Highway To Armageddon Read online

  After what feels like forever, someone touches my thigh again.

  “We’re almost there, Firecracker,” Lance says softly.

  I crack open my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief as the exit to the tunnel rushes into view. Lance is driving so fast that we’ve nearly caught up with the car in front of us.

  Seconds later we burst free from the tunnel and out onto the Sanctuary streets. I inhale a deep breath of the fresh air. My nerves instantly settle down.

  I’ve lived in Sanctuary 7 for the past few years, but I never get tired of its sights and sounds. The streets are filled with thousands of men, women, and children enjoying the pleasant evening. The skies are filled with flying cars, weaving in and out of traffic. Brightly-lit skyscrapers tower over us, basking the city in a sort of perpetual twilight. Even in the middle of the night the city streets are brightly lit and filled with activity.

  Floating holographic billboards broadcast advertisements for restaurants, casinos, department stores, bars, whorehouses, and opium dens. Some of the billboards are political advertisements and American propaganda against the Chinese.

  One of the billboards shows President Angela Klaxton and Vice President Cindy LeBeau waving American flags. On the bottom is the tagline ‘Klaxton-LeBeau 2152: Keeping America and the World Safe for 22 Years’. I shake my head in mild amusement. I don’t know why President Klaxton and Vice President LeBeau bother wasting money on all these ads. The election isn’t for another two years, and Klaxton basically runs a dictatorship anyway. The elections are just a formality, an attempt to make people believe America is still a democracy. A surprisingly large number of the American population believes it, too.

  Another billboard shows a picture of the Chinese Empress, Dynasty Xing, sitting on a black throne atop a pile of skulls. It would be a menacing photo if it weren’t for the fact that the Empress is only 17 years old, with a cute and innocent looking face. The caption of the billboard reads: Empress Xing: Public Enemy Number One.

  A third billboard shows the notorious General Kang, and that does send shivers down my spine. General Kang is choking an American soldier with her right bionic arm while her robotic right eye glows fiery red. Her caption reads: Public Enemy Number Two. She’s one of the world’s most powerful cyborgs and is responsible for millions of deaths. The Empress is the figurehead of the Chinese Empire, but everyone knows General Kang is in charge. No matter how hard the Chinese Empire tries, they will never convince me that the teenage Empress is a genocidal lunatic.

  My attention turns from Kang’s frightening picture to a group of saxophone-toting teenagers playing jazz in a nearby park. Passerbys stop and listen, occasionally tossing a few gold coins into the band’s suitcase. Nearby, a group of elderly men are seated around picnic tables, playing chess. The air is saturated with the enticing aroma of grilled hot dogs, shish kabobs, lamb gyros, and other delicious treats being served by nearby street vendors. My mouth becomes flooded with saliva.

  “Oh man, I am getting hungry!” Krystal says.

  “We can go out and eat later,” Lance says, weaving past a group of kids that run out into the middle of the street, kicking a soccer ball. “I want to get home and check on the kids.”

  My lips curl into a smile. No matter how much Lance annoys me at times, I will always love him for his commitment to his niece and nephew.

  We drive pass the open-air football stadium, where a game is currently underway. The deafening jeers from the crowd allude to a score from the opposing team. I glance at the billboard outside the stadium and see they are playing the Sanctuary 22 Tasmanian Devils. If I recall correctly, the Devils are having a good season. I assume this will be another Sanctuary 7 loss.

  Soon we enter the center of the city. Skyscrapers are everywhere now. The Sanctuary only inhabits a limited area, and tons of people want to live here, so they basically cram us all into 1,500-foot tall towers. I’m just glad we were able to purchase a spacious penthouse condo. My claustrophobia would be in full affect if I was squeezed into some windowless, one-room apartment in the basement.

