"Do they know that?"
"Like I care".
"Is it just me, or does this side of the river stink?" Valentine asked.
"It shakes in front, shitting himself", a female officer in charge of the Quislings said.
"Better you than me, pard", the man at the back of their file added.
The man at the front, who had perhaps feared a glowering Reaper at the other end of the bridge rather than a group of Quislings, was able to walk the rest of the way. Valentine suspected he had shit himself, as he was shaking something out of his trouser.
"Don't feel too bad", Valentine called to the front. "Those fellas back there do it all the time when they fight".
"Yeah, takes a lot of guts to gun down women and kids", the Quisling at the back said.
They were loaded into an old brown delivery van. Much of the front paneling was missing or cut away, along with the skirting. Whether this was for easier maintenance or a security precaution Valentine couldn't tell, though he knew collection vans were frequently wired with explosives. Duvalier had said something or other along those lines when they saw one in Kansas.
The Quislings rolled the door shut and locked it, leaving them in darkness. Valentine heard the engine start, half hoped for an explosion.
This was it. The last ride. Valentine was a little surprised at how calm he was. It was over, no more worries, cares, regrets about Malia and Amalee. What would Blake turn into, a fallible human capable of empathy, or a cruel, instinct-driven automaton?
He'd had a good run. Duvalier always said Cats never lasted. He'd done more damage than most. If every human piled into a van could just take one enemy to the grave ...
The blank nothingness that yawned before him, a forever of oblivion, the world spinning along and he'd exist as a memory or a story or one of his many signed reports buried in some archive. He hoped his legs wouldn't fail him at the last - maybe he could stamp on the Reaper's instep - or would his bowels give way ?
The militia woman pressed up against Valentine.
"Hey, buddy, can you work your fly?" her voice breathed in the dark.
"Pardon?" he said.
"Let's do it, right now. I can slip out of these pants".
"You're kidding, right?"
"C'mon, hurry".
"No. Thanks, but... no", Valentine said.
The truck picked up speed, lurched into a higher gear.
She slid over next to the other man. Valentine tried not to listen as he took her up on the same offer. The bench they sat on squeaked, or maybe it was the wheezy breathing of the man. Valentine smelled her sweaty sex in the confines.
Two distinct thumps as they toppled over into the bed of the van. Now Valentine could hear their chains dragging on the floor. The man groaned and gasped.
Valentine felt her foot touch his. "Offer's still open if you want a turn", she said. He moved his foot away.
"Hey, let me enjoy a moment, huh", the man said.
They exchanged names in the darkness. He was Colin, she Mona.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived.
The van idled, and Valentine heard voices outside. "I'll confirm with Pound", a man's voice said. "Three going in, right?"
"Three, assuming we don't have another fuckin' suicide", the driver said. "They're trade goods, but you never know".
"I wish I had one of those hero pills", Colin said in the darkness.