Taking Back Fun Day

The door to the diner kitchen swung inwards so fast as to almost hit the wall. Jet looked up, momentarily surprised by the aggressive thump that caused it to fly open. His eyes wide, his hand went automatically to the gun resting in his shoulder holster. On seeing only Kobra standing in the doorway, his shoulders sagged and he frowned with irritation. Reaching for a towel, he wiped the grease off the gun butt and trigger.

“What’s got you all fired up?” He grumbled, resting the towel back on the counter and picking up a knife to cut the sandwiches.

Kobra had entered the diner’s large kitchen to find Jet standing at one of the counters near the fridge making a plate of sandwiches for anyone who might be hungry, plus another two pots of coffee bubbling nearby. In his distracted state, Jet had made a plate of sandwiches large enough to feed everyone and still have plenty left over for seconds or even thirds. Despite Kobra’s clear anger, the quantity of food still gave him a moment’s pause, raising an eyebrow as he stared at the counter. If Jet even thought of reaching for another slice of bread he was going to stage an intervention.

But the moment passed quickly and the homely scene was in stark contrast to the returned anger and even betrayal displayed on Kobra’s face. The obvious irritation and stiffness in his stance, grim expression and entrance, undercut by a sadness and what appeared to be disappointment in his eyes made for an unexpected sight. Confused by the mixed signals, Jet lowered the knife he was holding and turned to face the younger man as he wiped his hands.

“What’s wrong?” He asked again but, this time, with more empathy.
“I found Party,” Kobra replied through gritted teeth.
“And?” Jet prompted, wondering what could possibly be causing the strange reaction. “Where is he?” He added on receiving only a furious stare in return.
“Half way down Route Guano!” Kobra announced to Jet’s surprise.

Throwing the towel down next to the plate, Jet grimaced as the motion jarred his still painful shoulder. Shaking his head, annoyed with himself for forgetting, he moved forward to join the angry Killjoy.

“But...” At first, Jet was at a loss to know what to say. “How? They’re still working on...” Jet lowered and shook his head and sighed deeply. “He took the bike?”
“Yeah! I saw it was gone and checked the tracker.” Kobra fumed. “This is him not trusting me all over again!”
“No, it...” Jet began, only to be interrupted.
“Yes it is!” Kobra snapped. “He doesn’t trust me to rescue Ghoul! Probably thinks I’ll only be concerned with Red. I can’t fucking believe it! I thought we’d dealt with...”
“Kobra!” Jet yelled to get his attention. As Kobra silenced suddenly, Jet’s volume dropped to normal and Kobra could hear the concern in his tone. “He’s concussed! I doubt he’s thinking about anything clearly! Come on, let’s ask Doc. Figure out what to do.”

*

Ghoul stared up at Korse from underneath his eyelashes for what seemed an age. His expression, though largely blank, hinted at a definite element of almost eye-rolling disbelief at the question.

“Revenge?” Ghoul finally replied. “What? You mean... kill them?”

Korse smiled, almost sneered, as he heard the words. This was simply too good to be true. Was Fun Ghoul, lifelong friend and apparently lover of Party Poison, really offering to kill the most notorious rebel group in the Zones? Had the serum been that effective? If so, Professor Lindstrom was about to be hailed a hero. A psychotic and dangerous hero, but a hero nonetheless.

“Would you like to?” He asked with a sly tone permeating every syllable.
“It sounds like you want me to,” Ghoul commented, raising a curious eyebrow.

Korse realised he was almost leaning over the Killjoy in anticipation of his agreement to murder his friends. In his keenness to test how successful the experiment had been, he was clearly unnerving the still weak and bedridden man. Standing upright, Korse took what he believed looked a much more professional stance. Shoulders back, arms folded across his chest and stared down with a cold, almost indifferent expression.

