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Andrew Roller Presents
THE FADING UNIVERSE
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Chapter Two
"Well, I think it's immoral," the fat boy said.
"We did it anyway."
"Yeah, Marv; but, I mean, think of all the innocent little children
we killed. And we didn't even get her."
Marvin yawned.
The steel girder jutted awkwardly out over the bice blue pool.
The two boys sat perched atop it, fishing.
"How could Perry have known the police chief's daughter would be
playing hooky the day we blew up the elementary school?" Marvin asked
defensively.
"You ought to be our boss instead of Perry."
Marvin shook his head. "No, Flaherty. Perry may have syphilis, but
he's still the best strategist the tunnels have ever seen. Do you think I
could have mapped out that escape route we took after we blew up the
school?"
"People bomb buildings all the time."
"Yeah, but they don't sit across the street on lawn chairs and
watch," Marvin protested. "They watch it on the evening news. Or read
about it in the paper."
"I've got one," Flaherty announced, suddenly distracted from the
discussion. The chubby youth shifted to his knees and reeled in the line.
"Feels pretty big."
Suddenly the line snapped. Flaherty let out a yelp as he toppled
forward. Marvin grabbed the back of his checked shirt and, straining,
pulled the chubby boy upright.
"Damn. Fuck! What a cheap line." Flaherty glared at the water.
Marvin reeled in his own line and cast it out farther. He chewed
absently on a wad of gum as he slowly drew the line back toward shore.
It was hard to tell Marvin's age. His face had been charred in a
fire when he was 12. He appeared to have a receding hair line; thin
patches of hair were all that had ever grown back through the portion
of his scalp that crowned his forehead. Only the hairless, sculpted
chest between the unzipped halves of his tattered mulatto vest hinted
that he was a teen.
"Hey! She's gone!"
Marvin and Flaherty glanced over their shoulders at Perry; a
skinny boy running in frantic circles amidst the banks of equipment
that stood in silent clumps, their glowing frames stretching to the
ceiling that arched over the lake.
"What I don't understand," Flaherty continued, "is how someone
who dotes on little girls, like Perry, could bear to blow up an
elementary school? I mean, there must have been dozens of pretty
little things who attended that institution."
"I believe you're turning into a pedophile, Flaherty."
"No I'm not, Marv. But I am empathetic."
A girl with luxurious shoulder-length hair and sunglasses stepped
down out of a battered delivery truck.
"I'm glad your little girlfriend ran away. You shouldn't be fucking
5-year-olds," the 15-year-old brunette snapped at Perry.
"She's not 5, she's 8," Perry, his own eyes hidden behind a pair of
shades, retorted.
"If you ask me, she's run away for good," Marvin called out.
Perry spun on his heels and stomped off between the racks. His
retreating figure carried with it an air of the ridiculous. He wore the
threadbare remains of what had once been a splendid suit; and he had
run outside without first pulling on his trousers. His bony legs were
white and hairy, his black dress socks sagged beneath his ankles.
Marvin laughed to himself. The shadowed recesses of the metal
cavern echoed as Perry took out his frustration on the stoic columns of
machinery. Auxiliary lines cut in automatically, bypassing the damaged
circuits. A few shafts flickered and died.
Countless generations had abused the corridors and their
contents. Doubtless many more would. Perhaps they had a right to.
After all, it was man himself who, ever increasing the number of his
species, filled the universe with a latticework of metal tunnels; fenced
in the stars and harnessed their power to feed the inhabitants of
billions upon billions of tiny apartments all bursting with happy,
productive people. Or so the story went. The one Marvin had read once
in a book. Today nobody really knew anything about life before the War.
During the dim centuries since that cataclysm the ancients' only legacy
had become the metal catacombs; glowing with the feeble
incandescence of emergency power.
"Ouch! I cut my foot," Perry whined. He hobbled out from behind a
rack, his sock torn and dripping blood.
Elsa glanced at him contemptuously, tossed back her hair, and
strode over to the beam that held Marvin and Flaherty above the deep
pond.
"Let's get out of here," Elsa said to Marvin. "If Perry's little
squeeze finds her way back to the city she'll lead the cops straight to
this lake."
"Perry," Marvin called. "Let's get going."
"Can't," Perry said. "Harrigan and Frankie are still off somewhere
frigging."
"Fags," Flaherty scoffed.
"We'd better find 'em, then," Marvin said. "I'd rather see those two
die from AIDS than from the electric chair."
Ten minutes later Frankie and Harrigan were led stumbling out of
a nook between the racks. Harrigan was clumsily divesting himself of
the bondage gear which had restrained his six foot figure while Frankie,
still playing, nipped the man's ankles with a riding crop.
"You've got a semen stain on your pants," Elsa remarked to
Harrigan.
"Is that out of fashion, dearie?" Harrigan asked Elsa. His voice
was deceptively deep for a homosexual. But it matched his bald pate,
puffy cheeks, and gap-toothed smile. Harrigan was always smiling, in a
stupid sort of way, his eyes squinting behind his smeared, circular,
gold-rimmed spectacles.
Marvin grinned at Harrigan. "You think you could loan that get-up
to Elsa this evening?"
"No way," Elsa said.
"Can't lend it," Frankie piped up. "Harrigan's been powerfully
naughty and I must punish him all night tonight." Frankie was quite
forward for his size. A dwarf, he stood only three and a half feet tall,
and the oversized red wool ski cap atop his head only emphasized his
childlike aspect. The sleeves of his pullover sweater were rolled up to
the elbow of the fabric, but Frankie's fingers barely managed to clear
the cuff.
Frankie continued to cavort about Harrigan as the man seated
himself behind the wheel of the van and started the engine, wrapping a
cord around Harrigan's thick neck in a playful attempt to strangle him.
Marvin sat nonchalantly in the seat beside Harrigan. He gazed through
the cracked windshield at the chromium walls that snaked away into
eternal twilight. Behind him Perry was quoting to Elsa from St.
Jerome. Flaherty popped open a can of beer and gulped down its
contents as he rummaged through a set of makeshift wooden cabinets
for a snack.
30
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