The Running Man

MINUS 006 AND COUNTING

Richards got up very slowly, holding his intestines in. It felt as if someone was lighting matches in his stomach.

He went slowly up the aisle, bent over, one hand to his midriff, as if bowing. He picked up the parachute with one hand and dragged it behind him. A loop of gray sausage escaped his fingers and he pushed it back in. It hurt to push it in. It vaguely felt as if he might be shitting himself.

“Guh,” Amelia Williams was groaning. “Guh-Guh-Guh-God. Oh God. Oh dear God.”

“Put this on,” Richards said.

She continued to rock and moan, not hearing him. He dropped the parachute and slapped her. He could get no force into it. He balled his fist and punched her. She shut up. Her eyes stared at him dazedly.

“Put this on,” he said again. “Like a packsack. You see how?”

She nodded. “I. Can’t. Jump. Scared.”

“We’re going down. You have to jump.”

“Can’t.”

“All right. Shoot you then.”

She popped out of her seat, knocking him sideways, and began to pull the packsack on with wild, eye-rolling vigor. She backed away from him as she struggled with the straps.

“No. That one goes uh-under.”

She rearranged the strap with great speed, retreating toward McCone’s body as Richards approached. Blood was dripping from his mouth.

“Now fasten the clip in the ringbolt. Around. Your buh-belly.”

She did it with trembling fingers, weeping when she missed the connection the first time. Her eyes stared madly into his face.

She skittered momentarily in McCone’s blood and then stepped over him.

They backed through second class and into third class in the same way. Matches in his belly had been replaced by a steadily flaming lighter.

The emergency door was locked with explosive bolts and a pilot controlled bar.

Richards handed her the gun. “Shoot it. I… can’t take the recoil.”

Closing her eyes and averting her face, she pulled the trigger of Donahue’s gun twice. Then it was empty. The door stood closed, and Richards felt a faint, sick despair. Amelia Williams was holding the ripcord ring nervously, giving it tiny little twitches.

“Maybe-“she began, and the door suddenly blew away into the night, sucking her along with it.