“Personally, yes, I’d like to see them dead,” he announced. Pausing for a moment, he added: “All of them. But given that we can’t find them, we need a way to draw them to us.”
“And I’m that draw?” Ghoul asked bluntly. “You honestly think they’d come out of hiding to snatch me back? I can’t be that important to them.”
“I think you misunderstand,” Korse replied coolly. “They would see it more as a rescue.”
“Rescue?” Ghoul frowned. “I told you already, I’m not a rebel!”
“They think you are.”
“Well, I’m not!” Ghoul snapped, looking away with a frustrated pout on his lips.
“And therein lies the beauty of the plan.”
“What plan?” Ghoul sounded wary and he shifted uncomfortably in the bed as Korse began to lean forward once more.
“They rescue you,” he explained, adding air quotes to the word, “and once inside their base, you kill them.”
“I’m not a killer either!” Ghoul scowled at the suggestion.
“I thought you wanted revenge?” Korse adopted a derogatory glower.
“Revenge can take many forms,” Ghoul replied, his voice taking on a sharp tone. “It doesn’t have to mean killing someone. I think you exterminators forget that the answer to everything isn’t killing.”
“Well, the answer to this particular problem is killing,” Korse insisted peering down his nose at the bedridden Killjoy.
“I’ll get you to their base, but I’m not killing anyone!” Ghoul replied, defiant in his stance.

Korse’s stony-faced stare morphed into a cruel grin. Lindstrom’s serum had more than succeeded. If the effect had been this powerful with Ghoul, perhaps it could be used to tame all of them. Korse began to imagine the propaganda possibilities should Party Poison return and once more become the face of BLI. His loyalty to the company unquestionable and solid. The Zones would crumble.

“Very well, you will not be required to kill anyone,” he replied; the words rolling slowly off his tongue.
“I don’t want to see anyone killed in front of me either,” Ghoul insisted.
“I think you might be right,” Korse’s sneer widened. “Perhaps capture and indoctrination would be more...” Korse paused to find the right word.
“Humane?” Ghoul offered.
“Indeed,” Korse agreed, giving a moment to consider the word. “It is BLI’s ethos after all. Lead us to them and we will do the rest. You will, of course, be handsomely rewarded for your assistance.”
“Good!” Ghoul smirked in return. “It sounds like I deserve something for the risks I’ll be taking.”
“Oh, don’t worry, BLI will see you get everything you deserve and more,” Korse replied unfolding his arms. “But I see you’re tired. The quicker you recover, the quicker we can eliminate the rebels.”

Ghoul nodded and smiled. Sinking lower in the bed, he sighed as his shoulders relaxed into the soft, yet supportive, mattress and pillows.

*

Party Poison was regretting not taking time to find either Kobra’s or Jet’s helmets. Yes, the bike was tearing down Route Guano leaving a cloud of swirling dust and sand in its wake and yes, at that speed even the baking heat seemed cooler and less stifling. Just, not cool enough and his head was hot and hurting. Possibly even worse, to him, was the fact that he knew the sun was high and bleaching his fiery red hair. He’d long since realised that as far as hair colours went, red faded fastest and he was out of dye. Even in the Zones, where colour really mattered, hair dye - good hair dye, that wouldn’t make your hair fall out - was hard to come by. He had a supplier, of course, they all did, except Jet who had distinctive enough hair without adding a colour. Kobra opted for a far too complex, for his personal choice, arrangement of blond with a much blonder floppy quiff. Ghoul, quite literally a man after his own heart, had opted for an all over colour over his natural dark brown, but in a much easier to manage black. Party’s red hair reflected his fiery nature and determination to thumb his nose at BLI’s monochrome existence. It certainly stood out, which even he admitted was a double-edged sword. If they could see you, they could kill you. But it also acted, almost literally, as a beacon of hope for the Zonedwellers. Not to mention, Ghoul thought it looked hot.

Party chuckled to himself as he remembered the day he first dyed his hair. He was twenty-two and was revelling in the success of his first solo mission.

“Party!” Kobra cried as he entered his brother’s room one evening.

His voice held more than a hint of concern as he quickly scoured the small room and bathroom for any sign of his brother. Snatching up the scarlet stained towel lying on the floor, Kobra darted from the room, his eyes wild and wide and his head swinging from side to side, searching for any sign of Party. Arriving at the diner’s side door nearest to the motel area, he pushed open the heavy door with enough force that he had to catch it to prevent it slamming back in his face, the nineteen year old was snatching at breaths in his panic.

“Party!” He yelled again to what seemed an empty room.
“He’s around,” a partly muffled, partly mumbling voice responded from beneath a table.

Kobra stopped dead in his tracks, his brow furrowed and hand still clutching the towel.