  We pass a number of casinos, bars, whorehouses, and opium dens as well. I’m disgusted the government would allow prostitution in the sanctuaries, but at least the girls are treated much better here than they are outside the walls. The casinos disturb me for another reason entirely. The country still has a staggering high poverty rate, even though the Depression started 40 years ago. One would think people would save what little money they have instead of throwing it on a roulette table. But the American Dream nowadays seems to be all about getting rich quick. Everyone wants to live like our wealthy ancestors in the 20th and early 21st centuries. Even though the odds of winning even a minute amount of money via gambling are astronomically small, that doesn’t stop people from betting everything for that fleeting dream.

  Finally, after what seems like forever, we reach our apartment complex. It’s one of the tallest in the city, a vertigo-inducing 1,700 feet tall. Normally we just land on the roof and enter our apartment that way, but today we have to park in the underground garage. Lance drives into the basement and parks in a rare open spot near the back.

  Krystal clambers out of the car and says, “Whew, it smells like doody in here.”

  “Somebody probably did doody in here,” Lance says, holding his nose. “You know all the homeless drunks like to hang out in underground garages when the weather gets bad.”

  Lance’s case is proven correct when I nearly step on a homeless man sleeping near the elevator, covered with a tattered sheet. My heart breaks at the sight of him. I would give him some money if I hadn’t given it all to Sally and Dorothy. He obviously has some money, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to afford the $5,000 monthly fee just to live behind the Sanctuary walls. But that’s probably all he can afford, hence the reason he’s sleeping in the garage.

  Lance sees my eyes beginning to tear up and gently tugs at my arm. He just doesn’t want me dragging another “stray” into our apartment.

  “C’mon Firecracker, let’s go see the kids,” he says, leading me to the elevator.

  On the long ride up to the top floor, I quietly wonder what could have possibly happened to Dorothy and Sally. If they took the train like I said, they should have arrived well ahead of us. Could someone have kidnapped them at the station? Could Big Daddy have hunted them down? I realize it’s best for me to stop imagining their fates because I’m only upsetting myself.

  The elevator dings, snapping me out of my thoughts. The elevator door opens, and we walk out into the hallway. Our condo is at the end of the hall. Lance rushes ahead of us. He almost has a hop in his steps. He, like me, loves nothing more than coming home after a death-defying mission.

  Lance knocks on the door since he doesn’t have his key. (He’s still wearing the complimentary robe from the motel, since we never bothered to stop and buy him new clothes.) The door flies open a split-second later, and the two cutest kids I’ve ever known rush into Lance’s arms.

  “Lance!!” Blade and Harpoon cry, wrapping their skinny arms around Lance’s waist.

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” Lance asks, smothering them in hugs.

  Blade and Harpoon break free from Lance and run over to me. I throw my arms around the kids and squeeze them tight. I nestle my nose into Harpoon’s flowing blonde hair. I love the way it smells: like lavender-scented strawberries.

  “I’ve missed you guys so much,” I say, not ever wanting to let them go.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Krystal asks indignantly, her hands on her hips.

  “Krystal!” Blade and Harpoon squeal, running over to my bad-ass friend. Krystal ruins her image as a blood-thirsty lunatic by wrapping the kids in her arms and swinging them around.

  “Did you all behave while we were gone?” Krystal shouts, still swinging them back and forth. I chuckle at the sight of Blade and Harpoon’s scrawny legs swaying back and forth.

  “Yes Krystal, now let us down! You’re choking us!” Harpoon screams.


  A door down the hall swings open and an elderly woman with curlers in her hair shouts, “Will you damn kids shut up?! I’m trying to watch my stories!”

  “Er, sorry Mrs. Madison,” I say, ushering the kids inside. Lance and Krystal follow me and we shut the door.

  I walk into the living room and immediately feel safe and comfortable. I love everything about our penthouse apartment: the skylight that looks up at the stars, the big comfy couch Lance and I always fall asleep on while watching TV, the holographic TV screen broadcasting the news up on the wall, our cozy kitchen with an always-filled basket of apples and bananas (I grab one of each and chow down), our three spacious bedrooms (Lance and I share the same room, which is great when we’re getting along, but horrible when we fight), and even our bathroom, which always smells like a flower-filled meadow thanks to the air fresheners I buy at the store. This is home, the only home I’ve ever known. This is why my friends and I risk our lives catching crooks, so we can afford to live in a safe, cozy, luxurious penthouse apartment.

