The River, London
“G uns!” A Mushroomer wheezes again.
I prep myself on my knees and squint at the sky above. How is this possible? Is this some sort of madness again?
“It’s raining guns, hallelujah,” the Mushroomer sings.
“This couldn’t be,” I say.
But then another weapon falls from the sky.
“Everybody cover your head or stay away from this area,” Constance says.
I grip a gun. “What’s going on?”
“Maybe this is the most precious thing?” Constance tilts her head inquisitively.
“Of course not,” I let out half a laugh.
The people on the shore are still shooting at us, but the boat has drifted farther into the unpopulated area so we’re a bit safer now. I think they aren’t shooting from that part of the city because it’s darker here. Only minutes before our boats sink.
“Is the gun loaded?” Constance asks, taking it away from me and pointing it at the helpless Tom Truckle.
He shies his head away and shivers. I wonder why she is so mean to him.
I shoot back at the people on the shore. “It is loaded.”
“Look,” Constance points at the shore.
“What?”
“They stopped shooting,” she says. “Once they heard you shoot back. They are cowards.”
“Who would believe we have guns falling from the sky?”
“So all we need is to escape now.”
“That’s it,” I say. “Gather the Mushroomers in one boat, if possible, as I check out the guns source.”
She does. I stand next to the Mushroomer and shares his gaze of the dark of the night sky.
“What are you seeing?” I ask.
“The man in the sky.”
“There is a man in the sky?” I can’t see anything but mushy dark patches of clouds.
“He sends the guns,” the Mushroomer says.
“You mean… God?”
“No,” his sounds upset with my questions, my stupidity, and naivety. “God is busy.”
“But this man isn’t?”
“Of course he isn’t. He is dead. Nothing to do when you are dead.”
“Oh. I understand.”
“He will be sending more,” the Mushroomer says.
And he is right. A short moment later two more machine guns fall, splashing on the boat’s wet floor. Tom wants to reach for one, but Constance hits him on the hand like a mother hitting her child’s when he reaches for cookies.
“So you can talk to the man in the sky?” I ask the Mushroomer.
He shrugs his shoulder with distaste. “I told you he is dead. What are you, mad?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I am Alice by the way, but I am sure you know.”
“I know,” he says. “You’re doing well, kiddo. Just wait for more guns.”
“If you say so,” I shrug my shoulders. There is nothing more to say.
I don’t really care who is sending us guns from the sky, and have no time to think about it. I look back at Constance, as she has gathered most of the Mushroomers in one boat.
“What now?” She says.
“The darker side of the shore,” I say. “You and I will row before the boat sinks.”
But then horror droops her face. She doesn’t need to tell me why. The answer comes in the form of a bomb that hits the empty boats we just left behind.
I look around. The tanks are shooting at us.