“Where are you?” He shouted in his frustration at not being able to find the source of the words. “Party’s hurt!”
“What?”

Ghoul’s head and shoulders popped up from one of the diner booths where was lying, a now closed book in his hand.

“Look!” Kobra waved the towel at the younger man.
“Oh, that?” Ghoul rolled his eyes and lay down again. “Lost my place for that?” He grumbled under his breath.
“What d’you mean ‘oh that!’?” Kobra demanded, once again pushing the towel towards Ghoul’s face. “Look at it! That’s a lot of blood! Help me find him.”
“Blood?”

Ghoul closed his book once more and widened his eyes and mouth with an exaggerated gasp - this should be amusing. If there was one thing anyone and everyone knew about Ghoul, if there was mischief, he was there.

“He’s out front, quick!” He replied, pushing himself to his feet and sliding from the booth in one fluid motion to follow the still worried Kobra outside.
“Out front,” Kobra repeated under his breath.

Ghoul chuckled quietly to himself as Kobra continued to mutter obscenities about Ghoul’s lack of interest in his ‘supposed’ best friend and how he shouldn’t have had to convince him to help. Ghoul was barely able to contain himself.

Opening the front diner doors, he immediately noticed Jet standing next to the trans am; he appeared to be laughing. If Kobra had given himself a moment to ponder this, he would perhaps have considered it strange that Jet was standing alone outside and laughing, but in his hurry to find his possibly mortally wounded brother, there was no way he was going to take that moment.

“Jet!” He yelled immediately. “Where’s Party? He’s hurt, look!” He added waving the towel for good measure.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Party rose slowly, at first hidden by the car as he was reaching inside to retrieve his jacket from the front seat. As he drew himself up, Kobra saw the shock of fire-truck red hair adorning Party’s head like a vibrant beacon and his jaw dropped along with the towel. Party’s face broke into a broad grin at the sight of his shocked younger brother. Even Jet was struggling to conceal his amusement at the expense of Kobra. Mortified, Kobra turned silently without even opting to try to vent some of his anger or embarrassment by mocking Party’s new hair colour. As he turned he saw Ghoul leaning up against the doorframe, his arms crossed and one foot casually tipped behind the other. They stared at each other for the briefest of moments before Kobra barrelled past him back into the diner, as Ghoul launched into raucous laughter, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes tightly shut in unbridled amusement. Behind him as he stalked away, he heard loud laughter followed by half-hearted cajoling and apologies coming from all three, but mostly Party. He wasn’t going to let them have their fun at his expense. He kept walking. If they wanted his forgiveness, they would have to stump up a damn good apology.

It had been Jet who finally offered on behalf of all of them some three hours later. Kobra had almost refused, knowing full well that the apology was Jet’s and Jet’s alone but it was so damned hard to stay mad at Jet.

Now, there was a man whose temperament was not suited to this world. Jet was nice. Too nice for this post-apocalyptic nightmare. They knew - they all knew and appreciated - how lucky they were to have Jet. If there was any one of them who could keep his head in a crisis, it was him.

Without warning Party’s chest felt the violent thump of something knocking the air from his lungs and momentarily he hung in the air before crashing painfully to the floor and rolling several yards along Route Guano. The bike careered off to the right, crashing into a sand dune and falling noisily onto its right side. The bike looked a mess and Party guessed that he did too. His muscles were simultaneously aching and stinging, and he was scraped up, bloodied and dazed. How he had managed to land in a roll as he came off the bike without splitting open his uncovered head he had no idea but he silently thanked the Phoenix Witch for saving him. He needn’t have bothered as he was soon to realise that the concept of being ‘saved’ was relative. As he lay, dazed, disorientated and on the edge of consciousness, he looked up into the wide, pale grey eyes of a young girl with messy and matted dirty blonde hair. She grinned and pinched both his cheeks with her tiny fingers.

“Aw, pa! He’s so pretty, just like a dolly!”

A large, broad-shouldered man moved to stand alongside her. Dressed in grubby leathers and sporting a greying bushy beard. The man batted the girl away from the now barely conscious Killjoy.

“Don’t play with your food!” He snarled.

It was the last thing Party heard before passing out on the asphalt.

Notes

For anyone still reading this on this broken down site - you’re my stars!

Sas xx