by Dalton Wolf
“Ooh, look at that float, Trip!” Sarah practically squealed with delight, her shining jade eyes lighting up like twin emerald suns, if there was such a thing. “It’s so Pretty!” she exclaimed with another squeal as the long LGBT Rainbow float glided past, it’s diverse occupants spraying the crowd with skittles and other assorted multi-colored candies.
Tripper’s gray eyes gazed ahead blankly. “It’s alright,” he admitted.
“Alright? It’s the best one we’ve seen yet,” she argued, nudging him off-balance.
He subconsciously caught his medium build on the sign post he’d been leaning his hangover against for most of the morning. His long sandy brown bangs couldn’t hide the subtle, growing restlessness he was feeling. It was entirely likely that he was the only person in the entire city feeling frustrated this day, because everyone else in the damned Metro was celebrating.
“What’s with you, Sweetie? You’ve been out of sorts all day.”
“Nothin’, babe, just enjoying the show,” he lied. He hadn’t even watched half of the floats and she probably knew it.
“You haven’t even been watching,” she accused him.
Oops, he thought.
“You’ve been eyeing me sideways all morning, acting all shifty and jumpy. You’re not on drugs are you?” she asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him like a million concerned parents had done for several decades, perhaps even centuries.
“Well, yes. Yes I am,” he laughed and she joined him, happy he was finally able to show at least some emotion on one of the greatest days of the city’s history.
Trip Grissom was not a sociable person. He had a small group of friends and was generally unconcerned with the rest of the universe. He did smoke a little weed, and that would only be technically not-entirely-legal for a few more months, when the new Show-Me Cannabis Law or whatever they had named it officially took full effect. Usually a little smoke made him pretty calm and incredibly funny, but not today. Sarah studied him nervously, noticing a controlled tightness around nervous eyes, which jumped about, refusing to meet her own.
Seeing him so uncharacteristically introspective on the most momentous day of the city was making her uneasy. Her mind already bothered by some unfathomable, ominous thing looming over them—and her intuition was rarely wrong—the time had arrived to confront the issue. Please don’t let him be dumping me, she begged the universe. She steeled her nerves and asked anyway, knowing the universe persistently prepared its plans without need or desire of her input, approval, or even basic understanding. “Trip, is there something you want to talk about?” she asked, a frown of concern quickly narrowing her eyes and stealing the dimples from her pouty red lips.
Is there something I want to talk about? Yes! His mind screamed. There was something he wanted to talk about, alright. But now that the day had come, he had no idea how he was going to do it. He’d made a deal with himself that if the Royals won the World Series again and the Chiefs won a playoff game last year, he’d ask her to marry him. In normal sick and twisted fashion of the universe, seemingly every professional and semi-pro sports team in Kansas City had won their prospective championships—except for the Chiefs who had, however, won that first playoffs game before being eliminated the following week—and most teams were well on their way to repeats. But he had reneged on his private promises and now the Chiefs were undefeated into October this year and the Royals had again won the World Series. The city had decided to throw the biggest parade in history to celebrate all Kansas City sports and today was that day.
Every major network and news outlet was covering the events. Half of the country could care less what happened in KC, but the rest of the nation loved a good party. Everyone wanted to get into the act. In preparation for the event, the population of the Kansas City Metropolis had seemed to triple over night, and may have actually done so. This fine morning people lined the streets from the river downtown on the east side of Main Street all the way south through downtown to the fountain-filled Country Club Plaza before the path cut west through the Plaza for about a mile on Emanuel Cleaver Blvd. The lively and lengthy parade followed that path to Madison Avenue, then turned north up to Westport road, and juked east to Broadway, only four blocks over from Main. From there the route stretched all the way back to the river again. Anyone missing something on the Main Street route could just jog over to Broadway and see it again…if they could find an open spot to squeeze into on the crowded sidewalks.
The sheer number of parade entries and goers and the unending revelry that had continued since the game seven victory had made this week seem like Mardi Gras, Thanksgiving, Christmas and the Fourth all rolled into one celebration. Every high school, non-profit organization and booster club that had connections with city sports in any capacity was there in force, along with many that had no business there at all. Most of the Holiday floats from the bigger city parades were present as well. Unfortunately for many, the power infrastructure in KC was mostly above-ground so none of the famous balloons of the other major cities were flying, but there were more than enough of everything else to satiate the pallets of most paradophiles.
The entire country was watching and talking about what they were drinking in the water out here and once again people were proud to live in the area, whether on the Kansas side or in Missouri, because the most important thing everyone was learning about Kansas City was that it was splayed out over half a hundred miles just inside the borders of both states. The Chiefs, Royals and Mavericks played in Missouri, and Kansas housed the T-Bones, SKC Wizards as well as FC Kansas City, the National Women’s Soccer League team that had just repeated another championship. Most of the art and science buildings were located on the Missouri side, while much of the upscale shopping and housing sat along the Kansas border. Only the nerdliest of students knew how many cities were now included in the KC Metro Area, but it seemed like a hell of a lot to Trip.
“Babe!” Sarah snapped his head back to the moment with a hand on his shoulder.
