The Manhattan Prophet

by Jake Packard

  But today he was not the captain. Today he was alone, locked up in his own office tomb. The only water warm and cleansing . . .

  * * * * *

  Coffee

  Her sensations were all comfort on a seashore of pleasure, her gentle lapping dreams were oceanic, like she was drifting on an inflatable cushion in a balmy Caribbean cove, when the sense of an assassin nearby roused her out of the sweet sea in which she was buoyed.

  She opened her eyes looking down the barrel of a 35-millimeter, behind which was Gregor’s scarred and smirking face, saliva and blood dripping off his jagged and broken teeth, as he fondled his erection inches from her startled face.

  She lunged for the blankets to cover her nakedness, but in her panic, she realized that she was fully dressed, which was perplexing considering the freshness of the previous night’s dramatic intercourse. When did she put her clothes back on? When and where did Salem go?

  She sat up on the bed in her empty room, utterly discomposed, but entirely grateful. What could this mean she supposed. Did she dream of a god and the devil all in one night? The last few days were a roller coaster, it was hard for her to believe any of what happened was real, and if some of it was, which part?

  She remembered it was Christmas morning and there was a little boy sleeping in the guest room, and she had fallen asleep waiting for Herbie. Maybe it was just her subconscious life trying to keep pace with what was happening to her in the physical world, which was admittedly turning more dreamlike by the minute. It was the perfect time for a cup of fresh coffee.

  She left her bedroom and entered the kitchen. When she saw General Pellet at her breakfast table, it only compounded the oversaturated surrealism of the recent events. The General was seated looking out the kitchen window at the East Side of Manhattan, now daubed with a burnish of tainted snow, waiting for the clouds to dissolve so the morning sun could put some sparkle to the city’s patina.

  She begged to herself that this had to be another dream, like Salem or Gregor; Pellet couldn’t really be there.

  But the blunt nudge of an AK-87 in her ribs made her realize the disturbing truth. The squirrel killer behind her in full combat gear leaned against the kitchen cabinets, his gas mask and goggles hiding every identifying facet of his facial features, like an anonymous terminator, part of the performance, this fear provoking aura they worked to perfection. With a gloved hand, he gestured wordlessly for her to sit down. She noticed there was coffee already made and another squirrel killer with sergeant’s stripes was pouring some. He placed the cup on the table in front of her. She blinked several times, still hoping beyond hope this was just another crazy dream.

  Finally, Pellet spoke. “Excuse me for talking the liberty of making my own while you were in repose.” He took a sip. “Have some.”

  Maria didn’t know what to do, so she hesitated. She didn’t think the general would be so melodramatic to have poisoned her coffee. But what made her think of that anyway? She didn’t do anything wrong. The whole world saw. She associated his smarmy smile to those porn sites she visited in her early teens, those pictures of armored warriors screwing naked young lasses up the ass. What a guy. Somehow that manly and hearty dick escapes through all that hard steel and penetrates her rectum exactly to the point where she can’t control her infinite pleasure. What was she thinking now? Maria was putting very little together that made sense at this point and felt extremely weak in her knees. She was getting shaky and she actually felt like sitting down, so she did.

  “I know you must be somewhat befuddled about all this. But to put it plainly Ms. Primera, you have broken a few of the most important laws in this city and unfortunately, we are going to have to deal with that. As of late you are a person of very high profile, so I felt I had to handle this delicate situation personally.”

  Maria in the seat facing him closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. She was at a genuine loss of words and did not feel too good.

  “I’m glad you slept so well, considering the ordeal you have been through. Myself? I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Didn’t even try to, worrying what was going to happen to my city now this latest terror attack has incapacitated the entire population and rendered its most popular mayor stricken and incapable of decision.”

  “General, what are you talking about?”

  “Oh, by the way, your parents are safe with me. For the time being. I couldn’t let anything happen to them after you endangered their welfare, exposing yourself as a principle in this nefarious plot to allow the infected legions of Shantypark to invade our city.”

  * * * * *

  Christmas Snow

  Christmas snow had fallen in the night. At the dawn’s ghostly graying Herbie’s eyes jerked open, realizing he had fallen asleep. That couldn’t be good. Things didn’t feel so right, especially when a powerful hand grabbed his mouth and a knife was precipitous against his throat. The slightest pressure could draw instant blood and he would watch his life spill out into the alley.

  Herbie was pulled by his hair into a standing position and stood up, his face pushed against the wall. Two men held his arms behind him, and a third padded him down for weapons, which made him realize how stupid he was not to be carrying any. Satisfied that he was clean they turned him around and there, to Herbie’s shock and chagrin, he faced a gloating Ibrahim who was calmly picking his fingernails with the sharp edge of a pearl handled twelve-inch blade.

  “You double-crossing snake.” Herbie spit out the rusty grit from the building that smeared his tongue and lips.

  Ibrahim glared at Herbie for an instant as if deciding whether to cut off his head first or his balls, and then broke out into a roar of laughter. The two strong men restraining Herbie did not relax their grip.

