Showdown in the Economy of Good and Evil Page 28

  Strapping on my GoPro so the world can feel my pain. Camera rolling. Streaming live.

  Chapter 24 Mass

  The secret to greatness in life is to find purpose and meaning in the worst things that happen.

  —Justin Wolfe

  “Cutting it a little close, wouldn’t you say?”

  Justin didn’t bother hiding his annoyance as he took the only seat left in the house, the one on the aisle just beside Natalia. Elliot sat next to her, with Evan to his left. Valence was already up speaking at the podium, so Justin kept his voice low.

  “I’m not interested in your bullshit tonight, Elliot.”

  Elliot put a hand to his chest as if flustered. “Do I detect a hint of animosity?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I’m not. What exactly are you so angry about?”

  The frustration rising to his collar, Justin leaned over the cat-suited bodyguard so he could bluster straight into Elliot’s face. “Let me see. First, you bus in loads of people we’re not ready to support. Next, you volunteer to help with the harvest, and we suffer the worst drought the Farm has ever seen. Then you take over the screening process, and suddenly we have the kind of people who start a riot while the rest of us are trying to pick up the pieces of the Circus and stop a stampede. I don’t know, Elliot. Why do you suppose I’m angry?”

  “Justin, I—”

  “You didn’t really think I’d miss the connection, did you? That I wouldn’t trace all this back to you. Let me guess. You’re the one who put Fred Rogers on us in the first place. Funny how we never heard from that guy again after you showed up. And hey, I’m betting you’re the one who let the animals out too, aren’t you? Either you or your Nordic friend here.”

  Natalia leaned back, wide-eyed. Elliot, meanwhile, remained Hindu calm.

  “You are mistaken, old friend. About all of it.”

  “I’m not. And let me give you some advice, old friend. Enjoy the movie, because as soon as it’s over, I’m telling Cruise from the FBI all about this. And you’re gonna see a nice, big, crashing end—not just to your scheme, but to your whole goddamn empire. You’ve met my lawyers. Even if you escape criminal prosecution, we’re gonna sue you into the Stone Age.”

  Elliot cracked the kind of confident half smile that made Justin want to do some brawling. “I’m going to ignore this outburst, Evan, because I realize you’re under some stress about your little experiment failing.”

  “My little experiment is—”

  “And I recognize that you’ve suffered some setbacks that have caused its failure. But I can assure you we’ve done nothing wrong. Certainly nothing like what you’re describing.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Our efforts have been genuine, Justin. We have only ever wanted to help.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Justin crossed his arms in front of his chest, seething. He was glad to have Natalia between him and Elliot as a buffer, and gladder still that this was opening night and he cared about Valence enough not to ruin it. He would just have to sit here for two hours, pretending to enjoy a movie he saw only a few weeks ago in a different theater, and then after, he and the FBI could even the score with Elliot.

  He couldn’t wait.

  “And without further ado,” Valence said, stepping aside from the podium and waving for the projectionist to bring the movie to light. “I present the Wachowskis’ great masterpiece, 1999’s The Matrix.”

  The crowd, a pleasant mix of Farm residents and locals, Justin noticed, erupted with applause.

  The movie had only just begun when light poured in from the back. The change was so violent that Justin had to squint and turn away for a moment. Valence, still near the podium, wheeled around to holler at the source. Someone had opened the emergency exit door, just below the screen. There he stood, wreathed in white light from outside.

  Valence yelled again but could not be heard over the blaring sound of the movie.

  Then the man who entered yelled back and Valence ran. The man was holding something. Justin couldn’t see. A murmur of fear went through the crowd.