“What?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nuttin, honey. Let’s watch the parade.”
“I have been, but you’re drifting.” She poked a red and gold nail into his chest.
“Just…” he sighed in exasperation. “Maybe I smoked too much this morning.”
That was true. El Supremo, a potent blend that his friend Hephaestus had grown in his lab, was kicking his ass today. Most of the time El Supremo was a kind and forgiving friend who let them function like normal people with killer senses of humor, but occasionally the magical bud would hit them over the head with the +8 Hammer of Stupid and lobotomize them into social zombies.
“I told you not to start so early this morning, Sweetie. You’ll be asleep by noon.”
“I’m fine, Dollface. I just—hey…that’s not right.”
“What?”
She followed the direction of his storm-gray eyes as they drifted up and behind her at something high above the buildings along the street to the West. “It’s just a plane going in for a landing at the airport,” she shrugged after a quick glance.
“I’m pretty sure this is a no fly zone with the Vice-President here today. And that thing is off course and way too low if it’s going for Wheeler.”
“I don’t know if…yeah, maybe you’re right. I don’t think that engine is running.”
“No maybe about it. I thought it seemed weird. There’s no sound. Neither engine is running. It’s not landing; it’s crashing! C’mon!” he shouted, running north, away from the incoming plane, but in the same direction.
“What are you doing? If we just wait here, it’ll pass over us and we’ll be safe.”
“I know. I’m not worried about being safe. I want to see where it goes.”
“Why?” she called after him, throwing her hands up in disgust.
The plane veered west over the buildings and out of their sight towards Broadway, so he turned at the nearest corner. He didn’t read the sign, but
he thought it was 15th or something. With a resigned sigh and the certainty of pending regret, Sarah ran to catch him, golden pony tail bobbing behind her.
“Do you think Boomer and Brick are seeing this? I think they’re just a few blocks over by the new Performing Arts Center.”
“Who cares,” Sarah muttered bitterly, but Trip ran on without noticing.
“I think it’s going to try and land on Broadway!” he panted, already out of breath.
Being a former track star at her private school and then later in college, she easily caught him and kept pace. But that wasn’t enough so she memorized the path ahead and turned to run backwards, giving him a ‘come hither’ wink as a special kind of torture.
Catch me and you can have me. Her look said.
Sure, if you can stop and wait until I get there, that’d be great, his body replied. I gotta quit smoking so much, he thought for the thousandth time.
A distant screeching echoed through the streets. Both assumed, correctly, that this was the plane making a semi-controlled landing and most likely bouncing off of a few buildings. Rounding the corner a few minutes later put the couple about five full blocks up the hill from the crash site. Ahead lay a slow, steady decline in the terrain running northward from their current spot and with the parade now stopped around the crash, the couple could step out into the street for a faster run. Both could see the downed plane up ahead in the distance. It appeared to be one of those expensive Gulfstreams with what Tripper recognized as government markings, even from this distance.
The jet sat on the west side of the street pressed up against a building. Mostly intact, it seemed more likely the plane had been in a car wreck, rather than having just fallen out of the sky. The Gulfstream seemed to be missing only half of the left wing, which sat perfectly parallel with the sidewalk in the middle of the street, and the left wheel, which was not within their view. There was no smoke or fire, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be. The door of the jet already sat open inward and with the wheel gone, the tilt left only about a six inch drop to the pavement. The couple could see three people wearing white coats and two wearing blue standing over what seemed like two immobile bodies, one wearing a white coat, the other clad in red and gold, likely a parade-goer.
“Looks…like…somebody died,” panted Tripper, walking nearly doubled over and trying to vacuum-in more oxygen to avoid a total flameout.
Although many sports-clad bystanders milled around the scene, none seemed to be stressing over the downed reveler or the other body, the attention of the hundreds of gawkers aimed entirely at the plane and survivors. Any efforts of those moving about seemed to be directed towards moving the colorful floats to the east side of the road so emergency vehicles could approach the scene.
“That’s sad. I hope they didn’t hit any kids when they crashed.”
One of the white coats threw a black blanket over the pair of bodies.
“Me…too, babe. I…I only see…the two bodies, though.”
“Same here.”
“Both are…too big…to be a kid,” he grunted between rapid breaths and a hacking cough or two, spitting phlegm onto the street. “Unless it’s…a…really big one.”
She shot him a withering glare and slowed to let him catch up. The crowd was gathering and growing. At least a thousand people packed into the double-wide lanes, scurrying through the floats and bands and trying to make room on the east side of the roadway. Thousands more were exhibiting better judgment and slowly retreating up the street and away in case the craft exploded—the exodus was slow because there were simply too many people to move en masse quickly and the midway point between the couple and the crash quickly became a choke-point of humanity.
“I don’t get it,” Tripper muttered almost too quietly for Sarah to hear, almost.
“Don’t get what?” she snipped, her green eyes flashing with annoyance.
“How does a plane fall…out of the sky onto a parade…and only hit two people?”
“It looks like it actually landed on that side street and slid through the intersection and across the street there,” she pointed to the right. “See those scrape marks on the corner of that building there? I think it crashed on eleventh and slid west, bouncing off of that building and through the parade. Those barricades there probably saved everyone by keeping them out of that intersection. It’s, like, the only fully blocked street downtown.”
