by wade coleman
“This feels very weird. I’m not used to men being nice to me for no reason.”
“Would it be easier if I put on a skirt and lipstick?”
Kim stops and gives me a puzzled look. “You know, since I can’t read you, I can’t tell if you’re serious or joking.”
The cloud moves past, and the sun comes out. I put my hands on my hips and swing them suggestively. “I’ll wear Honolulu honey lipstick. It’s the same shade as your nipples.”
Kim throws her head back and lets out a thunderous laugh. When she recovers, she puts her hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”
I lightly cup her breast. “I like the way your nipples stare up at me when I’m standing next to you.” Running my hands down her waist, I say, “I like the way your narrow waistline opens into your inviting hips. Not to mention your gorgeous dandelion yellow eyes.”
She smirks, “Okay, you’re not gay. Try not to drool on me.”
We continue walking.
“And for the record,” I say. “There’s not a man alive that wouldn’t put on lipstick to fuck you.”
Kim smiles, accepting the compliment. “Yeah, but how many men know the shade of my nipples is Honolulu honey?”
I blush and change the subject. “Let’s head back; I don’t want to leave the bikes unattended.”
After a few minutes, Kim lets go of my hand and picks a green apple. She takes a bite and spits it out. “You look like a Pureblood and have an education. Why aren’t you with them?”
“Looking like them means nothing. The Purebloods mapped every gene and decided what is pure and what is mutated.”
I pause for a moment and watch the water. “Each mutation has a rating. The rating board overlooks the minor ones like eye, skin and hair color. I’m a Type 3A mutant; I don’t get infections or cancer. Purebloods covet our organs.” I pick an unripe apple and stop. Look out over the water I toss the apple, and it floats. A wide mouth bass comes by and scoops it up. “Type 3A mutants like me are cattle. We get perks. Like staying nice and healthy. But they never let us out of their pasture.”
“I thought I was smart enough to make my way out. I graduated high school and nailed the SATs. But they said I cheated. That blew any chance of getting into college. Now I’m always looking over my shoulder for a meat wagon.”
“I didn’t know,” Kim puts her hand on my shoulder.
“It’s not like it’s on the news. I’ve known a few people who disappeared.”
We walk back, and the tension leaves my body when I spot our bikes under the buckthorn shrub.
“I gotta go back to work.”
“Okay,” Kim heads north.
“Stay away from the water’s edge.”
“I have my radar up, if a croc is thinking about me, I’ll know it.”
Sitting down, I lean against a rock. While my tablet boots up and finds the signal, I fill Natasha in on my fake web identities, one female, and two males. They have Facebook and Twitter accounts. I post pictures, make up stories, and get people to talk to me around the city. It keeps me informed of what’s going on. Natasha and I scan the pages together.
“Hermes, I have control of your hands. I can type very fast, so just tell me what you want.”
“The Sons of Chaos have the high security safe. It will take some time to get in. They’ll try cutting or shooting at it first, but that won’t work. They need an industrial strength drill. Check the public police records and see if anyone has broken into a machine shop. Also check for gunshots, explosions, loud noises, things like that.”
Natasha takes control. My fingers are tingling puppets, moving at blurring speed; it’s strange watching my own hands type without me, like bionic spiders at the ends of my arms. Soon the tablet computer screen is flashing information at less than a second per screen.
“I feel dizzy.”
“It’s easier if you don’t try to read. Just let your mind relax while your eyes stay focused on the screen.”
I do what she says and let the images flash by.
Three minutes later she stops. “Three break-ins meet your description and two hundred loud noise reports.”
“Show me a map,” I say.
Yesterday, near the Oxford Arms, a machine shop was robbed. A large drill was taken. A report of a large truck…another a report of an armored truck heading in the direction of the recycling center.
Kim is suddenly standing over me, shading my eyes from the sun. “It’s getting late. Let’s head back.”
I give her my hand, and she helps me up. I pull off a strand of hair glued to the corner of her mouth.
“Stop that.”
“What’s that?”
“Preening me, fixing my hair and smoothing out a wrinkle on my shirt.”
We head home on our bikes, the sun low in the west when we arrive. Mom’s Suzuki is in the driveway.
Kim and I walk in, the house smelling of cheese casserole. Mom and Dad are in the backyard with their feet up and in their favorite lawn chairs. Seeing us, they get up and come inside. I set the table while Dad gets dinner out of the oven. The girls sit, and the men serve. Mom says grace, and we all dig in.
“What did you find out?” Daniel's cheeks are full of casserole.
“The Sons of Chaos took the safe to the recycling center. If they don’t know what they’re doing, it’ll take days to crack. I’ll check it out tonight.”
Kim breaks in, “We’ll check it out tonight. A lot of bad things happen there. You’ll need me.”
Kim takes a big bite of molten cheese and noodles, swallows, and takes a drink. “Bev, did you get a chance to look at the doctor’s computer tablet?”
Mom nods and finishes her bite. “Eight hundred people were given a flu shot the last Wednesday in September. Ninety percent of them died of respiratory failure within three days. Death comes within twelve hours of the first symptoms. The tablet belonged to Doctor Jensen. He had orders not to administer anti-virals.”
Mom blows on the casserole and shoves it in her mouth.
“Who gave the order not to administer meds?” I want that name.
She swallows. “The Chief administrator of the hospital. I have his name and address.”
