“Danny, can you get it through that reptilian brain of yours? You don’t need to do this. You’re paying tickets you don’t owe.”
—Elena Moreno
McMahon watched the team remove a diverse assortment of weapons from the three big duffle bags and spread them across the table. Elena’s Desert Eagle was already in front of her. Adara had just taken a Mosby tactical 12-gauge six-rounder—with a wire fold-out stock and sawed off at the pump—from the bag. He saw four MP7 submachine guns and a variety of nines, including four Glocks and a Sig Sauer. Trijicon night sights. Nylon holsters. Extended magazines.
“What are the weapons for?” McMahon asked. “The Battle of the Apocalypse?”
“Just about,” Elena said.
“Speaking of which, do we have a plan?” Rashid asked.
“Sure,” Adara said, “we battle house to house, ditch to ditch, to the last person standing and the final fucking cartridge. Then we go to knives, rocks, sticks, feet, teeth and fists.”
“In short,” Rashid said, “we have no plan.”
“I’m down anyway,” McMahon said with an unemotional shrug. “After what you guys did for me, after what you’ve told me, you’re the only people I trust.”
“All due respect, Danny,” Adara said, “none of us have time to babysit you once the shit hits the fan.”
“I can handle firearms,” McMahon said weakly.
His remark was greeted with a chorus of harsh, mocking horselaughs.
“I don’t think our boy here knows an AK from a bucket of ribs,” Jonesy said.
“Maybe,” McMahon said, “but I am involved whether you like it or not, and I can contribute.”
“How?” Elena asked.
She had the grace not to smile, but Jonesy was openly scornful.
“This ought to be good,” Jonesy said with a sarcastic laugh.
“I have the biggest news-satire TV show worldwide, right?” McMahon asked.
“So?” Adara asked.
“I can be your embedded reporter,” McMahon said.
“Now I am hallucinatin’,” Jonesy said.
“Slow down, Jonesy,” Adara said. “Danny may have something. We’re on the verge of committing about nine thousand felonies against the richest, most powerful people on earth. If we survive this thing, they’re going to come at us with a media firestorm, to say nothing of every law enforcement agency on the planet, to say nothing of the Russian and American armies. They’ll claim we were the terrorists and issue orders to shoot us on sight. They can’t say that about McMahon. He was captured and tortured by terrorists, and he’s a super-famous, global celebrity TV star. He’d also be in a great position to argue our case in the court of public opinion, when this cruel war is over. It’s not the worst idea in the world to have him with us.”
“They’ll say we kidnapped and brainwashed him like Patty Hearst,” Jamie said.
“And I’ll say bullshit,” McMahon said.
“This is a joke, right?” Jonesy said, looking at the ceiling.
“I’ll also get us the biggest, most lucrative book/TV/film deal in history,” McMahon said. “We’ll all split even.”
“But it ain’t about money with you,” Jonesy said. “You already rich. You have one of them ‘hidden agendas.’”
McMahon just stared at them, his eyes empty of expression, and shrugged.
“I was there,” Rashid said, “and I know what you’re thinking, Danny. You feel you got something to prove after what they did to you in that safe house.”
“Something did happen,” McMahon said, “something I can’t explain. All I know is I have to see this through.”
Adara slapped him softly on the shoulder. “Danny, you’re all right.”
“We’ll see,” Jamie said.
“Oh, hell, why shouldn’t he come along?” Rashid asked. “I was with him. He stood up. I say his balls are as big as anyone’s here.”
“You got to understand though,” Adara said to McMahon, “this isn’t any TV talk show or comic monologue.”
“We lightin’ muthafuckas up,” Jonesy said.
“Assuming they don’t light us up first,” Jamie said.
“Assuming we don’t join Johnny D.,” Adara said.
“And where’s Johnny D.?” McMahon asked.
“Dead at the present time,” Jonesy said.
“You have to understand,” Elena said, “you roll with us, you roll all the way.”
“Way out to the edge,” Jonesy said.
“Tell him why,” Elena said.
“It’s the only place to win,” Adara said.
“I’m in,” McMahon said.
“Tell us what Raza’s like,” Jonesy asked, grinning.
“Enquiring minds want to know,” Adara said, laughing.
“What do you think she’s like?” McMahon asked.
“Hard-hittin’ woman,” Jonesy said.
“With dead worlds in her eyes,” Rashid said.
“I think he misses her,” Adara said, smiling. “Danny, you want to see her again, don’t you?”
“In a cold-zero target picture,” McMahon said.
“Damn,” Jamie said, grinning, “you are down with guns.”
“Danny,” Jonesy asked, “you still say you know firearms?” Jonesy ejected the magazine from Elena’s Desert Eagle, ejected a round from the chamber and handed it to him. “You want one of these?”
“I’ve owned bowling balls lighter than this,” McMahon said, having to heft it with both hands. “What’s it for?”
“In case Elena gotta shoot her way out of a Zombie Apocalypse,” Jonesy said.
“Where’s my gun?” Danny asked.
“Good question,” Adara said. “What’s Danny going to do, if we take him along?”
“Talk,” Jamie said.
“He talks real good,” Elena said, nodding.
“But he don’t know shit about guns,” Jonesy said.
“He wouldn’t know a Desert Eagle from a Big Mac,” Adara concurred.
“Danny, can you get it through that reptilian brain of yours?” Elena asked. “You don’t need to do this. You’re paying tickets you don’t owe.”
“But I do need to do this,” McMahon said.
“Where we’re headed, it won’t be any comic monologue,” Adara said.
“Where are we headed?” McMahon asked.
“The Eat-Shit-and-Die Hotel,” Jonesy said.
“It can’t be any worse than that safe house,” McMahon said.
“He’s got a point,” Rashid said.
“Got any ideas about transport?” Adara asked.
“I think I can get us a news chopper,” Elena said. “I have a friend who can get one.”
“You’re going to drag Jules into this?” McMahon asked, stunned.
“To get around Manhattan,” Elena explained, “we’ll need a helicopter, and Jules can get a news chopper.”
“I don’t want Jules coming either,” Adara said, “but I do want that chopper.”
“A van won’t do it?” McMahon asked.
“The streets around the UN will be impassable, hopelessly jammed up,” Elena said. “We’ll never find Fahad and his crew.”
“So we get Jules to commandeer a chopper?” McMahon asked.
“More or less,” Elena said.
There was a long silence.
“Sounds like we gonna stack it up,” Jonesy finally said to McMahon. “You sure you want in?”
“It’s going to take balls,” Adara said, staring at McMahon.
“Ride-it-into-the-wall balls,” Jonesy said.
“Yeah, well, count me in,” McMahon said. “Stuff happened back in that safe house, stuff I can’t put behind me. I got to do this.”
They stared at McMahon a long slow minute. Then Jonesy gave McMahon a wide, slow, surprisingly friendly grin. His smile gave the game away.
“Ah, hell, then, Danny,” Jonesy said, extending his hand, “in that case, welcome the fuck aboard.”