had sounded and not a real gun.

Jerry nodded to Caine. “It’s the battle.”

“What battle?” asked the Black Dragon.

“Of course.” Caine lit up and jumped at his chance for exposition. “In The Nutcracker, the Mouse King leads his army in a battle against the titular Nutcracker and his gingerbread men.”

Lance chuckled and copied Caine. “Titular.”

The contestants looked at Caine expecting more.

When no further explanation came, Tiffany Flexx turned to Jerry. “Is he serious?”

The Librarian nodded. “That’s what happens.”

“Man,” said the man in the daredevil’s costume. “Ballet is fucking weird.”

“Aargh,” agreed the pirate.

There was a flurry of activity on stage as the Mouse King finally arrived on the scene. The actor was dressed in a flowing red cape and wore the head of a mouse costume from a once popular pizza franchise. You knew he was the king because they had removed the pizza parlor mouse’s ever present ball cap and replaced it with a crown.

“The Mouse Army emerges,” said the announcer. “Led by their fierce and cunning leader—the Mouse King. Their steps echo across the stage, a swarm of chaos ready to clash with the Nutcracker and his loyal soldiers. This is no ordinary skirmish; it’s a battle of whimsy and imagination, where the fate of the enchanted journey hangs in the balance.”

With a respectable amount of dramatic flair, the Mouse King climbed on top of one of the giant gifts beneath the tree and placed his hands on his hips, delighted with what he saw.

“So where are the good guys that are going to help Stash O’Halloran?” asked the man with the ridiculous mustache.

“Unfortunately, I think that’s us, Stash O’Halloran,” replied Jerry. “I think we’re the Nutcracker army.”

The mouse king drew his sword and raised it into the air.

“So, all we have to do is stop the Mouse King?” Channel 5’s Chip Bennet asked. “That should be simple.”

Twenty more dancers raced onto stage wielding swords and wearing whiskers. This army of mice men gathered around the king, waiting for orders.

“Oh,” said Channel 5’s Chip Bennet. “Never mind.”

The Mouse King lowered his sword and pointed it at the contestants. The mouse army drew their own swords, roared like mice and rushed toward the audience.

The Black Dragon pulled one of the swords from the pair of scabbards on his back as Long John drew the cutlass from his belt.

Jerry snapped open the collapsible batons he’d taken from the courthouse, the dinosaur roared and Caine ran.

The mouse army danced their way in to combat with the contestants, leaping, spinning and flashing their rapiers as they went.

Despite the poor quality of his costume, the ninja displayed some rather impressive abilities with the sword. Not only was he able to keep two or three of the Mouse King’s minions at bay, he cut one across the wrist, forcing the rodent to drop his sword.

Lance had managed to tackle one of the mice and had wrestled the weapon from his hand.

One of the mice came at Jerry, wielding a thin fencing blade.

Jerry could hear it slicing through the air as the danseur pressed the attack. He intercepted the blade with one of the steel batons and expected it to vibrate like a bad ding off an aluminum baseball bat. But there was no ring. There wasn’t even a satisfying clink or clang of metal connecting with metal. The mouse swung the blade several more times and finally found a way around Jerry’s baton. The blade connected with Jerry’s shoulder with a thud instead of a slice. Jerry caught the mouse in the head with the baton and sent the soldier to see the sugarplum fairies.

Given a second’s respite, the Librarian checked the wound on his shoulder. There was none. There was no cut, no blood. He retrieved the mouse soldier’s sword and checked the blade. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t even metal. That was going to make things a lot easier.

He scanned the room to see if the other’s had discovered the truth about the weapons.

The pirate was holding his own against the mouse soldier and may not yet have realized the blade wasn’t real. The ninja was so busy spinning and kicking, he may not have even made contact with one of the enemies’ blades. The Horrorsaurus Rex might be on to them as three mice had surrounded the dinosaur and were taking turns whacking at it while it did its best to hide behind its tiny arms.

The Mouse King had made no move to enter the fight at all. He stood atop the giant gift beneath the tree pantomiming commands that seemed completely disconnected from any action that was taking place on the battlefield.

He had a plan. It was silly and it played right into Oblivion’s stupid TV show, but it was the only way to get out of the theater.

A mouse jumped in front of him and raised his blade to strike.

Before the soldier could put his strength into the swing, Jerry caught the pommel and stepped forward, throwing the mouse off balance. He ripped the sword from the attacker’s grasp and forced the mouse to the ground. The man in the whiskers and little ears, cowered as Jerry drew back the steel baton. It was another one of the riders from the train. Sister Oblivion was casting all her thugs with second stringers. Jerry left him cowering on the ground and went to help the dinosaur.

Jerry took one of the mice out of the fight with a blow to the back of the knee. The other two mice turned their attention from the inflatable lizard and backed away to address the new threat.

The Librarian ignored them, put the wooden blade in the dinosaur’s hand and pointed the Horrorsaurus Rex at the mice. “The swords are fake. Go get ‘em, boy.”

The dinosaur roared and charged at the two mice that had been beating her with sticks.

Jerry turned his attention back to the Mouse King and started fighting his way through the crowd while shouting for everyone’s attention. He started barking orders at the contestants and was able to form lines between the mouse army and the contestant force.

“Fellow contestants, pirates and dinosaurs,” Jerry said. “Listen up. Ballet is painful. Not just for the dancers who are forced to endure physical hardship for their art, but also for the audience that is subjected to that art. It just goes on and on. And on. And freaking on. I’ve seen The Nutcracker before and I can tell that this stupid play doesn’t end until the Mouse King has been defeated.”

The contestants all eyed the Mouse King, whose movements had suddenly become less enthusiastic.

“So whoever kills the Mouse King wins the level?” asked the star-spangled daredevil.

Jerry shrugged. “I realize that statement sounds just as crazy in context as it would out of context, but—”

“But that’s the role we’ve been cast to play!” Caine shouted as he stepped in front Jerry and took over the monologue. “They are mice, but are we not men? And they may be armed with swords, but do not our wits cut just as deep? Fear not their blades for—”

“They’re wooden swords, genius,” said the ninja.

“Aargh,” confirmed the pirate.

“What do you mean they’re wooden swords?” Caine asked.

Lance stepped forward and cracked Caine across the shin with one of the swords.

Caine cried in pain and hopped about on his good leg while the contestants laughed at him. The actor limped back over to Lance, snatched the sword out of his hand and studied the wooden blade. He then looked up at the Mouse King and back to Jerry.

“Dibs,” shouted Caine and dashed off toward the stage.

It took only a moment for the contestants to realize that he had a head start on winning the level and started after him. Soon it was just Jerry and Lance standing in the middle of the floor.

“He took my sword,” said Lance.

“I know, man.”

Caine screamed as he ran and charged into the line of mice with a furious flurry of the wooden sword. There was a great deal of clacking and thinking as he engaged in swordplay with several of the rodents. Wooden or not, Caine wasn’t half bad with a blade and he quickly fought his way through the army and made a break for the stage and the Mouse King.

The rest of the contestants got caught up in the skirmish line and were tied up fighting with the rank and file. Some of them were enjoying being the aggressor and laughed as they beat down on the mouse soldiers for trying to trick them in the first place.

Jerry watched as Caine rushed onto the stage and held his wooden cutlas high. “It’s you and me, Mouse King!” The actor charged across the stage with every intent of knocking the costumed king off his perch. He had just reached the present when the Mouse King leapt into the air and flipped over his attacker.

Distracted by the acrobatics, Caine crashed into the giant gift and sent it sliding across the stage as he fell to the ground.

The Mouse King whipped his blade through the air in practiced motions while he waited for his attacker to get back on his feet.

Caine did so quickly and turned to face his surprisingly agile opponent. “This is for Clara, you son of a bitch!”

He pressed the attack on the Mouse King and thrust with the wooden sword.

The Mouse King took a step back and parried with his saber. The metal blade cut through Caine’s prop and knocked half of it to the ground.

Caine stepped back and held the severed prop up to examine it. His eyes grew wide as he realized he was in a much different fight than he expected.

The Mouse King cut the air with his blade several times and brought it back to a ready position.

“Real sword! Real sword!” Caine dropped the broken pommel and backed away from the Mouse King. He kept going until he hit his head on a low hanging Christmas tree branch. At this scale, the ornaments were huge. Caine grabbed one of the giant balls from the tree and hurled it at the man in a mouse costume.

Jerry didn’t expect the ornaments were going to do much damage to the Mouse King. They didn’t move like they had much mass and the costume alone would absorb most of the impact. His money was on the rodent winning the fight. But he couldn’t take the chance of Caine getting a win. He had no idea what the current points were, and he couldn’t imagine Caine was in the lead, but he wasn’t sure if he had any either. He had beaten the judge, but Lance was already in the auditorium when he arrived. Did it count if he didn’t go through the judge? He didn’t know. He had never watched the show. But he knew he couldn’t risk the Remnants gaining access to the broadcast tower. He had to win this stupid game.

Another mouse soldier came at Jerry with a wooden sword. He stepped inside the swing to reduce the impact of the blow and locked the weapon under his arm. He brought the baton down over the mouse’s head and started running toward the stage before the soldier hit the floor.

He raced past the Black Dragon and pulled the second blade from the scabbard on the ninja’s back.

“Hey!” The Lord of the Shadow Realm screamed after Jerry when he realized what had just happened. The mouse solider he was fighting didn’t give him an opportunity to pursue.

“I’ll bring it right back,” Jerry said as he climbed the stairs up to the stage.

He arrived just as Caine ran out of ornaments to throw and ducked deeper into the tree to hide.

“Excuse me, Mr. Cheese,” Jerry shouted. “Where do I trade in my tickets?”

The Mouse King heard the call and turned away from Caine to face his new opponent. He raised the point of his sword and the blade caught the light. Caine was right. It was real.

Jerry raised the ninjatō, with both hands on the handle. The fencing sword had the advantage in speed. Which could be all it took to take the victory. But Jerry was counting on poor vision and clingy odors from a pizza parlor costume to even the odds.

The Mouse King lunged and the point of his saber lashed out.

Jerry parried the blow with the stolen ninja sword.

The Mouse King put a hand on his stomach and pantomimed a belly laugh, almost losing his head when he tilted too far back. The Mouse King adjusted his face and then made three quick advances, the flashing tip of his sword leading the way.

Jerry calmly moved the sword to intercept each attack, then went on the offensive. The Mouse King was good, especially considering the mascot costume. His highness dodged or countered all but the final swing of the ninja’s blade.

The Mouse King’s nose fell to the stage floor.

The man in the costume looked at the fallen schnoz and gave Jerry a small nod of respect and then charged with more ferocity than before.

The blade whistled as it carved invisible patterns in the air. The Mouse was a craftsman with the blade.

Jerry parried several attacks and dodged the rest as it was easier to get himself out of the way of the mouse than it was to get the heavier ninja sword in place to block some of the attacks.

The Mouse King over extended a lunge and Jerry pressed the advantage with a series of cuts that forced his opponent to fall back several steps.

Jerry leapt forward with a fierce slash too powerful for the fencing blade to stop.

The Mouse King dropped in to a backwards roll that took him out of reach of the blade and any follow-up blow. He rolled back to his feet, grabbed one of the smaller presents from the set and hurled it at Jerry’s head.

The Librarian knocked the gift out of the air with the sword only to find the King charging on the attack once more. He twisted away from his opponent to dodge the first thrust. It caught him on the arm and cut his sleeve open. He couldn’t immediately tell if it had been a deep enough cut to reach the arm underneath, but some of the insulation from the jacket now hung in the air.

He got lucky with a wild swing that deflected the King’s next attack. The blow gave him an extra beat to adjust his stance and get back into the fight.

But the Mouse King had tasted blood—or at the very least he had tasted poly fill—and was ready to be done with the fight. He came faster than before; his bursts of attacks lasting several strikes longer. Soon it was Jerry who was reeling backwards across the stage, hoping he didn’t trip on the scenery.

Sure enough, he backed into an armchair and toppled over backwards.

The Mouse King grew reckless. Slashing harder, actually trying to will the thin blade of his saber through the heavier ninjatō. He got greedy and tried to hack his way through Jerry’s defense with three blows.

Jerry got a foot into the mouse’s stomach and launched him backward.

Then someone yelled, “Cowabunga!”

Before Jerry could get back to his feet, the star-spangled stuntman raced across the stage and tackled the Mouse King.

Both of the costumed characters went down in a heap.

The daredevil stuntman got back to his feet and walked over to Jerry. Blood began pouring from his chest, just to the right of his heart. Every second brought another wash of red to the daredevil’s white uniform.

“I thought the swords were fake,” he said with a pained look. His voice was weak and wheezy. “I was going to win.”

The daredevil dropped to the floor.

The Mouse King was standing right behind him, blood dripping from the tip of his saber.

Jerry hurried to his feet as the giant rodent closed the distance and unleashed a flurry of stabs and slashes that left several more cuts in Jerry’s wardrobe. They were coming faster and harder now. He could hear his opponent's exertion coming from beneath the mask in the form of grunts and gasps as the breath ran out. There was desperation in every strike. This was all the Mouse King had left.

Jerry lowered his sword.

The Mouse King saw his opening and raised the saber over his head for a final chop.

Jerry snapped open the baton with his left hand and stopped the blade inches from his head and drove the point of the ninjatō up into the Mouse King’s armpit. The blade pulled free a moment later as the giant rodent stepped back, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

Blood flowed from under his arm, soaking the gray fur on the mascot costume.

The Mouse King sank to its knees and fell back into a meditative position. His giant head dropped and came to rest on his chest.

The fight was over. Jerry had won.

The announcer’s voice returned. “With the Mouse King defeated, the spell of chaos is broken and the fantastical world begins to fade away.”

The battle in the auditorium slowed and eventually came to a stop as the army of mice realized their king had fallen. They backed away from their opponents and filed slowly to the stage wings, leaving the contestants and their fallen leader alone beneath the giant tree.

14

“And so, the curtain falls on Herr Stahlbaum’s parlor and we are transported back to the studio for another Omega Run recap!” Paul Sterling’s voice was filled with excitement as he prepared to award points as the highlight footage rolled.

“Librarian Number One has faced the menace of the Mouse King and vanquished this fantastical foe. For his efforts, he has been awarded fifteen points and moves to the top of our Omega Run leader board.

“Bonus points have also been awarded this round to Tiffany Flexx and Chad the Lifeguard. Tiffany went toe to toe with the ballerinas to show them that jazzercise is just as respectable of an art form as ballet. We would have also accepted pole dancing. For waging this front of the culture war, Ms. Flexx is awarded five points. And Chad the Lifeguard is also given five points for straight up punching a girl. Nice save, tough guy.”

The music and mood changed to a more somber tone as a black-and-white image of Daredevil Dan filled the screen. Paul’s voice grew sympathetic. “Sadly, victory over the Mouse King did not come without cost. Death Defying Daredevil Dan failed to defy Death when he came in the form of a giant rat. With his passing, we will never know the joys of sitting down with the family on Friday nights and watching Doing Dumb Shit with Daredevil Dan.”

“But you know who’s not dead?” Paul’s voice came alive again. “Broadcast legend Channel 5’s own Chip Bennett.”

The broadcast on the screen turned into a montage of the inclement weather reporter over the years. Super imposed texted at the bottom read File footage provided by Chip Bennet. Nigel Somerville returned to take the viewers through Chip’s story.

“Once a young and striking on air personality, Chip Bennet had his eyes set on the anchor desk. But once his early baldness set in, the producers had to find a way to keep it off the air. Their solution? Cover the bald spot with as many hats as possible and try to get him killed. Chip Bennet spent his career covering snowstorms, hailstorms, tornadoes, hurricanes. He was even covering the apocalypse live. And he and his bald spot are still here to tell the tale. But Chip Bennet tells us he’s had enough of the weather and should he prove to be victorious, he wants to start a program called Chip’s Collectibles that focuses exclusively on unearthing Hummel Figurines from the rubble of our fallen civilization. Good luck to you, Chip Bennet.”

15

Sister Oblivion drummed her nails against the arm of her producer’s throne. “I really wish he’d quit killing the level bosses. Oh well, there’s no shortage of actors out there. Someone get me another Mouse King.”

The PAs started scratching the orders on their notepads.

Sister Oblivion continued barking orders. “Start with the new folks. See if any of them can swing a sword. And see if you can stitch that nose back on to the costume and have it cleaned. You have no idea how hard it was to find that costume. It’s like every loser that survived went looking for a creepy bit of nostalgia when the world ended.”

Eve was at the refreshment table helping herself to a bite to eat. With a solid victory under his belt, Jerry had a comfortable lead over the other contestants. Caine wasn’t even on the board. With the knot in her stomach finally loosening, she realized she was hungry.

“What did you think of the high culture portion of the show?” Briggs was on the other side of the table, loading up a plate of his own.

“I didn’t know you were such a fan of ballet, Colonel. Do you and your friends have an endowment for the arts planned after you’re done with global domination?”

“We have many plans, Miss Evelyn. And that does include cultural events like opera, theater and, yes, stupid ballet. Those are just a few of the fine benefits of a functioning society that you and your friends’ stubbornness is preventing.”

“To think, if we just laid down our liberties and looked the other way while you did horrible things, Shakespeare would be back in the park.” She placed another piece of bread on her plate. Sister Oblivion may be mad, but her bakers were amazing. “How dare we?”

“Our only goal is to get everything back to normal as quickly as possible.”

“And once you get things back to normal, you’re going to reinstate elections?”

Briggs smiled and added another hors d'oeuvres to the pile of food on his plate. “Of course, as soon as we deem the will of the people worth listening to again.”

“That’s a lot of words to say, no.”

“I think we all learned that not everyone truly deserves a voice. People can’t be trusted to govern themselves just yet. Look where it got us last time.”

“It wasn’t the people that started the war, Colonel. Are you really blaming the voters for the end of the world?”

“If they had elected better leadership, it would never have happened. Once they’re taught how to govern themselves better than they did the last time around, democracy will be put back on the table.”

Eve felt a bump against her leg and looked down. Fidget was sitting at her foot, staring up at her. She dropped a piece of food from her plate and watched it bounce off the Beagle’s face. The dog chased it down and gobbled it up.

“I still prefer freedom,” she said.

“Of course,” replied the colonel. “We are providing freedom. Freedom from hunger, freedom from disease, freedom from fear. Freedom from monsters.”

“Wouldn’t we be afraid of you?”

“If you’re not doing anything wrong, then you have nothing to fear.”

“I’d rather have freedom without your involvement. Your methods sound more like tyranny.”

“There is an efficiency in tyranny that we’ve deemed acceptable to meet our goals. We’re trying to save people from themselves. Not make friends. We don’t have the luxury of kindness.”

“That’s an odd logic.”

“It’s logic I’ve grown comfortable with.”

“Well, I don’t care for oppression.”

“Join us and you wouldn’t be oppressed. You’d be the oppressor. These people need to be lead whether they know it or not. We’re not evil, Miss. We really are the good guys. Just like you and your Librarian. Our cause is the same and, together, we could do a lot of good.”

“No thank you.”

“I’m offering you a part in saving the world. Join us. Help us guide civilization back to a sense of normalcy. We’re running out of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t some game. But there are other players on the board. The first global power back to normal is the one that guides the world for the next millennia.”

“And here I thought you were just trying to take over the country. You really are trying to take over the world.”

“We’re trying to save the world, Eve. For good.”

“By acting evil?”

“Only when it’s necessary.”

Fidget was at her foot again. He was bumping his head into her calf. She wasn’t about to give him anymore food. One treat was enough. He was already the pudgiest of the three pooches.

“You’re just making this offer because Jerry is winning.”

“Maybe,” said Briggs. “But it doesn’t make it any less sincere. We would welcome all of you into our ranks.”

“What about your boy, Caine?”

“What about him?”

“Wouldn’t you have too many Librarians at that point?”

Briggs shrugged. “There’s a place for both of them in the new world. With your help, we can save people. Reestablish order.”

Fidget was now tugging on the hem of her pants.

“Fidget!” she snapped. “No.”

The Beagle pouted, laid down at her foot, and began poking her toes with his nose.

Eve ignored the dog and looked back at Briggs. “Order was reestablishing itself just fine before you all emerged and started sewing chaos.”

“It would have taken centuries at that rate. We have the knowledge and the processes established that will return us to a sense of normalcy within a generation. We just need the manpower.”

Eve looked him dead in the eyes. “You mean slaves.”

Briggs didn’t dispute the term. “Everyone has to do their part.”

Eve said the unspoken part out loud for him. “Whether they like it or not.”

“If you have a better idea, we would love to hear it,” Briggs said.

“How about giving people a choice?”

“We don’t have time for that. They’ll make the wrong choice too many times. People always vote against their best interests.”

“Pretty smug of you to think you know what their best interests are.”

“We are not as unreasonable as you make us out to be, Miss. We have shown considerable restraint so far.”

Fidget had wandered a few feet away into Eve’s line of sight and was now spinning around. He got dizzy quickly and began staggering around. Fidget always acted strange. It was his defining trait. But something else was going on. She needed out of the conversation. She was done being civil, anyway.

“You’re not showing restraint, Colonel; you’ve met your match. I don’t know if your generals and science fiction nerds expected a more willing population or fewer survivors, but you’ve been surprised by the resistance you met and you’ve reached the limit of what your forces can seize by force. You’re stretched too thin and your campaign has stalled out. You’re not as powerful as you project. That’s why you’re here, competing for access to the tower in a game show instead of marching in and taking it. Your desperation shows in your dogged pursuit of Jerry and our friends. You can’t afford to have us out there because we have that horribly dangerous thing; a second perspective. We represent a choice. We give them hope. And you can’t have us running around ruining things for you, because you simply don’t have an army big enough to stop hope.”

“How long do you really think you can run? We almost had you at Fort Moore. You barely got away at the Dragon’s Landing. And we were right behind you at Viking Shore.”

“Sounds like you’re oh and three to me,” Eve replied and turned away to find Fidget.

“It’s only a matter of time. We’re not the enemy, Miss Harrow.”

Eve was thankful she wasn’t facing Briggs. She was sure her face betrayed her shock that he knew her name. She was all at once surprised and frightened. She got her emotions under control and turned back to face the colonel.

Briggs was smiling and adding more food to his plate. “Does he know who you really are? Does he know where you come from, Sergeant?”

Sister Oblivion rushed over to the table and started loading a plate with food. “Excuse me, I just need to grab a bite. It’s all this excitement. I need calories. Your Librarian is certainly delivering, dear. Colonel, yours not so much.”

“I’m sure he’s just pacing himself.”

“Well, anything can happen in The Omega Run.” Sister Oblivion tossed a couple more items onto her plate and grabbed a napkin. “They’re approaching the tower now.”

The producer hurried back to her station leaving Eve alone with Briggs once more.

“You will lose, Miss Harrow.” The colonel smiled. “The game. The war. Everything.”

“I don’t know. It’s my Librarian against yours. I like my chances.”

“Only a fool would put their trust fully in Caine.” Briggs smiled and walked away.

Eve turned to look for the dog. “Fidget? Come here boy.”

The Beagle came running. “Hi, Eve.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“What is what?” Fidget asked.

“No, I mean what do you want?”

“I don’t know. What do I want?” His tail wagging furiously. “Is it food? Do I want food?”

“You always want food. You were trying to get my attention this whole time.”

“I was?” Fidget’s face twisted as he tried to force a memory to the forefront. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” Eve tried to calm herself and remember that Fidget couldn’t help being Fidget. “Fidget, think.”

“Okay.” Fidget closed both his eyes. Then he closed them higher. “When you close your eyes tight do you see stars?”

“Fidget, please focus. You were trying to get my attention to tell me something.”

“I was!” Fidget’s eyes opened wide. “That’s because I had to tell you something.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. But I was over there when I decided to come over here.”

“Maybe it would help if you retraced your steps.”

“Okay. I was over there keeping an eye on the guy that smelled like blackened squirrel and roasted nuts.” Fidget trotted out to the spot he indicated and continued his journey of discovery. “I was sitting here, staring at him. Just in case he moved. And then, went over here.”

