The Fat Man
(excerpt of chapter from GUN)
​
Author’s Note: This story is from a collaborative novel called GUN, about a mystical pistol which will only fire when it can do good in the world, never evil. It tumbles in and out of various people's lives according to the whims of fate, as interpreted by a collection of various authors in a variety of styles. Note: GUN is currently between publishers, so the link at the bottom won't work, but if you are interested, send me an email and I'll let you know when it is available again.
Ellsworth Jarvis was getting close to his office near the Museum of Natural History. He had to cross the six-lane thoroughfare of City Park Drive to get to it. There were traffic lights every half mile or so, but he preferred to use the pedestrian overpass; he liked the view from high above the road.
Huffing and puffing, he heaved his three hundred pounds of flesh up the ramp to the top of the overpass. Reaching the apex, he leaned on the railing and relaxed, recovering from the exertion. He gazed down the road toward the Museum. A school bus was parked at the curb opposite the Museum building, and a line of children, led by their teacher, was slowly walking across at the traffic light. How cute, he thought; the little kids all holding hands like a human chain.
Jarvis heard a squealing sound behind him. He quickly whirled around, to see a battered old Chevrolet hurtling down the road toward the Museum. The driver was clearly drunk or high or something; the car was careening in and out of various lanes, and was ignoring the red lights, as well as the other cars honking at it and trying to avoid it. No doubt some drug-addled hooligan was behind the wheel! What is wrong with people these days?
Oh my God, thought Jarvis! He suddenly remembered the children crossing the street, and quickly turned back to look at them. They were directly in the path of the out-of-control vehicle! They were completely oblivious to the imminent danger. He tried shouting a warning to them, but they were too far away to hear his cries.
What could he do? He briefly considered calling 9-1-1 on his cell phone, but instantly rejected that idea as being far too slow to avert the disaster. Then he remembered the gun in his shoulder bag. Perhaps fate had brought it into his possession for precisely this moment!
His mind raced. He hated the thought of taking a life, and nearly retched at the idea. Who was he to take a life, to judge a person as needing to live or die? It felt wrong; it had to be wrong! But still; the driver of the runaway Chevrolet was clearly endangering everyone in the vicinity, especially the chain of young children innocently crossing the street! It would be taking one life to save many. It took him several milliseconds of agonizing thoughts and internal debate, but Jarvis was eventually certain that shooting the driver was the right thing to do. Was the only thing to do.
