Gallows Humour

The Prize Bullet

Keep walking. The road snaked out into an abyssal horizon. Their ears held the ringing from the gunshot and the specks of the stars were all smeary. It got worse when they blinked. They blinked a lot.

Keep walking. The village had to be here somewhere. They wouldn't know until they were right on top of it. And what were the chances a shadow dweller would pick them off before they got to a house with a lock? Pretty high, they figured. They carried the gun out in the open to scare off the more fearful and the more intelligent ones, but eventually someone would take the risk.

Radio was certainly bolder now. It chose to walk next to True, just out of reach but unhidden.

"Are you really a shadow dweller?" they asked.

Radio walked a few paces without answering. It was too dark to make out the expression on its face, but eventually it lifted its hand, bobbed both its pointer finger and its head.

"Huh."

Well, that was... something.

"You've eaten people?"

Because that was what it meant to be a shadow dweller. That was what they chose over starvation. An even longer pause, then, nod the finger, nod the head.

"Huh." Too tired to do or say or think anything else.

They crested a hill. No sign of the village anywhere ahead. They clomped into a patch of woods. How much damn farther was this place? It felt like they had been on this road for six thousand years. They tripped over their own toes at the bottom of the hill. Good thing Radio was the only one there, technically. It couldn't tattle on them. It did tap their elbow and point to a car wrapped around a tree in the ditch, overgrown with weeds.

There was an idea. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It was better than nothing and more appealing than one single farther step on that cursed serpentine road.

A corpse had oozed corpse sludge all over h drivers' side and the stench of human broiled by the sun hung in the air so strong that even True could taste a hint of it. But the windows were all intact and the locks worked.

They crawled into the trunk and made themself comfortable. Glowing ribbons of soft green light flowed across the midnight sky. The northern lights dipped toward the dirty car and rilled back up. Wearily, True took everything out of their pack, checked it all, put it all back neatly. When their fingers brushed a crinkly chip bag, they hesitated. Trading those dentures for one boot and some licorice had seemed like a rookie mistake. But this was probably the last licorice they'd ever see. Better save it.

"Hey," they whistled to get Radio's attention. "No snacking on me while I sleep."

Radio held up its pinky finger, a promise. It switched. Middle finger. Jackass. Maybe they should kill it now, before it killed them. The idea flickered brief and bright. They couldn't trust a shadow dweller, they shouldn't let their guard down with one lingering below.

Then again, Radio'd had plenty of other opportunities to eat them.

A pack of coyotes started up their screechy howl somewhere west of the treeline. Comforting. True lay curled around their pack, their ear pressed to the thin floor of the trunk. They listened to the grass rustle as Radio nestled under the vehicle until they dropped suddenly, steeply, into sleep.

***

Night shone through the windows when they startled awake. Very abruptly. Their hand flew o the gun before their brain finished powering on. Empty air. Rocket fuel shot into their sense. They jolted up. The thief pressed them down again, hand over their mouth, straddling them.

"You hush." Eliza's thin, scratchy voice accompanied her narrow face above them, framed by the open, broken moon roof. She held the gun in front of their face. "Move, and three of these bullet are going in your friend."

True bit their tongue until the sting and taste of iron kicked across their mouth. Eliza stared at them for several more seconds. At last, she lifted her hand. She made quick work of click-clacking all the parts of the gun that clicked and clacked. The magazine popped out. She wedged her pinky nail under a single bullet and slide it free. Left three behind. It glinted in the moonlight when she held it up. A brief, satisfied smile flitted across her chapped lips. She tucked the bullet into her pocket and slid the magazine home.

"Good listening," she said to True's glowering form. Stretching up, she shoved the gun in a crevice, out of reach. And, wordlessly, slid out the trunk and vanished into the night.

True stared after her long after the faint rustling of her retreat faded. Heart in their throat. Slowly, the sounds of the night returned. Crickets chirping, frogs croaking, the faint swish of nocturnal beasts creeping through the underbrush. Muted snoring. They peered down at the empty place where they'd last seen Radio. The grass cloaked it, but its snoring carried on. Exhaling long and slow out their nose, they leaned back on the wheel hub,

Get the gun.

Don't get the gun.

They flip-flopped the decision. Not that it should have been a decision. They needed to grab the fun before someone else snatched it, or it rained, or some other bullshit

In five seconds they would get it.

Five seconds.

Four.

Three.