Fidget got up and moved a few feet to the left and sat down again.

“Why?”

“Because over there was cold on my bum. You guys do a lot of weird stuff, but I think you’re onto something with pants.”

“What did you do next?”

“I went back over there because my bum wasn’t any warmer over here.” He got up and moved again. “It was a little warmer than before but not much better so I sat here and thought about how great pants were.”

“Fidget,” Eve sighed. “Get to the important part, before someone hears you.”

“Pants are pretty important. And if you don’t think so, can I have yours?”

“Please, Fidge. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Eve. If it wasn’t pants then I can’t remember. I’m afraid I have a one pants mind.” The dog hung his head and cast big eyes up to her looking for forgiveness.

“It’s okay, Fidget. Thinking is hard. You don’t have to feel bad. Why don’t you just go back to watching that guy who smells like burnt squirrel and roasted nuts?”

“Right.” Fidget went from sad to eager in a heartbeat and spun around to locate the man he was supposed to keep an eye on. He kept turning, did a full three-sixty motion without stopping and looked back at Eve. “I remember what it was now.”

16

Jerry held on desperately to the wall as his feet betrayed him. His ankles hurt, his toes hurt, and he had already fallen so much that the knees of his jeans had frozen stiff. He was already unsteady on the iced surface, and the fact that they were on the roof of a rather tall building wasn’t helping him shake any less.

Heights were usually an issue for him, but put him on an ice rink with no traction and they became more of a concern.

Lance was standing by him, trying to help steady him. “I think you’re doing really good, but I have to ask you something. Have you never skated before? Like ever?”

“Roller,” Jerry said; almost fell, again, then said, “Not ice.”

“Okay, so it’s basically the same thing, but way harder. So, you’re going to be okay. Standing still is tricky. I always found it easier once I was moving, you know? Kind of like a bicycle. So maybe if you tried moving around a bit.”

Jerry wasn’t sold on the comparison but he figured it was worth a try, so he coiled up against the wall and pushed off toward the center of the frozen roof. He did well just long enough for Lance to start cheering him on, but then he ran out of momentum and hit the ice.

“Yes! You were doing really good until you weren’t. So just do all the things you were doing up until the part where you fell and don’t do the things you did after that.”

Exhausted, Jerry rolled over on to his back and looked up at the darkening sky overhead. The clouds had grown thicker, blotting out the sun and dropping even more snow. He didn’t expect it to get any warmer.

He heard the blades approaching with a fast tick tick tick. They were getting louder when they turned into a long scraping sound. Jerry sat up just in time to catch a blast of shaved ice in the face.

Caine was behind the spray and loomed over Jerry. “Looking good, Librarian.”

His nemesis’ face was swollen from the repeated beatings. “Your face is looking a little red, Caine. Are you cold?”

Caine ignored the insinuation. “Not at all. Actually, I’m invigorated. I haven’t been skating in years. I used to do it all the time. Did you know I learned to skate on a pond?”

Jerry tried to put one skate on its blade and started shaking. “How would I possibly know that?”

“That’s just how it was done where I’m from. As soon as a kid could walk, they’d slap a pair of hand-me-down skates on him, give him a folding chair to push around the pond and let him go.”

Jerry tried to stand by putting weight on the skate but he started sliding forward on a single skate and one knee instead.

Caine skated literal circles around him.

“I learned a lot on that pond. But of course, Coach taught me so much more. I remember getting up when it was still dark out, year after year and going to the ice rink to practice. We ran drills constantly. But all that hard work paid off the first time I took the ice in front of a crowd. Geared up. Focused. The light catching the sequins in—”

“Wait.” Lance slid to a stop near the pair wearing a broad smile. “Dude, are you saying you were a figure skater?”

“You can laugh all you want. Figure skating takes athleticism, discipline, and skill.”

“Dude, it takes a tutu,” Lance said.

“You have no idea how much training it takes! Everyone knows it’s harder than hockey.”

“No, it’s not,” Lance laughed. “I can guarantee a figure skater never took a beating like they give in hockey. Except Nancy Kerrigan. But that doesn’t count because it was Olympic level stuff.”

Jerry was still trying to work out how to get his other skate on the ice. He started to turn slowly on his knee.

“It is too harder. It takes all the same skills and on top of it you have to add performance and artistry. It’s hard work. It takes sacrifice. It takes talent. And it never gets the respect it deserves.”

The Horrorsaurus Rex skated by and threw a shoulder into Caine that sent the figure skater falling backwards and sliding into the boards near the edge of the roof.

“I think it gets exactly the amount of respect it deserves,” Lance said as he helped Jerry to his feet.

A musical sting played over loudspeakers. It was trumpets mostly with a touch of organ. The music accompanied the lights coming up on a sports desk that was set on an elevated platform above the frozen roof. Two men in sports coats and ties sat at the desk behind microphones. The one on the left started speaking as soon as the music faded.

“Welcome sports fans to the tip top of the riskiest ice rink in the apocalypse, the Icescraper. I’m Buck Maple, I’m here with my good friend Moose “The Mountie” Campbell for tonight’s Omega Run.”

“That’s right, Buckie,” said Moose. “We’ve got a full roster tonight at the top of what used to be The Cleave’s library. But we’ve traded books for blades and everyone here is about to participate in the fastest sport on Earth.”

“That’s right, Moose. We’ve taken ten stories of tomes and turned it into a downhill race the likes of which you’ve never seen. What do you think of the lineup tonight?”

“Well, Buck, I was watching some of the runners warm up earlier and I think we’ve got some pretty strong skaters out there. Of course, it looks like we’ve also got a couple of people that have never seen a pair of skates in their life. The guy we’re calling the Librarian Number One is struggling something fierce. He may feel like he’s at home in this old library but he’s certainly going to struggle on the slippery bits.”

“You know, Moose, I saw one contestant dressed up like a dinosaur.”

“Well let’s hope he fairs better than the rest of the dinos did with the ice,” Moose said. “Because they did not like the cold.”

“The objective of this stage is simple,” explained Buck. “The Omega Run Icescraper is a ten-story downhill ice track going under, around and through what used to be the city’s public library. All our contestants have to do to win is be the first one to cross the finish line at street level.”

“What did he say?” Jerry asked.

Caine smiled. “He said you’re losing this one, Librarian.”

“Simple? Yes.” said Moose. “But, easy? No. Our skaters will be reaching speeds of up to fifty miles an hour as they navigate the twists, turns and dewy decimation system of our downhill course. And they’ll want to go as fast as they can with the Cleavers right on their tails.”

An air horn blasted and several hockey players skated out from behind the announcers stand. They were dressed in a patchwork of gear that was part hockey equipment and part junkyard dominatrix chic. No two skaters were dressed the same. Each wore a goalie mask painted with the face of a different monster; werewolf, merman, zombies, skeleton and more. Some had chains and others wore studded leather gauntlets. Each of the players carried a hockey stick wrapped in barbed wire, but what truly united them as a team was the jerseys. Each one was emblazoned with a bloody meat cleaver chopping the team’s name in two.

“That’s right, Moose. The Cleavers will be right on their heels to make sure the action stays fast, furious and pointed downhill.”

The Cleavers left their line and began skating around the rooftop rink. They weaved in out of the group of contestants growling, leering and sneering at the runners as they passed.

One growled at the pirate.

“Aargh,” the pirate shot back.

The man with the ridiculous mustache laughed at the spectacle. And taunted them right back with a “Stash O’Halloran is really scared.”

The merman skid to a stop in front of him and glared at him through the goalie mask.

“What are you looking at, fish boy?”

The merman punched the man in the mustache with a hockey glove wrapped with a bicycle chain, which busted the runner’s lip and loosened a few teeth.

A whistle sounded, and the Cleavers skated back to their end of the rink as two referees entered the rink.

The man with the bloody, ridiculous mustache grabbed one of the refs. “Did you see what he did to Stash O’Halloran? What do the rules say about that?”

The referee spit on the ice. “They say don’t be such a pussy.”

The other ref blew his whistle and instructed the contestants to move to a starting line that was painted on the ice against the wall.

The bulk of the runners moved to the line.

Jerry fell over instead.

Lance helped him up and they joined the rest of the players who were lined up facing the Cleavers and bracing themselves for whatever came next.

One official barked, “You all are facing the wrong way. Get on this side of the line and face the wall.”

The two officials moved to different ends of the starting line and worked a combination of latches. They then lifted a section of the wall and skated off with it.

The ice rink continued through the new opening and out over the edge of the building, where it turned into a downhill run that hugged the building.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Lance said.

“There’s no way that’s safe,” said the Black Dragon.

“Aargh,” agreed the pirate.

“What’s going on?” asked the Horrorsaurus Rex as she tried to wipe the condensation buildup away from the viewing window in her costume.

“Ready!” called the referee.

“Waitwaitwaitwait!” shouted Channel 5’s Chip Bennet, peering down the slope.

“Set!”

“I really feel like someone should sing the national anthem first,” said Chad the Lifeguard. “Probably, Canada’s too.”

“Go!”

The whistle blew, the horn sounded, and all hell broke loose.

The Cleavers started charging like the runners were loose pucks.

Only a couple of the contestants seemed eager to get started on their downhill run. Caine and Tiffany Flexx were the first across the starting line with the Black Dragon and the Abracadamn only a step behind them. The rest of the entrants needed the post-apocalyptic goon squad to help them find the motivation to enter the course.

“You can do this!” Lance assured Jerry as he skated out onto the ramp and headed down the course.

As the Cleavers rushed across the ice, some of the contestants remained torn between their fear of heights and their fear of barbed wired wrapped hockey sticks.

Jerry approached the edge on wobbly ankles. It wasn’t the height that concerned him. It was his inability to stop on skates. Or even get going on skates. Maybe he could go down on his stomach.

The dinosaur was freaking out. Fog had built up on the window inside her costume and she was frantically trying to wipe it off. But it was built up on the inside and batting at it with the costumes little arms were doing no good. “I can’t see! What’s happening?”

Jerry grabbed the dino’s arm. “Pull your arm in!”

The Horrorsaurus Rex yanked and the woman’s hand came out of the costume.

“Now wipe,” Jerry said.

A hand cleared away the moisture that was blocking the windscreen and revealed the face of a young and grateful woman.

“Thank you,” she said and then looked past him and spotted the Icescraper course for the first time. “Holy shit! That is a big T-rex sized nope from me.”

The Horrorsaurus Rex spun away from the starting line. Her tail swept the Librarian’s legs out from under him and sent him tumbling to the ice. Gravity took hold of him next and he started sliding down the slope.

Sliding on his back, Jerry grabbed the only thing he could and he and the T-Rex went down the first stage together with the Horrorsaurus Rex screaming the whole way.

The chute was about 15 feet wide and dropped sharply before leveling out at the ninth floor and throwing them into a banked turn that quickly shot them back into the interior of the building.

“Let go of me!” shouted the dinosaur.

“Sorry!” Jerry let go of the tail and got to his feet, determined to skate across the floor on his own.

The ramp wasn’t as bad as he had feared. If the first one was any indication, he could slide down the entire building and still complete the round.

“Well, that wasn’t very graceful, Moose,” said Buck.

“No, it wasn’t, Buck,” agreed Moose. “It reminds me of that time I saw a drunken octopus trying to fuck a coat rack.”

“Are you serious, Moose?”

There was a long pause before Moose responded. “Where the hell would I see that, Buck?”

“I don’t know. An aquarium?”

“Do you see me as the kind of guy that hangs around aquariums?”

Great, thought Jerry, it looked like he was going to have to listen to this the whole way down.

There was screaming from above as some of the more hesitant racers made their way down the ramp. They had either found the courage to do it on their own or they had been forced down by the Cleavers. Based mostly on the screaming, Jerry assumed it wasn’t courage.

The uncertainty was put to rest a moment later when a tangle of runners arrived in a pile on the ninth floor with the sadistic Cleavers right behind them.

Jerry scrambled. Keeping his legs wide apart as he went, he wasn’t sure if he was skating or constantly falling and then catching himself before he hit the ground. Either way, he was moving. He made it more than halfway across the floor when he lost it completely and fell to the ice again.

Another contestant flew past him with one of the Cleavers in close pursuit.

Channel 5’s Chip Bennet shot out onto the ramp down to the next floor too fast to turn. He hit the waist-high board on the outside of the ramp and almost went over the edge. Arms pinwheeling, he was able to pull his center of balance back onto the rink and get his skates back on the ice, avoiding a nine-story fall to the streets below.

The Cleaver in the werewolf mask flew out of the ninth floor and hip checked Channel 5’s Chip Bennet up and over the board. Like most of his career, the fearless weather reporter spent his last moments of airtime staying on top of the weather.

The Cleaver looked back at Jerry and watched as the Librarian struggled to stand. He quickly dismissed him as a non-threat and shot down the ramp in pursuit of the leading racers.

Jerry got back to his feet and drifted slowly out onto the ramp before attempting to turn. Delighted by his ability to stay upright and baffled by his successful pivot, he started laughing as he began his descent to the eighth floor.

Then he spotted the jump.

It wasn’t much, just a three-foot drop about halfway down the ramp. But he was sure it wasn’t in his skill set.

He thought if he got lower, it would improve his center of gravity. But once he squatted low enough, he just ended up sitting down. He tried to get back on his feet before he reached the ledge, but the best he could do was raise his ass off the ice. His skates were still on the ice, but he was on his hands as well and he went off the ledge like a crab.

He landed on his back and lost his breath before banking into another turn that shot him across the eighth floor and onto the ramp to the seventh. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to slow his descent, but it did no good. He slid down the ramp, hit the banked turn and crashed into a bookcase on the seventh floor.

“You’d expect a man named the Librarian to be a little more at home in the library,” Buck said.

“If you asked me,” Moose added, “it looks like he needs to spend a little more time in the sports section.”

The seventh floor was different from the others. While the roof and the ninth floor were wide open sheets of ice, the seventh floor still resembled a library. Bookcases and furniture were left in place and the iced surface was simply a path that wound through the corridors. This forced the racers to slow down so they could make their way through the labyrinth.

The Cleavers were waiting in the rows to keep everyone moving.

Jerry was able to use the shelves for balance and actually improved his speed through this part of the building. The Cleavers seemed more concerned with the Hares than the Tortoise and left him alone while they focused their wrath on the other contestants.

He made it to the other side of the floor with a burst of confidence that left him once he saw the ramp that led to the next floor. Barbed wire was strung across the path at various heights, ready to trip up or clothesline anyone who wasn’t paying attention. This all led to another jump. Only this wasn’t a mere drop, it was a small launch ramp that led over a six-foot gap in the ice course.

Jerry heard himself say, “Nope,” and turned around to head back inside.

“No quitters!” Growled the Cleaver in the werewolf mask and drove a shoulder into Jerry’s chest. The hit knocked him down and launched him across the rink and into the wall where he began his trip to the next floor. He was heading down the ramp upside down and backwards.

The barbed wire wasn’t a problem—he slid right under it—but he knew the jump was there and he couldn’t even see it coming. He dragged a hand on the ice in an attempt to turn but he was picking up speed and realized he shouldn’t do anything to slow himself down. Skill wasn’t on his side; speed was the only thing that could save him now.

He felt the rink drop away as he went airborne. His arms and legs flailed as he soared over the chasm. He hated to think what would happen if he didn’t clear it. Maybe he’d be lucky and hit the course below him. Like some kind of insane shortcut.

It didn’t matter if he hit the other side, the ramp below or the street at the bottom of the tower. All of them would hurt. It was only a matter of degrees. Jerry closed his eyes and braced himself for whatever impact awaited him.

He hit the ice on the other side of the jump. It was a close enough call that the boot on his skate caught the lip of the chasm when he landed and sent him spinning. The momentum worked to his benefit in the banked turn, where his body somehow oriented itself properly. He could finally see where he was going again.

In the confusion of the seventh floor, he had actually overtaken a couple of the other contestants. But they were catching up fast. He heard skaters hit the jump and land on the ice not far behind him. A couple failed to stick their landings but the ones who did were flying as they rounded the banked turn.

There was swearing and yelling as they were forced to break around him or leap over him to keep their momentum. Other skaters were hitting the jump behind him and landing behind him and were coming down fast. For his part, he just kept sliding. This segment of the ramp didn’t seem to stop at the next floor, it just continued on, twisting and turning until Jerry slid to a stop in the middle of the fifth floor.

For a moment he was alone and just lay there enjoying the silence, the dark and even the cold coming from the rink. Maybe he could just pass on this round and find another way to the bottom. He didn’t have to win every stage, he just had to have the most points at the end of it all.

He heard the tac tac tac of a fast skater approaching him and tucked to protect his face.

Caine leapt over him, performed an axel and landed backwards on a single skate. The actor blew Jerry a kiss as he disappeared down the next ramp to the next backwards.

“What do think of the performance from the Librarians tonight?” asked Buck.

“I’ve got to admit I’ve been a little surprised. Librarian Number Two is outperforming most of the contestants. I’m thinking there might be some sequined spandex hanging in his closet. But skills are skills. The Librarian Number One, on the other hand, has been a complete disappointment. For a guy who claims to stand up to evil, he sure spends a lot of time on his ass.”

Jerry slammed a fist into the ice and got to his knees. He took a frustrated breath as the Horrorsaurus Rex skated past him and entered the ramp screaming. He might come in dead last, but he was determined to finish the race. He managed to get to his feet and skate over to a window near the ramp entrance. He was still five stories from the finish line and he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of skating yet. And the course was getting more dangerous. Traps and falls were probably going to be more commonplace the closer they got to the ground. Sliding down on his back wasn’t going to be good enough. He had to find a way to get better fast.

He looked at his reflection in the window and swore he wouldn’t pass on the stage. He was going to make it to the bottom, one way or another.

That’s when the window exploded.

17

The catwalks rattled beneath their feet as Eve and the dogs raced across the metal bridge between the Tower City complex and the building across the street.

Rickety catwalks were a staple of the apocalypse, and they could be found all over the wasteland at various heights. They were great time savers in cities where the elevators were no longer functioning. It seemed like a lot of wasted energy to run all the way downstairs just to run all the way back up when you could just drop a plank or two out the window and save yourself some legwork. In some areas, a quick trot across a perilous bridge was still safer than venturing to the surface. There could be threats lurking on the streets below that were far more dangerous than a rickety bridge.

There were varying degrees of construction quality when it came to ramshackle-apocalyptic catwalks. In the early days of the new world, it was difficult to judge the quality of craftsmanship. The gangways could be anything from a repurposed fire escape ladder or steel frame to a rickety two by four pocked with tetanus-infused nails. Risk had to be assessed before every step. But after a year or two, traversing the upper tiers of shanty towns had become second nature. People learned to spot the difference between quality jerry-rigged footbridges and slapdash spans.

Thankfully, the engineers in The Cleave had cobbled together some first-rate catwalks and Eve and the dogs raced across them, following Fidget’s nose with little concern of the path falling out from beneath them.

Eve could never be sure how much Fidget could communicate to the other dogs.

She knew that the little Beagle had been given the ability to speak by what could only be considered a mad scientist that had been hiding in a secret lab down in Florida. But she never understood how the dog could understand so much of what she said in the first place. She wondered how big his vocabulary was. And if he could communicate the meaning of any of those words to Sasquatch and Chewy? Could the other dogs talk back?

Fidget never really told her what Satch or Chewy were thinking. It could be he didn’t know in the first place, or maybe he had forgotten what they’d told him by the time it was his turn to talk.

Could Fidget translate from human to dog? Was that frustrating little Beagle actually bilingual? If he could speak dog and human, did that make him smarter than her? He spoke two languages. She only spoke human.

Did the dogs understand words like sniper? They ran like they knew something dangerous was happening. But maybe they didn’t need to know specifics. Maybe they just needed to know that Jerry was in trouble.

However it worked, the dogs didn’t hesitate to run when they were called and they were all in full pursuit of Fidget’s missing person who smelled like they had treats but that wouldn’t give them up.

They had followed Fidget’s nose out of the viewing room and down a considerable number of stairs. Fidget trailed the scent to a roof access door that took them out onto the top of the larger Tower City complex and across the catwalk.

In their pursuit, they passed the occasional Omega Run crew member, none of which seemed bothered by their presence on the catwalks. They were too busy going about their own business, like setting up lights and other film gear for an upcoming shot or watching the monitors and tracking the contestants’ progress through the course. Fidget gave each crew member a quick dismissive sniff to ensure it wasn’t their target and then continued on, following the trail.

There were a lot of things you couldn’t trust a talking Beagle to do; watch your sandwich, keep a secret, or sneak up on anybody. But you could always trust a Beagle’s nose. The hound dog’s nose was almost never wrong.

Fidget stopped in the middle of the catwalk as if struck by a revelation. His head snapped up and his nose took over full control of his face. He followed as it led him to the edge of the catwalk. His eyes narrowed and they lost him in a fit of concentration.

“What is it, Fidge?” asked Eve.

Fidget’s ears pitched forward and he stared out into the city below. And when he spoke, he sounded like Batman. “I think I smell Chinese food.”

“Focus, Fidget!” Eve pleaded.

The sniper fired again. The crack of the bullet could be heard in the wind.

“Right,” Fidget said and shook off the sensation. “I forgot. We’re looking for a swiper.”

“A sniper.”

“That, too,” said Fidget and picked up the bad man’s scent again.

They stepped off the catwalk and into the top floor of the neighboring building and found themselves in a row with a bank of monitors carrying feeds from the various cameras placed along the course. One of the cameras was focused on Jerry as he sought cover from the sniper’s gunfire inside the library.

“Find the shooter!” One of the crew members shouted

“I’ve got him,” said another. “He’s in the old Huntington building.”

“Great. Now that we know where he is, someone get a camera on him.”

“A camera!” Eve’s shout startled everyone in the room. They hadn’t seen her or the dogs enter. “Aren’t you going to stop him?”

“Are you kidding, lady? We’ve got a shooter on live TV. This is ratings gold.”

Fidget was still on the move again with Chewy and Sasquatch in tow. She needed to follow. Eve cast one last glance at Jerry dodging sniper fire and chased after the dogs.

The Beagle ran back outside and across another catwalk. This one was longer but still well constructed. Cameras and lights hung off the side as if a portion of the show was shot from the structure.

The catwalk led them to the lower-level roof of the Huntington Building. If the crew was right, the sniper was somewhere in the giant tower.

The gunshots were louder and they were coming faster now.

“We have to hurry, Fidget!” Eve shouted as she chased after the hound.

“Okay,” Fidget said. “I’m going into hyper sniff!”

“No, Fidget! Wait!”

There was no such thing as hyper sniff. It was something the Beagle had made up just there and then, but he took off like a brown and white bolt and leapt through an open window into the interior building. The scent was still there but at these speeds it was beginning to mix with other odors as Fidget raced up stairs and through abandoned offices. He passed through one where someone used to microwave fish. He would have to come back and smell that one later when he wasn’t running so fast.

The scent grew stronger. He was close. Fidget ran into a room and put on the brakes when he spotted three men, including the one who smells like he had treats but that he wouldn’t give any dogs those treats. Two of the men were focused on something out the window. One was behind a gun. The third man was watching the door and spotted the Beagle right away.

“Hey there’s a dog here,” he said to the two at the window.

“What kind of dog?” the man behind the gun asked.

“Why does it matter what kind of dog? A dog’s a dog.”

“That’s not true,” said the man behind the gun. “Some are tastier than others.”

The other man at the window turned and looked at Fidget. “That’s a Beagle.”

“Oh, you can’t eat a Beagle,” said the man behind the gun.

“Why not?”

“Snoopy was a beagle. You can’t eat Snoopy.”

“Snoopy wasn’t a beagle,” said the man watching the door.

“Yes, he was,” the shooter said and fired again.

“This dog looks nothing like Snoopy.”

“Trust me,” the shooter said and pulled the trigger. “Snoopy was a Beagle!”

“Snoopy was a loser.”

This did not sit well with Fidget. The Beagle’s hackles went straight up and he growled at the man, “Snoopy was a darn hero!”