  When Ibrahim finally composed himself, he rested the point of the blade on the hollow of Herbie’s neck just underneath the Adam’s apple. He pulled his face up so close Herbie’s could smell his gizzards. “Maybe I’m just teaching you a lesson for falling asleep while watching over that very important mama upstairs in her crib. Besides, I thought you might get violent when I woke you up. I didn’t want you to make too much noise and attract those SKs over there. I’d have to kill them before they killed us.” He stepped back, giving Herbie some space to really see him once again. Ibrahim beamed a silent smile, the unconditional love of an older brother carrying out his self-appointed filial responsibilities, no need for thanks.

  His captors also smiled at him and released his arms. Herbie recognized them from the Council, men who now shared newfound values and goals.

  Embarrassed, Herbie first looked at his pretend enemies and then peered around the corner of the building to the front entry of Maria’s high-rise, as if he could salvage some of the time he lost when he was supposed to be staking it out last night. He was just in time to see some soldiers in anti-contamination outfits leading Jamal out the front entry.

  His adrenalin ignited. His knee-jerk response was to run to Jamal’s rescue, but once again those burly arms constrained his futility just in time before he did something really stupid. Once again Ibrahim released another smooth laugh, more serious, yet still patient, all-forgiving. “We are going to have to work on your first instincts, my brother. You see, doing battle by committing suicide never works. It is up to me to make sure you don’t get killed. Let Salem handle this other little problem.”

  Herbie wondered why it could still surprise him to see Salem in the alley behind him as if he materialized out of a shadow.

  * * * * *

  More Coffee

  “I know that it’s not your fault, Maria. I don’t think you have the brains to create a plan like this. You were just a reporter deluded by the prospects of a great story, a victim in this like the rest of us. However, the major role you have been playing in this incredible hoax has been acted out in the entire planet’s living room. What am I to do, considering the extraordinary dimensions of the crimes you have committed? What am
I to say to all those people out there who are now calling for your head in a bucket?

  “These are troubled times, Maria. People ask if Pandora is out of the box. I believe there is a threshold spot in society, a ground zero where all order breaks down and there is only the law of the wild. In times like this the strong kill or be killed until there is nothing left to fear, except for the savage loneliness of being the last one standing on the edge of history, the last life left.

  “But don’t worry my dear, I’m not there, yet. I love this city; I love my people. So, to protect them I am going to have to put you in the safest place I know, until I can deal with your case through the channels the Alliance will eventually decide.”

  Discovering some poise, Maria took a sip of the coffee. “General, with all due respect, and no one is questioning your loyalty, you are operating with very poor intelligence. Salem Jones is no threat to your security. Quite the contrary. I’ve been there.”

  “You were under the influence of the strongest drugs, administered to you by his henchmen.”

  “The miracle is on disk, registered to the world clock.”

  “Prestidigitation! Any sorcerer with only few skills can prepare an illusion like that.”

  “But Jamal . . .”

  “What about the boy? You don’t have to concern yourself with him now; he is under my protection. He’s an unwitting accomplice like you. In a nice world, he would serve as a never mind to this whole thing, but he is not living in a nice world and is guilty of different perpetrations than you.”

  Flashing on Jamal sleeping in her guest room made Maria jump up from her chair. “What do you mean? What have you done to him?” The harsh muzzle of an AK-87 jabbed into her kidneys. Two SKs grabbed her shoulders and, to her shock, handcuffs were clamped around her wrists, binding her arms behind her back. The soldier with the gun in her ribs was trying to prod her back down into her chair, but she didn’t feel like sitting anymore.

  “You do know the penalty for being caught outside Shantypark without the proper blood ID. The boy can infect an entire city. What were you possibly thinking bringing him out knowing what you know? To me that is the real crime; his was just an unfortunate accident of birth.”

  “But he’s not sick anymore!”

  A hand from behind plunked her back down, her cuffed wrists bruising against the back of the seat. Then, it dawned on her and she got really scared.

  * * * * *

  Peaceful Warriors

  The last few squirrel killers on the pavement closed the door behind Jamal and jumped in through the back hatch of the armored truck. The driver gunned the motor, grinding the gears as he shifted into first. The heavy vehicle trudged forward on the snowy street. Fearful passersby, avoiding looking directly at the scene, scurried by in the early monochrome morning. The driver dropped it into second gear and the truck belched out an oily groan.

  Salem stepped into the middle of the road. The sun broke through a crack in the clouds and tinged golden the misty air above his head.

  Everyone culpable of being caught now out on the street couldn’t help but watch, as Salem strode unflinching into the path of the oncoming truck. The armored vehicle lurched and Herbie could see the surprised driver shift into third, picking up speed and inertia, not sure what was going on in the road ahead of him in that sparkling spotlight.

  As all sixteen tires of the mighty war machine picked up speed, Salem held his arms out in front of him, as if to stop it and hold it fast. Just before it would have knocked him down and crushed him, the driver jammed on the brakes and the truck screeched to a hydraulic halt a scant few inches in front of him.

