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Nick decided to keep his opinion to himself--although he was pretty sure that they had found Zach the Ripper.
One more missed shot, and the ripper closed the hatch, shutting himself in. Nick and Johnnie-O continued to climb, trying not to look down.
"If we fall, we'll just land on the deadspot. We'll be okay," said Nick.
"Yeah ... unless we miss."
"Maybe we can land on Kudzu," suggested Nick, since the dog had begun barking again.
As they neared the top, the scaffold became thinner and harder to climb, until they finally reached the closed cockpit door. The Ripper showed no signs of coming out. "We'll force our way in!" said Johnnie-O.
"No. It's an airtight hatch--there's no way to get in from the outside."
"So what are we gonna do?" grunted Johnnie-O. "Just let him sit in there? He'll never come out."
Nick looked up toward the orbiter's viewport, but it was out of view. There was no window on the shuttle that could give the Ripper a view of them.
"Ever watch a turtle that has pulled into its shell?" Nick asked Johnnie-O. "How do you get it to come out again?"
Johnnie-O considered it, and understood what Nick was suggesting. The question was how long could the two of them wait right outside that door? How long could they quietly cling to the scaffold?
While Afterlights tended to develop an unnatural patience for the passage of time, it usually accompanied some pleasurable activity. It could be something as simple as jumping rope, or as complex as a chess marathon; it all depended on the person. However, sitting in absolute silence on the top of a scrap-metal scaffold was enough to drive even the most patient Afterlight stir-crazy. Johnnie-O would occasionally open his mouth to ask a question, or just to complain, but Nick always shushed him before the words were spoken. Eventually Kudzu either forgot they were there, or had decided they were a part of the scaffold. Either way, he finally stopped barking.
The sun set. The sun rose. The sun slowly crossed the sky, and by noon the next day, the rifle-toting turtle had not come out of his shell. Nick lost none of his resolve, but Johnnie-O was beginning to suspect that the Ripper had either found a coin and evaporated into the next world, or he had decided he was never coming out of his spaceship again.
Then, late in the afternoon, they heard the clunk of metal on metal, and the small, circular hatch began to open. It only opened an inch--just enough for the Ripper to peer out--but an inch was all they needed. Nick wedged his fingers in the opening.
"Grab it! Hurry!"
The Ripper tried to pull the door closed, but Nick's fingers blocked the way. Johnnie-O gripped the edge of the door and pulled with all his might. The hatch swung wide, and they both dove in, tackling the Ripper, who wouldn't stop cursing.
The shuttle's flight deck was cramped, and filled with hard metallic surfaces. It was all very disorienting in vertical liftoff position, with chairs bolted to the "wall" instead of the floor. Dim light spilled in from the darkly tinted viewport, directly overhead, like a skylight.
"Get out!" screamed the Ripper, "This here is my place! MINE!" He struggled with them, but when he saw the size of Johnnie-O's hands, his eyes went wide, and he scrambled away. In that cramped space, however, there wasn't far he could go.
"We're not going to hurt you!" Nick told him.
"Speak for yourself!" said Johnnie-O, trying to reach around a chair for the Ripper, who continued to shift out of reach.
While Johnnie-O and the Ripper played their little cat and mouse, Nick took a moment to gauge the situation. The Ripper seemed about thirteen. He wore a gray Confederate Army uniform, complete with that odd little hat. There were weapons strewn around the flight deck that the Ripper kept reaching for, but Johnnie-O kept kicking them out of reach. None of those weapons were Civil War issue. There were very modern, very efficient automatic rifles, pistols, and even a submachine gun, along with countless bullets and loaded magazines. This kid may have died during the Civil War, but now he had an entire arsenal of modern military ordinance.
"Leave me be!" the kid shouted, "or I'll ecto-rip yer arms right outta their sockets!"
"I'd like to see you try!" yelled Johnnie-O, finally getting a grip on him. The ripper tried to pull on Johnnie-O's arms, but they were too muscular. So instead the Ripper did something else--something Nick would not have believed if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. The Ripper reached right through Johnnie-O's face ... and pulled out his brain.
Johnnie-O froze with the sudden shock of it, and Nick could only stare in disbelief.
A brain.
Right there in the Ripper's hands.
It was just like Isaiah had said.
It didn't look like a real brain; it looked more like a plastic model, with the various lobes labeled in bold lettering-- perhaps something Johnnie-O once saw in a classroom somewhere. This was Johnnie-O's memory of a brain, and the ripper now held it in his hand like an oversize walnut.
"Aaaaaaah!" wailed Johnnie-O in the kind of abject terror that can only come from seeing your brain held out before you. "Give it back! Give it back!" Painless though it was, there was something fundamentally disturbing about this--not just the fact of seeing one's own brain held up for observation, but to suddenly have one's very consciousness separate and apart from one's body, and yet still tethered as if by some weird wireless connection. For Johnnie-O, the sensation was far worse than pain.
"AAAAAH!" he screamed. "Put it back in! I swear I won't touch you, just put it back in!"
