The hands of the clock slowly advanced towards 8:30 PM. No sign. Twilight. For half an hour I've been waiting to
hear his footsteps, lock's turn. Still nothing. Nine… Streets have gone silent except for the harsh sound of freight
platforms coming over and over. Damn, got to go. "Watch out, daddy's coming…" I mumbled to myself. Old
glasses, old raincoat, old, but still good Winchester. Dark times. For a long time already.
It was drizzling, but cold weather is still to come - at least one good thing this bloody night. Where could he
be, where to look? No, it's better to take William's old "Ford" and make some driving around the block.
I've stopped at the corner of 15th to take a rest and a deep breath. The leg was aching, but not too bad. Got used
to this during wet weather. No way to escape old wounds, so you better face it, Downtown's cripple. The rain was
getting stronger and cold streams began to roll over my long grey hair - the only real pride in this era of baldness
worth to keep despite of small inconveniences like this. Looking over the street to the left I've suddenly noticed
the familiar jacket-kid!
"Red, wait!" I shouted to him. But he just turned to the other by-street, running like hell. I cursed
that stupid boy and his stupid games of hide-and-seek and ran after him hobbling. When I turned over the corner
the pavement suddenly began to shine. I saw Red standing by the wall in a strange half bent pose. He was panting
and looking over my head. From the tickling in my back I felt that something weird was going on. And I knew exactly
what it was. I slowly turned around to see what I expected, and I was right. A new "Mercury" coloured
in dark claret with the flashlights on, hung two meters above the pavement in front of me. Holy shit.
"Hey, old fart!" the sound was coming from loudspeakers, "We are playing Tom and Jerry and you are
in our way".
"Little bastards…"
I stood like frozen - they were used to running ones. I'm not like them.
"Hey dude, must we repeat?"
I grasped the Winchester under the coat. Stupid old man! I was going around with an unloaded gun. Now there's no
time. "Where's Red?" I turned my head a little to see the kid. He was standing in the same manner. "Maybe
he's hurt, damn…"
"You don't have to…" I uttered slowly, looking straight into the darkened windshield of the car, remembering
the lesson:
"Brand, got to go." Red was standing on a doorway with the jacket and boots on, ready to leave.
"Wait", I came closer to him and put my arms on his shoulders. Gazing straight into his eyes I asked:
"Do you remember, what you have to do if you are hunted?"
"I have to shout "Hunt!" hide in a trash container, hide under strong material…"
"And?"
"And… and…"
"It's more than VERY important…"
"Important… Run, shout, hide… Don't remember", he mumbled at last.
"When things are getting really bad, never turn your back on them. They don't shoot when they see your face.
Sometimes. Got it?"
"Yes, Brand."
"Repeat."
"If the things are getting fucked, never turn your ass on them".
"Don't you ever say "fuck" when I am around, ok? "Fuck" is a very bad word for the very
bad ones. Just like these hunters, understand?"
"Yes, Brand." He was smiling. Fucked things are very funny till they are not fucked.
"Home at eight. Yes?"
He nodded and disappeared.
"But the main thing is to turn around on time…", I finished lesson for myself. Yes, there were some really
unsuccessful attempts. Just like poor Jack Harrouth kid… I've never had own kids of my own. I was no hurry for
a family when I was young. After the Pandemonium there was nowhere to hurry at all. Probably that was the reason
why I have saved this boy, this "little rat". We found him in one of the freight platforms brought down
by Mel's company. I immediately realised that kid wasn't one of these "golden", "hightowner"
ones. They are not riding platforms, especially not the ones from Detroit. Poor boy, he was almost smashed by two
huge containers, and there was not much space left. We picked him up half-conscious. Since then I have been trying
hard to find out where he's from, who his parents are and all the other stuff, however he never told me. During
these two years we lived like a normal, motherless family, like daddy and son, the son to whom daddy must give
his care, protection, teaching, and the son must show respect and love to daddy. At least, that was my intentions.
But he never called me daddy. Probably, I was just the one who gave him shelter. But, despite that he gave me feeling
that I still can do something good, even in this damned Downtown. And that was enough. "Daddy…" I smiled
to myself and returned to the room.
I was not able to get rid of the things brought from the last chat in the "Club". Our "club"
was just one of the vaults, where Jim Garner was bringing all the whiskey he gathered. Holly drink was distributed
there, too. Part of it was our booty's stack, another part as free incentive for whores, the last was sold to some
rare strangers. Of course, they had to pay and we didn't have to. That place never suffered the absence of action:
everyone was drinking, chatting, playing cards, and cheating the new ones. A strange company: fate's favourites
and stepchildren, drunkards and idealistic slickers looking for some thrilling romance in Downtown, dissidents
and petty criminals. Everything was changed and mixed after the Pandemonium. We were no exception.
Peter Dowson sat down just next to me. It was rumoured that he was a military pilot, but gave it up because of
his eyes. Now he was wearing very thick glasses - another result of the Pandemonium, however he was still piloting
platforms from Hightown to the external airport. It was a good job and I was wondering why he was still here. But
we have grown out of the habit of too much asking…
"Brand, Norton's Johny got whacked."
I choked on the whiskey I was drinking - Johny was Doug Malster's son, a very smart young guy. Everyone swears
that he will leave this bloody place for better life up there in a couple of years.
"Jesus Holy Christ, where?"
"They found him on 18th. Dismembered."
"Damn! Who? One of us?"