  Squirrel killers jumped out of the truck from all sides, their deadly AK-87s pointed at Salem, one twitch of the finger and he would be an instant bloody carcass. Salem just smiled at them and voiced not a word. But his eyes were talking, connected like a Bluetooth fused directly into the center of each soldier’s brain. They circled him for a long-drawn moment, when one lowered his weapon and lifted the tinted shield covering his eyes. He peered with a quizzical expression at Salem, who looked back with great love and faith, and the soldier, astonished, dropped his gun in a clatter to the gutter and removed his helmet. With a humbled grace, he bent down to one knee.

  Ibrahim turned to give Herbie another brotherly look, but Herbie knowing he should be recording this was already headed back into the alleyway to retrieve his headbandcam from the equipment case. The soprano jumped an octave.

  Back on the street the bystanders were now tripping over each other to see what was going on. By the time Herbie returned with the camera, all the professional soldiers who were trained to kill in a myriad amount of ways had abandoned their helmets and jettisoned their instruments of death. Each was kneeling before Salem.

  Salem beckoned towards the alley. Herbie grabbed his guitar and his gear and followed Ibrahim and his men. He climbed into the passenger seat of the armored truck, and Jamal jumped on his lap. They hugged.

  Together they watched through the windshield as Salem engaged the would-be warriors. He touched each upon his head and, as he did, their teary eyes uplifted into his, grateful for the release of the overbearing weight they had been carrying all this time.

  As the soprano glided down to its fourth, Salem departed from the ring of peaceful soldiers. Without looking back, he strode to the rear of the war vehicle, stepped up and in. As the doors closed behind him, Ibrahim, who was in the driver’s seat, shifted into first. The armored truck lumbered forth once more, leaving behind Pellet’s squirrel killers circled up in the street in the patch of golden sunlight. They were kneeling in the fresh New York snow on this Christmas morning, arms draped around each other in great relief, giving thanks in a way they had never done before.

  * * * * *

  Amazing Grace

  Mayor Storm emerged from the bathroom in the operations room showered and shaved, wearing his best and most conservative black three-piece suit, as if he was dressed for a state funeral. The armored door was fully engaged and the controls to operate it fully disenabled. He heard explosions coming from the secret escape routes, and the door to the roof was sealed tightly shut. Pellet missing not a thing. The phone lines were dead and his cell phone was useless. The T3 lines were cut so he couldn’t communicate over the Internet or the Alternet.

  However, Jack’s computer was very busy, for as he walked around in his office prison, Teddy watched him from the screen following with silent, but joyous, eyes, snatches of sweet lullabies and gushing babies gurgling in the background. Yet, Jack didn’t feel much like talking. Tired, he laid down on the burgundy leather couch by the coffee station. Using the armrest as his pillow he stared up at the ceiling. Trapped, but at peace, his mind began sudsing, his heart slowed and his breath shortened.

  The ageless tones of a wise and ancient flute surround-sounded Jack’s inert body sepulchered on the couch, echoing through the many blank monitors designed for other things. The choir began, soft and humble, and their consonance swirled therein purging, scouring the misery off the temporary walls of who he was, calling him home.

  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,

  I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind, but now, I see.

  Whispers like so much sunlight, dripping with strength so vastly refined.

  “. . . and so my darling I miss you more than words can say, than hearts could beat, than blood could pour. We have always been together and will always be . . .”

  “Well son, you know sometimes you just gotta get your butt off the floor and give it one more good shot, which I know you still got.”

  Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come,

  Twas Grace that brought us safe thus far, and Grace will lead us home.

  “. . . you precious and marvelous man amongst men, I will always be yours, waiting in eternity for eternity if needs be . . .”

  “. . . Stick your nose to the task at hand, Jackie boy, you’ve
done that over and over so well so many times before. Now focus, boy; focus on the one thing, the one and only imperative thing above all others that will save us all.”

  Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear, and Grace, my fears relieved.

  How precious did that Grace appear the hour I first believed.

  “. . . That’s right, son, you duke left and drive right; they have to go for that fake, it’s human nature boy, it’s what we’re made of, what we are all made of . . .”

  “. . . it’s his heart, Jack, it’s his soul, you’ll recognize it, you will, you’ll have to because it is yours, the beauty of which your eyes still can’t see, but it will be so easy soon . . . ”

  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,

  I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind, but now, I see.

  “. . .It’s the stars that shine at night, boy, you got that right, and you ain’t never been afraid of the dark.”

  He wanted to follow the clean water as it roared to the sea and, as the last breath was let go, a tear, adding barely an instant to his life, slowly rolled over the cool flesh of his cheek. The rush in his soul was brilliant counterpoint to the stillness in his heart and the settling of his blood into standing pools within his vessels.

  He has heard silence before, but not the excellence of this.

  That primordial flute, so resonant with the infinite, leaped up an octave and then a fifth and down a third from there . . .