Chain Gang All Stars

The morning of her last doubles match Thurwar woke up in a king-size bed with the woman she loved in her arms.

Staxxx bristled as Thurwar woke.

“Not yet,” Staxxx said.

“No, get up,” Thurwar said, sitting up.

Staxxx grabbed a pillow and swung for Thurwar’s head, but Thurwar caught her wrist and pinned her down before she could strike.

“Oh no, you’re so strong,” Staxxx said.

Thurwar reared her head back and played as if she were going to crash her skull into Staxxx’s, but slowed to kiss her forehead.

“I am,” Thurwar said. She rolled over and lay back down next to Staxxx. Her readiness to start on time was gone. All she wanted was to close her eyes and stay exactly as they were forever.

—

The morning of the doubles match, Staxxx woke up having hardly slept. She’d consoled Mac for a few hours in his room before leaving him and trying to sleep in Thurwar’s bed, but she had a strange dream, more feeling than anything she could easily express in words. Shadows and light and mirror images. She felt the beginnings of her pre-match last words. She wanted to tell the world something they would remember. She wanted to call them to their higher selves.

Thurwar was up and ready early as usual and Staxxx tried to get her to sleep in. To her surprise, Thurwar reclined back into the bed for at least a few extra moments. She reached over and touched Staxxx.

“You know about my knee, right?” Thurwar asked.

“What about it?” Staxxx said, though of course she knew. But she wanted to be sure of what Thurwar was saying.

“It’s weaker now. I can move on it. But it’s a weakness. A vulnerability. I don’t know if it’s been ID’d yet.”

The light was pale and soft, filtered further through the thin hotel shades.

Staxxx turned so she was looking at the side of Thurwar’s face on the bed, and then Thurwar turned so they could look straight into each other.

“Are you telling me this for me, or for us, or for you?” Staxxx asked.

“For us,” Thurwar said. “Or for you? I don’t know.”

Staxxx frowned.

—

The morning of the doubles match, Hendrix Singer felt a pain in his gone arm so deep and real he slipped from the bed to pray for forgiveness. He prayed for the man he had killed just for loving a woman whom he had also loved. He prayed for the woman whose great misfortune had been knowing him. He prayed for each soul he’d loosed the Jungle on and each soul he’d Freed with his black scorpion. He prayed for the silent at Auburn and the silent in cages all around the world. All those smothered by other men’s fear. He prayed for all those suits who had no idea what they were a part of and all those who understood it perfectly. He prayed for Simon J. Craft, who had almost been erased entirely but was still there, flickering but bright. He prayed for himself, for an answer to all he had done. He prayed to understand his purpose. He thanked God for showing him his life had not been for nothing. He did not know what it was for, but he knew it was not for nothing. He thanked God for the gift of knowing he deserved his life.

—

The morning of the doubles match, Simon Craft woke from a dream of a young man. A man who was angry from hurt. Who leapt from salve to salve to quiet the pain that troubled him. He saw the man breaking things, breaking women and children, men. He hated the man, wanted to kill him.

He woke up in tears in a room he couldn’t remember ever having been in before. He was scared. The walls were screaming at him. He was afraid, pain waiting everywhere like a shadow. But he remembered his name.

—

Thurwar wondered why she’d told Staxxx what she’d told her. Maybe the truth felt more necessary now that they were so close to the place they’d imagined for so long, even if Thurwar hadn’t imagined it like this.

“You’re so cute, baby,” Staxxx said. “You really think you have to help me. You want me to kill you?”

“I just don’t wanna hide anything. You know about my knee. You know how I got here, how it was my fault. You know about Vanessa and you know about my knee. I want you to know exactly who I am.”

“Lo, I already know everything. How could I not? It’s us.”

—

Staxxx still felt the charge of her dream and somehow it helped her say exactly what she meant.

“But you’re cute, though,” she finished. “Let’s eat.”

And she smiled. She relished the moment, the gift of her and Thurwar existing in the same time and space, no matter how briefly.

“Okay,” Thurwar said. It seemed as if something in her had been healed, for now. They knew each other so well, the idea that Staxxx needed to know anything more was absurd.

—

Hendrix Singer Young and the Unkillable Jungle Craft arrived in the arena and found their armor and weapons waiting for them in a locker room that belonged to the away team. It had been a long while since they hadn’t been the ones the people would cheer best. Singer smiled at Craft, who sat and waited for direction.

“These two ain’t got no weaknesses,” he said to Craft, “but they also ain’t unkillable. You got that honor alone.”

They sat in the cold room. The sound of gathering already started to make his stomach shake. Singer unrolled a length of bolt leather. Craft had his fight pants on, his back exposed so the huge letter R stood against four Ms.

“Let me get you ready,” Singer said.

—

Craft gave his arms to Singer, the good angel, who wrapped him in the protection.

“You ready to do what you was put on this earth to do?”

“Yes, sir,” Craft said.

“You Jungle Man, right? You the Unkillable?” Bolt leather on his arms and around his neck. A chest guard, plates for legs. The good angel draped him with his safety.

