Simon reaches for the Prophet’s hand, tries to pull him back in line, but the Prophet shakes him off.
“Looks like we won the Lotto,” says Cigarette Clown, nodding toward Duane and Louise. “Couple a cockroaches from the city.”
Big Red steps forward, makes a show of sniffing Duane. “What are you, half chink?”
Duane sets his jaw. “I’m half Japanese and half Black.”
“Which half?” says Acne Clown. “Top or bottom?”
Louise hikes up her jeans, a tiredness settling into her bones, fueled by jagged adrenaline. She’s exhausted by the whole tired cliché of it. For her journey to end this way, her death divorced from her life, her specific life—the girl with the cleaning addiction from San Rafael, whose grandmother used to make flapjacks and bacon every Saturday, the girl with scars on her thighs—that girl isn’t here now, the one we call Louise Conklin. Instead, there is a standin, a proxy for every African, every Jamaican, every Haitian who has ever had the nerve to draw breath in this land. She will die here anonymously on this spot, thinks Louise, and when they brag of her death, all she will be is her color.
“Are you gonna rape us or kill us or what?” she says, because just get it over with already.
The clowns exchange a look.
“Well, that depends,” says Big Red. “How come yer man came out shootin’？”
“Seriously?” says Louise. “You forced us off the road. And you’re armed.”
“You seen those zombie shows?” says Cigarette Clown. “That shit’s easy. The apocalypse. See a zombie, kill a zombie. But this shit here—van fulla faggots and race traitors—lotta guesswork and lies.”
“Or the Matrix,” says Acne Clown.
“Right. The fucking Matrix. This shit’s a simulation. Civilization. Democracy. We know what’s really going on. Sharia law, secret tribunals, the Frazzeldrip. Deep State election thieves with their Black Lives Matter bullshit. But we know what’s coming. Trust the plan. The Great Awakening. Long live the God King.”
Beside him, Big Red stands quietly chewing gum, smiling.
“The boogaloo’s here, baby,” finishes Acne Clown.
Big Red pulls his 9mm.
“Are you glowies?”
“Are we what?” says Louise.
“You know, glowies, spies.”
“Spies for who?”
“The three-letter boys—DEA, FBI, ATF.”
“Nope,” says Louise and starts for the van. “So, can we go?”
Acne Clown steps in front of her. “What’s yer hurry, slit?”
He presses his handgun to her temple. Simon sees the fear on her face.
“Make her suck the barrel,” says Cigarette Clown.
“Stop,” says the Prophet in a voice so commanding it quiets the wind. Acne Clown, who was lowering the gun to her mouth, stops, glances at Big Red, unsure. Big Red spits out his gum, walks over, and puts himself face-to-face with the Prophet, formerly known as Paul.
“Make us,” he says.
And now there comes a growl so low and menacing it triggers primordial terror in all who hear it. The bestial snarl of a great predator, as something rises above them and blocks out the sun. Simon jumps, turns. There is a lion standing on the lip of the rock behind them, backlit by the sun, crouched as if to pounce.
An African lion, resplendent, impossible.
“Holy shit,” says Cigarette Clown, raising his rifle. Big Red backs away. He’s staring at the lion with abject fear. You can see him doing math in his head. The rock is fifteen feet from the fence. There’s no way a lion could jump that far.
Could he?
Duane grabs Louise, pulls her toward him.
The Prophet stands in the shadow of the lion.
“The Lord has spoken,” he says. “We are under His protection. Let us go or die here and now.”
Big Red spits on the ground. He is embarrassed by his show of fear, emasculated in front of his men. He pulls the long gun from his shoulder, aims it at the lion.
“Clowns,” he says, “let’s go on safari.”
But then—before he can pull the trigger—a bloom of red jumps from his throat, splashing the asphalt. His eyes widen.
Crack.
The sound of the shot reaches them next, echoing across the mesa. Big Red gurgles, reaches for the wound, but falls dead before his hand can find it. For an endless moment the other clowns stare at him stunned.
“Shooter!” yells Acne Clown, looking around wildly. In the distance Simon sees a quick glint. Then a flash. Acne Clown falls.