The men didn’t move or say a word until the man behind the gun stopped firing and looked at Fidget. “Did that dog just talk?”

Fidget shot across the room and grabbed the first guy’s pant leg in his teeth and gave it a fierce shaking.

The other men laughed at their friend as he tried to shake the dog from his pant leg.

Chewy and Sasquatch arrived a moment later and the laughter turned to screams as the giant dogs joined the fight.

The men’s first instinct was to run away from the charging animals. And that plan worked great until they hit the wall behind them.

One of the men drew a knife and slashed at Sasquatch while the sniper tried to work his way back to the rifle he’d abandoned in the window.

The blade missed Sasquatch and the Great Dane locked his jaw around the attacker’s wrist, forcing him to drop the knife. Chewy had come to Fidget’s aid. The mastiff had grabbed hold of the man’s other pant leg and between the effort of the two dogs—but mostly Chewy—they had forced him to do the splits.

The shooter went unnoticed by the dogs and worked his way along the wall until he reached his rifle. He picked it up and quickly worked the bolt, chambering a high-powered round. He turned the barrel on the Great Dane.

The deafening report of the gunshot brought everything in the room to a stop.

The sniper lowered his rifle and took a step back toward the window. Then he looked down and examined the bullet hole in his chest.

Eve stood in the doorway, smoke rising from the barrel of her Sig.

The sniper toppled backward out the window. He didn’t even bother to scream.

The sudden departure of their compatriot spurred the other two men into action. They both reached for their sidearms in an attempt to shoot their way out.

Eve fired four more rounds before they could make their weapons a viable threat.

The big dogs continued to growl at the men even though they had dropped to the ground and stopped moving.

Fidget ignored the fallen men and ran to the open window. He put his paws up on the ledge, threw his head back, and howled his little hound dog heart out.

18

Jerry could hear the howling of the hound dog from the fifth floor of the library. He’d know that noise anywhere. He couldn’t even count the number of times it had torn him from a restful sleep only to discover that Fidget was howling at nothing at all.

It wasn’t a sound he normally liked to hear, but now it was a welcome sound. This was one of Fidget’s victory howls. It was one he used whenever he successfully identified a smell or whenever he misidentified a smell, but discovered that the smell was something edible, anyway. This howl sounded particularly victorious. Had Eve taken out the sniper? It sounded like it was coming from roughly the same direction and there hadn’t been any gunshots for a few moments.

How long had he been forced to take cover? He had lost so much ground to the competent skaters that it would be difficult to make it up. Especially since he couldn’t stay on his feet. He hated to admit it but Caine could really skate. Of course, according to him, the impostor had been doing it since he was a kid. On ponds. With chairs. Like a dork. Probably.

Jerry looked around the fifth floor. Little had been done to transform it into an ice rink. It really looked like they just left the fire sprinklers running until the floor was frozen. Most of the library’s furniture was still in place. He scanned the room and found what he was looking for. He scrambled across the rink.

“Well, Moose, the gunfire from across the street appears to have stopped. But I’m not sure there’s anyone left on the fifth floor at this point.”

“No, Buck, I think the shooter may have hit his mark. It may have been for the best, because that guy just could not skate.”

“He had heart though, Moose.”

“Yeah, but heart isn’t enough to finish the Icescraper. You can’t skate on heart.”

“Hold on, there’s some movement at the top of the fifth-floor ramp. It looks like we’ve got another skater left. And he appears to be holding an object. What could it be?”

“It’s a chair, Buck,” Moose said with little enthusiasm.

“I know it’s a chair, Moose,” snapped Buck.

“Well, you said it like it was a big deal. But it’s just a chair.”

“I’m just trying to convey the drama we’re feeling here to the folks watching at home.”

“But it’s just a chair.”

“I hate you, Moose.”

Jerry snapped open the steel chair and set it on the ice in front of him. It did help with his balance a little. It would have helped more if it were a little larger. Or if he was a toddler. He could see how it would be a great training aid for kids, but he was forced to stoop over the back of the chair. Still, it was something.

He knew he wouldn’t win the round. But he wasn’t going to give up. He had to make it to the bottom of the Icescraper and the chair was going to get him there.

Forward momentum shouldn’t be a problem. It was all downhill from there.

Jerry pushed the chair out onto the ramp and felt a rush as he started down the slope standing up for the first time.

“He’s using the chair as a skating aid,” said Buck. “Talk about learning on the job.”

“I remember my days on the pond, Buck,” added Moose. “This is exactly how a lot of kids learned how to skate growing up.”

“I’m afraid it might be too little too late, though, Moose. He’s got a lot of ground to make up and even with the chair, getting to the bottom will be a challenge.”

“Well, no shit, Captain Obvious.”

Jerry ducked under a strand of barbed wire and managed to steer past a hole in the ramp all with a modicum of control. With the chair helping him balance, he was able to focus on what his feet were doing and he soon had more of an understanding of how it all worked. By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was smiling and moving at a decent speed toward the next ramp.

“It ain’t pretty, Moose, but that was the smoothest run he’s had so far.”

“You’re right about that, Buck. But it looks like there’s a couple of goons looking to make things a little choppy.”

Sure enough, there were Cleavers waiting for him at the entrance to the third-floor ramp.

The one that was painted like a zombie started skating toward him. He moved pretty fast for a member of the undead and came straight for Jerry.

Jerry stayed the course as the man chased him down. It wasn’t a strategy or a plan. It was his only option. He was a terrible skater.

The zombie Cleaver raised his stick and swung at Jerry’s head.

The Librarian ducked under the blow. Or maybe fell. Even he wasn’t sure. But he slid under the strike and came back up on the other side. He over-corrected and fell forward over the back of the chair.

He was still sliding toward the ramp and the second Cleaver. This one was done up like a skeleton and cackled as his prey slid toward him. He drew his hockey stick back like a baseball bat and prepared to swing at the meatball of a pitch that was coming right to him.

He swung just as Jerry kicked his weight back onto his skates and stood up fast. He grabbed the seat on the way up, folded the chair and held it up in front of his face.

The hockey stick clanged off the steel chair, throwing the skeleton off balance and giving Jerry the chance he needed.

He drew the chair back over his shoulder and swung, clobbering the skeleton-masked Cleaver in the skull and sending him to the ice.

“Looks like our Librarian is bringing some good old-fashion wraslin’ action to the ice,” Moose said with a new enthusiasm in his voice.

The momentum from the swing spun Jerry around fully just before he entered the next ramp. He snapped the chair back open and slammed it onto the ice to regain his balance before he fell. Unfortunately, he kept spinning until he fell once again and ended up sitting in the chair as it hit the top of the ramp backwards.

Just before he went over the lip, he saw the zombie Cleaver racing toward him.

The sight of the apocalyptic hockey player coming after him was terrifying. The Cleaver caught up to him quickly and hooked the chair with his stick.

All Jerry could do was kick. It was instinct. His skate connected with the Cleaver’s mask with a clack. It wasn’t enough to crack the goalie mask, but it caused the player to lose his balance and control of his stick.

The chair spun as it went up a banked turn. Jerry pleaded with it to stop.

“You know, Moose. This may be harder than regular skating.”

“He’s definitely making it more difficult than it needs to be, Buck.”

The Librarian entered the second floor backwards and toppled out of the chair when he drifted into a dry spot in the floor. He managed to grab hold of the chair and drag it with him as he continued to slide.

The Cleaver yelled as he entered the floor and charged straight for the Librarian.

Jerry brought the chair up just in time to intercept the hockey stick.

The Cleaver swung several more times.

Jerry spun the chair like Jackie Chan and blocked every blow of the stick while desperately trying to kick the Cleaver’s legs out from under him.

The hockey player stopped trying to hack at the Librarian and put his stick on the chair. He started pushing, building up a massive amount of speed. Then he stopped and let Jerry slide across the ice and into the base of a bookcase.

The bookcase toppled over, spilling books and ruin all over the floor and Jerry. The Librarian was all but buried in literature.

Jerry freed himself and stood up with less struggle than normal. It took him a moment to realize that he had traction. He looked at his feet. A trail of exposed carpeting ran along the base of the bookshelf, all the way to the top of the last ramp.

The Cleaver started skating toward him. Jerry ran.

It wasn’t graceful, but he was able to build up some steam on the carpet as he raced toward the top of the ramp.

The Cleaver turned to head him off.

Jerry had reached the end of the carpet.

The Cleaver reached the top of the ramp and hacked at Jerry’s legs with the barbed hockey stick.

Jerry jumped. He cleared the stick and landed on the ice. Miraculously, he didn’t fall. He was heading the right way down the ramp, while remaining upright, without a chair. What’s more, he felt he might be able to make it all the way on his feet. Maybe Caine was right about the chair. Or maybe Lance was right about roller skates translating to ice. Either way, he felt that as long as there were no surprises, he could at least cross the finish line standing up. He went into the next banked turn with a fair amount of confidence and a good amount of speed. He came out weak in the knees after spotting the flaming ring suspended in the air in front of him.

The end of the ramp reached ground level and then sloped upwards into a ramp that would launch skaters into the air and through the fiery hoop.

Jerry quickly developed a plan that involved a little bit of holding his breath and a good deal of prayer. He hit the bottom of the ramp and pumped his legs to get as much speed as he could before being launched back up.

He reached out with his arms, envisioning Superman and tried to get as horizontal as he could. It was going to be close; he wasn’t going nearly as fast as a decent skater.

Jerry felt the heat of the flaming ring as he went through. He was so close to the bottom of the hoop that he figured, if he lived, he’d have grill marks on his stomach. He seemed to hang over the flame before he landed hard in a pile of snow.

Chad the Lifeguard rushed to his aide and started throwing snow on him.

Every time he tried to sit up, he got another handful of snow in the face. He put up a hand to stop the assault and wheezed, “What are you doing?”

“You’re on fire, bro!”

Jerry started twisting to find the source of the flames.

“You’re going to be okay. You’ve already stopped. You dropped quite dramatically. So now you just have to roll around until the hissing stops.”

Jerry lay back down in the pile of snow and rolled around until he was confident the flames had been extinguished.

“Well, Moose, I’ve got to give it to the Librarian,” said Buck. “That is the most spectacular way to come in dead last that I’ve ever seen.”

“You said it, Buck. What a loser.”

The Lifeguard helped Jerry to his feet and double checked him for flames. He slapped Jerry on the back and gave him a thumbs up. “You’re out.”

Caine was there when he finally got free of the snow pile. “Did you hear the good news, Jerry? I won. I guess all those early mornings in sequins paid off.”

Jerry tried to pop Caine in the face, but his ankle buckled halfway through the punch and he fell to the ground one final time. He lay back in the pile of snow and sighed. “I hate skates.”

19

“And that’s the game! It was another fantastic showing by your hometown team. The Cleavers just get better every week. Pretty soon, our runners won’t stand a chance on the Icescraper.

“But tonight a few got by and we have some points to add to the board. Twirling his way to a place on the leaderboard, the Librarian Number Two ice danced his way to a first-place finish.

“Posthumous bonus points have been awarded to Channel 5’s Chip Bennet for going out the same way he lived. Covering a winter storm.

“Five bonus points have also been awarded to Lance Fury for not knowing when to quit. His never say die attitude is what The Omega Run is all about. Boy, can that guy take a hit.”

“Now we take you to Neville Sommerville once more to kick it with one of our contestants.”

The scene transitioned from an aerial view of the Icescraper to Tiffany Flexx in an aerobics studio trying to teach an uncoordinated Neville Sommerville how to high kick. Neville’s effort was admirable, but the results were poor and he fell to the ground. The pair laughed as she helped him up to try again. Neville’s voice came up and over the visuals as the instructions continued.

“Tiffany Flexx knows a thing or two about fitness. A gym rat long before the world ended, her passion for healthy living endures to this day.”

The screen cut to a closeup of Tiffany. “With all the gyms gone, I didn’t have a place where I felt like myself anymore. It was like I didn’t have a home. I mean, I didn’t have a home because that was gone, too. But I really missed the gym.”

Neville’s voice over continued as footage of the fitness fan rolled. “With her membership revoked due to nuclear holocaust, Tiffany began to look elsewhere for a sense of belonging.”

“I found an old vintage video player with a vintage video tape in it. I got it working, and it was like I was home. I couldn’t get enough. I watch them all. Over and over until I memorized every step and every routine.”

“With her newfound sense of place, Tiffany knew she couldn’t keep this wealth of knowledge to herself.”

“When I win The Omega Run, I’m going to host a fitness class that people can do in their very own homes.” Tiffany smiled. “I want to help people. I want to help them be less fat.”

“ABRACADAMN!”

Smoke filled the screen and when it cleared, Tiffany was gone and the audience was looking at a man in a wizard’s hat and magical cloak sitting in the interview chair.

“You call yourself Abracadamn,” said Neville from off-camera.

“That is correct,” the wizard said with great energy. “I am the great Abracadamn!”

He raised his arms and, with the twist of his hands, he produced a bright orange fireball.

“But that’s not all people call you,” Neville said.

Abracadamn grew cautious. “What do you mean?”

“Some people also call you the Wizard of the Wasteland,” Neville said.

“Oh, yes. That is true.” The great Abracadamn cocked his eyebrow and turned to the camera. “I am known by many names; the Marvelous Mystic, the Master of Magic, and the Post-Apocalyptic Prestidigitator!”

“Anything else?” Neville asked.

“No,” the wizard said. “Not that I can think of.”

“Are you sure?”

“Neville,” the wizard’s upper lip stiffing. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“It’s just that I’ve heard some people call you a two-timing, back-stabbing son of a bitch.”

“Neville, you said you’d be professional.”

“Well,” Neville said dismissively. “I’m sure it’s just hyperbole. Like when people call you the great anything.”

“I can only apologize so many times, Neville.”

“Apologizing isn’t going to bring her back?”

“I tried necromancy!”

“Necromancy isn’t going to bring her back, either, now is it?”

“It would if it worked! That’s literally what necromancy is! What more do you want from me?”

“You know what I want, Steve? I want you to go through the rest of your miserable life, miserable.”

“Yeah?” Abracadamn jumped out of his seat and raised his hands. “How about I give you a fireball up the ass instead?”

There was a flash of light and the signal went black.

20

The drums didn’t sound right. Nothing sounded right. Even his new scarves weren’t hanging right. But that’s what happened when you don’t get a soundcheck or a reasonable amount of time to set up.

Harmegeddon had been surprised by the request to move the show indoors for half time. Just that morning they had been playing one of the greatest stages left in the world. Now they were playing a ballroom in a conference center like some lame ass tribute band.

Galen wasn’t pleased. It was a step backwards. Their Van Galen days were behind them. They were Harmegeddon now, the metalest band left on earth.

But he also realized that meant they had a duty to the metal. That meant you went where the metal was needed. And, right now, the metal was needed in the ballroom. Also, that’s where the audience happened to be.

Thankfully, the band had become accustomed to breaking down quickly. Danger often arose suddenly during performances in the wasteland and you had to be prepared to stop the rock, break the set, and get the hell out of dodge quickly so you could live to rock another day.

Max’el strummed a slow tempo on the guitar. A few measures later, Trent came in with a gentle riff that built and receded, causing the audience in the ballroom to sway. Galen took the microphone in both hands, cradled it like a new lover, and looked longingly into her eyes.

Zane and Cord brought the bass and drums in to add emphasis to the slower beat. The sound wasn’t perfect, but it was still metal. He closed his eyes and sang.

“That day you went away. In that big ball of flames. They vaporized your loving eyes, and, my love, they atomized.” He took a deep breath for the next line. But as it left his lips, the mic went dead.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sister Oblivion’s scolding was louder than Harmegeddon’s total output.

The rest of the instruments also went dead. Only Cord continued to play for another measure before he realized what was happening and set the sticks down. He took the opportunity to pick up his beer and get a drink.

“It’s one of our best songs!” Galen shouted across the ballroom.

“No,” the producer said flatly.

“C’mon, Oblivion!”

“What did I say, Galen?”

“Fine.” Galen turned to the band and indicated that they were skipping to the next song on the set list.

“Not metal,” said Cord.

The power was restored to the instruments, and Harmegeddon rocked again. This song was faster, harder and more to Sister Oblivion’s satisfaction.

“Imagine being the only band left in the world, with everything riding on you and you decide to write a power ballad,” Sister Oblivion said and shuddered as the words left her lips. “It’s disgusting.”

“I thought it was nice,” the PA at Sister Oblivion’s side said.

“You would think that, Denise; you’re a half-wit.”

A commotion near the door attracted Sister Oblivion’s attention. She looked up to see Eve and her canine companions being stopped by one of her guards.

The guard in question turned to Sister Oblivion and shrugged. She nodded and waved for the guard to let the woman pass.

As the group got close, she could see why the guard stopped them. The scrappy young woman was carrying a large rifle on her shoulder and a lot of anger in her eyes.

Eve stormed across the room and dropped the rifle at Oblivion’s feet.

“What is this, dear?” Sister Oblivion asked.

“This is the rifle the sniper was using to target Jerry.” She shot a look at Briggs, who seemed unfazed by the development. The colonel was talking quietly to one of the other guests. “You have a cheater in your ranks, Sister Oblivion.”

“A cheater!” Sister Oblivion’s voice rang out over the band’s music as she stood up and addressed the room. “I can’t abide cheating. It goes against the very essence of good sportsmanship. It ruins the integrity of the game. It besmirches honor and I do not approve of honor being besmirched. This sort of thing will not be tolerated. I have a zero-tolerance policy for cheating. So listen up to whoever is responsible for this despicable transgression; this is your first warning. There won’t be many. Maybe like only two or three. Okay, carry on.”

Sister Oblivion laughed and sat back down.

“A warning?” Eve watched Briggs smile at her, cock an eyebrow and return to his conversation. “You just said cheating won’t be tolerated.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be encouraged. Personally, I find it abhorrent, but it does add an element of mystery to the show. And even I like to be surprised now and then.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said, dear. But I also said there aren’t any rules. And if there aren’t any rules, no one can cheat. That’s the only way to keep things fair for everyone.”

The doors to the ballroom opened and a round of applause began as a line of weary contestants filed into the room.

“There they are my glorious contestants!” Sister Oblivion jumped out of her seat and rushed across the room with open arms. She embraced everyone she could get her hands on. “How are you my lovely, lovely runners? You are doing such a wonderful job out there. Welcome to the half time festivities! I want to congratulate you all on making it this far in The Omega Run. Get yourself a bite to eat, rest up and, if you have a spare moment, maybe some of you could make yourself more presentable.”

Eve fought her way through the crowd and hugged Jerry as he stumbled into the room. “How are you doing out there?”

“My feet feel so weird,” he said and headed over to a banquet table.

She pulled out a seat for him and helped him sit down. “That will happen after skating for a bit.”

“Yeah, I think that’s nature’s way of saying we shouldn’t be doing it.” He groaned as he rubbed his feet and the inside of his thighs. “Ice skating is really, really hard.”

“You did pretty great for your first time.” Eve stood behind him and rubbed his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” said Fidget. “One time I was chasing this cat because it was a stupid cat and I chased him out into a puddle. And when his paw got wet he did this thing where he tried to stand on none of his feet all at the same time. That’s what you looked like. But I like you better than a cat.”

“Thank you, Fidget.” Jerry leaned back in his seat. “I like you better than a cat, too.”

“Duh!” Fidget rolled his eyes. “That’s because I’m a dog,”

“So, who was shooting at me?” Jerry asked.

“Try to contain your surprise, but Caine and his Remnant buddies feel pretty threatened by you and seem to be more than willing to cheat.”

“And violate the sanctity of this death sport?” Jerry asked.

“It’s not a death sport!” Darren the lawyer said as he happened to be passing by the table.

“I don’t know if they were Remnant or mercenary,” said Eve. “But they weren’t in uniform. There could be more baddies here than we know.”

He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. “Thank you for having my back. It sure makes doing the lone wanderer bit a lot easier with you behind me.”

Eve smiled. “Fidget sniffed him out.”

“Good boy, Fidge!” Jerry said and scratched the Beagle’s head.

“It’s not something I would do for a cat,” Fidget said before getting distracted by the smell of something delicious in the air.

“Noted.”

Eve stopped rubbing his shoulders and took a seat across from him at the banquet table. “I doubt things will get any better as this goes on.”

“I don’t know,” Jerry said with a shrug. “Caine finally got a win. Maybe they’ll ease up.”

“There don’t seem to be any consequences for taking out a fellow runner, so I’d doubt it. They seem like the kind of people who like guarantees. Oblivion just wants a good show, so she’s willing to look the other way. Keep your eyes open. It could get really rough out there.”

Jerry closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s already rough.”

The doors to the ballroom opened again and two of the Cleavers walked into the ballroom supporting Lance Fury between them. The man was battered, bloodied and as friendly as ever.

“Thanks again, guys,” he said as they dragged him into the room. “Hey, does anyone have a spare coat? Or a blanket? Or maybe just a whole lot of napkins? I think I could make a blanket out of a whole lot of napkins.”

Eve couldn’t hide her reaction to the man’s appearance. “Oh my God,”

“I know,” Jerry said. “I can’t believe he’s still going,”

“How is that guy still on his feet?”

“Heart of a champion. Head of an idiot.”

“You’re still out there, too.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a really good reason for being an idiot.”

The Cleavers walked Lance over to Eve and Jerry’s table and sat him down in one of the open chairs. He had more bruises and fewer teeth than he had at the top of the Icescraper and when he spoke a little dribble of blood ran down his lip. “Hey, man! You did really good out there, Librarian. Didn’t I say you were going to be okay?”

“Lance! What happened to you?”

“I know, right? It probably looks worse than it is, but some of those Cleavers guys cornered me up on one of the floors. They actually couldn’t believe the beating I took. They said I’m lucky to be here. And I agree with them. I am lucky, you know? Because not a lot of people get a chance like this.”

“I think they meant you were lucky to be alive,” Eve said.

“Oh, maybe that is what they meant.”

“Last time I saw you, you were at the front of the pack,” said Jerry. “The way you moved on those skates, I figured you had a shot at winning.”

“Oh, I was doing pretty good until the hockey guys got me. They gave me a good working over. I mean, they really went to town on me. But I think they felt sorry for me because after a while they weren’t hitting me that hard and they eventually helped me up and let me finish. And they didn’t have to do that.”

“Hey, Hack Dragon!” The wizard was standing close by and shouting at the cut-rate assassin.

“The name is Black Dragon,” the ninja fired back.

“You tripped me out there,” the wizard said.

“So what?”

“So, that’s playing dirty!”

“Relax; it’s just a game, dickhead!”

“It’s not a dick, it’s a wizard’s hat!”

Jerry started to get up to intervene but Lance motioned for him to stay seated.

“I’ve got this.”

“Lance, don’t be ridiculous.” Jerry said and tried to get him to sit back down. “Look at you.”

“Yeah, look at me.” Lance brushed Jerry’s hands away and stumbled off to stop the burgeoning altercation. “Look at me, being a good guy just like you.”

Lance Fury placed himself between the Black Dragon and Abracadamn and pushed them apart. “Guys, we need to save it for the race. If we—”

The wizard’s first blow missed the ninja completely and landed on Lance’s jaw. The peacemaker went down and the ninja leapt over him to attack the wizard.

A couple of PAs that had been standing on the outskirts of the party moved in to stop the fight while Lance crawled out of the skirmish and curled up under one of the banquet tables for a rest.

The fight had drawn everyone’s attention. Even Colonel Briggs had looked up from the conversation he had been having. He and several other uniformed Remnant soldiers had been working the room, speaking with the newly arrived contestants.

“You’re right,” Jerry said with a nod toward the colonel. “Things are just going to get worse from here on out.”

“You’re going to have to watch your back,” Eve said. “They’re up to something.”

“Yeah, no sweat. I’ll just keep one eye on Oblivion’s goons, one eye on Briggs’ goons and my third eye on whatever this insane racecourse has to offer.”

“How are you doing out there?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s no sweat. It’s a real easy game. In fact, the last bit was exactly like Chutes and Ladders.” Jerry puffed out his chest. “In fact, I see no problem winning this whole thing. And then we can settle down here and be really big stars.”