  All at once, everyone seemed to remember the stories. The fear. The constant threat of exactly this sort of thing happening at any given time in America. This wasn’t really happening, was it?

  ~~~

  Facebook Live Video Feed

  The door closes behind us and the lens takes a moment to adjust to the drastic change in light. A cone of blue and white incandescence flickers from the projector, creating an artificial sky above an otherwise dark room. We are aware of other people in this room only because we see movement. The movie’s opening music drowns out all sound. There is a stirring as we draw breath. A palpable tension rises.

  “Hey, motherfucker,” comes a voice from our left. “Take a seat. You ruinin’ the movie.”

  We catch a quick glimpse of the man, a slender, hollowed-out artsy type with a ponytail. We ignore him.

  “This is the day equilibrium ends!”

  The man runs. The tip of the gun rises just into the field of vision, and a burst of gunfire explodes after the man, dropping him.

  Panic washes through the crowd. People begin to scramble, pour into the aisles, climb over seats and each other. One man charges toward us, his face full of determination.

  The AR-15 fires in short bursts, dropping the hero who ran toward the gunfire. Then it opens up to the left and sweeps right, hemming people in.

  Two more fall. One definitely dead.

  “Did you hear that, cucks? Sounded just like a grapefruit exploding. Dead-center head shot. Fucker went down like a limp noodle.”

  More short bursts. The screams lace with groaning from the wounded and terrorized. Three more fall, all taking wounds. Through the rapidly sweeping lens, we get a look at one of the wounded. She is wreathed in her own blood, her breathing shallow, her face pale as morning.

  “Did not expect this smell. The blood. It’s all I can smell. Smells like metal. Just like it tastes.”

  We hear the sound of retching. The camera flails wildly before centering on fresh vomit on the floor.

  More screaming. Whimpering. Someone staggers into the aisle and tries to run.

  “Don’t run! You hear me? Don’t run or it’ll go worse for you!”

  The AR-15 lights up with a massive spray of bullets sweeping back and forth over the middle rows of the theater. The projector flickers overhead. The screams cease now, all remaining in the theater paralyzed with fear.

  The view draws closer to the front rows. Scans from left to right. Catches movement. There’s a food cart covered with a white tablecloth. Someone hiding beneath.

  “This is the Savannah Police Department! We have the building surrounded. There is no escape for you. Throw down your weapons and put your hands up.”

  The gun barks out its objection. Two more down, both police. There is a retreat as the officers entering the building hold their place in fear.

  “Fucking cops are weak just like the rest of them. But not me. I’m not weak.”

  We hear Dylan crying.

  Not like I thought it was gonna be. Not like the grapefruit. But can’t stop now. This is how it ends.

  ~~~

  All that mattered now was Nora. Everything that Evan had ever known and everything he would ever experience after today hinged on whether the shooter had seen her. While Evan and the dozen or so others remaining in the theater cowered and clung to life behind the rows of seats, Nora remained in the open space between the seats and the screen and the shooter. The shooter’s gaze had turned to her as she slid under the food cart to hide, but had he seen her?

  Evan had never experienced this brand of fear before. At once, he feared for his own life, but more than anything, he feared for the woman he loved. He wanted to run to her, to vault this row of seats, throw a shoulder into the shooter, take a bullet—anything to keep Nora safe. And yet he felt as if he were made of ice. He could not move. Every pore of him sweated.


  How many shots had been fired? How many were dead? Evan could smell the bloodshed. Could not ignore the sound of the wounded’s suffering.

  Another cacophonous burst from the gun, louder now. Closer. Evan had grown up around guns and hunting, but he could not have imagined the sheer volume of an automatic rifle firing in an enclosed theater. It was like the very voice of God. It scalded his ears and filled his head with terror.

  Everyone in the first six rows of seats were pinned down. Sitting ducks. No hope of escape.

  From his crouched position, Evan glanced behind him. Larson had his head tucked between his knees, his arms crossed nuclear-fallout style. As if any of this would stop a bullet. Behind him crouched Natalia, the bodyguard.

  Evan’s heart skipped when he saw the flash of metal in her hands. Knives. She came up to the balls of her feet, pressing her face to the seat back in front of her so she could clear a line of sight without being seen. In a room devoid of all hope, Evan believed that here was a woman who could deliver them from evil.

  Just get him before he sees Nora.

  From behind, someone scrambled into the aisle, panting wildly, trying to run.

