Episode of Mariah - Chapter 5: Ultraviolet Ultraviolence

The blue tint of dawn peeked over the east as Mariah rubbedthe blood from her face. It seemed as if the night was over. The worst behind them. 

A loud bang cracked through the air. Mariah and Clara turned to each other.

“Another gunshot?” Clara asked.

“Couldn’t be.” Mariah peered into what was left of the side mirror. 

A series of booming honks followed the bang, each honk overlapping the last. Faint laughter crowed alongside it, increasing in volume as two dull lights rocketed forward. 

It wasn’t the worst that was behind them. It was just Jase. 

He cruised in next to them and sent a salute. “Turns out I can go a helluva’ lot faster without all that dead weight!” 

“You!” Mariah used the entire left side of her body to point. The car zigged and zagged. “I just decided that you’re the one I hate the most!” 

“Well thank ya kindly. I actually take that as a complim--” 

She swerved the car into the side of the clunker. 

“WH-WHAT THE HELL? I was talking! You’re not supposed to do that while we’re talking!”

“Yeah? Well you talk too much!” 

“I don’t think the insurance is going to cover any of this,” Clara lamented. “Sorry, Mom…”

“Boo-hoo! Insurance is a scam anyway!” She signaled at Jase. “If anyone needs it, it’s Crikey Casey over here!” 

“At least act like I’m here!” Crikey Casey’s aching shoulder burned as he hurled the walkie-talkie at Mariah. It fluttered through the air with grace, the wind blowing alongside it silking against Mariah’s face, before floating softly into Clara’s lap. 

Mariah stared at the walkie-talkie. 

Clara only realized it was there when she saw it. 

“You call that a throw?” Mariah snorted. “My little sister can throw better than that! How can I keep hating you the most when you’re just so pathetic!” 

So pathetic. So pathetic. So pathetic. 

These words rang in Jase’s mind, vibrating against his hollow head like a gold-plated bell. Gold his dear Prospector needed. Gold that overstuffed wombat Chavez thought he was incapable of retrieving. Gold that cow in the next car over was stealing from him.

So pathetic. So pathetic. So pathetic.

“Try again when you can actually hit me!” Mariah left him in a cloud of dust. “Later, loser!” 

The bell in Jase’s mind struck midnight. 

“Do you have to be so harsh about it?” Clara asked. 

“He’ll be fine! Feelings gain calluses like arms gain muscl--”

The clunker struck Mariah’s door. Her hands bucked off the wheel as the car made a jagged curve in the sand.

“HOW’S THIS FOR HITTIN’ YA?”

Mariah took back control of the wheel. She tried to swerve back, repay the bastard, but Jase was giving it another go. The clunker struck back into her. 

“GO AHEAD, LOVE!” He sniffed through the sporadic laughter that leaked out of him. “TELL ME HOW PATHETIC I AM!” 

Mariah winced through the impact, ready to pounce back with a quip of her own, but Jase wouldn’t let her. Each time she took back the wheel, he was there to ram her off course. An onslaught of concussive blasts. 

When the barrage was finished, Jase was a mess of heaping, uneven breaths. So was Mariah, but the breaths were shakier. Her arms shook too, weightless and limp. She straightened them out as she swallowed whatever it was that was building up in her throat. Clara had taken it worse. Her eyes were drenched in a layer of murk, glazing in Mariah’s direction as she dozed in and out of consciousness. 

“Dammit…” Mariah’s attention turned from Clara to Jase. He looked angry, and he looked rested. He was going to try again. 

Jase spun the wheel, prepping for another hit. Mariah sped up, escaping right before impact. This time, Jase struck air instead. 

Priorities were shifting. Clara wouldn’t be able to take much more of this. She wouldn’t be able to take much more of anything. Another stiff blow and it wouldn’t just be Mariah’s door that would spiral away. 

“Those your headlights, boys?” Rick’s voice crackled out of the walkie-talkie, the audio cutting in and out. “Couldn’t nail her, huh? Tha-- ...too bad. Just make sure-- ...keeps going fast. I went ahead and set up the spikes.” 

Up ahead, far past her headlights, Mariah could make out the shape of a truck with a pole sprouting from it. Parked off to the side, it was only thanks to the rising sun she could even see it. 

“Jase... ? Chavez…?” 

Mariah nabbed the walkie-talkie and shrieked into it. “Emu Man and Smokey ain’t here right now. Wanna leave a message -- I can tell ‘em to go screw themselves for ya.” 

There was a pause, then Rick sighed into his mic. “That fool threw the ‘talkie again, didn’t he?” 

Keeping her thumb on the button, Mariah stuck the walkie-talkie out the window.

“GO ON AND BUGGER AHEAD AS FAST AS YOU WANT! WHEN YA STOP I’M GONNA GUT YA AND SKIN THE HIDE, COW!” Jase’s threats hissed through Rick’s radio along with the rushing wind. 

Rick stayed silent, his palm stuck to his forehead. 

