THE THREE LIVES OF CHRISTINA THE ASTONISHING (#8)

As Told by the Holy Woman in Her Own Words
A Hundred or So Years after the End of the World

I tried explaining this to the tall man, but he said nothing. We were following the long trail next to the Big River and the buggy wheels creaked in the muddy, rutted track. Bits of cloud trailed through the pine branches overhead and clung to the folds in the hills beyond. I heard and smelled the great Pacifico before I caught sight of the turbulent grey sea suddenly looming ahead. The buggy turned onto the eroded remains of a highway that hugged the rocky coast. Ahead of us on the seaward side of the road was a concrete bunker, one of many deposited over our landscape whose previous function was unknown.  Over its high metal double doors hung a faded nylon banner that read HYGIENE MAINTENANCE FACILITY. A short, stocky man wearing cracked spectacles and a dirty white coat that stretched to his knees came out of the bunker.

“Is this the one?”
“Yes,” the tall man said.
“Bring her in and let’s have a gander.”

As the tall man unfastened my handcuffs from the wooden rail, I saw my chance and shot up over their heads. Without a second’s hesitation the tall man snatched up his rifle and fired. I felt the bullet pass through the flesh of my back and strike a rib. With my hands still cuffed, dripping big gouts of blood, I soared straight out to sea, crashing through a flock of startled seagulls that were making lazy circles in the thermals over the cliffs.

(to be continued tomorrow)