—

“You ready for this?” Thurwar asked. She spoke earnestly to Randy Mac, who was up on the undercard, as were Rico and Gunny. Randy was to face Raven Ways and Thurwar was almost certain it was Randy’s last day on earth. She felt a deep pity that as a final gift she kept to herself.

“I think my number’s up, Blood Mama,” Mac said quietly as they stepped into the van.

She did not argue with him, out of respect. He was a good Link, maybe great. But Raven Ways was Raven Ways.

—

“You know his distances, though,” Staxxx said.

She’d sparred with Mac the last few weeks and used LoveGuile to help him imagine the length and precision of Raven’s halberd. Still, she knew that it was very unlikely she would see Mac again.

“I’m happy I got to be a part of your story,” he said.

“You’re a legend all your own,” she told him.

—

Singer remembered the early days when he got his voice back. Tried to think what his life might have been had he never signed the devils’ papers, and he had trouble seeing it clear.

“Either way I cut up meat,” he said, and laughed grimly.

“Me too,” Craft said.

Hendrix smiled.

It’s a long John,

He’s a long gone.

—

Good Angel sings and it means fight is coming. He shows me who and I do it. I am Simon J. Craft. All the time I am. The task is kill. I do it. I sing with him.

Like a turkey through the corn,

Through the long corn

—

They wrapped bolt leather around their arms.

—

And midsection. Touch the seven Xs there first. The one M a commander among a legion of marks on her body. Can you miss the people you never knew except to kill?

—

Protect the neck.

—

We dress for big loud hell.

—

There was music. Randy’s, then Raven’s. Then a whole three minutes. Thurwar tried to think about what was in front of her, not what was in front of Mac. Another two minutes. Then Raven’s music, and the pain.^[*] Wanting to hear something, trying not to hope but hoping anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Thurwar said to Staxxx.

—

“He was a legend already. They won’t forget him,” Staxxx said. She pledged to have him remembered. “May he enjoy his freedom. Suck my dick, America.” And Thurwar echoed her.

Staxxx would mark him along with the two whom they would see soon. Three Xs. She was running out of skin.

—

A fight before us clashing up above. Today we a main card for the ages. The best of all, word is. They would have us wait in the hall. I explain to the men that Craft doesn’t do great around people that ain’t me. So we sit in the locker room.

Well, my John said,

In the chap ten,

“If a man die,

He will live again.”

—

Just a jaunt, Jay.

Just jump.

“My name is Simon Jeremiah Craft.”

“You don’t say,” Good Angel says.

We walk out to the screaming angels. Screaming for us. Asking us to kill. I will protect the Good Angel.

We walk.

We kneel.

We wait for the chance to jump.

—

The sound of the people is heavy. It changes something inside you, Thurwar thought, to know so many expect something of you. She wondered how much she’d changed these three years, how much she’d stayed the same. No part of her wanted to kill today, and she could admit that to herself. She ran through the gate and entered what looked like a rodeo space. The fans circled above them, the closest not six feet up. Micky Wright chatted from his BattleBox. Thurwar walked to the Keep. She kneeled into it and waited. Across the way the two men sat quiet. Expectant, not scared. What a group we are, Thurwar thought. She took a deep breath.

—

“Suck my dick, America!” Staxxx screamed. She stomped around the dirt, tied her hair back, and picked LoveGuile up again. “Suck my dick, America!” A catchphrase of catchphrases. The crowd blew up. “Love you, Mac.” A sudden gale, the storm together. “You guys wanna hear about a dream I had?” she asked. Her voice, the voice of a young god. “I was in a world of pure dark. I could see nothing else. I stumbled around for ages, hoping for something.” She stopped and the HMC in front of her sailed the air at her lips. “Then after a long while I saw a little pinprick of light, so I ran to it. I ran and I ran and when I tried to touch it my shadow swallowed it whole.

“But then I closed my eyes and tried again, and I was in a space where the light was endless and there was a pinprick of dark and I knew I was in the same place I’d been before.”

“Okay, Ms. Stacker, please, we’d like to get to the good part.” Micky Wright, the MC of the evening, stood on top of the announcer’s box.

“That is the good part!” Staxxx laughed as she kneeled beside Thurwar. She couldn’t just give the answers away. The magic came from sitting with the puzzle, as she had. Letting it seep into you. One day they’d understand.

And then the crowd gasped.

—

Out of thin air, it seemed, a new woman had appeared. Not a Link, but a woman in the unmistakable clothes of a civilian. Thurwar stared at her along with the entire rest of the country.

The woman was Sunset’s daughter, Marissa. And there she was on the BattleGround, holding a sign that read:

WHERE LIFE IS PRECIOUS.

* Randall “Randy Mac” McMorrison, age thirty-two. Low Freed.

What I’m saying is, that’s a whole lotta prisoners for a land that claims free. Whole lot of animal slaughtering. I seen the best I’ve seen in the hole you keep the decrepit, so suck my dick.