Ruddy shifted in his seat. He was crammed against the back passenger window in an extended-cab pickup truck. A New Frontier soldier named Clem was squeezed between him and Xeke. Clem’s wife-beater t-shirt presented no barrier against the horrible body odor emanating from his hairy armpits, and Ruddy couldn’t tell whose sweat was soaking into his own clothes.

  “I think you missed a bump back there,” Xeke said.

  Gary, who was driving, ignored him. A third New Frontier soldier named Earl turned around from the front seat and held up a sawed-off shotgun. “Shut your mouth, Tonto.”

  Xeke’s face tightened.

  “You know, we’d fit better if I was in the front seat,” Ruddy said.

  “Don’t care,” Gary said. Earl grinned at him through tobacco-stained teeth and turned around.

  Like they could stop us from escaping if we wanted to, Ruddy thought. This bunch of fucking rednecks. It’s like a clown car in here.

  He glanced again at the picture of the man they were supposed to kill. An older man with a military haircut, wearing an army hat with a single star on it.

  General Hines, Ruddy thought. He’s a hero. Saved the country after the Event. Corey was telling me about it the other day. And now they’re going to make us kill him.

  Speaking of Corey, I hope he’s okay, Xeke said.

  Me too. But he can’t be in worse trouble than we are.

  Probably not, Xeke said. I wish we could talk to …

  Clem farted. Gary rolled down his window.

  Jesus, Ruddy thought, pinching his nose. He stared out his own window, which remained closed. The reflection of a blond man with a five-o’clock shadow and three chins stared back at him. Amelia had ‘helped’ him use his powers to disguise himself, including redistributing some of his height as bulk.

  That’s not me, he thought. That’s someone else.

  Someone who could kill.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The town of Snyder was less than a mile from Fort Bravo. It was much bigger than New Burtchville, and the military presence was obvious here. Groups of soldiers stood on street corners, and most of the men in civilian clothing had military haircuts.

  The truck pulled up next to a warehouse with roll-up doors open along one side. The sign over the building read “Russel’s General Store.”

  “Russel is one of us,” Gary said, “So don’t go getting any ideas.”

  The nearest group of soldiers eyed Ruddy as they piled out of the truck.

  I hate it when people stare, Ruddy said.

  What do you expect? You’re huge. Why didn’t you change into someone smaller and less obvious?

  It’s not that easy. Changing my face was hard enough. Amelia tried to make me smaller, but the best we could do was short and fat.

  If you call six feet tall short, Xeke said.

  Russel’s General Store was more of a flea market. From the size of it, it probably served communities throughout the county. Ranchers had tables with butcher blocks set up under hanging meat, farmers sat with baskets of vegetables, and children sold bottles of clean water. Other locals hawked wares of every kind—homemade soaps, conditioners and toiletries, used toys and lamps and furniture, blankets and clothes, guaranteed-to-work batteries, old vinyl records—all of them shouting over each other as they offered free samples and touted their products with slogans and signs. There was even an apothecary, complete with rows of tiny drawers and little scales. Scores of people, including several off-duty soldiers, wandered through the maze of tables pushing mismatched shopping carts.

  Gary exchanged a few words with a man sitting on a stool by the door, then spoke to Ruddy and Xeke. “Wait here for half an hour before you go. The base is about a mile down the road. You know what you gotta do. And I want my shirt and hat back when you’re done.”

  Xeke glanced down at the white-guy costume they were making him wear. The words “White Pride” stretched across the front over a white fist pumping into the air.

  “That won’t be a problem,” he said.

  Are you sure this is going to work? Ruddy said. He felt like a yokel in his dirty overalls, and Xeke’s cowboy hat made him look like a country music star.

  Hope so, Xeke said. Just act natural.

  You had to say that, didn’t you? Ruddy said.

  The soldiers trained their weapons on them as they approached the roadblock. Mostly on Ruddy.

  “Stop right there,” a soldier said. “This is a restricted area.”

  “Mister,” Xeke said. “We’s here ta defect.”

  Jesus! Ruddy said. You call that acting natural? Nobody talks like that!

  The soldiers looked at each other. “Excuse me?”

  “Defect, I said!” Xeke said. “We was with the New Frontier freedom fighters, and we’s done with them fuckers. We got some information ta help the good ole US of A.”

  We’re dead, Ruddy said. It’s been nice knowing you, Xeke.

  What? I’m not an actor! You think you could do any better?

  Yes.

  Just shut up. I’m nervous enough already.

  The soldiers exchanged a few words, then two of them advanced on Ruddy and Xeke.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” the first soldier said. “I’m going to call this in. And if this is some kind of joke, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison.”