Eve played along. “It would be a great place to raise a family.”

“Oh yeah, there are plenty of role models for kids to look up to; athletes, attorneys, exotic dancers.”

She slapped his knee. “That was ballet.”

“You put a mouse costume on it and it becomes exotic. I don’t care if an old Russian wrote it.” Jerry took a heavy breath and slumped over in his chair. “I just need to get this over with so we can deliver the message and get the hell out of here.”

The metal on stage slowed and then faded away as Harmegeddon finished their set. Sister Oblivion took the stage before they could offer to play an encore.

“Thank you, Hermageddon!” she said into Galen’s microphone.

One of the band members tried to correct her as they walked off the stage but, Sister Oblivion just smiled and replied, “Do you really think it makes a difference?”

Once she had the stage to herself, she addressed the audience. “Look at you, my lovely contestants! I just wanted to say that you are killing it out there! You have put your heart and soul and a fair bit of blood on the line for our viewers and this little half time party is my way of saying thank you. I know The Omega Run isn’t easy. It takes a lot out of you. That’s why we’re going to have a bit of a respite here. So, grab a bite to eat, hydrate, try to stop any bleeding and take it easy for a bit. I want you rested and raring to go when the show resumes with our family programming segment. Let’s do it for the kids, okay?”

“Family programming?” Eve looked at Jerry. “What do you think that means?”

“I don’t know.” Jerry leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “They’ll probably make us fight a tank engine or something.”

21

The tunnel had once served as a sheltered walkway for mass transit riders to walk from the rail station at Tower City complex to the Fieldhouse arena without exposing themselves to the weather or Cleveland. It still served to keep the weather out, but The Omega Run production team had since converted it from a utilitarian pathway into a literal sideshow of horrors.

The entire length of the tunnel had been decorated like a carnival sideshow from a traveling circus. Larger than life paintings of various oddities and attractions lined the walls, and in many cases the attraction or oddity stood before them.

“Oh, man. I am really not comfortable with this,” Lance Fury said as he moved away from the flirtations of a scaly skinned lizard lady.

She stuck out a forked tongue in response to his rejection.

“At least we’re indoors,” said Jerry. “You’ve got to like that.”

“Yeah, I’m all for not freezing and it’s the first time since the race started that I can feel my nipples at all.” Lance had wrapped himself in a tablecloth back in the ballroom but was reminded of his pledge to run the race with his tattooed star showing. “Still, this all brings back some bad memories.”

“Bad memories of a sideshow?”

“Not really a sideshow, but I used to play the calliope in a carnival punk band called Tilt-a-Hurl. We were pretty big. But for some reason, just because our music and look and whole aesthetic was like this sideshow stuff, people thought we actually liked the circus. So that’s all we played. It got pretty tiresome.”

“Tony!” the wolf man growled and lunged at Lance with a furry paw. His charge was stopped short by a dog chain that kept the man tied to his carnival booth.

“David?” Lance asked. “Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. How many other wolf men do you know?”

“Oh, wow. Last time I saw you, you were just a little wolf boy.”

“Last time I saw you, you were stabbing all your friends in the back.”

“You know that’s not what happened. I explained why I had to leave. I was just suffering creatively.”

The wolf man growled and tugged at the collar on his neck. He shouted to someone somewhere behind his display. “Christine, bring me my key. There’s somebody here I need to maul, kill and then pee on.”

“It was good to see you, Davey.” Lance shoved Jerry forward and hurried him down the corridor.

“David was our roadie. But he sang backup vocals on one of the songs. He’d go out there and the audience would just howl. He loved it. He misses it and blames me for the band falling apart.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the reason the band fell apart. Once you’re in the carnival punk scene, it’s really hard to leave. It’s almost like a family. They called me a sell out because I went where the money was and started playing calliope for a minor league ball team out of Hackensack.”

“That sounds rough,” Jerry said and instantly looked over his shoulder to make sure the wolf man hadn’t mistaken the sentiment as a mocking pun.

“I mean, not really. The games were only seven innings and it’s not like I was playing the whole time. And the inside secret is, you don’t ever have to play a full song.”

“I meant the whole leaving the circus scene sounds hard.”

“Oh, yeah. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but I did kind of leave them high and dry. It’s not easy to replace a calliope player. I carry that guilt with me everywhere, you know? Just the smell of funnel cakes sends me spiraling into a dark abyss of despair and self-pity.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lance.”

“But I also really like funnel cakes. So it’s a very difficult thing for me emotionally.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’ve always had a real strong conscience, you know?”

They passed several more attractions as they walked through the hall. There was a snake charmer billed as Charmalade the Cobra Commander, a strongwoman named Iron Mandy, and a contortionist from the Philippines who performed under the name The Manila Folder.

The more attractions they passed, the more agitated Lance grew. Jerry assumed it was the haunted memories of his halcyon days in the carnival circuit. But Lance finally stopped them in the hallway and turned to Jerry.

“Listen, I need to tell you something.” Lance leaned in close so they could speak in confidence. “Do you remember when we were back in the tower and there was that party?”

“You mean like where we just came from. Like just minutes ago?”

“Good, you remember. Well, while we were in there this guy came over to me and said he wanted to speak to me. And he was all kind of official looking and stuff so I said okay. Then he tells me that he has a deal for me. And I love deals. So I told him to go ahead. But this wasn’t the kind of deal I was used to. He said that he was offering a comfortable and easy life to anyone who took you out of the race.”

Jerry wasn’t surprised. “Yeah, they’ve offered me the same deal in the past.”

“Yeah, but I said no one can stop the Librarian. And he said we’ll see and told me the offer still stands. And knowing this was eating me up. Remember when I told you I had a real strong conscience.”

“Like just a minute ago?”

“Good, you remember. So having this knowledge was just like tearing me up on my insides so I had to tell you. I’m not going to do anything; I think too much of you. You’re my hero. But I don’t know what everyone else thinks about you and I just wanted you to know because they might be gunning for you. Everyone is going to be against you.”

“Thanks for the warning, Lance. You’re a good friend. You can ease your conscience.”

“Tony?” A woman yelled. “You piece of shit!”

“Sally, is that you? Your beard looks great.” Lance left Jerry in the hallway and fell into the embrace of the bearded lady which quickly turned into a bear hug.

Jerry continued down the hallway. He had noticed the leers of the other runners in the banquet hall and had his suspicions but Lance’s guilty conscience had confirmed everything. Brigg’s bounty didn’t surprise him in the least. Caine was behind in the race and only a fool would put their faith in that con man to begin with. The colonel would want assurances. He had his team on the outside, but recruiting an entire field of competitors to help couldn’t hurt the odds. There were now two prizes to be won. The winner of The Omega Run could start a new life as a star inside The Cleave, while Jerry’s killer could change their fortunes forever with a place in the Remnant camp.

He didn’t want any of it. He just wanted to make the broadcast and get the hell out of show business once and for all.

The tunnel ended in the lobby of the Fieldhouse arena and the contestants were directed into the arena. According to the barker, the greatest show left on Earth was about to begin.

22

Omega Run staff members held open the thick velvet curtains and ushered the contestants into the stadium with instructions to follow the stairs all the way to the bottom. The staircase was dimly lit and the arena floor was pitch black. Even when he arrived at the bottom, Jerry couldn’t see what was happening two feet in front of him. There was a presence there. He could hear breathing and the scurrying of feet. Big feet. Many feet.

The contestants gathered at the bottom of the stairs near the arena floor.

Jerry had tried to keep his distance from the rest of the runners for most of the race. Or, at least, upwind of them. But now they posed a threat greater than fellow competitor; they had become hunters and any one of them could try to claim Brigg’s bounty. Standing in a crowd in the dark was a great way to get shanked in the back.

A drumroll started in the darkness and ended with a cymbal crash that cued the spotlight. The light revealed a man in a tuxedo with tails and a top hat standing in the middle of the arena. He wore a red vest and white gloves and held a megaphone in one hand and a cane in the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls and children of all ages.” He waved the cane around as he spoke. “Welcome to the greatest show left on earth!”

Music and lights came up to reveal a full-blown three-ring circus in progress before their very eyes. Jugglers tossed swords and clubs back and forth in a coordinated routine. A team of horses pranced around one ring while a woman dressed in sequins and feathers rode standing on their backs. Another woman swung from her hair, twirling and smiling as she went. There was a man in a cage cracking a whip and yelling, “Hyah!” Just in front of them was a contraption that consisted of a forty-foot beam with a large hoop on each end that spun around a center point. Acrobats walked around in the hoops as the apparatus spun, leaping and falling in a seemingly zero gravity environment. Jerry found it hard to watch as his stomach clenched every time one of the acrobats pretended to trip.

“For generations, the circus has toured the world, bringing excitement and entertainment to the masses. From tents and trains to the arenas of the modern world, these talented performers have dazzled audiences with their amazing abilities and daring death defying acts. That tradition continues here tonight in the Cleave as we welcome the racers of The Omega Run.”

The ringmaster waved for the runners to join him in the center ring.

Jerry was the last one to step over a shin high barrier into the arena. He was trying to keep the contestants in front of him so he wouldn’t end up with anything in his back. It didn’t seem to be an immediate concern as most of the contestants were too distracted by the literal spectacle that was going on around them. Many of them smiled and all of them looked on with wonderment as they became a part of the show. They soon found that once you were in the center ring, there wasn’t any direction you could turn and not see something amazing.

Once they had all gathered in the center ring, the ringmaster spoke again. “Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. The excitement of the circus never ends. It’s all around you, even above you. Let me direct your attention to the roof of the big top.”

Above them, trapeze artists flew back and forth on swings welcoming the runners to the show. Beyond that, high wire artists were moving about a network of tightropes stretched across the roof of the arena. Some walked without assistance while others carried long balance poles. There was even a motorcycle racing around up there.

“At the end of those tightropes is your way out to victory.” the ringmaster said. “Your task is to reach the trapeze, swing across the tree rings, climb to the tightropes and make your way to the finish line.”

A loud bang made everyone jump. It sounded like a gunshot, but it was the backfiring of a jalopy. The tiny car came crashing out of an access tunnel and through a fake brick wall at the far end of the arena. It slid to a stop in front of the giant spinning contraption and the car door flew open.

A giant clown stepped out of the passenger seat. Another clown followed. Then another and another. They formed a line as more and more clowns crawled out of the car.

Once the twelfth clown stepped out of the passenger door, the jalopy sounded an old timey horn, backfired again and drove back down the tunnel from whence it came.

The music stopped and the contestants stared at the wall of clowns. And there was nothing funny about them. Jerry couldn’t remember the size of the average clown, but they seemed bigger and thicker than they should be. It was as if Bozo started skipping his morning show and spending all the time in the gym. Also, more of them were smoking than he would have expected.

“Man, I hate clowns,” said Brock Rampage.

“Aargh,” said the pirate, confessing that they shared the same sense of unease.

“Your objective is simple,” the ringmaster said. “Escape the circus or the clowns will get you.”

One of the clowns spit on the ground.

“Go.”

The clowns charged and the arena’s sound system came to life. The music was Entry of the Gladiators played in a minor key; the standard circus fare sounded ominous as it filled the building.

The contestants ran. Half of them were trying to reach the finish line while the other half were trying to run away from the clowns.

Jerry ran for the ladder that would take him up to the trapeze level. He had to keep an eye on the other players, but he still had to win the race if he wanted to make that broadcast. He jumped over the ring wall and stopped suddenly as a flying blade barely missed his nose.

Three jugglers formed a triangle around him and laughed as they tossed sharp and blunt objects dangerously close to his head. Every time he tried to break through, another object would force him to fall back.

The ringmaster saw the encounter and lifted the megaphone once more. “Ladies and gentlemen, meet the humble jugglers: artists in focus, timing, and determination. Watch as they take the simplest of objects—balls, blades, even fire—and turn them into a breathtaking symphony of skill.”

“Where are you going, little man?” The juggler cackled as Jerry made another attempt to get out of the ring.

The trio moved in closer and the objects they threw came faster.

Jerry risked a glance at the rest of the floor.

The ninja had broken out and was making a break for the rope ladder that would take him to the trapeze. He made it halfway across the third ring when the woman swinging from her hair kicked him in the chest and knocked him off his feet.

The jugglers were getting closer and continued taunting him. “What are you going to do now, little man?”

Jerry focused on the flurry of objects passing by him and nodded off the timing. When the world blew up he found himself with a lot of time on his hands and had taken up juggling to stave off the boredom. At his best he could handle maybe five objects at once. Not once had he tried juggling knives.

He waited for the proper moment, then reached out and grabbed the handle of a juggling knife. Pulling it back, he discovered the blade was actually a club. The Librarian sighed. He should have practiced more.

Jerry swung the club back and forth in the juggler’s path, striking the other objects to the ground. After only a few swings, the jugglers were empty-handed and more than a little confused.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that.”

Jerry dropped the club and made a break for the ladder before they could get their knives twirling again. He hadn’t made it very far when he was tackled to the ground. He spun around to find the man with the ridiculous mustache on top of him.

“Stash O’Halloran is sorry about this, guy,” Stash O’Halloran said as he drove a fist into Jerry’s ribs. “But Stash O’Halloran is sick of having to fight every day. It’s time for someone else to take care of Stash O’Halloran for a change.”

Stash got in a few more body shots before Jerry was able to counter. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and pushed him up enough to get a knee and then a foot on his chest. One solid push launched the mustached man backwards.

Stash landed on his feet but the force sent him stumbling back until he tripped on the ring wall and toppled over. He got to his feet quickly and was about to resume his attack when the clowns got him.

One of the merry monsters wrapped a large hand around the man and tossed him into a waiting pack of clowns who held him in place. Another clown walked up to Stash and produced a seltzer bottle.

The mustached man struggled to get free, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

The clown raised the seltzer bottle, aimed the nozzle, and then shattered the bottle over O’Halloran’s head. Once he had doubled over, another clown beat him with a club shaped like an ice cream cone.

“Clowns are more than entertainers,” the ringmaster said. “They are the poets of the absurd, the masters of merriment. They find beauty in the ridiculous and teach us to embrace life’s quirks with a wink and a smile. So sit back, relax, and let these champions of cheer show you the art of finding happiness in the unexpected.”

Jerry got back to his feet and ran for the trapeze ladder. Several runners were ahead of him including Caine and the Horrorsaurus Rex. He didn’t fully understand the game’s point structure but he kind of hoped the girl in the dino costume was being rewarded for her ridiculous efforts. It couldn’t be easy running in that suit.

The Librarian scrambled halfway up the ladder before running into the congestion.

Driven primarily by his fear of clowns, Brock Rampage, had reached the trapeze swing first and let out a Tarzan yell before swinging out into the void. He fell halfway through the ark and let out a real yell until he hit the ground and all sound was knocked out of him. He staggered to his feet and looked like he might have been okay if the clowns hadn’t reached him first.

Jerry spotted Lance staggering across the circus floor. The guy didn’t know when to quit and he stumbled toward the third ring when several clowns got him. They laughed and cheered as they lifted him off his feet like he was a guest of honor and carried him to the center ring. There they stuffed him in a cannon and cranked the barrel into the air.

“Are you ready to have a blast?” The ringmaster asked. “Our human cannonball is about to defy gravity, common sense, and possibly a few safety regulations as he becomes a living, flying projectile!”

The clowns covered their ears as the one at the base of the camera pulled the firing cord. There was a large blast, a puff of smoke and then Lance went screaming from the mouth of the cannon and into the air.

Jerry held his breath as he watched the shooting super star travel through the air. He didn’t let it out until he saw Lance land high up in a safety net at the far side of the arena.

The foot above Jerry moved and he grabbed the now open rung and prepared to climb.

The foot came down on his face as the contestant above him realized the opportunity that had been laid at his feet. Jerry tried to move out of the way but now there were hands pulling at his legs from below.

Jerry spun around to the other side of the ladder and scrambled up before his attackers could readjust. He was able to climb high enough to make a desperate leap for the trapeze swing just as it went out with the Black Dragon on board.

The two men swung out over the arena floor. The ninja had a firm grip but Jerry had only managed to catch hold of the swing with a single hand. It didn’t even take a full ninja kick to knock his grip loose and send him plummeting to the ground below.

If it hadn’t been for the woman swinging by her hair, Jerry’s fall could have been fatal.

The acrobat twirled into his path just after he had been kicked off the swing. Jerry reached out and grabbed the cable. He heard the woman scream as the cable bucked and her momentum changed.

He had never tried it, but he imagined that swinging from your hair hurt. A lot. Jerking the rope your swinging from probably didn’t make it any better. It was no wonder she looked so angry when he slid down the rope to her body.

For lack of a better term Jerry hugged her tight as they continued to spin around the ring. She squirmed and screamed and eventually was able to buck him free.

The Librarian fell the last few feet to the ground and landed on his back in the middle of the ring. When he opened his eyes, he expected to be surrounded by clowns. Instead, he was surrounded by bars.

A whip crack sat him straight up and he jumped to his feet to find that he was smack dab in the middle of the tiger cage. The lion tamer was on the far side of the cage, cracking the whip with a delighted look on his face. The man started laughing as a group of clowns wheeled a large trailer up to the cage door.

Anything could have been in that trailer. FedEx packages, Toys for Tots or even ice cream. But the mural on the side of the trailer made it clear that it was filled with ferocious beasts. The image on the side depicted leaping tigers and when the gate slammed up against the cage Jerry was staring right into the jaws of a roaring lion.

The cage door crashed down and the trailer gate fell open. From the dark recesses of the trailer came a roar.

23

“Lions are incredibly hard to come by these days,” Sister Oblivion explained to the VIPs back in the viewing suite. “Bears, on the other hand; they seem to be everywhere. And if you ask me, as long as it has teeth, claws and murderous potential, people really don’t care what kind of animal tears the flesh off people? They just love animals.”

“Of course, this is for the kids,” Eve says sarcastically.

“It is. Don’t judge me unfairly, dear. I love children. They are our future, after all. Actually, I have big plans for children’s programming.”

“You’re planning more programming, Oblivion?” Briggs asked.

“Of course. We’re not just waiting around for Omega Run winners to bring us an idea. The race is our flagship program right now. But we have a lot of other shows in the works.”

“What kind of programming are you planning?”

“I can’t say.”

Briggs shrugged. “Okay.”

“All right, you forced it out of me. We’re working on a DIY home improvement thing called This Old Hovel. We’ve got an exercise program in the works called Fallout Fitness that features workouts people can do right in their own home. And there’s a cooking show in development called Should I Eat That?”

“But the kids are going to be the real benefactors. We’ve got a reading show coming called Read or Be Stupid and a learning program called Rusty Bunker and his Apocalypse Pals that teaches the kids how to have adventures in the wasteland safely.”

The colonel scoffed at that idea. “You don’t think that’s dangerous?”

“No, I think it’s adventurous. I don’t know why people insist on focusing on all the bad parts about the end of the world. There’s good, too. Look what it did for me. I wouldn’t be where I am if the world hadn’t exploded.”

“The smartest thing people can do is stay put and let us come to them.”

“Well,” Sister Oblivion hemmed and hawed. “Until then, we’re going to teach them how to explore safely.”

“It all sounds very ambitious,” said Briggs.

“We’ll have twenty-four hours of entertainment slash infotainment every day,” said Sister Oblivion, lost in her own vision. “From news programming and weather guessing…the warming glow of television’s comforting light will have returned to the wasteland. With minimal advertising.”

“Do you really think people will watch all that when survival is still so difficult?” Eve asked.

“Of course they will. It’s must-see TV. We already have writers working on a block of sitcoms relevant to today’s apocalyptic survivor.”

“Sitcoms.” Briggs was losing his composure. “I don’t see how anything in today’s world can be considered funny.”

“I guess it depends on your perspective. Imagine two people stuck in a bunker together that simply do not get along. One is a slob. One is a neat freak. We call it Bunker Buddies. It’s really just The Odd Couple but underground and the friends are coping with the loss of civilization instead of failed marriages.”

“That one could actually work,” said Eve.

“Of course it will work.” Sister Oblivion was nothing if not optimistic. “There’s also the Plutonium Girls. That one is about three elderly widows making their way in the apocalypse. It’s a show with heart. Even if two thirds of those hearts have peacemakers.”

“There’s also the Dan Singeltary Show,” Denise the PA said.

“Who’s Dan Singletary?” asked Briggs.

“This guy I know,” said Sister Oblivion. “I owed him a favor.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Briggs. “If you’re using this station for anything other than the dissemination of important information, it is a misappropriation of technology.”

“I’m surprised you’re not on board with this, Colonel,” Eve said. “Isn’t TV part of returning to normal?”

“As a tool used for information, yes. It shouldn’t be used for silly nostalgic purposes.”

“We’re even bringing back one about a particular group of friends,” Sister Oblivion said to Eve with a wink. “We think people will be interested to see how some of their favorite characters fared after the world ended. We’ve already signed two of the former cast members.”

“Really?”

“Well, not signed. Forced. But so worth it.”

“It’s a waste of valuable resources!” snapped Briggs. “It’s just pandering to the masses.”

“We’re trying to entertain people, Colonel. Not impress film majors. Give the people what they want. And right now, they want to know that other people are suffering with them. Living with the same worries, facing the same perils. Or, in this very particular case, like their favorite Librarian, fighting the same bears.”

24

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s act comes with a twist!” The ringmaster announced. “Our daring lion tamer is here, but he’s all out of lions. So, what do you do if you’re a lion tamer and the king of the jungle isn’t available? You get creative. Introducing Dante the Daring and Bearon von Bruin!”

Bigger than your average black bear, the beast would have weighed at least 700 pounds if you could trick it into standing on a scale. It burst out of the trailer and into the cage, where it reared up on its hind legs and roared.

Dante the lion tamer laughed as he cracked the whip in the air between the Librarian and the bear.

“I’d like to introduce you to Bearon,” the lion tamer said with the hint of an eastern European accent.

There was a lot of confusion around bears in the apocalypse. Many thought that mutagens left over from the war had created a race of super intelligent bears. Others believed that bears were always smarter than the average citizen knew, so they just seemed smart when they encountered them for the first time. Whether Bearon von Bruin was intelligent or not was hard to say. But the top hat strapped to his head and the monocle over his eye sure made him look it.

Jerry studied the contents of the cage. Outside of the lion tamer and the man-eating bear dressed in a gentleman’s cloak, there was a chair and several oversized stools of various heights used in traditional big cat acts.

“I think you two are going to have a…” Dante paused and cracked the whip. “Cracking good time.”

“Please tell me your whole act isn’t puns.”

He snapped the whip again. This time at Jerry. “No, it’s mostly Bearon eating people.”

“That’s a relief.” Jerry made a break for one of the platforms. As a kid, he’d seen the big cats leap up on them and perform tricks like sitting at the same time. He knew bears could outrun him and out climb him, but he knew very little about their vertical leap and he wasn’t entirely sure that Bearon von Bruin could follow him up the stool. He pulled himself onto the lowest platform and leapt up the next two until he was standing above the bear.

Bearon von Bruin seemed completely unconcerned with Jerry and was just about to sit down when the lion tamer shouted something in German and cracked the whip.

The bear roared back defiantly at the verbal and physical abuse and made a false charge for the tamer.

The tamer cracked the whip again, this time connecting with the bear’s nose.

The beast pulled back and put its paws over its snout.

“Tragen, toten!” The tamer shouted.

The bear roared, but obeyed. It lumbered over to Jerry’s stool and put its paws up on the platform.

Jerry backed away from the edge and out of the bear’s reach. If the bear couldn’t leap, he was safe. The structure was too tall for the bear to climb.

Bearon didn’t try to climb the platform, instead he shoved forward and rocked the metal stool.

Jerry wasn’t expecting the shove and almost fell backwards off the platform. He dropped lower to regain his balance as it settled back in place.

The bear shoved again and titled it farther this time.

Jerry couldn’t stay there. Before the bear could knock the ground out from beneath him, he leapt over the bear’s top hat and reached for the top of the cage. He caught the rail and had almost pulled himself out of the cage when he felt the whip wrap around his ankle.

