The Participants by Brian Blose Page B

others
might release Lacey when he didn't return. Zack tried not to
consider the other possibility.
    Zack parked beside Lacey's car at their
trailer. His keys were with his phone, somewhere on the hellish
farm of the Observers, which meant he would need to break a window
to get into his own home. He was halfway to his door when a car
parked at the back of his driveway, blocking in both vehicles.
    Bridgette stepped out of the car. “Get in
the car, Hess.”
    “Get away from me,” he said as she walked
forward.
    “It's me – Elza.”
    “I don't even know who that is.”
    Bridgette reached behind her and pulled out
a tiny handgun. “We really messed you up, didn't we? And here I
thought we wouldn't be able to leave a mark. Doesn't matter what
you remember, Hess. You're getting in my car. Whether I put a hole
in your skull first is your decision.”
    “You're going to shoot me in public?” Zack
backed away from her.
    “Doesn't look like too many of your
neighbors are home at the moment. Plus, you would be surprised how
many people mistake the sound of a gunshot for something else.”
    As he backed up, the heel of his foot struck
the first of two wobbly steps leading up to his trailer's front
door. His best plan was to break down the door and bludgeon
Bridgette to death with a frying pan while taking shots from her
handgun.
    Zack bent his knees, preparing to leap for
the door. Bridgette raised her gun, lining the sites up on him. The
front door of his trailer opened.
    A form swung out onto the top step, large
handgun cradled in two steady hands, paused, and fired past Zack.
He turned in time to see Bridgette hit the ground, one eye crying a
stream of blood. From behind, he heard the sound of a hammer
cocking. “Grab her body,” said the woman.
    Zack swallowed. “Who are you?”
    The woman, short, petite, with black hair,
brown eyes, and a distinctive nose, analyzed him briefly before
answering. “I'm a girl with a gun. Now grab her body, Zack
Vernon.”
    The way her gun unerringly moved to center
on his face every time he shifted convinced Zack he wouldn't gain
much by arguing. He went to where Bridgette lay and bent down.
There wasn't much of a mess in the front, but his fingers
encountered a disturbing amount of moisture when they slid beneath
the body. He stood with it in his arms. “Where am I taking it?”
    “Her car.”
    “And then what?”
    “Then Kerzon gets what she deserves. I'm
going to dig a hole, put her in a casket, and pile dirt on top.
She's going to spend a few hundred years tearing her nails out on
the walls of her shiny metal box.”
    Zack dropped the body.
    “Pick her back up.”
    Zack bent to retrieve Bridgette, then
stopped. The woman squatted across from him, the muzzle of her
weapon still pointed directly at him. “Pick. Her. Up.”
    “You can't bury her alive,” he said. “You
can't do that to someone. No one deserves to be trapped in the dark
forever.”
    The tip of the handgun, so steady, sank
towards the ground. “Who are you?”
    “Just promise me you won't bury her.”
    “Who are you?”
    “Zack. I've never been anyone else. I
swear.”
    The muzzle shook when she raised her gun.
“Get in the car.”
    “You're not going to take the body?”
    “No,” she said. “Just get in the car.”
    He glanced around the trailer court. No one
had emerged to investigate the sound of gunfire. No one was coming
to help him. There was nowhere to run. Zack got into the passenger
side of the running vehicle. The woman entered from the driver
side.
    As she drove around and back towards the
exit, Zack studied the blood on his hands. It would vanish when
Bridgette revived, but for the moment he was covered. “What are you
going to do with me?”
    The woman let out a deep breath. “I don't
know.”
    “Who are you?”
    “I'm using the name Quebec Wallace.”
    “Quebec like the province?”
    “That's right.”
    “Are you Canadian?”
    “No,” she said.
    “Are you Elza?”
    She didn't