Dead Men Scare Me Stupid by John Swartzwelder

flew out,
chattering like helicopters, others bounced over the wall like the pogo sticks
they thought they were, and one who thought he was Lindbergh flew out in an
airplane he’d made out of toilet paper rolls that thought they were airplane
parts. One guy with a split personality escaped five different ways. Though I’m
told they later found two of him.
    I was right
behind the last of the inmates, with two nurses still clinging doggedly to me,
one trying to take my temperature to find out what was wrong with me, and the
other trying to tell me a bedtime story so I’d go to sleep.
    I shook them off
and grabbed the long plasticine arm of an inmate who thought he was a comic
book hero, and was dragged up and over the wall to freedom.
    Once we were
outside, I immediately split off from the others. I figured I could do better
on my own, since I was sane and they were not. So when they headed north, I
went south. I don’t know what happened to the rest of them, but I know at least
one of them got away clean, because I later saw him in the news, breaking the
sound barrier, with his face. So he did all right. But I didn’t.
    Just
as I got clear of the other inmates, and took my first step south, a hand came
down on my shoulder. I looked up. It was a G-Man. And he had a gun.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    I was taken to a
large ominous government facility out near the edge of town. Central City had
outbid Cuba for it. Its purpose was vague, but the money it generated for the
local economy was real, and that’s all the City Council cared about, so there
were no investigations by the city into the weird noises or diabolical laughter
that came out of the facility. The people who lived in the neighborhood
complained about all the noise - and about the annoying “secret” smell that
belched out of the facility’s smokestacks day and night, a smell that no one
could identify exactly, but no one liked – but nothing was ever done to look
into these complaints. A lot of City Council members’ salaries were paid for
indirectly by that facility, and no one wanted to jeopardize their salaries.
Nobody’s that stupid.
    Beyond the
heavily guarded main gate was nearly an acre of mixed barbed wire and dogs.
Then more gates, with a dog on each one.
    The main building
was even more secure. There were guards at every door, on both sides. You
couldn’t open a door without hitting a guard’s head with it. The swinging doors
usually got both of them. So the guards were all in a mean mood. After awhile,
my escorts stopped letting me open the doors. They made me walk in the middle
of the group.
    I was taken to
the office of the man running the facility, a Mr. Albert Conklin. He was a thin
white-haired, pleasant looking old duffer, but in my experience nothing about
the government is pleasant – except for maybe the stamps. Some of the stamps
are quite nice. So I wasn’t fooled by appearances. I expected him to be
trouble. And he was.
    Before he could
say anything to me, I asked him a question - a question I ask everyone I meet
for the first time: “Are you going to kill me?”
    “Killing you
isn’t enough, I’m afraid.”
    “Oh. That’s too
bad. Are you sure, because…”
    “Oh we’re quite
sure. You’ve caused too many problems already. Just stopping you from causing
any more won’t do us any good. It won’t get rid of the ones you’ve already
caused.”
    “No, I can see
that now.” I thought for a minute. “Wait, I think I thought of a way where
killing me would be enough.”
    “It’s too late
now.”
    I made a face.
    “What are you so
happy about?”
    “Oh. Sorry. Wrong
face.”
    I made another
face.
    “You’re right to
look worried, Mr. Burly, because…”
    “That’s anger,
stupid.”
    He looked at my
face again for a moment, then continued: “Anyway… as I said, I’m afraid we’re
going to have to do something that’s a little more drastic than just killing
you.”
    I decided not to
try to convey my feelings about