  I follow Krystal into the room she shares with her elderly grandmother, Beverly. Beverly is in bed wrapped in a comforter. She lifts her frail face and asks, in a creaky voice, “Krystal darling, is that you?”

  “Yes Grandma, we made it back in one piece,” Krystal says, kneeling by her grandmother’s side. “How are you feeling?”

  Beverly responds with a series of coughs that seem to wrack her entire body. I leave Krystal and her grandmother alone and shut the door. We were going to use our $1 million reward to buy her some stronger medicine, but that plan went out the window. I can only hope she hangs on until we cash in on another lucrative bounty, whenever that may be.

  Blade and Harpoon are still hopping around like they’re on a sugar high, telling Lance all about what they did while we were gone. Lance, acting like their caring father, listens eagerly, asking questions when he can get a breath in. He takes off his robe, and I gasp when I saw how badly scarred and bruised his half-naked body looks under our fluorescent lights. The kids notice, too, because they stop talking about their day and ask Lance if he’s okay.

  “Don’t worry about me, guys,” Lance grunts, gripping his right arm. “I’ll be okay. I just need some rest.”

  “Harpoon, please go grab Lance’s robe out of his bedroom,” I say. Harpoon jumps up and rushes into the room. I open the medicine cabinet and withdraw a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some gauze.

  Lance’s eyes widen in fear. “Oh no, you’re not rubbing that crap on me.”

  “Lance, don’t be stupid,” I snap irritably, grabbing his badly scarred right arm. “Your wounds are going to get infected.”

  Lance bites his lip, but he can’t help but groan and grunt when I pour the alcohol along his various wounds. I dab the wounds with a cloth, then I wrap gauze around his bicep. I do this to his legs, his stomach, his back, and a few other places. Pretty soon he looks like a mummy that ran out of wrap. Harpoon hands Lance his robe, which he gingerly puts on. I grab an icepack out of the fridge and hand it to him, which he immediately places over his bruised right eye. It may take a few weeks, but I have full faith Lance will fully recover. He always does.

  “What about you?” Lance asks, pointing at the bruises on my cheeks.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, waving him off. “Your injuries are much more severe.”

  Lance is about to say something, but Blade excitedly says, “Why are you guys so beat up? Who did you go after this time?”

  “Yeah Lance, tell us!” Harpoon exclaims.

  Lance proceeds to rattle off an animated tale of how we nearly took down one of America’s most wanted criminals. Harpoon and Blade stare at Lance in wide-eyed wonder, gasping and cheering at all the appropriate points. They really are the world’s cutest kids. Blade is turning into such a handsome young man. He reminds me so much of Dagger and Lance, with his shaggy blond hair, intense blue eyes, strong jawline, and his slender but athletic looking physique. I can see why all the neighborhood girls want to hang out with him.

  Harpoon is just as cute. She is turning into a stunning young woman. Her long, blonde hair dangles over her face as she follows Lance’s story with the same intensity one would have watching an action-packed movie.

  Lance finishes his tale without telling the kids we got screwed out of a lucrative bounty. We try not to bother them with our monetary concerns. It’s not something they should have to worry about.

  Harpoon and Blade stare at Lance and me with huge, approving grins. They think we’re superheroes or something, and it flatters me to no end.

  After Lance finishes his death-defying story, he and I move to the living room to watch the news. Krystal comes in a few seconds later. We always check out the news because it gives us ideas and clues as to who we should go after next. We’re always on the lookout for a lucrative bounty.

  According to the reporter on CNN, there was a car bomb in the slums of Sanctuary 3 today, killing 60 and wounding over 200. The police believe it was the work of Canadian terrorists. And apparently over in China, Mikhail Rasputin’s terror group, the Purple Dragons, blew up an elementary school, killing nearly 300. They also attacked a police academy, killing dozens, and are thought to have blown up a plane over Russia, killing another 150 people.

