Captain Bounce

Tristand David grinned at the advert on the side of the bus stop.

The Captain Bounce poster mimicked the front page of a newspaper, black and white. Even the fonts matched those of the national rags. The picture — which occupied a good 60 per cent of the poster — showed a family. A father, a mother, two children — a boy and a girl. Of various ethnicities, to try and get the inclusivity vote. Whatever helped sell, Tristand didn’t care. Each hung in suspension, mid-air. Limbs flailed. Hair splayed away from heads, flung out at odd angles. Mouths open in ‘O’s, agape. Eyes wide, eyebrows raised. Their expressions could be anything from surprise and excitement to abject terror.

BREAKING NEWS!!! GRAVITY GETS TURNED OFF!!!*

Beneath that, a smaller text gave a proper explanation. Tristand hadn’t wanted to add the second bit — only the company name and slogan. People had more brains than corporations gave them credit for. Something he’d always held firm to. Never assume that others lacked intelligence. But his lawyers had insisted. A security blanket, they’d called it.

*Only joking. April fools! But if you want to feel weightless, try Captain Bounce’s trampolines! Laugh in the face of physics!

It ruined the joke, in Tristand’s opinion. But, whatever. Rules are rules. You couldn’t argue with those law dorks. They had your back when things turned south. Like that time a toddler bounced up and off a sixth-story balcony. In Tristand’s eyes, the parents deserved the blame. But that didn’t stop a big bad lawsuit. Thank God for those law dorks. Either way, with or without the over-explanation, the ad drew the eye.

Trampoline sales for Captain Bounce had been in decline for the past ten years. Yet the industry continued to rise — the global market would be worth $7,000 million by the end of the decade. A compound annual growth rate of 17.2 per cent. Competitors had used viral marketing to gain an edge. Goofy videos of dogs on trampolines, bouncing on all four paws. They’d left Tristand’s company in the dust. But this… this would put Captain Bounce back on the map. Tristand knew that comedy would be the way forward for the company.

Sure, it had cost the company a lot. Every bus stop, every magazine and newspaper. They even purchased digital ad space — on social media, banners on websites, etcetera. The same poster that loomed before Tristand. For one day alone — April Fools’ Day. The marketing campaign of a genius.

People would read it. People would laugh. Or, at the very least, smile and guffaw. And then? They’d rush out to buy trampolines. The temptation of being weightless too rich to resist. The carrot dangled, and who could deny the desire? Nobody. And, most important of all, whose trampolines would they buy?

Captain. Goddamn. Bounce.

Tristand checked his watch. The working day had not yet started, but things would soon begin to stir. He inhaled and looked to the sky. Not a cloud dotted the heavens, the firmament above a clear steel-blue. It stretched on for eternity. Boundless. Endless. Like the future for Captain Bounce.

A scream rent the air.

A smack against the concrete.

A splat.

Hot wetness sprayed over him. Tristand flinched and recoiled, the smile on his countenance not yet wiped away.

On a neck that bobbed on a spring, he turned to the direction of the commotion.

Red.

Red everywhere.

His first thought was that a balloon filled with crimson paint had fallen from high above the street.

And then he saw the disconnected jaw hinge and his stomach rolled.

And then the eyeball. The optical nerve trailed behind into a mess of gore.

Handfuls of teeth — painted maroon and scattered like discarded popcorn.

Clumps of hair — wet and stuck to the pavement.

Chunks of shredded flesh. Something you might see wrapped in cellophane on the supermarket shelves.

And bones. Bits of white shone through the red mess. Some whole. Some splintered. That one looked like it belonged to a leg. That bit looked like a section of rib. And that bit looked like a hip, perhaps, or maybe—

Tristand turned and projectile vomited over the side of the bus stop. Flecks of brown — with chunks of the muesli he’d eaten for breakfast — splashed over the advert. Bits bounced off the plexiglass and showered over his shoes.

He wiped his mouth and staggered to the bus stop. Tristand groped for the wall, to keep him upright. He glanced back at the exploded mess that had once been a human then retched again. “Oh god,” he said, the taste of vomit thick and acidic at the back of his throat.

Another shriek, high-pitched, ripped through the calm of the street. Like razor wire through the flesh.

A sick crunch followed by a liquid squish.

Another lukewarm fountain sprayed over him.

Tristand shuffled around, a drunk in the darkness. “Wha—”

Another puddle of human body parts, liquified. A mush of organs, bones, skin, and hair.

“Why?” He gasped and retched as another convulsion racked his body. “Why would—”

Scream. A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. From up high to down low. From the black blur of a housefly to the maroon splash of an obliterated body.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

“Why?” The words croaked out of his scorched and sick-flaked throat. “Why would you…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I don’t—”

Tristand turned to the plexiglass beneath his fingers. The vomit had trickled, grey-brown streaks left in its wake. Globules drip-drip-dripped down. They pattered down on the concrete below. Mini puddles pooled beneath.

BR A IN NE !!! GRA ITY E S URNED OFF !*

He swiped the vomit away from the words, the bile warm and slimy against his skin. His fingers swished through the chunky liquid. The consistency and texture reminded him of nothing he’d ever choose to touch.

BREAKING NEWS!!! GRAVITY GETS TURNED OFF!!!*

“Oh no.”

Behind came another yell, another splat, another spray of blood.

People possessed less intelligence than he’d believed.