I TOOK A moment to really look at the man with the remote. He appeared to be in pretty good shape. Certainly not
starving. He was even well dressed. Typical middle-class kid just playacting as an anarchist, I deduced.
At the root of things, that was what guys like this really were: anarchists.
People who didn’t understand or respect the functions of the government.
People who didn’t appreciate how difficult it was to govern a country that covered so much land and had such a
diverse population. People who preferred to cause chaos. Of course, few so-called re volutionaries in history had
ever stopped to think about the consequences of their actions.
All I could do was say, “Cause? What cause? You ever think about the families, the children left behind from your
stupid cause? This isn’t TV.
Kids grow up without their parents because of people like you.”
The man said, “Are you saying the cops never cause kids to be orphans?”
“No, I’m not saying that. Cops are human. They make mistakes. They use bad judgment. And they should face the
consequences for that. That doesn’t mean they should be executed on the spot by someone who disagrees with the
government.” I don’t know why I was bothering to try to argue this guy out of his beliefs.
He glanced over his shoulder a couple of times. Then he started edging away from me, still holding the remote out
in front of him like he was pointing a pistol. The lump in my stomach told me what he was planning. I considered
trying to dive to one side and drawing my own gun, but I had no idea what the bomb’s explosion might do to me, or
to all the people inside all of these houses.
This asshole standing in front of me had none of those concerns. He didn’t care who got hurt or killed or what kind
of damage he caused. But I could tell by the way he was moving he didn’t even know how far the explosion would
reach.
The man sneered at me. “How does it feel when someone else has the power?”
“You’re right. You’re in control. Tell me what you want me to do.”
That seemed to catch him off guard, but I was sincere. I didn’t want to risk an explosion among all these houses.
He k ept eye contact as he backed away. He said, “This one is for Pry.”
His finger pulled the trigger of the remote.
I figured this was my last moment here on Earth. I heard the odd sound of ignition. I could feel heat around my face.
But it wasn’t the bomb that exploded.
It was the giant remote the man was holding that had burst into a ball of flames.
His screams brought me back to reality. I set the pack down on the ground and tried to slide it away from me on the
icy grass. Then I sprang forward, taking off my jacket as I moved. The man had fallen down onto his knees as he
batted furiously at the flames climbing quickly up his arm, spreading into his hair. The horrible stench of burned
hair stuck in my nostrils.
I wrapped my jacket around the man’s head and shoulders, hoping to extinguish the flames. He lay down on the
ground groaning as I looked at his disfigured face, singed hair, and burned extremities.
He tried to say something to me. I leaned down. All I could make out was “That bastard Tom. This is his idea of
revenge.” Then the man passed out.
It was probably the best thing that could’ve happened to him.