Dante tugged on the whip and yanked him off the cage.

Jerry hit the ground doing his best coyote impression and left an imprint of his body in the sand that lined the floor. Groaning, he rolled over and looked up to see the trapeze swing pass overhead. Was that Caine? He couldn’t let him get an edge in the game. They had spent the last few months fighting the Remnant and their lies and if they gained access to the broadcast tower, they would never be able to stop them.

Bearon turned toward Jerry and rose up in an attempt to intimidate his prey.

It worked. Jerry scrambled forward and dove inside one of the big cat stools to hide behind the steel superstructure.

Frustrated by the steel, Bearon reached in with its massive paw and tried to swat his foe.

Jerry jumped out from beneath the stool and dove inside one of the smaller ones.

The bear charged again and, once more, Jerry was able to stay a step ahead of the beast. He looked up. It was Caine on the swing. The impostor had reached the other side of the arena and was now climbing up the final ladder toward the tightropes.

Bearon had enough of Jerry’s elusive nature and had decided to eliminate his prey’s hiding spaces. Instead of chasing Jerry from stool to stool, the bear was knocking the platforms over, denying Jerry his redoubts. The bear’s strength grew with its frustration and it began tossing the metal platforms around the cage in a fit of rage. The creature’s strength was impressive and the metal stools tumbled everywhere.

It wasn’t long before there was nowhere left to hide. The best he could do was keep the upturned stool between himself and the gentleman bear.

Dante dispensed with the German commands and was just egging the bear on in Bavarian English. “Get him! Get him, Bearon von Bruin.”

Jerry’s only goal now was to escape being crushed by the tumbling platforms.

One of the platforms bounced as it rolled and landed on top of another. Their combined height was enough to clear the cage.

Jerry dashed for the pile but was stopped suddenly when the whip wrapped around his neck and the lion tamer tried to pull him off his feet.

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere till Bearon von Bruin takes a poop in the woods.”

Jerry spun around and ran toward the man, shortening the distance between them and putting slack in the whip.

“What are you doing?” Dante shouted as he tried to back away.

Jerry crossed the ring quickly and landed a right cross on the tamer’s cheek and pulled the whip from his hand. He uncoiled the whip from his neck and turned around to face the bear.

“Get him, Bearon!” screamed Dante from the floor.

Bearon von Bruin was staring at the Librarian. It was eerie enough to have an animal that size stare you down. It was even weirder when that animal was wearing a monocle.

Jerry raised the whip and the bear’s eyes narrowed as it focused on the weapon in his hand.

Dante the Daring was growing angrier. “What are you doing, stupid bear?”

The Librarian lowered the whip and saw the bear relax. Jerry turned to Dante and tossed the lion tamer the whip.

Bearon von Bruin watched the lion tamer pick up the weapon and growled.

“Good luck, Dante.” Jerry raced up the stack of platforms and threw himself over the cage wall while Dante screamed for mercy.

Jerry landed on the arena floor and looked around the circus. It was the most colorful chaos he’d ever seen. Clowns were chasing pirates. Acrobats were beating up lifeguards. And a dinosaur hung by her tiny arms from a trapeze swing.

It was quite the sight, but there was no good news to be seen. Caine was halfway up to the tightropes with several other runners close behind him. At the other end of the arena, the trapeze ladder was choked with contestants and clowns. And what clowns weren’t on the ladder were now standing between him and his way out.

And they spotted him. Several clowns were taunting him in the way that only a clown could. They blew raspberries. They made fake crying faces. One of the clowns pantsed another and that clown mooned him. Sure, their antics were funny, but there was an emotional truth to their wild gestures and that added a little pain to the laughter.

Caine was kicking at the people beneath him on the ladder, trying to knock them out of the race by knocking them to the ground below. A fall from that distance would be devastating to a contestant’s prospects and possibly fatal.

There was a scream from the other end of the arena as one of the runners fell from the trapeze and landed on one of the jugglers.

Jerry was alone on the floor and he realized there was no way he was getting up to the trapeze in time to beat Caine or anyone else. There had to be another way.

At the other end of the arena, the wheel of death spun and the acrobats inside the hoops tumbled about, making the whole thing look effortless. One acrobat was on the outside of his hoop jumping rope like it was nothing. When the arm peaked, he would jump extra high so he could get a few more skips in before he landed. It made Jerry nervous to watch. It was a long way down from the top. Of course, that also made it a long way up.

He looked back at the trapeze and the crowded ladder and finally the clowns, then made his decision.

The clowns saw it, too.

Jerry wasn’t sure what the rules were with clowns talking. Some did. Sure. But if you were a silent clown, and you broke that silence, how serious was it? Were there repercussions? Was your degree from the clown college revoked? It’s not like they were monks, he reasoned. Then he wondered what happened if a monk talked? Did they have repercussions? That part of it was never really covered. All he did know was that this particular clown also realized what Jerry was up to, and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Hey!” The clown yelled. “You can’t do that!” The clown signaled two of the others and started charging across the arena just as Jerry made a break for the Wheel of Death.

He hadn’t made it far before a tumbler came flipping toward him at a dizzying speed. Jerry was forced to fall back as the acrobat came at him with hands and feet and then hands and feet again. The tumbler’s final spring sent him up in the air, where he tucked and flipped a couple of times before landing right in front of Jerry.

The Librarian punched him in the face and watched the man take two steps back before falling down hard.

One of the clowns was faster than the others and had broken away from the others. He was closing fast. Jerry couldn’t outrun him, so he ran back through the trio of jugglers. By this point in their act, they had moved on to flaming clubs instead of knives.

Jerry grabbed a torch out of the air and ran to the base of the wheel.

The clown caught him there and launched a roundhouse kick for the Librarian’s head with a very large shoe.

Jerry dodged the kick but caught a left the clown threw as a follow up in the cheek.

He came back up with a swing of the torch and cracked the harlequin across the face with the hot end.

“It looks like Binky is done clowning around folks,” the ringmaster said. “He’s put away his balloon animals and put up his white-gloved dukes. And unlike most fights, this one is absolutely a laughing matter! But you know what they say; it’s all fun and games until someone loses a pie.”

The clown took the blow to the face surprisingly well. He’d lost his nose but was still smiling. He went back at Jerry with a few more punches.

Jerry dodged the punches until he noticed the blow with the torch had caused more damage than he’d intended. The clown’s head was on fire. Jerry tried to point this out while still dodging punches. “Dude, your wig is on fire!”

The fire grew larger as the flames consumed more of the rainbow hair and the clown suddenly became very aware of the heat. Knowing that greasepaint was also flammable, the clown panicked and turned to run, only to find another clown racing toward him with a bucket clearly labeled water.

“It looks like the action is heating up down there on the arena floor,” the ringmaster said as Binky bent over. “But don’t worry, here comes his buddy Patches to help cool things down.”

Pinky bent over and waited for the water.

Patches drew back and splashed the contents all over Binky. But alas, the bucket was filled with confetti instead of water.

“Oh no,” the ringmaster said with a laugh. “That could be the end of that friendship.”

Patches thought the prank was hilarious and laughed and honked away.

Binky was furious and still very much on fire. He screamed and charged at Patches, only to get clonked in the head with the empty water bucket.

Binky hit the ground and Patches laughed even harder.

Jerry embraced the distraction and broke for the Wheel of Death.

He dodged the horse team and was almost to the rotating monstrosity when he was attacked by another tumbler. This one was launched off a teeterboard and was flipping toward him at an incredible rate.

Jerry stopped in his tracks as the tumbler untucked and landed with both feet on Jerry’s chest. The impact drove him back into the arms of one of the clowns who instinctively caught him and threw him back on to his feet.

Jerry spun and punched the clown in the nose. This brought a squeak out of his big red nose and a startled shout from the clown.

By the time Jerry had turned to run, the tumbler was back on his feet and pressing the attack.

The Librarian slipped the first punch and stepped forward to reduce the impact of a side kick. He caught the leg, but the idea of trying to throw a circus acrobat off balance seems foolish. He went for blunt force trauma instead and launched a left uppercut that he followed with a head butt that rang both of their bells.

The tumbler fell back to the ground. Jerry leapt over him before he could get back up and reached the bottom of the Wheel of Death just as the clowns regrouped and charged.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, gather ’round for the most heart-pounding, death-defying, thrill-seeking spectacle this side of the Big Top! Hold on to your hats, because it’s time for the Wheel of Death!” The Ringmaster paused and then added, “I can see where he’s going with this and I’m just going to say that it’s a really bad idea.”

From a distance, the Wheels of Death looked both smaller and slower than it actually was. Up close, its great height made Jerry’s head spin and he was taken aback by the speed at which it turned. One of the cages zoomed past him before he could even get an arm out. He swayed a bit, readying to jump, and was caught unprepared when the second one shot by. If he miscalculated the jump…well, he wasn’t sure what would happen. He might just miss, he might get tangled in the superstructure, or he might get dragged up and dropped back to a painful landing. He got set and prepared to jump again and missed his window immediately.

The clowns arrived and his plans changed. The Librarian stuck out his hand and grabbed whatever he could when it came by.

The Wheel of Death was moving clockwise and it pulled Jerry off of his feet and into the air. Struggling to hold on, he reached out with his other hand, looking for anything to grab. He found the inner rail of the circular cage.

The arm reached its apex and gravity changed. For a moment, it felt as if there was none at all. He was still going up, but the wheel was now moving horizontally. Then suddenly he was above the hoop as it began its descent. It was no longer pulling him up; it was yanking him down. It wasn’t until he was halfway back to the ground that gravity made sense again and he was able to swing himself inside the hoop. That wasn’t any better. The track that formed the cage was only a few feet wide and he spent one full rotation tumbling inside of it, trying to figure out which way was up.

Clown laughter was waiting for him at the bottom of every pass and the internal screaming inside his head accompanied him to the top on every rotation.

He finally got orientated and got his feet under him. Once he started walking, the contraption made more sense. It was like being on the world’s weirdest playground.

It wasn’t until he was halfway through another revolution before he saw the acrobat walking on the outside of his hoop.

At the bottom of the next rotation, the acrobat swung into the hoop and kicked Jerry in the chest. Knocking him out of the hoop and back to the arena floor.

The pair of clowns were waiting and attacked him before he could get up. One clown lifted him from the ground and locked his arm behind him.

The other clown laughed and drove a fist into Jerry’s stomach. He hit him twice more and then backed away to let the Librarian double over.

The clown hit like a prizefighter and Jerry wondered if he had done time as a strongman in the past.

Lightheaded, he didn’t know if it was the beating or if the world was still spinning from the wheel, but it would be easy to pass out or drop to his knees at this point. He certainly felt like doing either of those things. Instead, he snapped back up and struck the clown that was holding him in the nose with the back of his head. The blow was hard enough to get a honk out of the nose, break the bridge and force the clown to let go.

Jerry dove forward and launched a punch at the other clown.

The clown saw it coming and backed away.

Winded from the beating and dizzy from the wheel, Jerry threw two more wide punches that were weak and slow.

The clown dodged them with a silly, mocking dance step and laughed at the futile blows.

Jerry was a little disappointed in the taunting. It wasn’t even a great clown’s laugh. The man just laughed in his regular non-clown voice and backed up out of the range of Jerry’s reach.

Jerry finally stopped throwing punches after a moment.

The clown laughed again. “Are you done?”

Jerry smiled and looked up. “I’m done.”

“Oh, shit.” The clown turned just in time to take a Wheel of Death to the face. His nose honked as he went flying back out of the ring.

Jerry looked at the racecourse. Caine was still trying to kick the other runners off the ladder. There was still a chance.

He let the next hoop pass and then stood under the Wheel of Death. When it came back around, he grabbed the outer rings with both hands and let the apparatus swing him up into the air. He pulled his legs underneath him and started walking on the outside of the cage. This was much more terrifying than walking around the inside. He quickly figured out how big of a step was too big when he almost lost his footing and his lunch. When the wheel reached the bottom of its swing, he raced through the superstructure of the space arm and came out the other side as the wheel climbed again.

He quickly figured out where to push to spin the wheel faster and faster.

The acrobat inside the hoop was yelling at him and trying to figure out how to get to him on the outside of the wheel. There was no way to come at him without both of them falling. There just wasn’t enough room for both of them on the narrow pathway.

“All right, fella. You want to spin the wheel?” The man in the wheel shouted. “Let’s spin the wheel!”

The acrobat apparently decided that if he couldn’t push Jerry off again, he’d spin him off. He began pushing harder inside the hoop and the wheel of death responded by turning faster.

They reached the apex of the swing and Jerry felt his feet leave the ring. His stomach turned against him as he fell, but he landed solidly back on the mesh metal a moment later.

“You like that?” the acrobat inside the hoop shouted.

Jerry didn’t. But he pushed harder to spin the wheel faster and started moving faster to stay on top of the hoop.

The next few passes were terrifying as each time he was tossed into the air at the apex of the swing he had to land on the narrow mesh metal hoop to prevent falling to his death. How was that bastard on the other hoop still skipping rope?

It wasn’t until about the fifth pass that the acrobat realized he was helping Jerry get what we wanted.

Jerry heard the realization dawn on him when he yelled. “Shit! Wait!”

He had to make his move before they could stop the momentum. As the wheel went up in the rotation, Jerry ran faster so when he hit the apex he wasn’t thrown straight up, he was launched into the air toward the ladder to the tightropes.

Jerry passed over Caine and grabbed that rung at the top of the ladder with one hand and crashed against it. This sent a rumble down the rope ladder forcing everyone to grab tight.

Caine grabbed the ladder in a fierce hug to keep from getting thrown off. Once he’d recovered from the scare he looked up at Jerry and shouted, “That’s cheating!”

Jerry’s foot found a rung and he climbed. He pulled himself up to a small platform and looked at the web of wires that lay before him.

The ringmaster directed spotlights up in the rafters. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, prepare yourselves for a spectacle that will leave your spirits soaring high as we present a death-defying feat of balance, precision, and nerves of steel. Above you, high above this very ring, our daring acrobats will walk the line! Without a net, without a safety rope, and with nothing but their strength, skill, and sheer willpower to keep them from falling! Will they conquer the heights? Or will gravity have its say?”

There are acrobats on the ropes. Mostly on foot, but one was sitting in a chair. There was even a couple riding a motorcycle.

Caine grabbed his ankle.

Jerry stomped on the actor’s hand and raced out on to the wires. The course was a mix of tightrope cables and the buildings structural beams. He kept to the girders as much as he could. They didn’t sway or bounce, and were several times wider than the tightropes.

The acrobats came for him as he took the lead. But they didn’t come quickly. Rushing on a tightrope was still a bad idea. Only the motorcycle moved with any speed. It came at him quickly and seemed to gather acrobats along the way.

A woman approached from a parallel tightrope and swung her balance pole at Jerry’s chest.

The Librarian ducked the pole twice and caught it on the third strike. He snatched the pole from the woman, causing her to fall.

She caught the tightrope on the way down and quickly swung a leg back over the cable.

Before Jerry could gasp, she was getting back to her feet. That’s when he decided running was the best option.

The pole was helping with his balance, and he may have been moving faster, but the motorcycle was still coming and it was carrying five acrobats in a reverse human pyramid.

The bike raced up next to him.

Jerry shoved the balance pole through the spokes.

The motorcycle was clamped to the tightrope with a counterweight that hung beneath it so it wasn’t going anywhere. The sudden stop, however, sent the human pyramid falling from the big top to the rings below.

With the balance destroyed, the cycle fell over. The driver cursed as the bike spun upside down underneath the wire.

Ahead of him, the path was clear. Behind him, the other contestants were just now beginning to venture out onto the beam. Jerry cursed as he noticed that Caine was first. He cursed louder when he realized The Omega Run racers were supposed to wear a safety harness for this stage.

He looked ahead. There wasn’t much farther to go. Jerry took a deep breath and raced across the finish line.

25

Colonel Briggs watched the monitor. He watched as the true Librarian made a mockery of the Remnant’s pale imitation once again. It was no wonder the people of the wasteland respected him. Things would be so much simpler if only he would join them. As irritating as he was, Caine was a fine showman, but, as Jerry was proving, nothing beat the original article.

They could succeed without either one of them. It was only a matter of time before the Remnant retook control of the country, and eventually the world. They had the numbers, the equipment and the logistical superiority over the inhabitants of the wasteland, but the populous were proving stubborn. The legend of the Librarian was a powerful tool that would save a lot of time and bloodshed.

Briggs looked at the woman and her stupid Beagle growled back.

Evelyn Harrow was another problem all together. From what he knew about her, she had proven just as capable and feisty as the Librarian. And her distrust of the Remnant possibly ran deeper than his. She, the dogs and the other people the Librarian had surrounded himself with were an enormous part of his strength. It was perhaps his greatest skill that he won followers and friends wherever he went. It had been that way for years. Now he was doing it on purpose. He was building a coalition to resist the new order. He had to be stopped.

Briggs had wanted to bring more men. But the statements that Eve and Oblivion had made about the nature of the Remnant forces were true. They had emerged from their shelters with a plan to overwhelm and overtake all settlements within the former United States.

But things had not gone according to plan. The hangar’s destruction at the hands of the Librarian was a big part of it. He had limited their mobility and taken away most of their air power before it had even come out of mothballs.

But, even outside of the crippling blow, the Remnant had faced issues. Several bases had broken away to form their own factions. Others never emerged at all and were impossible to contact. Were they dead inside their bunkers? Or were they just unreachable and weren’t aware the order to emerge had been given? Some of the bases were so remote, no one had been able to verify the answer.

The circumstances had piled up and ultimately limited their ability to project force into the wasteland. They were forced to hold the line and turn to other methods to rebuild the country. Psyops and propaganda. Diplomacy and lies. And even truly harebrained ideas like entering a race to win the use of a broadcast tower that by all rights should be theirs to begin with.

Briggs looked out the window. It was dark now, but he could see the lights of the watchtowers that kept The Cleave’s enemies at bay. Oblivion had done such a good job of keeping the monsters out of her city that she could keep just about anything out. Even his army.

“What’s wrong Colonel?” Sister Oblivion appeared next to him. “Aren’t you enjoying the show? We’ve got quite a race on our hands.”

“It would appear so,” Briggs said not appreciating the drama the woman brought, the spectacle she had created or any of it. Entertainment was a waste of time. Pablum for the masses.

“Even after all you’ve done to slow him down,” Oblivion continued, “that Librarian is still in the competition. Quite impressive. You tried so hard, too. Turning all the contestants against him.”

“You knew?” He didn’t feel guilty. There was nothing to feel guilty about. They were her stupid rules.

“You weren’t subtle.”

“You did nothing to stop it.”

“Why would I stop it? It makes for great television. Your Librarian may be more photogenic but that Jerry, he is the real deal. There’s something about authenticity that people just love. I’ve never understood the appeal of honesty and truth myself, but you can’t deny they have their fans. All your shenanigans will just make things more dramatic when he wins.”

“If he wins,” said Briggs.

“If he wins,” Sister Oblivion smiled. “But if not him, who? You don’t really think your Thomas Caine can do it, do you?”

“Not for a minute,” Briggs admitted. Even if Jerry were removed from the race, there were still a lot of other runners more capable than Caine. But that changed nothing. “But I think both of us would find it in our bests interests if Caine were to win.”

“I’ve been threatened before, Colonel. And I’ll save us both some time by skipping the subtleties of the dance and cutting right to my counter threat. I hold a power like no other in the world right now. A power you’re quite aware of and in pursuit of. You know as well as I do that character assassination is not very difficult, given my reach. You command a very powerful force, but it’s nothing compared to the influence I wield. You, your army, your whole movement will come crumbling down with the narrative I would weave.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we? Not when I can give you everything you want.”

“And what is it that I want, Colonel?”

“You want to go twenty-four-seven. I can supply you with a crew and contestants to fill the airways every minute of every day. I can give you reach. We’ll put a TV in every home. We’ll set up the repeaters and make sure you’re coast to coast within three years. All we have to do is make sure Caine wins.”

“I wouldn’t want to ruin the integrity of the game.” Sister Oblivion said.

“I’m warning you, Oblivion,” the colonel seethed. “It’s one thing to live with integrity, it’s another to—”

“Oh my God! You thought I was serious? I’m just kidding, Colonel.” Sister Oblivion lost herself in laughter for a moment. “You believed me. You should have seen your face. You have the whole dark and brooding thing down.”

Briggs ignored the comment and elaborated on his offer. “We have no shortage of dissidents and troublemakers whose talents would be better served entertaining your audience instead of leading insurrections and rabble rousing.”

“I like that word, rabble-rousers.” she said it several times, really playing with rolling the r’s. Once she was done devouring the term she stuck out her hand. “You have a deal, colonel. I’ll have Darren get on the paperwork.”

He shook. “Paperwork won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I know,” Sister Oblivion said with a dismissive wave. “It just gives him something to do instead of bother me.”

“There is one more problem I see,” Briggs said with his eye on Eve and the dogs.

“Yes, she is remarkably capable. We wouldn’t want her going off on a revenge rampage, would we?” Sister Oblivion raised a finger and got one of the PAs attention. She nodded toward the woman and the PA nodded back and gave a command into her headset.

Several PAs entered the room and converged on Eve with drawn weapons and burlap sacks. Others came prepared to deal with the dogs, wearing thick gloves and protective clothing.

“Don’t move, Miss,” said the PA.

Eve grabbed the gun and wrenched it out of the PAs hand as the dogs sprang into action.

Chewy latched on to the closest attacker’s arm while Sasquatch chased another around the room.

Fidget was in the fight, too. But it was mostly barking until one of the PAs put a hand on Eve.

Once that happened, the Beagle sunk his teeth into the PAs calf and drew some serious blood.

The PA kicked at the Beagle and missed, but in Fidget’s efforts to avoid the kick, the hound dog ran straight into an open burlap sack and was quickly removed from the situation.

The PAs swept the dog up in the bag and held it out at arm’s length and held a gun to the bag.

The bag rocked back and forth as Fidget struggled to get free and bite someone else.

“Call off the dogs,” the PA said to Eve. “Or I shoot the dog.”

Eve lowered the weapon as more PAs with more guns surrounded the group. She issued a command and the big dogs found their place on either side of her.

“Oh, I do like her!” said Oblivion. “I can see why you had so much trouble catching them without me, Colonel.”

The colonel didn’t care for what her statement inferred. “There were extenuating circumstances.”

“Of course there were,” Sister Oblivion said and danced her way across the room to Eve.

“My dear, I’m afraid it has come to my attention that you have been cheating or conspiring to cheat to aide one of the runners.”

“You have a game with no rules and your go to excuse for betraying someone is to accuse them of cheating?”

“My show may not have rules, dear. But the whole world is full of them. And I want to make sure that I’m the one that gets to write them.” Sister Oblivion waved to the PAs and said, “Take her across the river. If she wants to help her librarian so desperately that she’s willing to cheat, then she can run the race with him.”

The PAs escorted Eve and the dogs out of the room as Sister Oblivion took her place back on her production throne.

“Why not just kill her?” Briggs asked.

“Where’s the entertainment in that?” Oblivion asked. “And now back to the show.”

26

The descent from the Fieldhouse was uneventful.

A ladder from the rafters took him to a utility staircase where Jerry found himself alone for the first time since the race began. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t even camera coverage in the stairwell.

This gave him pause at first. He was expecting an ambush. They were past the halfway point and the contestants would be getting desperate to cash in on Briggs’ offer. Of course, he wasn’t the only one in danger. Anyone with points on the board would be a potential target for those who were falling behind. It would be easier to eliminate a points leader than to make a clean sweep of the remaining levels.

These thoughts caused Jerry to slow his steps at first. Then he realized that, for the moment, everyone was behind him. Caine had been leading the pack of contestants up on the trapeze and he had soared past him on his way to the tightropes. He realized that none of the contestants would be waiting for him below. Of course, that didn’t mean Briggs didn’t have others ready to pounce.

