mob to surge forward toward the fight. The cowboy wrenched Jack aside before he could lose his balance and tumble headlong through the wave of chaos.
“This is the way it is,” the cowboy said. “You gotta ask yourself: do I care enough to save them from themselves? Is there something worth saving? You decide, big guy.”
“What?”
“Decide,” the cowboy repeated, “should they be saved?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ve got seconds left. Seconds. Save them or watch them die.”
When he ended up one breath away from his own doom, he had looked up to find a hand stretched out for him. A hand he’d been waiting for all his life. The hand that should’ve been Jerry’s. What did the cowboy want? Why would he leave this decision up to him? All along, it had always been Jerry, the brother he feared, the brother he never wanted to disappoint. His paragon of power might be dead, and there were only seconds… seconds…
“Help them!” Jack said.
The cowboy pushed through the crowd. Jack felt as if a terrible burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to look out for himself because nobody was alive who gave a damn about him or even knew his name. Should he be sad about his brother’s death? He wasn’t sure he knew what to feel, or how. Nothing made sense anymore.
A gunshot jarred everyone into a shocked silence.
“Forget everything you ever knew about living, if you still want to breathe.”
It was the cowboy. He alone spoke, and as the crowd shifted, spaces cleared between shoulders. With a revolver in his fist, the grimy cowboy with the scarf around his neck and spurs on his tired boots stood in the center.
“There is no law save the one we make for ourselves,” the cowboy announced. “We must assume there will be no more help, or hope. The gun in my hand is the only law that matters. It’s the only rule that applies. You saw what it did out there, and you see that it nearly killed everyone in here. Look around you: everyone you see is still alive. We’re not the things out there, but we can become them. Or maybe we already are those things. Sure seemed like it a second ago. Do you think it matters anymore how this started? What’re we gonna do about it? Shit, that’s what. They bite us and we become them. Someone has to stand up and make the bad decisions if we’re going to continue. Someone has to be the bad guy. If we don’t want to be any kind of group, then we might as well go back outside. If we kill each other in here or out there, it makes no difference.”
Someone piped up, “We can do this. We can work together. We come up with some plans, maybe cast a vote…”
The cowboy chuckled. “Democracy, huh? You think that gets shit done? Those things will be crashing through the doors while we’re sitting around debating. You wanna talk it out? Think it over?”
“So what do we do?” someone asked. “We just let you run the show? We don’t know you. Nobody in here… I mean… look around… we don’t know each other.”
“I don’t have your answers,” the cowboy said. “I ain’t leading this horse and pony show. You’re the ones who got the answers. If someone takes the lead, it won’t be pretty. People will hate, and plot. People will think they can do better. We all got a chance at power, a room full of leaders and people who know right from wrong, people who know they’re always right. One group? Smaller groups? Maybe we walk outside and find out.”
A long period of awkward silence followed. There were scattered coughs and long stares. Somewhere in the hangar, a man wept.
“You killed that poor woman,” someone said.
“Everybody knows what’s right,” the cowboy repeated. “I don’t know a damn thing.”
The cowboy stepped out of the center and the crowd parted for him to return to his isolation. He leaned against the wall and holstered his revolver. With his arms crossed, he twirled the toothpick
“This is the way it is,” the cowboy said. “You gotta ask yourself: do I care enough to save them from themselves? Is there something worth saving? You decide, big guy.”
“What?”
“Decide,” the cowboy repeated, “should they be saved?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“We’ve got seconds left. Seconds. Save them or watch them die.”
When he ended up one breath away from his own doom, he had looked up to find a hand stretched out for him. A hand he’d been waiting for all his life. The hand that should’ve been Jerry’s. What did the cowboy want? Why would he leave this decision up to him? All along, it had always been Jerry, the brother he feared, the brother he never wanted to disappoint. His paragon of power might be dead, and there were only seconds… seconds…
“Help them!” Jack said.
The cowboy pushed through the crowd. Jack felt as if a terrible burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He had to look out for himself because nobody was alive who gave a damn about him or even knew his name. Should he be sad about his brother’s death? He wasn’t sure he knew what to feel, or how. Nothing made sense anymore.
A gunshot jarred everyone into a shocked silence.
“Forget everything you ever knew about living, if you still want to breathe.”
It was the cowboy. He alone spoke, and as the crowd shifted, spaces cleared between shoulders. With a revolver in his fist, the grimy cowboy with the scarf around his neck and spurs on his tired boots stood in the center.
“There is no law save the one we make for ourselves,” the cowboy announced. “We must assume there will be no more help, or hope. The gun in my hand is the only law that matters. It’s the only rule that applies. You saw what it did out there, and you see that it nearly killed everyone in here. Look around you: everyone you see is still alive. We’re not the things out there, but we can become them. Or maybe we already are those things. Sure seemed like it a second ago. Do you think it matters anymore how this started? What’re we gonna do about it? Shit, that’s what. They bite us and we become them. Someone has to stand up and make the bad decisions if we’re going to continue. Someone has to be the bad guy. If we don’t want to be any kind of group, then we might as well go back outside. If we kill each other in here or out there, it makes no difference.”
Someone piped up, “We can do this. We can work together. We come up with some plans, maybe cast a vote…”
The cowboy chuckled. “Democracy, huh? You think that gets shit done? Those things will be crashing through the doors while we’re sitting around debating. You wanna talk it out? Think it over?”
“So what do we do?” someone asked. “We just let you run the show? We don’t know you. Nobody in here… I mean… look around… we don’t know each other.”
“I don’t have your answers,” the cowboy said. “I ain’t leading this horse and pony show. You’re the ones who got the answers. If someone takes the lead, it won’t be pretty. People will hate, and plot. People will think they can do better. We all got a chance at power, a room full of leaders and people who know right from wrong, people who know they’re always right. One group? Smaller groups? Maybe we walk outside and find out.”
A long period of awkward silence followed. There were scattered coughs and long stares. Somewhere in the hangar, a man wept.
“You killed that poor woman,” someone said.
“Everybody knows what’s right,” the cowboy repeated. “I don’t know a damn thing.”
The cowboy stepped out of the center and the crowd parted for him to return to his isolation. He leaned against the wall and holstered his revolver. With his arms crossed, he twirled the toothpick
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