  “Don’t run! You hear me? Don’t run or it’ll go worse for you!”

  The shooter popped indiscriminate bursts into the seating and up the aisles. Mostly, the gunfire was the only sound, but some shots would punctuate with the sickening thud of a bullet exploding into flesh, blood spattering onto the walls and seats and floor. Sometimes, the victim would moan. Other times, he or she would cry out.

  “This is the Savannah Police Department,” came the voice over a loudspeaker. “We have the building surrounded. There is no escape for you. Throw down your weapons and put your hands up.”

  For the briefest moment, Evan allowed himself to hope that the cavalry had arrived to save the day. The unthinkable had happened—untold numbers of people were dead or wounded. But it was over. The police had come.

  The gunman proved unfazed. He fired off another series of bursts, one of them ripping through the fabric of the seat in front of Evan. Larson gave a sob of terror. Evan could see the gunman through the gap between two seats. The kid had retreated to Valence’s podium, where he would hunker down to fend off the police.

  “You stay back or the lady gets it!” the gunman yelled.

  Evan’s heart raced as he surveyed the food cart. The tablecloth had been yanked down, revealing an empty cart beneath.

  Where’s Nora?

  His mind resisted what he already knew. The squirming legs poking out beside the podium belonged to the woman he loved. The gunman was seated with his back to the podium, and with his right arm, had Nora in a headlock. As she struggled, he tossed his AR-15 and reached for his duffel. Evan lost his breath when the gunman produced the Glock.

  “Do something,” Evan hissed at Natalia.

  She replied with an intense glare. “He must come closer.”

  “You hear me, pigs?” the gunman hollered. “You stay back or I’ll blow her fucking head off. I see that back door open, she’s dead. You hear me?”

  The whimpering of the wounded and the prattle of the movie rippled through the silence from the police.

  “We’re standing down,” the loudspeaker said finally. “What are your demands?”

  “Back the fuck up,” the gunman said. “You go no further than the door. You hear me? I don’t want to see no fucking cops in this room.”

  “Very well. We’ll pull back to the door. But you need to let the woman go.”

  Evan chanced a glance to the back of the theater. The door was open and the squad car lights could be seen to flicker outside. Shapes were moving through the darkness, three or four police officers backing for the door.

  “They can’t just leave us,” Evan said.

  “They don’t have a choice,” Natalia said. “They can’t risk shooting any bystanders.”

  “But he’s got Nora! Someone has to do something.”

  Now Natalia looked at him like perhaps he should volunteer.

  Evan had never felt more alone or more desperate. Those who would flee had fled. The police had abandoned them, the dozen or so people pinned down in the aisles. This dozen and a madman of a kid with white hair. And there was Nora, trembling so hard the podium shook. Evan wanted to rise, to charge in and defend her, but he was still too frozen with fear. He glanced past Natalia and spotted Justin. The billionaire had fallen to his hands and knees as well, just as rigid as Evan felt. When their eyes met, Evan knew that Justin had seen her too. Nora. And he understood. He understood how hollow, helpless, fearful, and furious Evan felt.

  Please, God, Evan pleaded. Please stop the time. Give me a way to save her.

  A flash of imagery played through his mind. Walking through the cornfield with Nora. A playful dinner, feeding each other cakes from Muna’s bakery. A wedding. Seeing her smile up at him as he slid the ring on her finger. Her belly swollen with their first child. Watching the boy run out the front door of the farmhouse and into the twilight to catch fireflies. Sitting on the porch swing with Nora, watching, admiring the thriving community of the Farm glowing on the hillside.

  The images fell away when he heard Nora crying.

  The sound caused something to snap in Evan White.

  All at once, his fear disappeared. He rose to his feet, vaulted the seats, and ran. He covered half the distance to the podium in three long, bounding strides. But there he was dropped. He felt the bullet enter his shoulder before he even heard the shot. The pain was so sudden, so explosive, and so omnipresent that he couldn’t even tell where it had come from.