“So about those spikes. I’m guessing you’re gonna try to trip me up with some caltrops or strips, right? Got some of those back at my base, but Joe always hides the suckers from me. Says I’d be too liable or liberal with ‘em or something.” Mariah scowled at the unfairness of it all. She was going to have to get Tess to find those things for her later. “But ya know, instead of going around ‘em, or hell, just turning back, I’m gonna do what ya want -- go faster! Let’s see how well your buddy can play follow the leader!” Mariah tossed the walkie-talkie aside and boosted the car into warp speed. 

Dragging behind, Jase lagged at Mariah’s rear. His vision clouded around the edges, tunneling straight towards the target. He would total this car if he had to. 

Mariah’s eyes began drawing out details as the sky turned pale. She was speeding ever closer to the truck, and not just the truck. Lines of thin spikes rose from the ground, crusted on dozens of diamond-shaped metal strips. The sharp tips glimmered in the light of the rising sun. 

“Follow the leader…” Rick muttered to himself. Then it hit him. “Jase!” He hurried to roll down the window. “You gotta stop, boy! You’re gonna hit the spikes! Jase!” 

Mariah slid her tongue across her front teeth and grinned at Rick’s panicked waving. Forget the extra two twelve packs. That was all the therapy her soul would ever need. 

She went faster. 

Jase went faster. 

Rick’s whole world went slower. 

A spike nicked the edge of the car as Mariah made a hard swerve to the left. The bottom right tire skimmed by it, avoiding a punctured hole. 

Ready to commit to the turn, Jase beat down on the brakes. As Mariah swerved left, the path cleared, fully revealing the rows of spikes. But it wasn’t the spikes he noticed -- it was the truck and Rick’s magma red face that spouted off a string of obscenities. 

Puzzled, Jase ignored the path ahead. “Prospec--?” 

The first row of spikes slashed through his tires, tearing holes into the rubber. The brakes did nothing. Every new row was a new path paved to hell as the clunker spun out of control. 

No further words came from The Prospector’s mouth. Only breaths of disbelief as he watched the clunker flip through the air and hurdle past his windshield. Upside down, it slammed back into the earth. Not with an explosion or a crater, but with a solid, crushing thud. Specks of dirt floated around the husk of the clunker, then dissolved into the air. 

Mariah sent Jase a quarter-hearted salute and powered away. Sure, it looked bad, but she figured he was probably more comfortable being upside down anyway. God bless Oceania.

The Prospector looked to Clara’s car as it cruised deeper into the desert, then to Jase’s car. One of the shredded tires spun to a slow stop. There was a whispering silence as steam boiled from the engine. No further movements followed, lifeless as a funeral parlor. 

Rick looked back to Mariah and started up the truck. Avoiding the spikes, he passed the clunker and didn’t look back. Jase’s arm laid strewn out the window, bedded by a pile of broken glass. It twitched, and his feeble fingers clutched his bloodied palm. 

A freight train screamed out its whistle up ahead. Mariah could see the tracks laying on the horizon, vibrating as it withstood the pressure of the monstrous, immeasurable weight. 

She glanced behind her.

The Prospector was coming. 

“Another encore? Really? Don’t ya think you and your buddies have gotten enough beatings this week, old man?” Mariah spit into the walkie-talkie. “Go back to the swamp. Wrestle an alligator. Maybe get eaten by it -- I don’t care. Just stay the hell away from my treasure!” 

Rick took in Mariah’s threat with a chuckle. Quiet at first, then it grew in volume, expanding in his belly until it busted through the speaker. 

Mariah’s impatience fumed out of her. “Do asskickings tickle your funnybone, Hick? 

“Sure. Just not mine.” His laugh sputtered out, but the smile remained. “Might want to double-check that car of yours.”

The car was chugging harder than the train. All four doors were barely hanging on by goodwill and luck, let alone a thread. Gas was being guzzled through like a thirsty man was at the wheel, always putting out more fuel than she was using. The car was going slower, and Rick’s truck was getting closer. It was simple math. Even Mariah knew that much. She didn’t have to double-check.

“You’re not in any condition to be dishing out more damage, darling. A little nudge and that thing’s out of commission. Hell, I don’t even have to do that. I could just follow you until it gives out.”

“Good luck. I can fuel this trash heap on spite alone. And most of it is for you.” 

“I don’t doubt that. But you’re gonna stop one way or another. It’s something called the law of probab--”

“Oh, give it a rest already! I bet you don’t understand half of the garbage you’re saying! I sure as hell don’t!”

“That’s because you suffer the pitfalls of a reactionary mind.” 

“A reactionary mind…” Mariah grumbled. “You’re just like the windbags back home! You all act smart, but if you really were you wouldn’t be rotting in some dead end factory job, or in your case -- treasureless.”

“Only the weak minded project. You talk an even bigger game than I do, but from where I’m sitting, you’re just as broke as I am.” 

“See, I can actually put my money where my mouth is -- or at least, I will, after I get rid of you.”

“And I can’t?”

“This car’s still moving, isn’t it?” 