"Shit with us," shouted Terry. I didn't notice him appearing from behind. "It's a hunt. Third one
this week. Gustav had almost got his ass fried, that golden little bastards turned up again, playing their bloody
games. Never forget your Winchester and a couple of cartridges, if you're going out late."
"Are you sure that it is hunt? We taught them well last time…"
"We will teach them once more, because it is a hunt. Their style: first of all small calibre, then a neat
run-over. Damn it, he was flattened for two meters… No one else does this but these little bastards, believe me!"
"I must not forget to warn Red", though for myself.
"We have to fuck them good again." Peter hit the table with the fist. "I will arrange an ambush,
who's with me?"
"Yeah, they forgot what happened to the last ones. Ok, it's time to repeat. We'll send them in envelopes for
their mothers birthdays, right?" Terry smiled at me.
"Brand, are you coming with us?"
"Sorry, guys. Have to watch over kid, he's a little sick".
"Father's duties, eh?"
Red got well soon. It would be better for him to be ill, at home.
"Why you're not running?" The loudspeaker came on again.
"Don't want", I answered, still without any motion.
"You don't want what?"
"To play Tom and Jerry, bastards", I shouted and pulled out my Winchester, and pointed it at the car.
"Get your smelly asses outta here or your mothers will have some fresh stuffing!"
A minute of silence. "Red, run!" I ordered him telepathically.
"Hey", a laugh came on, "The old fart is going to beat us with the rusty pipe! Hey, Jerry"
(to them everyone is Jerry: big Jerry, small Jerry, scared Jerry…) "Take your stick down, because we are aiming
for that ratsy small one. The smell of his trousers already makes us sick".
They've got scanners and they can see that I'm unloaded… Anyway I stepped forward and shouted again:
"Count to three, little chickenheads!"
I heard a sound of a shot. Red cried - in the corner of my eye I could see him falling to the ground. Bastards!
"Jerry, you've insulted us. You've threatened us. But we are good. We like team games"
What?
"Run, Jerry, run. Or we will hurt small Jerry. Very, very badly. We want a big Jerry, big fast Jerry, the
small Jerry can't run anymore. Small Jerry is out of power…"
Ok, I'm a part of the game. A couple of steps to the first shelter, I noticed after quick look around. And then
we'll see. My first steps were slow. The loudspeaker mumbled:
"Run, Jerry, Run. Save the small Jerry!"
I still walked, though quite fast, pulling my leg more than I had to due to the aching.
"Jerry, we are not playing like that. Run, or small Jerry will be smashed!"
Red still there? Shit… I started to run.
"Good, Jerry, good!" The engine of the gravicar buzzed and the chase started.
"Jerry, faster! Remember, you are running from Tom, from Tom…"
"Red, for God's sake, go, crawl outta here. They are spoiled, they are young, they are stupid, and they are
cruel just like their cartoons and games. They can't tell the difference between the virtual helmet and reality.
For them Death is only pieces of meat and blood. Run, kid, run!" I probably prayed.
"Jerry, you can't run fast like that. The legs have to come higher" The bullet rebounded from the pavement
and scratched my calf. Very funny, boys…
"Don't run straight" Another advice came flying with the sound of bullets sprayed to the left and the
right. Ok, ok, I'm jumping. The big trash container was just a few steps ahead. Surprised of my own dexterity I
suddenly rolled under the container. What's next, guys?
"Jerry has got into a cave! Jerry knows how to play!"
"Applause? Thanks", I thought for myself while pushing a cartridge into the Winchester. They slowly approached
trying to come down and to crush the container. Not so easy, boys. Things were slowly getting, but I had a chance
to rest a bit. "Tom" commented upon every action:
"Let's push here, then here… Run, Jerry, run… Run from the cave or we'll crush you, only your eyes will be
left to stare".
"Time" I decided for myself, when I saw that the bunch of useful crap was going to break.
Jump to the right. Pick up the trashcan lid. Stop. They missed the first part and flew by. Made quite a quick U-turn
though. By then I was standing in the middle of the street with the lid raised in front of me. They were coming
on me. I forced myself not to think what would happen if they wouldn't. But they did.
"Hey, Jerrry, why are you not running AGAIN?" Tom probably got pissed off of such a lazy big Jerry. No
game, no fun.
"Do you know, what this sign means?" I asked.
"No" they replied.
"It means that big Tom is an idiot!" I suddenly shouted and threw the lid at them. For a split second
the headlight tried to catch the flying thing. The next split second I pulled the trigger.
The left gravifield generator was smashed on a spot. The next shot blew off the stabiliser. The car's left side
hit the ground hard. The headlight went off. I jumped over it and opened the hatch, imagining the shit scared faces
of the young sadists. This time Jerry was smarter, just like in that stupid cartoon.
But I saw something very, very weird. I saw empty chairs and a big screen with the three teens laughing at me.
"Ups! You've missed".
I pulled the trigger once more. Actually, I don't remember when I reloaded the gun, probably it was a reflex. The
liquid crystals and parts of burning plastic covered the car and me. But the speaker was still on:
"Ha ha ha. Big Jerry is upset? Very very upset?"
"Damn you, bastards!" I spit on the windshield and ran to Red. No use of smashing the innocent car. The
kid had crawled from where he had been laying, but not very far. Aquick examination revealed that he had been hit
only by small calibre, nothing really serious.
"Able to walk, man?"
"Yes…" he answered and tried to take a couple of steps, but almost fell again. I caught him and looked
around.
The sound was still coming from the loudspeakers:
"Run, Jerry, run. Cops are coming!"
"Good idea, no time to loose."
William's place is not far. We will find shelter there. Big Jerry and Small Jerry.