James Axler – Deathlands 35 – Skydark

“Are you going to hurry up and hang me,” he said to Elijah, “or am I going to have to jump off of here on my own?”

The girls’ faces drooped in disappointment.

“Are you turning down my pure-norm gals?” Elijah asked.

“You were never offering them.”

“You always were a tough, smart sucker, One-eye. I got to ask you one thing, though. Why did you run out on me after Coupe ville? You done me a real favor there. Practically broke the back of the rebellion on your own. It was just sweep-up op after that. You know I was ready to make you an important man around here. What scared you off?”

“Me,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“I scared myself off. I knew I could get hooked on chilling, just like jolt. Then I wouldn’t be my own man. I could see myself turning into just another bought-and-paid-for sec man shit-heap like Murch here. I’d rather be dead.”

“Going to get your wish,” Murchisson said, grabbing him by the shirtfront.

“Easy, now,” the baron said. “He’s just messing with your mind. Mebbe hoping he’ll get an easy way out of here. Isn’t going to happen.” As Elijah walked over to the rail, the workers stepped aside for him.

“What do you figure he weighs, Murch?” the baron asked.

“Two hundred, mebbe a little less.”

“Let’s test it.”

The sec men tied four of the sandbags to the end of the rope, then tipped the weights off the patio.

Everyone moved to peer over the rail as the line snaked over the balcony. The quartet of bags hurtled down, then smashed open against the sidewalk, spraying sand in a wide circle.

“Too much rope,” the baron said. “Shorten it up.”

After adjusting the length, the workmen tied on four more bags and chucked them over the balcony. This time the line came up tight before the bags hit The rope squeaked as it stretched under the weight, but the sandbags missed the ground by at least ten feet. Coming to the end of the rope, they bounced high in the air, then fell back.

“Better,” the baron said. “Much better.”

“So, you’re going to hang me?” Ryan said, watching the sec men pull the two hundred pounds of deadweight back up to the penthouse. It was the kind of grueling job normally reserved for mutie slaves. Ryan figured the sec men had to have volunteered for the duty.

“Not exactly,” the baron said. “Hanging you can only do the once.”

When the sandbags had been hauled over the rail and untied, Murchisson shoved Ryan closer to the sec men. “Tie it good and tight,” the sec chief instructed. “We wouldn’t want it to come loose the very first time.”

Instead of tying up a noose and dropping it over Ryan’s head, the sec men lashed the free end of the rope to his right ankle. They tied it so tight his foot

went numb almost immediately. Then they hoisted him up onto the balcony’s rail.

The hot wind whipped his black hair as he looked down. A crowd had already gathered in the parking lot below.

“Dump him,” Elijah ordered.

The sec men pushed, but not hard enough. Elijah’s girls tittered as Ryan fought to keep his balance on the rail. When the cause was lost, when he knew he was going over, Ryan committed himself to the farthest dive he could muster. He knew if he didn’t get well clear of the side of the building, the row of patios would beat him to death on the way down.

The wind howled in his face as he dropped. The outward thrust of the dive quickly faded, and he plummeted headfirst at the onrushing ground. He couldn’t feel the tension of the rope on his ankle. He thought maybe the sec men had cut it loose.

Just when he was sure he was going to hit, everything stopped short. His leg was nearly wrenched from its hip socket, and his guts lurched up into his mouth. He stretched to the max, the rope stretched to the max, then both sprang back up into air. Ryan sprawled in space like a rag doll, then dropped to the end of the rope.