Mariah waited for a response, but all she got was static. The freight train was now a blimp in the distance. It pushed down the tracks with its conga line of cargo, each metal crate penciled with graffiti and rust. If she smacked into it, it would be as significant as a fly crashing into a windshield. 

And that would be a shame, she thought. 

Measuring the speed of Rick’s truck, Mariah slowed down. He would catch up eventually. May as well make things even. Conserve energy. He would be needing it, after all. 

Her lips curled as he eased up to her side. The tracks were getting closer, and the rhythm of the train as it rolled over the metal stayed looped in her head. 

A damn shame. 

“It’s probably a good thing you’re not awake for this.” Mariah slid the photo out of Clara’s loose hand. Moisture from Clara’s sweat dripped down the slick cardstock. The numbers on the back were smeared, but still legible. “I’m gonna do you a favor and let you in on a little secret, Prospector.” From her window she could see Rick look down at his radio. “This girl isn’t the treasure map you think she is. You don’t even need her to find the thing.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“The location of her old man’s treasure isn’t tattooed on her brain. It’s written down on the back of a photo, so listen up, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once…”

Mariah prayed her tongue would fall out as she said the numbers. 

“Do you really think I’m gonna fall for a cheap…” Rick’s sentence trailed off as Mariah held out the photo for him to see.

For a moment, Rick was stunned, but logic prevailed, and he quickly rebuilt his confidence. “So you have a photo. Good for you. But maybe you just made up those numbers. How do I even know there are coordinates?”

Mariah smirked and brought the photo back inside. “You don’t. I might’ve just handed you a heaping load of bullshit. But the way I see it, if your mind is as sharp as you think it is, you’re gonna do either one of two things: make the smart choice and head for the coordinates, or…”

With the walkie-talkie still raised to her mouth, Mariah took a long look at Clara. Beneath her resting face, she could spot traces of what used to be there. Instead of protruding cheekbones, there was a round, full face. Probably with dimples. The sagging layer of muted skin that now covered her still had shades of its vibrant, oliver color. Splotches of life that she had been clinging onto. That made Clara who she was. That made Clara good. 

I’ll get you where you need to go. I’ll get you where you need to go. 

“Or…?” Rick asked. 

The train hurtled forward. It was either now or never. Now or a second late. 

“You’ll take my bait.” 

Mariah hit the gas. The car fought for traction against the dirt, then blazed away.

Rick saw the trail of tire prints forming behind it. They were heading for the tracks. It was a wager. Does the reactionary mind give chase? Or does the reactionary mind trust the coordinates? The train would offer salvation or damnation. But either would be an escape. And Rick, with his sharpened mind and decades of experience, could not allow for an escape. Not him. Not The Prospector. 

So he gave chase. 

Mariah could see the truck closing in. It was a behemoth. Its colossal tires lifted it high into the air, and the stadium lights that stood above it were like angry, swirling eyes. 

But she had seen bigger. Bigger was staring him down with only a chair for a shield. Bigger was having a gun to her back in a dark alley. Bigger was right in front. But as far as she was concerned, she was larger than all of them put together. 

The speedometer was at its limit, bouncing into the one hundreds. 

“Come on, you piece of junk! Just a little faster!” 

Rick was at her tail. He struggled to keep pace. 

The train was bulleting closer. The vibrating metal, the shaking ground, the screaming engine. It roared over Mariah’s beating heart. 

Then, she bumped over the tracks.

The train blasted out its whistle as Mariah skimmed by. 

Rick’s timing was wrong. His judgement was wrong. Everything was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. It shouldn’t have turned out this way. 

Ripping open the door, he threw himself to the mercy of the ground. He tumbled over the weeds as his skin snagged against the rocks. Rick wobbled to his feet just in time to watch the full force of the train plow into his truck. 

The stadium lights shattered as the pole holding them up snapped into two, and the mangled frame of his truck was carried away by the train’s helm. All that remained was a tire that catapulted down from the sky and landed at his side.

Falling to his knees, The Prospector sat there and watched as the train rolled by. 

Mariah stopped the car and looked over her shoulder. A mile long chain of boxes and crates snaked down the tracks. She didn’t know if he had gotten smashed into bits or if he had stopped right before. But neither really mattered. She was on the other side and he wasn’t, and by the time it passed, she would be long gone. 

“The hell do you even prospect anyway?” 

“Mariah…” Clara’s flickered open. “What happened? Are we still being chased?” 

“Geez, of course you ask a dumb question like that as soon as you wake up. I told you I’d take care of it if anything happened, didn’t I?” 

“You’re right.” She smiled. “I won’t ask how you did it…” Clara coughed out a chuckle only for it to turn into an actual cough midway through.

“Quit yammering. You’re only making it worse.” 

Mariah watched the train as it continued crossing. It seemed like it would never end. 

“I’m sorry,” Clara finally said. “I never meant for things to turn out like this.” 

Mariah sighed as Clara sniffed back swelling tears. 

“Apologize by holding up your end of the deal and giving me your wallet.” Mariah shifted the car into drive. “C'mon. Let’s go dig up that deadbeat’s treasure.”