He reached the bottom of the stairs without incident and opened a security door that let him out into the dark and the cold. Night had fallen since the halftime break and the snow was falling thicker than before. Fat snowflakes fell lazily, absorbing the night’s sounds and accumulating on the ground at his feet. It was falling fast and thick thanks to The Cleave’s location on the shores of Lake Erie. Warmer water and cold air meant the clouds could drop an insane amount of snow in very little time and, that night, mother nature appeared to be going for a record.

A marked path guided him toward the next stage of the game. It led him across Ontario street and away from the heart of the city. There was a single camera crew filming coverage for the transitionary segment. The two men manning the camera followed him as he ran across the avenue and followed the marked trail down an elevated walkway that led out over a set of railroad tracks. The camera crew did not follow him down the walkway. Instead, they broke away and hurried back across the street to film the next contestant.

There was nothing on the elevated walkway except for a chain-link fence that had rusted and fallen away from its posts and a few unlit streetlights. Jerry jogged to the end, where he saw the top of a metal staircase.

As he got closer to the end, he noticed a figure sitting beneath one of the unlit lamps. The man was hunched over and still.

Jerry approached slowly. At first, he thought it was a trap. Then he worried that the figure was dead. It was hard to tell in the dark and through the snow. Once he got close enough, he could see steam forming off the man’s breath and recognized the shape as no other than Lance “Very Recently a Human Cannonball” Fury.

“How the hell does he keep doing it?” Jerry asked himself. “And how did he get here before me? He looked around for footprints. They should have given him an indication that someone was in front of him. But the snow was falling so fast and so thick that it had covered Lance’s tracks completely. He had been here for more than a few minutes.

“Lance?” Jerry called as he approached. He didn’t want to startle him. “Lance!”

There was no response from the shape and Jerry worried again that the runner could be in shock. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt thanks to Oblivion’s sadistic terms.

Jerry removed his jacket and wrapped it around Lance. He shook the young man as he tried to rub some heat back into his arms. “Lance!”

Startled, Lance sat straight up and looked around several times before realizing Jerry was sitting right next to him. “Oh hey, man.”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s kind of hard to say? Is it snowing?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then I think I’m fine. I was worried I was cold for no reason.”

“How did you get here?”

“They shot me out of the cannon, which was scary, I’ll admit. I think it’s because I’ve never been shot out of a cannon before and I didn’t know what to expect. Did you know it’s not even real gunpowder? I heard a hissing, so I think it was air, but it’s like this platform that pushes you out really fast so you don’t actually blowup, it just kind of throws you. But it was still really scary even if you don’t explode because I don’t like heights. But anyway, I landed in this big net and rather than climb down I decided I could just climb up the net and I felt kind of like Spiderman doing that. But I got to the top and realized that I had already passed by the trapeze and the clowns and the tightropes so I was basically on the other side already. At first I thought, that was cheating and I should really go back down and start over, but like I said, I’m afraid of heights and it was easier to climb up than it would be to climb down. I can’t explain that either but I chickened out and climbed so I decided to just wait here for everybody.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. But I guess I fell asleep because I don’t remember you getting here. Did you get shot out of a cannon, too?”

“No, just you, Lance. That was all you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good right? I’m just a little cold. Hey, you gave me your jacket.”

“I didn’t think your tattoo was doing a very good job of keeping the snow off.”

“That’s really nice of you. You’re a really good person,” Lance said. “I was just thinking…I was thinking about asking you to be on my show. You know, when I win, I’m going to have a children’s show.”

“A kid’s show?”

“Yeah, I want to do a kid’s show that tells all the kids that just because the world’s a scary place that they don’t have to be afraid all the time. There’s still lots of good things in the world and good people. You’re one of them.”

“That sounds like a great show.”

“Yeah, it’s called Oh the Things You Can Do When the World Goes Kaboom with Lance Fury. I want to focus on the upside of the apocalypse.”

“That sounds like a really great show. I’d love to be a guest on it.”

“Thanks,” Lance looked away. He couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“You seem upset. I know you’ve had a rough night.”

“Oh yeah. It’s not that. It’s just I was sitting here thinking back to the party we had before the circus. Something kind of weird happened.”

“What was that?”

“I was talking to some of the other contestants. And those guys were really interesting. Did you know that Dinosaur girl doesn’t really know anything about dinosaurs?”

“I mean, it never occurred to me that she might.”

“You think that would be something you’d look into before dressing up like one but it didn’t seem to bother her. I was trying to guess her favorite dinosaur. I started with Ankylosaurus. Not because I thought it was her favorite. Because it’s not usually someone’s favorite, but I figured alphabetical would be the best way to guess. I hadn’t even gotten to Diplodocus when she stopped me to tell me that she didn’t know much about dinosaurs that she just wanted to wear the costume to stand out.”

“I see.”

“Stegosaurs. That’s my favorite. What about you?”

“Uh, also that one.”

“See?” Lance’s enthusiasm returned for a moment. “I knew it. We have a lot in common.”

Jerry hadn’t had a favorite dinosaur for years. Kids had a favorite dinosaur and were excited to share their excitement with others. Lance may no longer be a kid, but he had the heart for it.

“But no one seemed to really want to talk about dinosaurs,” he continued. “I could talk about dinosaurs a lot. But then this other guy walked up, and I thought maybe he wanted to talk about dinosaurs. I had him pegged as a Triceratops guy. Sometimes you can just tell. But he didn’t want to talk about dinosaurs. He wanted to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, he was all like the Librarian can’t win. And I told him I really thought you could win because you were the Librarian. The real Librarian and that you were like my hero, you know. And then he explained that while he thought you probably could win, that he really didn’t want you to win but that you could win, but they couldn’t let that happen.”

“You told me they were trying to make a deal with people.”

“Oh, right.”

“He offered you a good, easy life if you stopped me.”

“Yeah, but I told him you were my hero. And I wasn’t going to do that.” Lance grimaced as if the words in his throat hurt. “But what he was offering was really good. A new life with his friends.”

“Did that change your mind, Lance?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I was sitting here thinking about. It’s a real moral dilemma. I want the reward, but I don’t want to hurt you. Or even stop you, because I’m sure what you’re after is really important.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And I thought I could maybe win the race, you know? I was always told to have a positive attitude. So I thought maybe I had a chance.”

“You’re doing great, Lance,” Jerry said, and then realized that Lance may actually be winning. If he was here, it meant that Lance won the Circus stage; not him.

“But I’ve got to be realistic,” Lance said. “I got run over by a buffalo, clobbered by a judge, kicked by a ballerina, beat up by a hockey team and shot out of a cannon by a bunch of clowns. And that’s just today. If I’m being honest, yesterday wasn’t any better.”

“You’re kidding?”

“You think I really asked for this tattoo? I got jumped by raiders on the way into The Cleave. They made fun of me for wanting to be a star. They did this. I was just trying to make lemonade out of lemons.” Lance exhaled. “It’s been rough. I don’t know if I can win this thing.”

“You should be proud. You did your best.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, I still want that better life,” Lance winced as he stood up. He was bruised all over, probably had a few broken bones, and every time he moved, wounds opened and more blood fell to the snow. He turned to face Jerry.

“No. Lance, let’s not do this.”

“Lance,” he said with a laugh. “Lance Fury. What was I thinking? I thought a new name would give me a new life; you know?”

“I know,” Jerry said. “I really do. And you can still have that new life.”

“Nah, man. Lance Fury is the name of a champion. My name is just Anthony. But maybe I can still get that new life.”

“We’re not doing this, Anthony.”

“I really don’t want to. You’re like my hero. I don’t want to have to beat you up. Maybe you could just drop out of the race?”

“I can’t do that,” Jerry said. “You know I have to send that message.”

“I understand. That’s very noble of you. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He raised his fists.

“You’re hurt, man. You’re in no shape to fight. Just sit down and rest.”

Anthony took a swing, and Jerry ducked. Anthony stumbled as if drunk. He was weak; he was tired, and he was probably running shy a few pints of blood. His punches had no force; no speed.

Jerry slapped away another punch and fought the reflex to counter the blows. “You’ve got to stop, man.”

“You can tap out,” Anthony said and lashed out again.

Jerry slipped the punch and launched a counter punch out of reflex. He pulled it at the last second and just put his hand on Anthony’s chest. He held the man at bay.

“You’ve gotta fight back, man,” Anthony said. “I don’t want everyone to think I just wailed on you.” Anthony fired a three-punch combination and missed three times in a row.

Jerry wanted to back away from the assault, but he kept having to step in to keep Anthony from falling over. The man was dead on his feet.

“I appreciate what you’re doing, but you don’t have to help me,” Anthony said.

Jerry helped him stand and then backed away.

Anthony swung again. Jerry caught the blow and countered unintentionally.

Anthony backed away, nursing his chin. “Dammit!”

“I’m sorry. Let’s stop.”

“No, it’s just that it’s really cold, so it hurt more.” He raised his fists again.

“Anthony, stop!”

“I can’t!” He unleashed a flurry of swings.

Jerry blocked, dodged, and countered all of them before connecting a right on his opponent’s mouth.

“Oh,” Anthony backed away and pulled out a tooth.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I think that was loose from earlier.”

“I’m…just stop. I don’t want to beat you up. You don’t have that many teeth left. I want you to keep the rest in your head, okay?”

“I appreciate that. You’re such a nice guy. Really. But I’ve got to do this.”

The next few moments were musical. Swing whiff smack smack whiff crack thud.

Anthony sat down hard in the snow.

“Dude, stay down,” Jerry said. “Please, I feel terrible.”

“Oh, I don’t want you to feel bad,” Anthony said. “I am fully aware that I’m making you do this. I don’t want you to feel like this is on you at all. I’m well aware that I’m asking for it.”

Anthony scrambled to his feet in an attempt to catch Jerry off guard and dove for his knees.

Jerry sidestepped the tackle and watched Anthony land flat out in the snow like an upside-down snow angel.

“Please stop getting up,” Jerry pleaded.

“I need this,” Anthony said. “I know I put on a cheery disposition but things have been bad.”

“I’m trying to make things better for everyone.”

“And I admire that about you. That’s why I hate kicking your ass like this.” Anthony lunged, missed again and went down face first in the snow once more.

“That includes you, Anthony. You don’t need Oblivion or Briggs. You can have the better life you want without them.”

Anthony didn’t say anything. He struggled to get back to his feet.

“Stop. This is going to kill you.”

“If that’s what it takes.” He raised his fists again. But he dropped them to his side and eyed the seat beneath the streetlight. “Would you mind giving me a second though?”

“Of course.”

Anthony sat down and leaned against the lamp post.

Jerry took a seat next to him.

“I’m not giving up. I’m just…I need to catch my breath.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks. You really are a good guy, you know? And I really don’t want the other Librarian to win.”

“I know you don’t.”

There is an awkward silence.

“You probably think I’m a loser,” Anthony said.

“A loser? Not at all. In fact, I admire you.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” Jerry said. “You don’t quit. That’s an admirable trait.”

Anthony sat quietly for a moment and Jerry thought he may have passed out again. He stood to leave. He made it to the staircase when Lance spoke up.

“I’m not the bad guy, am I?”

“No, Anthony, you’re not the bad guy. In fact, you might be the only good guy here.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do. And if you ask me, I’d say the world needs Lance Fury and a few more Mr. Rogers.”

“That’s real nice of you to say.” Anthony slumped over, curled up in Jerry’s jacket and passed out.

Jerry walked back to Lance, pulled the jacket closed around him and left him under the light before running down the steps and continuing on to the next stage in The Omega Run.

27

“And as the lights fade under the big top, it’s time to say goodbye to the marvelous performers who gave us thrills, chills and quite a few laughs,” Paul Sterling said as a montage of circus performers played. “We say goodbye to the clowns, and jugglers and all the performers that dazzled us with their talents and delighted us with abilities.”

A black-and-white photo of the man with the handlebar mustache appeared. “We also say goodbye to Stash O’Halloran, who we have just been informed has succumbed to his clown-inflicted injuries. Apparently, we all scream for ice cream, but no one screams about it more than Stash O’Halloran.

“And this has just been handed to me. It seems that after successfully completing the Big Top stage, Ju Jitsu Johnny returned to the arena and broke into the lion tamer’s cage where he attempted to wrestle Bearon von Bruin. Unfortunately for Johnny, Bearon remains undefeated. Ju Jitsu Johnny is dead and he will be missed but he will also receive five bonus points for trying to wrestle a damn bear.

“We now go to Neville Sommerville who sat down earlier with our inflatable friend, the Horrorsaurus Rex.”

The scene changed once again to an interview format. In the chair sat the inflatable Tyrannosaurus rex.

“Were you a fan of dinosaurs as a child, Anne?” asked Neville.

“Not really,” answered the young woman from inside the costume.

“When did you become a dino fan?”

“I’m not really a fan.”

“Do you like anything about dinosaurs?”

The Horrorsaurus Rex shrugged. “Their nuggets were okay.”

“So why this Horrorsaurus Rex? Why the whole get up?”

“How many other dinosaurs do you see running around here?” The T-rex asked. “None. It’s unique. It helps me to stand out.”

“I see?” Neville sounded unconvinced but pressed on in the interview. “So if you win, if the mighty Horrorsaurus emerges triumphant and roars across the finish line, what kind of program would you be creating for the network?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something with make up.”

“Like a fashion program?”

“Why not?” The dinosaur shrugged again. “I’m pretty hot in here. I don’t know what else I’d do.”

“How about something educational?” Neville prompted. “Maybe something focusing on prehistoric creatures?”

“Dude, I don’t like dinosaurs. What about that aren’t you getting?”

“Well, I’m sorry,” Neville snapped. “When someone dresses like a dinosaur and names themself after a dinosaur, one assumes they like dinosaurs.”

“Whatever, dude. I’m out of here.” the Horrorsaurus Rex stood up and removed the lavaliere microphone and stomped off the set.

“Everybody, run!” A voice from off camera made a mock roaring noise. “It’s Godzilla!”

“Shut up, loser,” said the dinosaur.

“And with that the awesome apex predator storms off on the hunt for victory.”

The dinosaur’s voice was faint but perturbed. “Oh my God! You’re all such nerds.”

The image of the empty chair faded to black.

28

Before the world ended, the Cuyahoga River had caught fire no less than fourteen times. To their credit, the people of Cleveland eventually had enough and said, “Fourteen times is enough.” They made an effort to clean and restore the river and, thanks in part to that effort, the river was not currently on fire.

Not only was the river not on fire, it was freezing. The falling snow accumulated on chunks of ice as they flowed down the river on their way to Lake Erie.

Jerry stood at the edge of a rickety dock and stared out over the water. He’d been waiting around long enough that the adrenaline from the encounter had worn off and he was feeling the cold.

Omega Run staff moved about the dock, preparing for the next stage and complaining about the cold. They had every right to gripe, but if it were him, he’d be complaining about the uniform Sister Oblivion had forced them to wear. Each dockhand was dressed in a frog costume. Big bulging eyes hung off the tops of their heads, and they had webbed feet that slapped the snow as they walked around tending to a fleet of cobbled together jet skis.

When Jerry first arrived at the dock, he had assumed they would attack him like the bailiffs or the ballerinas or the hockey team or everything at the circus. But they ignored him for the most part and went about their tasks.

“I hope you like the cold,” one frog grumbled as he brushed past him.

The other contestants started arriving shortly after, and Jerry kept his distance. Caine came second, meaning he must have finished the round in third place overall behind Lance and Jerry.

Everyone looked more than a little worse for wear. After all they had been through, it was the clowns that seemed to take the greatest toll. The players were weary and their enthusiasm was gone.

Some of the contestants looked at Jerry with dollar signs in their eyes and visions of the bounty in their heads. But not everyone was focused on Librarian Number One.

Brock Rampage, the man in the Polk High jersey, stormed across the dock toward Caine. The giant football player ripped off his helmet and slammed it down on the doc before leveling a finger at Librarian Number Two.

“You son of a bitch!”

Caine took cover behind pleading hands. “Hey, it’s just a game, guys!”

He shoved Caine hard. “Just a game? Just a game? You damn near knocked me off that ladder.”

Others had gathered behind number thirty-three and began shouting at Caine as well. It wasn’t surprising that he had made so many enemies. It was one of his talents.

“Don’t be such a poor sport,” Caine said.

Brock grabbed Caine by the neck and walked him to the edge of the dock. “I’m about to give you a lesson in poor sportsmanship.”

An air horn blared. The sound howled across the water. It sounded like the short blast carried on forever with nothing to stop it.

“What?” The frogmen were startled and they looked to one another for an explanation. “It’s not supposed to start yet. Is it?”

The air horn sounded again. And then a third and fourth time with greater and greater urgency.”

The frogmen shared one last confused look. “Uh, I guess, everyone go!”

There was no explanation, no safety briefing and absolutely no explanation for the stupid frog costumes. It’s just the air horn and the word go.

The Black Dragon broke first and raced for the nearest jet ski. He leapt from the dock and landed on the saddle as the other contestants started moving toward the watercraft.

Brock let go of Caine and raced to find his own.

The actor had been saved by the bell.

The dock swayed from the waves and wake as the runners became riders and shot out into the freezing waters of the Cuyahoga.

Jerry knew little about personal watercraft outside of a few holiday rentals. He leapt onto a red one and started it up. He pulled the throttle, and his world got colder.

Shooting across a half-frozen river in a snowstorm was about the coldest he’d ever been. And without his jacket to shield him from the wetness, he felt the spray penetrate his bones. Even with his gloves on, he lost feeling in his hands almost immediately.

He tried to keep the jet ski as straight as possible so he could ride with his other hand tucked away from the freezing air, but he found maneuvering around the floating ice to be more demanding than he’d hoped.

He pressed on down the river knowing it couldn’t be a flat-out race. Nothing in The Omega Run was that simple.

Jerry crossed under a railroad bridge and heard an announcer blaring out of speakers mounted along the east side of the riverbank.

They spoke hurriedly as if he was trying to cover a lot of ground quickly.

“Welcome race fans to the Mighty Cuyahoga. Carved from the Earth by glaciers, it—what do you mean we don’t have time for the glacier shit?” the announcer asked. “It sets up the—fine I’ll skip it. But I have to talk about the fires. As an artery in the Industrial Revolution, the Cuyahoga River was the lifeblood of the city, bringing prosperity and wealth to its people. And in turn, the people brought pollution, chemicals and a disdain—okay, fine, I’ll just cut to the chase. The river caught fire fourteen times, all right. Fourteen fucking times. Do you all have any idea how fucking hard it is to light water on fire? Well, Cleveland did it fourteen times. And then someone said, hey let’s make it not do that anymore. So, they did. But tonight, race fans, we’re going to set the Cuyahoga on fire once more.”

Flames erupted all around him. Walls of fire formed up and down the river while bursts of light and heat popped intermittently from hidden jets all over the course. The Cuyahoga was on fire once more.

The light from the flames forced back the darkness and revealed that the river had been transformed into an obstacle course on steroids. Just looking down the river, he could see jumps and spikes and swinging contraptions that would knock a rider from his jet ski or the head from his shoulders. The flames themselves would normally be a deterrent, but Jerry was so cold that he wondered how close he could get to the flames without burning himself.

The jet ski careened off a chunk of ice and knocked him off course. It put his watercraft at such a sharp angle that it almost rolled over and dumped him into the river. He cranked the handlebars back to the left to even out the ride and find his balance again.

Just ahead, two steel walls funneled the riders toward a ramp in the middle of the river that ended in a wall of flames. The runners were all racing to be the first one to see how hot the flames really were.

Jerry could see the Black Dragon and Brock Rampage nearby. It was the pirate Long John who made it to the ramp first. Over the scream of the water jets and the rush of the air, it was impossible to be sure, but Jerry swore he could hear the pirate yell “Aargh” as he went up the ramp and over the wall of flames.

The Horrorsaurus Rex and Tiffany Flexx weren’t far behind the pirate and the duo hit the ramp in quick succession.

Flames licked at the hull of the dinosaur’s jet ski as it made the leap. Then the wall erupted like something out of a stunt show spectacular and the fire tripled in size. Blinded by the burst, the fitness instructor lost her balance and fell into the flames. Her knit leggings went up first.

The burst subsided and the wall of flames returned to its previous size.

“It looks like our T-rex friend is doing her best pterodactyl impression by flying off the end of that ramp,” the voice over the PA said, “but it looks like Miss Flexx is going to be spending her time sweating to the oldies.”

Chad shot by Jerry. He thought he was freezing, that guy had to be dying from the cold. Jerry was convinced his jet ski was moving faster than everyone else’s just to get him closer to the flames.

His jet ski went up the ramp and soared. The wall of flames erupted again and the fire grew. But, unlike Tiffany, Chad welcomed the heat. Fire was his friend and he did not flinch as it enveloped him. His jet ski burst through the wall and landed safely on the other side with the lifeguard in control.

The flames receded to their original height just as Jerry hit the ramp.

He felt the bottom of his ski scrape along the surface until the end of the ramp. Then everything went quiet…if you didn’t count the whine of the engine, the roar of the flames and the horrendous dying screams of Tiffany Flexx.

Jerry cleared the wall of flames just before it had another outburst. He could feel the heat from the flames on his back and it was wonderful.

Then he landed in the river and was hit by a blast of freezing water. The impact caused him to lose his grip on the handlebars and he had to will his frozen hand back on the trigger.

He heard screaming and impacts behind him. The others had made the jump and cleared the wall.

Jerry pulled on the gas and the jet ski shot into the obstacle course that was The Omega Run Gauntlet.

Between flood lights and flames, the course was well enough lit. The Omega Run designers had filled the river with pyrotechnic dangers, spiked walls, and other booby traps. There were swinging blades and blunt objects ready to bludgeon unsuspecting contestants. And absolutely no one was getting out of there without a fresh dose of tetanus.

“Remember race fans. There’s more than one way through the Gauntlet,” the announcer explained. “Our runners are free to chart their own course and find their own way to the finish line!”

Many of the riders approached the next leg of the race with caution. Instead of diving into the course headlong, they worked their way back and forth across the river, looking for the safest path.

After only a few moments of consideration, Jerry determined there was no safe path and sped down the river. The faster he finished, the sooner he was safe from the other contestants, Briggs’ men, and Sister Oblivion’s twisted imagination.

His sudden burst of speed prompted others to give up their search for a safer path and they followed Jerry into the deadly maze.

Brock Rampage was right behind him and was somehow getting enough speed from his jet ski to close the distance between them, despite Jerry having his throttle pinned.

Ahead of them, a series of three arms spun on spindles located on opposite sides of the channel. The boom arms were not just the size of telephone poles, he suspected they were actual telephone poles. They spun with a regular rhythm and looked like a thousand video games he had played as a kid. If he timed it right, he should be able to make it through untouched. He just wished he had a “B” button to hit in case of an emergency. Jerry adjusted his speed, waited for what he thought was the right moment and then dove into the obstacle at full speed.

His timing was almost perfect, though he had to duck under the third arm at the last moment. He could smell the creosote on the timber. He sat up on the jet ski, screamed and cranked the steering right.

The wrecking ball was massive, covered in spikes and had come swinging out of nowhere. It had missed him by less than a foot.

It caught Brock Rampage in the chest and knocked him from his jet ski.

Jerry looked back to see that it didn’t drop him in the water. When the wrecking ball swung back in his direction, it turned slowly to reveal that the Polk High player was stuck for good.

“Well, how about that?” asked the announcer. “I’ve seen a football player spike a ball, but I never thought I’d see a ball spike a football player.”

Jerry hit another ramp that sent him flying over another contraption that looked like a series of spiked logs rolling toward one another. He hadn’t seen it until he was right on top of it and would have fallen into the makeshift shredder had he tried to go around the ramp instead of over it. Nowhere on the river was safe. The designers had seen to that.

Black Dragon landed in the water on his left and glared at him through what remained of his makeshift ninja mask. It was clear from the look in his eyes that the other contestants still had it out for him. However, the ninja also saw an opportunity to take the lead and must have determined that trying to win the stage was the smarter play.

The two riders split to go around a wide metal cylinder that rose out of the middle of the river. As they approached it, metal panels dropped open to reveal natural gas nozzles around the obstacle’s circumference.

