• Dzama

Chute Girl

Denise slid all the way down the chute and landed on a metal slab. Mechanical humming. A faint whistle. The whole desert smelled like burning. Just then Jason popped his head out of his tank hatch. We’ve got company, he said.

Denise shifted and sat up. The metal was cold on her naked body. She could just barely see the shape of Jason’s tank as it crested the hill but his silhouette was recognizable: the big round head and telltale methy twitches. Hey, she’s over there! The turret swung around clumsily. Denise reached her hand out toward the tank as it bumbled down the hillside. Her fingers vibrated, causing distant molecules to shift and displace themselves. The metal of the tank went from a cold army green to a smoldering orange in seconds. The soldiers screamed but Jason managed to jump clear with only second degree burns. He opened fire at her with his sub-machine gun but the bullets just went plink plink plink, bouncing off her white flesh.

As the tank twisted and melted away into the sand she moved towards Jason. The hot tank metal caught some brush on fire and soon there was a small blaze going, back-lighting Denise’s crazy hair and her bare shoulders. Jason continued to fire at her until all his ammo was spent. He threw some knives and then rocks, sticks, his canteen. Then he leapt at her, encircling her neck with his big soldier fingers.

When she was through with him he was a pile of black dust. She just kept going, listening as the other tanks circled the crater and men on radios shouted orders back and forth. This will be interesting, she said, and the flames rose and spiraled around her. I’m glad I came back.



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