“Yeah….that makes sense I guess…but…there are still thousands of people there. Surely…more than two…should have been hit.”
“I guess the Kansas City luck is really kicking into high gear.”
“Yeah…that could be it. This should…look great on the news. Another story…of Kansas City winning.”
“Well, two people might be dead, Trip. It’s hardly worth celebrating.”
“It is when…there should be thousands dead and…hey…why are all those idiots still standing around there?” he asked, fingers clutching his sides as he grappled to pull oxygen from the morning air.
“You’re one to talk; you only want them gone so you can go down there.”
“I have…medical training.”
“You took one medical course.”
“Still…that’s something.”
“You dropped out at half-semester.”
“But I…learned a lot.”
“You’re as bad as all those drunken idiots. There are more than enough emergency personnel around to do the job. If everyone gets out of their way, that is.”
“Right, Babe, but…historically drunks and stoners…are notoriously curious and…don’t make the best of decisions,” he huffed back.
“That’s for damn sure,” she whispered under her breath, following him despite an uneasy feeling building deep within her gut.
Face beat red, breath coming in rasping, labored gasps, he wobbled back and forth as his engine starved for oxygen and threatened a forced shutdown. Slowing despite a driving curiosity, he craned his neck and stood on the tips of his toes to see over the thickening crowd. There seemed to be a team of about fifty police pushing through the masses below—not using clubs or force, but just politely jostling people out of the way. No cars were allowed within five bocks of the parade route other than local residents and food trucks in designated parking lots. The city had learned from previous celebrations that if they didn’t control the traffic there would be such a massive traffic jam that it would take days to clear the streets. Most of the police cars were blocking perimeter streets or designating ‘one-way’ streets for the post-parade migration.
The group of officers had almost reached the jet. Tripper could never be sure about what he saw next, but Sarah would later swear he remembered it exactly as it happened. The red-clad body under the black blanket suddenly jumped up and lunged at one of the people wearing what looked from this distance to be lab coats, driving the person against the white hull of the jet again and again, which seemed to smear with a lot of crimson in a hurry, as did the white coat.
“Hey…is that blood?” Trip called through gasps as he fought for air. He was in decent shape but hadn’t run this much in years. He was also very high with some very potent and oddly temperamental weed, so it was entirely possible he was hallucinating.
“Tripper…” Sarah backed up, the constant, buzzing dread of the past week and the knot in her gut building to a crescendo in her heart with a hundred cymbals and bass drums sending a shudder through her entire frame.
For a brief, frozen moment nothing happened, and then all of the other ‘crash survivors’ sprang into action. The two men wearing blue jumped in front of the remaining white-coats. Tripper stopped dead as the clear report of gun shots echoed up the canyoned street. The red-clad person turned to face the blue men with the weapons, letting the red-soaked white-coated form drop to the ground. The red-clad person then staggered a few steps towards the shooters, but dropped to its knees under an incessant onslaught of bullets. Impossibly, as soon as the shooting stopped, the
crimson dead guy quickly rose again and darted at the group of survivors. The sound of several more popping gun shots bounced up the street, but stopped as quickly. The psychotic Chief’s fan now jumped onto one of the people from the plane wearing blue uniforms—Air Force pilots, Trip thought—blocking the other’s line of sight so he couldn’t shoot.
“Whoa! What the fuck is going on down there?” Tripper once again started towards the gathering crowd below.
“Don’t go down there!” Sarah insisted passionately, but he walked on.
Sarah grabbed his arm and squeezed with the strength of a much stronger woman and pulled him back off balance.
“Trip, let’s go back now.”
“Hey, easy, Babe,” he tried and failed to remove her talons from his flesh.
“No. I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s get out of here.”
“Why don’t you stay here and I’ll run on down?” he pleaded.
“NO!”
She would not let go, holding him with an insistent glare as well as her surprisingly powerful grasp on his forearm. More gunshots rang out as the red-clad ‘should-have-been-dead’ person chased one of the other white coats into the crowd.
“We have to get out of here, now!” she insisted forcefully, bright emerald eyes flashing with an impassioned zeal.
Unfortunately, Trip’s curiosity coupled with the effect of El Supremo was stronger than common sense and any intrinsic self-preservation instincts that were supposedly bred into his character. “I’ll be alright. I’ll just get closer and—”
But she squeezed harder and started pulling him back up the street.
“Babe,” he said firmly, but finally the intensity of her fear burned through his foggy perception. Ceasing his attempts to drag her along, he instead pulled her gently but firmly into a loving embrace.
“It’ll be ok. We’ll just watch from here. Follow me.” He drew her over to a nearby float—some boat on an ocean advertising something or another. The costumed boat captain and several of his scantily-clad female mates were too busy watching the scene down the road unfold to pay any attention to them, so he pulled her up between the shaped-foam waves for a better view. “I need to catch my breath anyway,” he grinned at her. By the slight way her perfect petite breasts rose and fell against his chest he could tell she was nearly unaffected by the run.