  “We’ve pulled back,” came the voice over the loudspeaker. “Now you have to hold up your end of the bargain. Stop shooting! Release your hostage!”

  Evan hadn’t seen the gunman move. But now as he lay on the sticky theater floor, that metallic scent of blood all around him, he saw the painted face poking out from behind the podium.

  It was full of sorrow. Pain. Conflict. He was just a kid. Pinned down like the rest of them. Terrified.

  “I appreciate the heroics,” the kid said, almost to himself. “Maybe good isn’t totally dead in this world. But it’s too late, man. Too late.”

  “Nora!” Evan called, the act of yelling excruciating from the bullet wound.

  “Evan?” she whimpered back. “Evan, please. You have to stay back.”

  “Nora! Nora, I—”

  Another shot rang out. A spray. A shock of Nora’s hair. Her body went limp. The gunman rose. Evan’s world collapsed. He fell into a deep hole of fear and sorrow and pain. He was aware of the gunman stepping over him, clutching a shotgun now, shooting into the darkness.

  Finally, the police returned fire. Bullets hit the screen, the podium, the floor. From his back, Evan watched the gunman return fire. The kid stepped past him, too distracted by the war to finish the job and kill Evan.

  Evan wished desperately that he would finish the job and kill him. End him. Take away the sorrow and the pain and the suffering that lay before him.

  But the kid stepped past. Crouched low. Ducked the gunfire. Fired into the darkness. Approached the seats and the waiting victims.

  ~~~

  He had come so close. The shotgun was so loud. So much firing from all directions. Justin Wolfe quivered and tried to make himself small. Here was a man entirely unused to feeling so helpless.

  Why had the shooting stopped?

  “Fuck!” the gunman said. He was fiddling with his gun. Smacking it. Cursing.

  He was close. Just on the other side of the seats in front of Justin. Only six inches and some cheap plastic and upholstery separated him from a mass murderer.

  “Son, you can still get out of this alive!” the loudspeaker said. “Throw down your—”

  The gunman fired. The sound came from somewhere just above Justin’s head. The kid had his back to the seats, and it looked like he’d held up the shotgun to fire indiscriminately toward the door.

  “Office
r down!” someone yelled.

  More gunfire. Justin’s head was pounding. His mind was swimming. Evan. And Nora. God, please be okay.

  Such was his terror that he didn’t notice the gunman until he was standing right over them. The young man jerked his shotgun up toward the exit and fired off two more impossibly loud shots. Another slumping thud of a body hitting the floor. Now even the police were pinned down.

  The grin that shined down on Justin’s row did not bear the evil Justin anticipated. It looked sad. Contemplative. The gunman did not fire. He took his time. Examined the prey that lay before him.

  “Well, would you look at that,” the kid said. “Two billionaires in a barrel.” The laugh was forced and chilling from the inside out. “Just when I thought I was wrong about the universe, I find your familiar fucking faces. Guess this was meant to be all along.”

  Up to this moment, Justin had been shaking so violently he couldn’t have stood if he tried. But now, facing the certainty of death, a strange, unexpected calm came over him. He glanced back to Elliot, who still had his head in his hands. But he shouldn’t have been able to see to Elliot. Natalia had been between them. Where was Natalia?

  The gunman was a kid. Couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. His slender, stringy arms looked as if they had to strain to keep his heavy shotgun upright. They quivered from the adrenaline. He wore a flak jacket and helmet, with a camera affixed to the top. His eyes were wide and wild. His lips moved as if mouthing something.

  He was counting, Evan realized. Counting the bodies on the floor, the living and the dead.

  “Please,” Elliot whimpered. “Please, I’ll give you anything you want. I’m a very rich man. I can—”

  “Can you give me a purpose?” the gunman asked, and he was turning his gun on Justin.

  The kid cocked the shotgun. Time slowed. Justin experienced every excruciating millisecond as the kid squeezed the trigger. He took one more breath certain to be his last.

  “Fuck!” the kid said again. He held the gun to the side. Smacked it. Crouched back into his cover.