Jerry cut hard right just as the gas ignited. The flames chased him across the water as he leaned over the front of the jet ski just to be farther away from the fire.

He cut back to the left and passed under the Carter Road bridge and saw that the Black Dragon had also escaped the flames. Mostly. The ninja’s hood was smoking and he had taken his hand off the throttle to remove it.

Jerry shot past him and screamed down the freezing river. He could just see the next bend in the river when another jet ski shot out from behind an obstacle and sideswiped him.

“Aargh!” threatened the pirate.

“Uh oh, it looks like our Librarian has company.” Speakers hidden along the riverbank ensured that the announcer’s commentary was ever present.

Jerry was looking forward to a time when his every action wasn’t followed by color commentary.

Long John crashed into Jerry’s jet ski once more.

As far as Jerry knew, the pirate wasn’t anywhere near the leaderboard. That may have changed with so many contestants dropping out, but Long John’s best chance was to eliminate Jerry and seize the bounty.

The pirate pulled away to build up speed for another attack.

Jerry pulled away to his right and the pirate followed. The course wall had him boxed in on his right, leaving him little room to maneuver and there was no more speed to be had from the jet ski’s engine.

Long John drew his cutlass, screamed “Aargh,” and moved in for the attack.

The Black Dragon slipped in between the two racers and blocked the pirate’s blade with his own.

Jerry cut the gas, dropped behind the two swordsmen and turned back toward the middle of the river.

He hadn’t gotten far when the ninja came for him. The Black Dragon’s only goal had been to save The Librarian for himself. “Ahya!” shouted the assassin and swung the ninjatō at his target.

Jerry pulled his hand back just as the sword came for his forearm. The sword cut deep into the panel that held the jet ski’s safety instructions but missed his hands by inches.

The Lord of the Shadow Realm had overextended himself when he made the strike and had tipped toward Jerry, exposing his back.

Jerry grabbed the ninja’s second sword and drew it from the scabbard before kicking the ninja’s jet skit away from his own.

It took a moment for the Warrior of the Fang to realize what had happened. Once he saw the sword in Jerry’s hand, the ninja cursed and screamed, “Not again!”

Long John the Pirate pulled up on Jerry’s left and waved the cutlass. Jerry had an active imagination as a child and loved adventure stories. So maybe there was a chance that somewhere as an eight-year-old boy he actually did picture himself sword fighting a ninja while racing down a burning river on jet skis. It was possible.

But the pirate was really a surprise.

29

Her parents, her teachers and local news affiliates had always warned her that if she wasn’t careful, she would one day be abducted and thrown into the back of a white panel van. Well, today was the day. But to her extreme disappointment, there wasn’t any candy. She was told there would be candy.

Eve struggled against the restraints that bound her hands behind her back. The rope was rough and felt like it was made of hemp. She preferred nylon. But abductors rarely asked.

Chewy and Sasquatch fought against their restraints as well. She could see the dogs had been muzzled and bound, but otherwise appeared unharmed.

Fidget was still in the sack, and he wasn’t moving. It could mean he was in trouble, but Eve was pretty certain the Beagle had just fallen asleep.

She had no idea where they were or where they were headed. She didn’t know Cleveland well enough to navigate without a landmark or two, and there were none visible from the rear of the van. Because it was windowless; just like in all the after-school specials.

The fact that she wasn’t dead was a bit of a surprise. It was obvious that Briggs and Oblivion had come to some sort of arrangement that involved betraying Jerry. But she figured that would mean she would have been killed, not merely deported from The Cleave. It seemed a light sentence for someone that had given the colonel so much trouble over the years. It had to have been Sister Oblivion’s idea. And that meant wherever they were taking her had something to do with that stupid show.

From the thrum of the roadway below the metal floor, she could tell they were crossing over a bridge. Which one, she couldn’t tell? There were several that crossed the Cuyahoga into the city center.

The van didn’t go far. The ride only lasted a few more minutes, and they had barely cleared the bridge when it veered off the road and came to a stop.

Cold rushed in when the driver and passenger opened their doors to get out. Not that the van’s heater had been blowing out tropical breezes, but the day had definitely grown colder as the storm had worsened.

The side door slid open on rusty bearings and her captors reached in to help her out. She recognized the two of them as PAs from the VIP suite. So it was Oblivion’s idea.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the game now miss,” the first PA said as he cut her hands free. “Welcome to the Bats.”

She was right. It was hemp rope. Her wrists were going to itch all night.

The two PAs dragged the big dogs out of the van and set them down. Chewy and Sasquatch growled but could do little else in their present state. The PAs set the sack full of Beagle at her feet and got back in the van.

“Good luck,” the second PA said as he closed the door and the van pulled away, leaving her and the dogs in the middle of a snow-covered intersection.

There was no sound but the engine of the van driving away. And once that had faded, it was just her breathing and Fidget snoring.

She let the dogs free and watched them to see if they sensed any danger.

They were still understandably upset about the rough treatment, but they didn’t seem too concerned with anything in their immediate surroundings.

Eve wasn’t convinced they were safe. Something felt off here. It was quiet and still except for the falling snow. They seemed very much alone, but she could still sense a pair of eyes on her.

She wasn’t even sure where to go. If she was in the game like the PAs said, Jerry would be out here somewhere. The last she had seen, he had made it past Oblivion’s circus full of crazy assholes so he should still be in the race somewhere. Finding Jerry would be the best course of action. Then they could get out of there and figure out their next steps.

The Bats? She had seen the area on the map in the production room. It was just across the river from the tower, so they weren’t far from Oblivion and Briggs. They needed to get farther.

She roused Fidget from his sleep. The Beagle emerged from his sack with his nose in the air and took several orientation sniffs before turning to Eve for some perspective.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“We’re across the river somewhere. They call it The Bats.”

“It smells weird.” Fidget took another whiff of the air. “But I don’t smell bats.”

“What kind of weird?” Eve asked.

“You know that candy that looks like corn, but isn’t corn, it’s candy?”

“Yes.”

“And you said, don’t eat it because it will make you sick but I said it’s corn and ate it and it made me sick but then I felt bad because you were right so I tried to eat the sick but I just got sick some more?”

“Yes,” Eve said disgusted by the memory.

“It smells like the pants that Jerry was wearing that day.”

“Ugh. Fidget, do you ever listen to yourself when you talk?”

“Why? What was I saying?”

“Never mind. We need to move. Can you tell which way it is to the river?”

“It’s this way,” Fidget said and pointed to the right. Then he turned around. “And it’s this way.”

“Do you know which way Jerry is?”

Fidget put his nose in the air and spun around twice before declaring, “Nope.”

Eve decided they would go right. If she remembered correctly, that should be where the river race finish line was located.

They need to reunite with Jerry. She had to tell him they had been betrayed. Unless he already knew it. If they had already come for her, what had they done to him?

With this new thought in her head, she quickened her pace and hurried down the road with a big dog on either heel and the Beagle’s nose leading the way.

The street took them through what used to be a municipal housing district.

The Lakeview Terrace development was a block of public houses so old that the terms used to describe it had become offensive and been replaced several times over. Every ten or so years, the terminology had to be upgraded to avoid offending people who didn’t even live there. Unfortunately, the homes themselves were updated less frequently than the language. They stood in disrepair for most of their existence, and the apocalypse had done them no favors.

A fifteen-story tower loomed above it all. The building’s design made it feel soulless and cold but Eve could swear that the building had eyes. And they were all watching her.

This whole trip had been a bad idea. She had said so, but Jerry said he had a friend. Of course, he always had a friend somewhere. For a notoriously lone warrior, the man had accumulated an impressive and ever-growing circle of friends. From kings and river men to chieftains and the populations of dozens of New Hopes, the number of people who would come to his aid if called was impressive. Everywhere the Librarian had gone, he had done his best to make things right. And when you do that, loyalty follows.

Most people had approached the apocalypse from a completely different angle. They had withdrawn and refused to let people into their lives. But not the damn Librarian. He had made friends everywhere. And when The Omega Run started showing up on old TV’s, he headed straight for his friend Jax with a plan to bring hope to anyone he hadn’t met.

Too bad it wasn’t an original idea.

There was a noise; a crack. She wanted to think that she imagined it, but two of the three dogs had heard it and were all looking in the same direction she was to find the source. Fidget just kept sniffing and moving forward.

That wasn’t the worst idea. She started jogging in the snow in hopes of reaching Jerry sooner.

Now she heard breathing. And she was pretty sure it wasn’t her own breath doing weird things in the snowstorm. There were supposed to be monsters in this area. Vampires, Cindy had said. Did vampires breathe? Her knowledge of vampire lore was limited to what she had learned from the Lost Boys and Count Chocula commercials.

She looked at the dogs. There was no indication they had heard anything. She was probably making the breathing thing up.

Then there was a crash and a scream that even got Fidget’s attention.

Eve and the dogs broke out into a full-on run. She barely had time to worry about the footprints they were leaving behind in the snow. They had to get…somewhere. She had no idea, but she didn’t want to be outside anymore. Maybe it was the snowstorm but she felt surrounded, even a little claustrophobic despite being outside. It felt like there was something above her.

Could vampires fly?

Of course, vampires could fly. That is, the fake kind could. But what about Oblivion’s monsters. Mutation had given people a lot of traits but they were mostly in the form of growths and moles and maybe a personality quirk or psychosis or two. No one gained the power of flight. That she knew of.

The dogs were taking their cues from her and kept their heads down as they ran.

She looked for anywhere to get inside, out of the cold, out of the sight of spying eyes where she could think without this feeling of being crushed and pursued.

They passed several apartment buildings with low set balconies. It would be easy enough to jump onto one of the walls and force their way into one of the residences. Be she didn’t dare try one of the homes, it probably had a vampire living in it. So, they kept running.

Something shrieked as it passed overhead.

She looked up and there was nothing there but snow. But she knew she had heard something. There was another shriek far behind her and she turned to face it. She saw nothing but an empty street. Just white and shadow as the snow rocked to the ground.

Then one of the shadows moved. It was far down the street and it wasn’t coming toward her, but one of the damn shadows moved. And it had screamed just before it moved.

At the end of the street, almost invisible in the snow, stood a white industrial building made of metal and cinder block. It looked sturdy and there were no windows. She could barricade herself in there and regroup. She needed another plan. Something that involved more sunlight or possibly some garlic.

She and the dogs dashed through a small parking lot and ran across the street. Eve raced to the door and almost squealed when she found it unlocked. She looked behind her once more to make sure the shadows were staying in their place. There was nothing there. The night was quiet, the darkness still. The wind fought against her but she managed to open the door far enough to let the dogs in and slip through herself.

Once inside she eased the door closed behind her to avoid making any noise. Then she brushed the snow off her jacket, stomped the snow off her boots and looked up to see that she had just taken cover in a bar full of vampires.

30

“Aargh!” bawled Long John as he swung the cutlass.

Jerry had the advantage here, as the pirate was forced to swing across his body if he didn’t want to let go of the throttle. Jerry blocked it with the ninjatō and tried to steer the jet ski to the right without ever letting off the gas.

Black Dragon crashed into him from the right, pinning the craft between the ninja and the pirate.

The Librarian let go of the handlebars and slid back on the jet ski as the ninja’s sword cut into his seat.

“It’s ninja versus pirate versus librarian!” The announcer’s voice was all around them. “My money is not on the bookworm.”

Jerry kicked the ninja in the head as the pirate stopped his jet ski and stood up.

With hands off the throttles, all three of the vehicles slowed to a stop and the sword fight began in full.

There was a brief flurry and flashing swords as the pirate attacked. Jerry countered, and the ninja recovered. Jerry blocked two more strikes from the cutlass and kicked the pirate’s peg leg out from under him.

It was here that he finally realized it was a real fake leg and not a fake, fake leg at all. The pirate fell over and Jerry felt twice the guilt for kicking someone in their prosthetic leg. But there was no time to apologize as the ninja had gotten back into the fight.

Their ninja swords clashed twice before the jet skis drifted too far apart for the encounter to continue.

Jerry dropped back into the saddle and pulled the throttle to the grip. The engine whined and shot the craft forward.

Long John and Black Dragon screamed at one another as they both scrambled to catch up with their fleeing prey.

It wasn’t long before Jerry realized he hadn’t picked the ski with the fastest jet. He had just rounded another bend in the river when the Black Dragon started to gain. The pirate wasn’t far behind.

A minute later, all three had come together again for another skirmish.

This time, Long John made sure to attack from Jerry’s right so he could swing the blade more freely. While the ninja had some ability with a blade, it was clear that the pirate’s cutlass was more decorative than anything. Because of the clumsy swings, Jerry was able to trip the pirate up and focus on the Black Dragon’s attacks, which posed more of a threat.

Footwork was difficult on a jet ski, and the more the opponents rocked the more wake they created. This eventually carried the boats apart once more. And once more, Jerry made a run for it.

“You see, race fans,” that announcer said, “it’s difficult to have a boat sword fight when the boats won’t float together. This is why pirates used ropes.”

“Aargh!” shouted the pirate in frustration as he dove back for his controls.

The ninja was back on the throttle as well.

They caught him quickly, pinned him between them and all three men let go of the gas and started swinging.

Once again, the frantic movements required for engaging in combat with a pirate and a ninja at the same time, caused the three watercraft to drift apart until the swords themselves became useless.

The second he was out of range of the pirate’s cutlass, Jerry took off. The gap was narrowing as his attackers were getting to their controls quicker.

This time, Jerry released the throttle before he was caught. It looked to his pursuers as if he was picking the location for their next round, but he turned the sword on his own craft and severed the cord from the emergency release tether.

He pegged the throttle back and started moving again. He threw caution and steering to the wind for a moment while he wrapped the cord around the throttle in a crudely formed cruise control.

They had picked the better watercraft. That was certain. They caught him again. When all three men let go of the handlebars to engage in another expected round of sword play, Jerry’s jet ski bounced off the ninja’s and kept going. He heard the ninja shout and the pirate “Aargh” behind him as they came after him.

When the others caught up to him, he would be able to defend himself with both hands without slowing down. The bend in the river meant he was headed north again. But this time he was feeling better about his chances.

The sword fights had cost him his lead as several of the racers had overtaken the trio. The Horrorsaurus Rex and Abracadamn the Wasteland Wizard were still out there somewhere as well as Chad the Lifeguard, if he hadn’t frozen to death. And, of course, Caine would take any advantage he could.

There was another ramp in the water ahead and he knew from the previous traps that it was better to jump than go around. He kept the cord on the throttle and listened to the engine whine as it left the water and the jet ski slid up the sloped surface. The jet ski tripped a switch at the top of the ramp that triggered two pillars of flames when he hit the end. He had to admit that the pyrotechnics were impressive and he was sure they made for great television.

He hit the water a second before the ninja and pirate set off the ramp pyrotechnics behind him. He didn’t know if they were working as a team, but they seemed more focused on him than they were on each other.

Jerry was forced to slow down to enter the course. He pulled the cord off the throttle as it turned into a slalom course. He swept through the first three gates with little trouble. But Long John caught up to him in the turns.

They collided and Long John screamed. Jerry could hear the frustration in his “aargh” as the pirate leapt from his own craft onto the front of Jerry’s jet ski as he raised the cutlass above his head to end the fight once and for all.

Jerry stabbed him with the ninja’s sword.

“Aargh,” lamented the pirate as he looked at the blade sticking from his chest.

“Ouch,” the announcer shouted as the pirate fell into the river. “It looks like in the end those two just couldn’t see aye to aye.”

Jerry cleared the final gate of the slalom and rounded the last bend. Lake Erie and the Old River were straight ahead as the Cuyahoga came to an end. The finish wasn’t far.

Unfortunately, neither was the ninja.

The Black Dragon rammed him from behind and waved his sword and the Librarian who, since his sword was stuck in a pirate at the bottom of the lake, now defenseless.

All Jerry could do was run. He laid as flat as he could on the jet ski to reduce the drag and get every bit of speed he could from the aging motor.

The ninja broke left and tried to pull alongside, but Jerry cut in front of him. All he could do now was keep the ninja behind him. The course had to end soon.

That’s when they saw it. The river forked to the left and in its path was another ramp. This was the narrowest one he had seen on the course with only enough room for one rider at a time. The runners had no way to go around. Metal grates with spikes blocked the path on either side. It was up and over or nothing.

The Black Dragon tried to move right, but Jerry blocked his path once more as he lined up for the jump.

The ninja juked left and then pulled up on Jerry’s right. He drew the sword as they both shot down the river.

Jerry pointed to the ramp ahead and watched the ninja’s face as he realized their current situation. The race was on.

Jerry realized that it had always been the pirate that caught him first and hoped that his craft and the ninja’s were better matched. It was all going to come down to who hit the ramp first.

The Black Dragon tried to sheath his sword but realized the effort was costing him time when Jerry pulled ahead. He cursed and dropped the sword in the river so he could focus on driving.

It was close. The ninja edged up on him and proved that his jet ski was faster but just a touch. But it was enough and the ninja hit the jump first.

But then, the Librarian hit the ninja. Jerry cut across the corner of the ramp and knocked the Black Dragon sideways. The impact was enough to straighten out his own jet ski and send the ninja’s spinning. The Librarian cleared the end of the ramp while the Keeper of the Six Demon Bag flew off the side, rolled and got crushed between his own jet ski and a wall of spikes…that then caught fire.

“Let that be a reminder to you all, race fans. If you’re going to race, you’d better know the stakes.”

Jerry splashed down in the river and passed under the Willow Avenue Bridge which served as the Gauntlet’s finish line.

The other contestants were waiting on the shore. He had come in alive, but dead last.

31

“Ladies and gentlemen of the viewing audience…” Paul’s voice was somber. “In the course of covering sports entertainment, we often bear witness to great things. There are moments that we can celebrate together. But there are also moments in which we cry together. We have just witnessed the deadliest round in Omega Run history.”

The screen displayed black and white images of the fallen runners.

“Brock Rampage, Tiffany Flexx, Long John the Pirate, and the Black Dragon, Lord of the Shadow Realm, Warrior of the Fang and Keeper of the Six Demon Bag, all gave their lives that we may be entertained. They sacrificed their various dreams of home fitness, travel and whatever the football guy was planning on doing to bring us thrills.

“Join us, please, as we pay our respects to these fallen titans of the game with a minute of silence.”

The player images faded away as the footage transitioned to the image of a burning candle.

“This would be a good time to grab a snack,” Paul reminded everyone and returned to the moment of silence. The candle eventually flickered and went out.

“And, we’re back! Things are getting really interesting now. Librarian Number Two managed to pull ahead and take the stage, giving him a total of thirty-one points. But Librarian Number One has received five bonus points for every competitor he eliminated, bringing him to a total of thirty-five points. It’s basically a two-man race now. If they can finish.

“There’s only one stage left, but to get to it, they have to cross The Bats.”

32

The remaining contestants just stared at one another as they stood on the riverbank. They were alone at the finish line. No PAs, no crew members. Just a dinosaur, a lifeguard, two librarians and a wizard standing in what used to be a material storage yard for a long defunct cement factory.

Jerry stood with his back to the beached jet ski facing the other runners who lined up next to Caine.

“Well?” Caine shouted. “Isn’t anyone going to get him?”

The three costumed contestants exchanged glances but didn’t say anything for a long time.

Finally, The Horrorsaurus Rex shrugged and said, “No.”

“I’m not, either,” said Abracadamn.

“I’m too cold,” said the Lifeguard and shook his head. “I can’t feel my anything.”

“None of you!” Caine said. “Come on. Dinosaur lady?”

The dinosaur folded her tiny arms.

“Well, somebody has to get him!” Caine said.

“Why don’t you come get me, Caine?” Jerry said. “It looks like if you want to stop me, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Seriously, what is it with you two?” Abracadamn sat down on a pile of aggregate and started wringing the water from his wizard sleeves. “Why do you hate each other so much?”

“He’s a jerk,” said Caine.

“He stole my identity and partnered with a brutal regime to take over the world while using my name to undo my life’s work and turn people into slaves,” Jerry said.

“Oh!” said the Horrorsaurus.

“Damn,” said the wizard.

“I can’t feel my shins,” said the lifeguard.

“I mean he’s a really big jerk,” said Caine. “If one of you kills him now, my associates will reward you with whatever you want.”

The dinosaur didn’t move, the wizard wrung out his hat and Chad shivered.

“I just want this all to be over,” Chad said. “I’m going to find the next stage. I’m going to finish this race and I’m going to wear pants again. I don’t even care who wins.”

Organ music filled the air and the wizard put his soggy wet hat back on his head and stood up.

“Here we go. Creepy music. That can’t be good.”

“Welcome, mortals, to The Bats,” the voice had a sinister smile to its sound. “My name is Vincent and I’ll be your host for the duration. Depending on how fast you run, your stay may be short or eternal. For between you and the final stage lies a cursed neighborhood where the streets are filled with undead denizens and the buildings are inhabited by tenets of eternity. Your goal awaits just beyond Dracula’s tower.”

“Great,” said the woman in the dinosaur. “Another disembodied voice.”

Abracadamn scrambled up the pile of aggregate and looked toward the city.

“Good luck,” continued Vincent. “But beware, you’re on your own in The Bats. No one is coming to save you. Can you make it to the next stage. Or have you bitten off more than you can chew? Muahahaha.”

There was a scream from somewhere deep in The Bats as Vincent’s laugh faded away.

“I can see a tower just over that way,” the wizard pointed from the top of the pile. “That must be the tower they’re talking about.”

“Great, so there are plenty of vampires, but zero points?” Chad said through chattering teeth. “This is like those damn buffalo.”

Jerry started walking toward the tower.

“Where you going?” asked Caine.

“I’m going to find Dracula’s tower,” he said and walked away. He didn’t know if the others followed him. He didn’t care. He was just as tired and cold as the next contestant—as long as that next contestant wasn’t Chad the Lifeguard. He just wanted to get the race over with. If he could just cross the finish line, he should win the game. Then they could make their broadcast and get the hell out of The Cleave. Caine had won the river race, giving him fifteen more points. Jerry only had a four point lead. The only way the actor could win now was if he beat Jerry across the final finish line or if Jerry was dead. And it looked like his competitors weren’t willing to help him make that play.

He hadn’t walked far before he decided that he didn’t care for the theatrics of The Bats.

There were monsters in the wasteland, he had met them, but the odds of something mutating into mythical creatures was improbable. Something else was at play here.

Another scream, this one behind him.

“Was that a scream, or merely the sweet serenade of The Bats?” Vincent asked. “Either way, delightful!"

Improbable was not impossible, Jerry thought as he began walking faster. People could be assholes without being blood sucking monsters.

He had met people that did crazy things after they lost everything at the end of the world. Many people chose to pretend that nothing had happened at all. They built their lives around a charade that life had gone as before. This really got awkward when they invited him to dinner and he had to sit and dine with members of the person’s family that had been fabricated out of mannequins or, sometimes gourds.

Others chose to believe that they were destined to survive the end of the world and acted as a delivered chosen one. They usually had a cosmic purpose they were pushing on anyone who would listen.

The people who thought they were eternal were almost as insufferable as the chosen ones. The only upside was that, because of their perceived invincibility, they were rather careless and didn’t last very long.

In the grand scheme of things, one thinking they were a vampire wasn’t really that high on the list of crazy things. It was actually kind of smart. At the very least you’d get to sleep in every day.

He came to the edge of a housing project and looked around. It was quiet, still and eerie and Jerry looked over his shoulder for his fellow contestants. Not because he was afraid they might attack him, but because he wouldn’t mind a little company.

Once he entered the neighborhood, the shadows started getting more aggressive and the screams more frequent. There were movements associated with the sounds. And it wasn’t just behind him or in some far-off place. The noises were getting closer.

The screams were inhuman and he was constantly looking over his shoulder believing he caught a flicker of movement.

There was a shriek above him and he looked in time to see a shadow disappear over a rooftop’s edge.

"The shadows dance, the air thickens, and the question lingers: are you being watched, or hunted?” Vincent laughed again and it carried through the air.

Jerry cut across a basketball court and found himself among taller buildings.

There was another scream above him and a shadow moved across the sky. Whatever they were, they could fly.

