Descending Road - I WAS DOING TIME by Dana W. Paxson

I WAS DOING TIME

12440 CE

Doug floated mute and horrified behind the man, who was making no further effort to move. This was beyond Doug‘s worst nightmares in the Hole with his grind Wenrock smirking at him: why die here? Yet Doug hung motionless, something in him saying, Let him go, it’s his own business. The man’s breathing began to quicken, and the bag puffed out and in.

When Doug had killed Turchenko, the would-be rapist’s face had purpled from the cord Doug had tightened around his neck, and then relaxed into a puffed bloom of dead flesh, tongue bursting from the thick-lipped mouth. When Doug saw the tongue, a voice in his head said, Good, he’s dead, and the horror that ricocheted through him during the struggle had died into lethargy.

Doug had tried to shake the deadness off when Geordie had died. Now, finally, in a surge of anger, he kicked forward and ripped at the man’s bag, tearing it open. The man struggled, spun away, steadied and faced Doug. He appeared to be in his thirties, Sinese-Espanic, with short fuzzy hair and a sharp face. His name tag read Harold Enrique.

“Just let me go, okay? I’m just gonna find another place to do it. You can’t stop me.”

Doug found his sleep-choked voice, croaking out, “Why are you doing this?” He coughed violently.

Enrique spat, “Why do you think? We’re not gonna make it. I’m just doing what all my friends already did. There’s only a few hundred people left, and they’re never gonna get out of here.” He looked at Doug more closely. “Hey, you did just wake up. You should have just stayed asleep. Where’s your name tag?”

“I don’t have one,” Doug said. “I’m a stowaway.” As the words left him, he felt relief.

Enrique started laughing. “Oh, no. You really wanted it that bad? Crazy porkface. What a joke on you.”

“Joke? It’s no joke to me.” Doug‘s anger gathered itself. “I was in prison. They were going to kill me. I decided to live.”

“So you just slept a few years while you waited.” Enrique kept laughing, and pulled another plastic bag from his waist pouch. “See? I’m done waiting.”

This gesture infuriated Doug. His Hive reflexes triggering, he kicked, caromed and grabbed Enrique by the throat of his coverall. “Listen, fuck. You can take vacuum up your ass for all I care, except that you haven’t said a damn thing about where we are and why you want to do this. And I want to know those things. You answer me some questions, and then you can go give your head a space trip up your lower gut. Now. Where are we?” Doug punctuated the question with a twist of Enrique‘s collar.

Enrique tried to pull away, flailed, then relaxed. “We’re at Opo Bira Lima. That’s where this iron mountain of shit was supposed to take us. Except that we’re running out of air, we’re running out of food, most everybody died on the way, like my woman, and everybody else is checking out before it’s forced on us. Does that help you, dick?”

“Show me where the other people are.”

“I’m not going back to-“

Doug interrupted with a twitch of his grip. “Yes, you are. You’re taking me to the others. Then you can leave if you want to. Look, I don’t want to hurt you. My name is Douglas MacNee, and I killed a man, and I was doing time for it.”

Enrique shocked Doug by laughing. “Like it matters. You did more time than your share, didn’t you? All right, come on, MacNee.”

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	I WAS DOING TIME 12440 CE Doug floated mute and horrified behind the man, who was making no further effort to move. This was beyond Doug‘s worst nightmares in the Hole with his grind Wenrock smirking at him: why die here? Yet Doug hung motionless, something in him saying, Let him go, it’s his own business. The man’s breathing began to quicken, and the bag puffed out and in. When Doug had killed Turchenko, the would-be rapist’s face had purpled from the cord Doug had tightened around his neck, and then relaxed into a puffed bloom of dead flesh, tongue bursting from the thick-lipped mouth. When Doug saw the tongue, a voice in his head said, Good, he’s dead, and the horror that ricocheted through him during the struggle had died into lethargy. Doug had tried to shake the deadness off when Geordie had died. Now, finally, in a surge of anger, he kicked forward and ripped at the man’s bag, tearing it open. The man struggled, spun away, steadied and faced Doug. He appeared to be in his thirties, Sinese-Espanic, with short fuzzy hair and a sharp face. His name tag read Harold Enrique. “Just let me go, okay? I’m just gonna find another place to do it. You can’t stop me.” Doug found his sleep-choked voice, croaking out, “Why are you doing this?” He coughed violently. Enrique spat, “Why do you think? We’re not gonna make it. I’m just doing what all my friends already did. There’s only a few hundred people left, and they’re never gonna get out of here.” He looked at Doug more closely. “Hey, you did just wake up. You should have just stayed asleep. Where’s your name tag?” “I don’t have one,” Doug said. “I’m a stowaway.” As the words left him, he felt relief. Enrique started laughing. “Oh, no. You really wanted it that bad? Crazy porkface. What a joke on you.” “Joke? It’s no joke to me.” Doug‘s anger gathered itself. “I was in prison. They were going to kill me. I decided to live.” “So you just slept a few years while you waited.” Enrique kept laughing, and pulled another plastic bag from his waist pouch. “See? I’m done waiting.” This gesture infuriated Doug. His Hive reflexes triggering, he kicked, caromed and grabbed Enrique by the throat of his coverall. “Listen, fuck. You can take vacuum up your ass for all I care, except that you haven’t said a damn thing about where we are and why you want to do this. And I want to know those things. You answer me some questions, and then you can go give your head a space trip up your lower gut. Now. Where are we?” Doug punctuated the question with a twist of Enrique‘s collar. Enrique tried to pull away, flailed, then relaxed. “We’re at Opo Bira Lima. That’s where this iron mountain of shit was supposed to take us. Except that we’re running out of air, we’re running out of food, most everybody died on the way, like my woman, and everybody else is checking out before it’s forced on us. Does that help you, dick?” “Show me where the other people are.” “I’m not going back to-“ Doug interrupted with a twitch of his grip. “Yes, you are. You’re taking me to the others. Then you can leave if you want to. Look, I don’t want to hurt you. My name is Douglas MacNee, and I killed a man, and I was doing time for it.” Enrique shocked Doug by laughing. “Like it matters. You did more time than your share, didn’t you? All right, come on, MacNee.”