  After that is a video of the Chinese Empress sitting atop her pile of skulls, speaking to the American people in Chinese. (An English translation scrolls across the bottom.) Speaking in a monotone, unemotional voice, the 17 year old Empress of the world’s largest superpower accuses the United States of the Americas of harboring Mikhail and thereby supporting his terrorist tactics. She demands President Klaxton abide by the Klaxton-Xing peace treaty signed while her parents were still alive and assist the Chinese in capturing Mikhail, a man with the blood of thousands of Chinese on his hands. (The Chinese seem to believe Mikhail is hiding out here, even though there’s absolutely no evidence supporting that crazy theory.) If the Americans do not comply, the Empress continues, she may be compelled to send special ops forces in after him. That, of course, would be a precursor to world war. Video breaks away to footage of several Chinese aircraft carriers about 150 miles off the coast of Alaska.

  The video cuts back to the reporters, who appear visibly stunned.

  As the news correspondents plunge into hysteria, I simply roll my eyes, as does Lance. We both know the U.S. and China will never go to war. Both empires have thousands of nuclear and antimatter warheads pointed at each other. Just like the Cold War in the mid-20th century, there will be a lot of posturing and accusations, but no war. At least, I hope that’s the case.

  “Well ain’t that some shit,” Krystal says, standing up and stretching. “I bet Klaxton is hiding Rasputin.”

  Lance blows raspberries. “That’s ridiculous. I think we can all agree that Klaxton is a cold, arrogant, psychotic tyrant, but even she isn’t stupid enough to risk another world war just to help some Russian terrorist.”

  “You know what they say,” Krystal says, chomping on an apple from the fruit basket. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  I’m about to say something, but then I realize Krystal may have a point. She really is a lot smarter than she lets on.

  “I’m about to get a shower and put on a new wig,” Krystal says, rummaging around in her wig closet. She pulls out a bright blue one with green streaks. “What do you guys think of this one?”

  “It’s perfect if you’re thinking about going to clown school,” Lance replies. The kids giggle.

  Krystal hurls her half-eaten apple at Lance, who catches it in mid-air and eats around her bite-marks. Krystal mutters some unflattering remarks and storms into the bathroom. Seconds later I hear the water running in the shower.

  “Don’t use all the hot water!” I shout. Krystal is notorious for taking long showers.

  “God, I hate school!” Blade suddenly shouts, slamming his head on the table.

  “Don’t say that, school’s cool,” Lance says, walking over to
the dining room table. I follow after them. (The news is depressing anyway.)

  “You sound like some lame public service announcement,” I say, playfully punching Lance in the arm. Deep down inside, though, I don’t think he’s ever sounded sexier. I have a soft spot for men who value a good education.

  “If school’s so cool, why do they make us do these hard-ass assignments?” Blade whines.

  “Hey, don’t cuss,” I snap. “I don’t know where you guys get that from.”

  Lance, Harpoon, and Blade all stare at me with goofy grins.

  “Really, Boom Boom?” Harpoon asks. “You have no idea?”

  I roll up a piece of paper and toss it at her head. It bounces off and falls to the floor while she giggles like a pig. I love her laugh so much.

  I sit down across from Blade and ask, “What are you guys working on?”

  Blade puts his head in his hands and grumbles, “I have to write a stupid report on what started the Horrible Depression. I hate history!”

  “Bite your tongue,” I say. “History can be fascinating if you have an open mind.”

  “But I don’t have an open mind!” Blade whines.

  Lance chuckles. “What are you working on, Pumpkin?”

  Harpoon looks up from her paper and says, “I’m writing a paper on why the U.S. started using bounty hunters to fight crime. I could use your help, too, when you get done with Dumbo over there.”

  Harpoon points to Blade, who sticks out his tongue.

  I pat Harpoon on her hand . “We’ll help you in a moment, dear. Now Blade, Lance and I will be more than happy to help you, but we’re not writing your paper.”

  “But you did last time and you got me an A!” Blade says.

  “I only rewrote it because I was horrified at your terrible grammar and gross historical inaccuracies,” I say bluntly. “And I got a call from your teacher the following day asking if you really wrote it because it was so excellent.”