No that didn’t make any sense. This had to be a part of Oblivion’s stupid game.

Surely she had cameras capturing this. She had to be controlling this. It wasn’t like her to leave things to fate.

The next scream sent him running. It didn’t matter who was in charge or what was real, there was no reason not to run. It wouldn’t hurt if he got to the next starting line a little early.

Jerry rounded a corner and almost collided with a man standing in the street.

Both of them yelled. Both of them jumped. Then both of them laughed. It was the nervous chuckles of looking foolish together. It was reflex. If Jerry had of recognized him as one of Colonel Briggs’ men right ways, he never would have bothered to laugh.

Jerry slid in the snow as he tried to reverse course and run from the armed soldier.

The Remnant private screamed into his comms. “Contact, contact! It’s him! It’s him! It’s him!”

Jerry got back to his feet and dove over the brick wall of a low set balcony just as the soldier raised his rifle and fired. The patio door and apartment window behind him shattered and crashed at his feet. He covered the back of his neck and waited for the gunfire and the tinkling to stop.

When the Remnant soldier stopped to reload, Jerry dove into the apartment through the shattered door.

He didn’t know how many men the colonel had sent but he knew he didn’t want to get caught inside the building where they could hunt him down at their leisure so he moved quickly through the small apartment into a shared hallway and then out an exterior door in to a courtyard on the opposite side of the building.

There was another shriek and a shadow moved overhead. He saw more of the figure this time as it moved between the rooftops. It was big and it had wings.

“The sky has darkened further, but it’s not the clouds—it seems the shadows have taken flight."

“Dammit, Vincent!” Jerry shouted back at the voice. “You are not helping!”

“Over there!”

The soldiers had gathered at the far end of the courtyard. There were five total and all of them were quicker on the draw than the private Jerry had encountered.

Jerry didn’t break his stride. He kept running until he reached a balcony identical to the first and threw himself over the brick ledge. He covered his head and prayed the old masonry would hold. The window above him exploded and the door shattered as the soldiers opened fire on the patio. With five soldiers firing, he wouldn’t be able to wait for a reload. He was going to have make a break for it before they came for him.

He could hear intermittent shouting through the gunfire. Then the shooting became more erratic and it sounded like fewer bullets were being directed at him.

Then the screaming started and the gunshots hitting the balcony stopped altogether.

Jerry risked a peek over the top of the brick wall.

The Remnant soldiers weren’t shooting at him anymore, they were firing at the shadows.

And the winged shadows were fighting back.

The soldier screamed in terror as the monstrous shrieks were directed at them. The winged shadows came fast at the group of men. They dove in from above wailing like banshees as they passed through the small unit of soldiers. Shadows came from every direction, preying on the men. And every time they passed, one of the men would lose their head.

It was nothing as subtle as a vampire’s bite. Their heads had been cleaved off right at the neck.

A shadow would swoop down through the group, a man would fall and his head would roll away from his body before the blood poured into the snow.

“No longer content to lurk, the shadows strike with lethal grace. This is one time when you don’t want to get ahead.”

The soldiers had all but forgotten about him and were now running for their lives with the shadows in pursuit.

They never made it far. Other shadows began to emerge from the bushes and buildings. The soldiers’ screams ended quickly.

Jerry couldn’t watch any more. He ducked inside the apartment. It was the same layout as the other and he quickly found his way out into the hallway and to the door that led to the courtyard. He opened it to find one of the shadows standing in his way.

“Boo,” it said.

Jerry screamed and fell backwards to the floor. The female figure was dressed like a classic vampire from the black make up and lace bodice to a red and black velvet cloak. It looked good on her.

Jerry smiled. “Jax?”

33

They were on the twelfth floor of what Vincent had referred to as Dracula’s tower overlooking the Detroit-Superior Bridge and the final stage of The Omega Run.

Jerry and Eve embraced as the dogs panted excitedly and Fidget tried to explain everything that had happened since they had seen him last.

“I smelled bacon, and deviled eggs, and something called ranch dip and then someone dropped a sandwich on the floor. Not a crumb. A whole sandwich! So I ate it. And I ate something called frites. Then I tracked down a swiper. And I ate croquettes. And then you were winning. But the bad guy didn’t like that. So he made a deal and I got put in a bag and I took a nap in a bag, I’m not sure how that happened but I woke up well rested and then we met these people and they’re vampires but not vampires but they have the longest nails and they pet me…So! Damn! Good! I’m telling you, Jerry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wag my tail again. It’s just done.”

“That pretty much catches you up,” Eve said. “Except I had a sandwich, too. But mine wasn’t dropped on the floor.”

“They told us you were dead, Jax,” Jerry said to his vampire friend.

“I’m afraid news of my undeath has been exaggerated. I knew Oblivion was about to turn on me so I set this up myself.”

“Who are all these people?”

“Enemies of Oblivion, mostly. I noticed that if people got on her bad side it wasn’t long before bad things happened to them so I started helping them disappear before she could. I’d get them out of the city and funnel them across the river. Here I was still able to run supplies to them. We dreamed up the whole vampire threat to keep her on her side of the river.”

Jerry lifted the lapel of her cape. “How are you doing this vampire act?”

“Pulleys and swings. It doesn’t hurt that we have more than a few former acrobats in our ranks. We were planning on taking the city back when there were enough of us. But it’s getting too dangerous. Tonight proves it. If Oblivion has teamed up with the Remnant it’s only a matter of time before she marches in here and clears us out.”

“And give up The Bats?” Jerry asked. “What about her game.”

“She’ll put her own fake vamps in here. She’s tolerated us because we play the part and take out some of her runners.”

“You kill the contestants?”

“Of course not, we let them go far away from here. Usually by this stage in the game, the runners are looking for a way out.”

“I can attest to that,” Jerry said.

“We’ll get you out of here tonight. Once the race is over, Liv will be focused on the victory party.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re going to get us out of here,” Fidget said.

“We can’t go,” Jerry said. “I can’t let Caine and Briggs win this. They can’t get access to that tower.”

“You heard what I said, right?” Eve said. “Briggs and Oblivion made a deal. They won’t let you win.”

Jerry shook his head. “It’s too important not to try.”

“Even if you do win, why would she let you make the broadcast?” Eve asked.

“She’d have to.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s the winner!” Fidget said. “And she said the winner gets the prize.”

“But she’s a liar, Fidget,” Eve said. “She doesn’t mean the things she says.”

“Fidget’s right. What do you think she cares about more? The popularity of her show or the handshake deal with Briggs?”

“The only thing she cares about is that show,” Jax said.

“If I win that show, live on Cleave TV, she’ll have no choice but to let me make that broadcast.”

“No,” Eve said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No,” Jax said. “That’s pretty on brand for her. She’d hate to be seen as part of the losing team.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Eve said. “Briggs will kill you.”

“If he had enough firepower to take the tower, he would have already. We can’t let that tower fall into the hands of the Remnant.”

“Oblivion will give him access.”

“Then we take the city,” Jax said staring out the window.

“She has an army,” one of her vampires, a young man, reminded her.

“We have an army. And ours is immortal.”

The young man wasn’t inspired by the myth. “She’s got snipers all along the river on every bridge and every road into the city.”

“Yes, she sure does,” Jax said with a smile and then turned back to Jerry. “Do you think you can win the final stage?”

“I just have to beat Caine,” Jerry said. “And I would love to beat Caine.”

“They’re going to come at you with everything they’ve got,” Eve said.

“So will we,” said Jax.

“Where are the other contestants now?”

“My people are scaring the pants off them. If we don’t keep up the act, Oblivion will get suspicious.” She started laughing. “That Caine guy pissed his pants. Twice.”

Everyone got a laugh at Caine’s incontinence and then Jax started issuing orders.

Eve pulled Jerry aside. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we’re going to go win this thing.”

34

The Detroit-Superior Bridge had been around longer than movies could talk. The bridge’s upper deck had been designed to carry the city’s growing traffic over the Cuyahoga River from Detroit Avenue to Cleveland’s west side. But tonight, all cameras were trained on the lower deck.

Constructed to facilitate Cleveland’s subway rail, the deck fell into disuse when the subway line closed. Even with the newer light rail system and late civilization period trend of people wanting to walk on things that were originally meant for trains, the lower deck of the bridge had not been in regular use since the late fifties.

The Omega Run changed all that. The final leg of the race was a literal dash across the interior of the span.

The starting line was inside the bridge on the south side of the Cuyahoga River. The finish line was half a mile away in The Cleave. All the contestants had to do to win the stage was cross it first.

Jerry was the last one to arrive inside the bridge.

Chad the Lifeguard, the Horrorsaurus Rex, Abracadamn and Caine were standing in the unlit interior of the bridge. This portion of the old subway line felt almost subterranean itself. Farther down the structure was open to the air outside through large decorative arches, but here the moonlight barely reached them.

“Look who decided to show up,” Caine said as Jerry walked toward the line. “I thought for sure the vampires got you.”

“I just stopped to talk to a couple of your Remnant friends,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “Besides, I really wanted to be here when you lose.”

“I’ve always loved your optimism, Jer. If I cross that finish line and you don’t, it’s over. All of it. And I think we both know our friend Colonel Briggs isn’t going to let me fail.”

Paul Sterling’s voice filled the tunnel and echoed so much in the concrete room that it sounded like it could be coming from the other end of the bridge. “This is it ladies and gentlemen. It all comes down to this. The final leg of The Omega Run. It’s a half mile to the final line on the other side of the river. Across that line lies fame and fortune in the entertainment capital of the world. But between our runners and those wildest dreams stands…everything. We’re welcoming back all the people that helped make this episode special.”

Powerful lights lit the entire length of the bridge’s interior. It was filled with bailiffs and jailers and cops. Beyond them were ballerinas and an army of mice. And beyond that, over the curve of the bridge, the Cleavers and a whole freaking circus were no doubt waiting.

It was everything Oblivion had.

Paul Sterling explained how the stage would work. “Each faction will stick to a designated zone and do their best to hold the line against our contestants. Our runners will have to break each line of defenders to reach the other side of the bridge and cross the finish line. It’s the ultimate game of Red Rover, Omega Run style!”

“Damn,” said Abracadamn. “This doesn’t really seem fair.”

“We have to beat them all again?” asked the Horrorsaurus Rex. “We already did this.”

“I’m cold,” said Chad the Lifeguard.

“I have a deal for you three,” said Caine. “Let me win and I’ll see that each of you get a position in the Remnant and not like a slave position. One of the good ones.”

“I can’t beat you,” said Abracadamn. “I don’t have enough points to win.”

“Neither do I,” said the Horrorsaurus Rex.

“I’m cold,” said Chad.

“None of you do,” said Caine, and then pointed to Jerry. “But he does. All you have to do is stop him from crossing that finish line.”

“He’s right,” Jerry said, his eyes locked on Caine. “I’m the only one with enough points to beat him.”

“Contestants,” Paul said. “Please approach the starting line.”

Caine lined up next to Jerry. “You know they’re all gunning for you, right?”

“I know,” Jerry said.

“The deal’s been made. I’m going to walk right through.”

“I know.”

“But they’re going to kill you, Jerry.”

“They’ll try.”

“Did you know they already left Eve with the vampires? She’s dead, Jerry.” Caine leaned in closer, “And your little dogs, too.”

He smashed Caine in the face. It wasn’t a little pop this time; the blow crossed Caine’s eyes and the counterfeit librarian went down hard on his ass.

“That does it!” Caine shouted once he shook off the blow. “I was going to tell Briggs to let you live at the end of all this because I’m a nice guy. But if you want to be the bully, I’ll make sure he makes you disappear.”

“This race is mine, Caine.”

“You can’t win. He won’t let you!”

“That’s not up to him.”

“Red Rover, Red Rover,” Oblivion’s voice rang out through the span. “Let my champion come over.”

A bell sounded and the final stage began.

Jerry raced off the line, half expecting one of the other contestants to tackle him from behind. He wasn’t sure where their loyalties lay after Caine’s offer. It was a tempting deal, if they trusted him.

He reached the first group of defenders. The bailiffs, jailers and cops from the Hall of Justice were lined up across the bridge. Armed with stun guns and batons they grinned as Jerry slowed.

Caine passed him on the left, jogging at a lazy pace. “See you later, Jer.”

The Hall of Justice line shouted and made a weak effort to stop him.

Caine weaved through the mob and continued on.

“And Librarian Number Two is the first one to break through the line!” Paul Sterling shouted over the speakers. “What an amazing performance.”

One of the jailers stepped forward and snapped open a baton. He pointed the club at Jerry and screamed, “You tased me in the nuts!”

“I know,” said Jerry as he watched Caine jog away. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like this either.”

“Oh no, I’m going to enjoy—”

“Chewy!” Jerry shouted. “Get the stick.”

Happy to finally be let off the metaphorical leash, the mastiff tore across the starting line and quickly closed the distance to the first line of defenders. Her heaving breaths echoed off the concrete roof and floor like a monster closing in on its prey.

As a group, the defenders from the Hall of Justice took a few steps back. The man Jerry had zapped in the testicles was the only one that held his ground. He faced the charging beast of a dog and raised the baton to strike.

Faithful to the command, Chewy leapt into the air and grabbed the stick out of the man’s hand. The fact that she knocked him over and broke his arm was his own fault for not letting go of the stick. Chewy returned to Jerry’s heel and dropped the baton into his open hand. “Good girl, Chewy.”

Caine looked over his shoulder to see what the ruckus was and spotted the dog. He swore and then he ran.

The Hall of Justice Defenders reformed the line with some hesitation and raised their batons with little confidence.

“Chewy,” Jerry said.

The dog looked up at its master.

“Get me another one.”

There was screaming, barking and a few beatings before Jerry and Chewy broke through the line and started chasing down Caine.

The only thing Jerry did not account for in his plan was how much faster Caine would run when the mastiff was on his heels. The actor was moving fast.

The mastiff wasn’t a surprise to the Nutcracker contingent. They saw the pair coming and had time to get used to the idea. Several of the mouse soldiers ran forward to pretend they were trying to stop Caine, but the actor was so terrified of the dog he forgot to act.

The mouse army let him run on and moved out to stop Jerry while the ballerinas formed a group to subdue Chewy with the promises of kisses and treats. It probably would have worked if Sasquatch hadn’t shown up.

Eve and the other two dogs entered into the fray and changed the math. One cuddly monster was one thing. Two was almost too much for any group to handle. Satch came into the fight with teeth bared and the ballerina cuddle squad went screaming.

Fidget arrived a moment later yelling, “Bark! Bark! Bark!”

“Don’t say it, Fidget!” Eve reminded him. “Do it!”

“Right!” said the Beagle and started barking for real.

Eve and the dogs formed a hole in the dance squad and she pointed down the bridge. “Get him!”

Jerry nodded and ran after Caine with Chewy running close behind.

There was a little more than a tenth of a mile between the defender’s line and Jerry could see that he was gaining on Caine. The idea of beating the impostor when the odds were stacked against him drove him on and he ran faster.

The Cleavers didn’t even make a show of pretending to stop Caine. They let him through the line and formed up shoulder to shoulder. They had given up their ice skates but were padded from head to toe and equipped with various whips, chains, and shackles.

Jerry stopped in front of the line and called for Chewy to heel. The mastiff took her place at his side and growled. They were too well protected to sick the dog on them and the pair of batons in his hands weren’t going to do anything against the ghastly painted helmets. He had to figure out a way around them.

“Abracadamn!”

A fireball hit one of the Cleavers in the chest. The flash was bright and ultimately harmless, but it was enough to startle the line and create an opening for the dinosaur.

“Roar!” The Horrorsaurus Rex screamed and tackled one of the Cleavers. Once on the ground, she shoved the stun gun into the monster’s neck and unleashed the voltage.

Chad the Lifeguard grabbed another one of the players by the throat and punched him until the goalie mask cracked. The lifeguard screamed. “I’m motherfucking cold!”

Jerry watched as the three contestants beat down the hockey team. Eventually, the dinosaur looked up and yelled at him, “Dude! She said, go get him!”

“Come on, Chewy,” Jerry shouted and ran after Caine once more.

It wasn’t long before he saw the next line of defenders. There were so many of them. The whole circus had shown up to hold the line; the jugglers, the acrobats, that girl who swung by her hair. The only ones missing were Dante and the clown Jerry had set on fire.

Caine wasn’t running anymore. He was standing right in front of them all, looking at Jerry with that shit-eating grin on his face. He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to gloat. It was his kryptonite.

Caine applauded slowly as Jerry and Chewy arrived at the circus line. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Jer. You deserve your reputation and this whole thing is going in the next movie. I promise.”

Chewy growled.

“You and those damn dogs. Every time.” Caine appeared genuinely amused. “And Eve…I’m really glad she’s not dead by the way. I’m happy to see that. But this is where it ends.”

“If you think I’m giving up, you still don’t understand the character.”

“Oh, character. That’s cute. Even I wouldn’t put these odds in a screenplay. You’ve got an entire circus ready to stop you and your stupid dogs. Even if you count the dino chick and the shitty wizard, you don’t have enough people on your side to beat me, Jer. You never will.”

“Don’t you worry about me, Caine. I brought more.”

The shrieking sounds of the vampire’s flight, he had learned, came from Jax’s people micing the zip lines and amplifying the sound. Attach a couple of dozen ziplines to a bridge and send a hundred vampires screaming down them and the sound you get is almost too much to take. The shrieks and squeals reverberated around the deck, causing massive confusion and some minor headaches.

Jax and her army of the undead flew in through the side of the bridge and swarmed the circus defenders. Some with assault, and some with tearful reunions as family members thought dead were reunited with their loved ones.

Caught between the finish line and the weirdest skirmish he’d ever seen, Caine looked at Jerry to help make sense of it all.

“Ready!” Jerry shouted.

Caine turned and tried to push his way through crowd but the mob was too thick.

“Set!”

The vampires parted an open line through the mob.

Caine looked at Jerry with complete bewilderment.

Jerry winked and whispered, “Go.”

Caine and Jerry both started running. The vampires made sure to keep the path open until the runners had both passed. There was nothing between the two contestants and the finish line now but distance.

Jerry no longer felt the cold. In fact, he felt nothing. He breathed comfortably and moved fluidly; beating Caine was apparently his happy place. He caught up to the impostor within the first twenty seconds and started to inch past him.

Caine pulled a bright yellow gun from under his jacket. It looked just like the taser that had shocked him earlier. He aimed the pistol shaped device at Jerry and shouted, “Get ready to be—”

Before he could finish, Fidget leapt from the ground and grabbed the taser and one of Caine’s fingers in his teeth. The Beagle dropped back to the ground, pulling Caine down with him.

Caine hit the ground and rolled as Jerry broke away.

“Midget, you little bastard.”

“Mey!” The Beagle shouted with the taser still in his mouth. “My mame mis Mivit!”

It could have been the butchered pronunciation or a little drool near the trigger, but the taser discharged and struck Caine. One barb hit his outstretched hand, while the other got him right under the eye. Caine went stiff, trembled, and then passed out.

Jerry crossed the finish line to great fanfare and a fair amount of shock. It was clear several in the crowd had expected a different outcome.

Sister Oblivion was waiting by the camera for The Omega Run winner. Her shocked expression betrayed her knowledge of the double cross, but the smile that replaced it was genuine. This was the kind of surprise she loved. You couldn’t write an ending like this.

“Congratulations to our winner!” She moved into the frame with Jerry and took his hand. “I knew you could do it, dear.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to present to you, your champion!” She raised his arm. “The one, the only, the true Librarian of the Wasteland.”

Like everywhere Oblivion went, the finish line erupted into a full-blown party. Music played; the drinks flowed.

Colonel Briggs fought his way through the celebration to Oblivion. His voice was cold and his face devoid of all emotion. “We had a deal.”

“Yes, Colonel, and that deal was predicated on the promise that you would help me make great television. Your man’s performance tonight has proved that a promise like that is beyond your ability to deliver. Here is your star, colonel.” Oblivion pointed to Jerry. “The one and only Librarian.”

“Hooray,” shouted Fidget.

“Holy shit,” said Sister Oblivion. “Is that a talking dog?”

35

“Oblivion was completely open to compromise once she found out the vampire army had found a way past her defenses.” Jerry sat in a dressing room in front of a makeup mirror wondering how it had all come to this. He sighed. “Anyway, Jax told me she’s going to be a co-show runner again and they’ll be toning things down in the death sport genre.”

“She does seem to move on quickly.” Eve was helping him with his stage makeup. “Oblivion apologized for having me abducted and left for dead with what she thought were real bloodthirsty vampires.”

“She did? What did she say?”

“She just said it wasn’t personal, it was show business.”

“It’s funny how quickly loyalty changes in this industry.”

“She also won’t stop bothering me about getting Fidget his own talk show.”

“Can you imagine that dog behind a desk?”

Jerry tried to smile. It didn’t look like him looking back. It was the first time he’d worn makeup outside of Halloween costumes. It didn’t feel like him.

“What’s wrong?” Eve asked through a grin. “Too much rouge.”

“I’ve wrestled with this Librarian thing forever. After tonight, there will be no going back. No assumed identities, no running from it. No peace. No quiet.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Eve said tenderly.

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“The people have to be warned and you have to be the one to warn them.”

“Okay, hear me out. We hire another person to be the Librarian. Not Caine but someone we can trust. What about Lance Fury?”

“They didn’t tell you? Lance Fury is Anthony Rogers again and people are going to know he’s not you because he got his own show.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Jax and Oblivion loved his Things You Can Do idea.”

“Good for him.”

“And good for you. It’s because of you that happened to him. And it’s because of you that a sadistic military colonel was dealt defeat. And it was because of you that a few circus families were reunited with loved ones. Who else can do that in one day?”

Jerry sighed.

“Like it or not, this is what you do.” She spun around him and sat in his lap. She kissed him gently on the lips. “And it’s why I love you.”

One of Oblivion’s PAs knocked on the door. “They’re ready for you, sir.”

“Be you.” Eve kissed him again, then jumped out of his lap and walked with him down the hallway.

Jerry walked out into the studio and stared into the camera. The lens was staring back at him.

A producer stood next to the camera and counted him in. He gestured: three, two, one and pointed to Jerry. He was live.

“Citizens of the Wasteland,” he said and then paused.

He looked to Eve.

She gave him a reassuring nod.

He nodded back and looked into the lens. “I’m the Librarian.”

THE END

If you haven’t read the rest of the Duck & Cover Adventures series, you should now.

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check out a different kind of apocalypse
in

JUNKERS

They stand between us and destruction.

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From the pages of the best-selling Duck & Cover Adventures comes thirteen stories of those who survived the apocalypse. Some would go on to be heroes, others villains, some were dogs and will stay dogs, but they all must contend with the horrors of the new world and find a way to survive in the wasteland that was America.

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Also by Benjamin Wallace

DUCK & COVER ADVENTURES

Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors

Knights of the Apocalypse

Pursuit of the Apocalypse

Revenge of the Apocalypse

Crossroads of the Apocalypse

Champion of the Apocalypse

Tales of the Apocalypse: Vol. 1

SHATTERED ALLIANCE

Shattered Alliance

Send in the Clones

Alone on Altair

JUNKERS

Junkers

Junkers Season Two

Junkers: The Missing Season

DADS VS

Dads Vs Zombies

Dads Vs The World

Dads Vs Zombies: Year 2

THE BULLETPROOF ADVENTURES

OF DAMIAN STOCKWELL

Horror in Honduras

Terrors of Tesla

The Mechanical Menace

OTHER BOOKS

Tortugas Rising

SHORT STORIES

Commando Pandas & Other Odd Thoughts

UNCIVIL

UnCivil: The Immortal Engine

UnCivil: Vanderbilt’s Behemoth

About the Author

Benjamin Wallace lives in Texas where he complains about the heat.

You can email him at: contact@benjaminwallacebooks.com

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Copyright © 2025 by Benjamin Wallace.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Untitled
- Copyright
- Prelude
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- Duck & Cover Series
- Junkers
- Join My Readers Group
- Also by Benjamin Wallace
- About the Author
- Copyright