Truehearts & The Escape From Pirate Moon by Jake Macklem (ebook audio reader TXT) 📕

She did not feel the hard concrete underfoot. She did not see the angry gestures of the cyclists she dashed in front of. She did not hear the shouts of the people she slammed into. She could only taste the salt from her tears and the smell of death as she realized her hopes and dreams were over.

The cemetery was far out on the west edge of the city, in what used to be a famous rose garden. Most people were cremated or re-purposed after death—being buried fell out of favor as the price of land increased and all the nearby cemeteries were bought up and built on. The few cemeteries that remained were for politicians and world influencers. And few of those still took dead, especially not dead convicts.

Ace wandered through the tombstones, trying to locate the one she did not want to see. Then she found it: Joe McCade: “A good man in a complicated Verse.”

She fell to the green grass, soft against her skin, and she sobbed. “Why didn’t we run! We might have run forever, but it would have been together!” Her sadness started to evaporate from the heat of her anger. “I went back to those… people! I fought, I stole, I hurt people, I killed for them, Mick! So we could be together! And you go and die? It’s not fair Mick! It’s not fair…”

“The only thing fair in this Verse is that it treats everyone equally unfair.”

The expensive perfume carried on the breeze. Ace felt herself stiffen. “It always seemed to treat you well, Shonda.” Her voice was nervous.

The older woman had silver and white streaks through her black hair. She wore big round sunglasses, a large sunhat, a sleek, form-hugging dress, and stiletto heels. All black—a mourning starlet. In her hands, she held a metal box. “The Verse and I have had our moments.”

Standing up, Ace wiped the tears from her face. “I was on a moon where I got to name these monsters that crawl down the walls to eat people. I named them Shonda’s.”

Shonda cackled harshly, “What the— I haven’t seen you in eight years and that’s the first thing you’re gonna say to me?”.

Ace shrugged. “I thought you’d be flattered.”

Shonda gave her a sour look and shook her head, then turned to focus on the tombstone. “He loved you more than any of us.”

“That always pissed you off, didn’t it” Ace sniffled.

“If I’m being honest, yes. Yes, it did,” Shonda answered as she handed Ace the box. “He wanted you to have this.”

“And you’re giving it to me?” Ace took the box; it was heavier than she expected.

“I never hated you, Ace. I just wanted him to love me the most.” Shonda kissed her own fingers and touched the tombstone then turned and walked away. “Put on some clothes. You’re dressed like a hussy.”

Ace grinned and a chuckle escaped her lips. Never thought I’d miss that.

&

Standing in the window of her motel room in a tee shirt and panties, Ace looked out over the lit up cityscape. The bright lights reflected off the low cloud of smog in the dark purple night sky. Ace finished the pint of whiskey in three big gulps and wobbled. None of it was for anything. None of the killing. None of their deaths. None of it! She spun and threw the bottle; it crashed and broke through the drywall, stuck in place next to the first empty bottle.

She tried to walk and fell to the floor. Ouch! She looked at her black and blue bruised arm. Fine. She crawled across the floor to the bed and pulled herself up far enough to push her new clothes out of the way and grab another unopened pint. She slid back down and leaned against the bed.

The metal box lay opened on the floor, far across the room. In it, on top of some folded papers, was a powerful six-shot hand cannon that propelled metal shivs at incredible speed. Mick’s rail revolver. The name McCade was engraved on the barrel of the gun.

When Ace opened the box and found the gun, the first thing on top, she had walked to the closest store, bought an ‘I was Spaced at Portland Spaceport’ teeshirt, a pre-paid debit card, a hotdog, and a case of pints. She only took a few bites of the dog before tossing it in the trash.

Over the last two hours, she had wrestled with herself. Now, taking a drink from the bottle, tears streamed down. I can’t think of one. Not one shankin’ reason. Setting the bottle on the floor, she crawled to the box and picked up the gun. It was loaded—she knew it would be. Mick was always ready. She stared at the gun. Her lips quivered. I should just do it. There’s no reason not to. She lifted the gun to her temple and cried. Shifting the gun, she pointed it under her chin, so the shiv would exit through the top of her head. Can you think of one reason not to? Just one?

Through her tears, she saw the debit card on the floor next to the box. Right. Need to do that first. She set the gun down.

Taking a moment to let her breathing normalize, she wiped her face, straightened her shirt, and gathered her composure. Carefully, she pushed herself up and walked to the desk. She slid the calling card into the vidcom and with great effort typed in “Camron Shaw, New Detroit.”

Dozens of listings rolled onto the screen. Guess I need to start somewhere. She randomly clicked a name. The call tried to connect but there was no answer. She picked another and leaned back, looking for her bottle. It sat next to the bed. That’s sooo far away.

“Hello.” The groggy voice drew her attention back