Daniel takes Mom’s arm. “Honey, you shouldn’t have done that. They have cameras everywhere in a hospital.”
“And half of them don’t work. I went to another floor, found a computer that was already logged on. There’s no way to trace it to me.”
Daniel looks content, nods, and resumes eating.
After dinner, we men clear the table. Dad looks at me, stands up, and we head to the shop. In the garage, I sit on my rolling chair. Daniel wipes down the table before unrolling his map. The thin plastic screen lights up and displays the Frisco Metro area. He waves his hands, and the image zooms in on inlet to the west of us, the Recycling Center.
Since Napa Valley was already contaminated with motor oil and diesel fuel from all the rusted-out wrecks, the Army Corp dredged an inlet and built a dock.
“Barges pick up the recycled plastic from Frisco and tows along the bay and drops it off at the Recycling Center.” He zooms in and displays a 3D aerial map of the refinery. “Those mounds are piles of plastic that are sorted and put into large vats. They add water, and genetically engineered bacteria break down the plastic into diesel fuel. It’s dangerous work.”
“I saw what the Sons of Chaos armored truck can do. I’d feel better if it was disabled. Can you get a hold of a thermite grenade?”
“Son, why don’t you let the police handle that?”
“How many people do think they’ll kill with that fifty-caliber machine gun before they can destroy it?”
He shakes his head, gets up and opens a locker, getting out a set of night vision goggles, a Mac 10 pistol, and puts everything on the table.
“No guns,” I say.
“It’s not for you.”
Kim walks in, eating an apple. “It’s for me.” She picks up the Mac 10, holds it
like the woman in the movie, The Avengers. “Show me how to use this,” Kim hands Daniel the pistol.
He rejects the clip, clears the round in the chamber and hands the Mac 10 to her. “It’s got more of a kick than your Beretta, but the weight of the silencer holds it down.”
Kim slides the clip back in and points the gun out the garage door.
“The silencer suppresses the noise, but not all of it, so it still has a pop. “The muffled noise makes it harder to detect the direction where shots are being fired from.” He pauses for a moment, then asks, “Do you need a set of night vision goggles?”
“My eyes are better, but I need armor piercing rounds. The Sons of Chaos wear Kevlar vests.”
“Those are hard to get. I’ll talk to Bob.” Daniel gets up, walks out the door and heads to Bob’s house.
I walk to the door. “Don’t forget the thermite grenade,” I say as Daniel walks away.
“I told your mother we shouldn’t have children… they’re more trouble than they’re worth….” Daniel’s voice trails off as he walks across the street.
“What’s up with Ceres?” Kim asks, “There’s list weird family vibe.”
I nod. “This whole subdivision fought in the Bio Wars under the command of Colonel James Baker. They were stationed in Saudi Arabia when Iran took over Iraq.” I sit on my wheeled stool. “Since Iran has nuclear weapons, we didn’t dare invade. So both sides sent raiding parties over the border to disrupt each other’s oil production.” I swivel back-and-forth in the chair. “So everyone from the war has this bond.”
I stand up and stretch. “This whole neighborhood was Colonel James’ idea, most everyone under his command pulled their money and VA benefits and used it to buy land along west side of the estuary.”
“You farmers have your own gang. You have the best food and weapons, that’s for sure.”
“They’re all still in the Army Reserve. The town of Ceres is technically an Army Reserve Base.”
“I can’t see you in the Army, marching in rows and getting up early.”
I sit back in my chair. “Yeah, it’s mandatory to attend weapons training, but I refused to shoot at a target shaped like a person. It didn’t seem right, learning how to kill people.”
“Why the fuck not?” Kim exclaims, her brows furrowing, making her look like the cat she is. “I’d rather shoot than get shot.”
I stand up and pace on the concrete floor. “I noticed when I stopped carrying a gun; people stopped shooting at me.”
Kim looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “What are you talking about?”
“I served my three-year enlistment on the back of an ambulance. The company made us carry a sidearm. One day I forgot it, and nobody tried to stab me from behind or shoot me for my bag full of drugs. It became my good luck charm, carrying a bag of chips in my empty holster.”
Kim points the finger at me. “And you don’t believe in angels?”
“I believe that if I don’t carry a gun, then people won’t shoot at me.”
She shakes her head, puts down her pistol and walks over to the table. “Why does this box have my name on it?”
I hand her my pocket knife. “Open it up.”
Inside is a spider silk vest. She holds it up and looks at it. The silk is charcoal black. The front has six pockets that are almost invisible.
“I had Daniel get you one. The silk can stop a twenty-caliber rifle with armor piercing rounds.”
Kim takes off her shirt and slips silk on over her head. The sleeves stop at the bicep, and the shirttail goes past her butt. The neckline is snug against her neck.
She looks at the length. “Yours doesn’t look like this.”
“This is the new model. Take off your pants, and I’ll show you how it works.”
She looks at me, realizes I’m serious and takes off her jeans.
I pull the vest down, so the fabric stretches over her butt and connects between her legs. The material joins and conforms to her ass. The connection is seamless.
“How do I take a piss?”
“Pull on the material slowly where it’s the thinnest.”
Kim takes her finger, pulling on the silk between her legs. It separates and contracts back to her waistline.
I show her a button on the sleeve. “It’s got two colors, black and flesh tone. The other button contracts the sleeves and lowers the neckline, so it’s hard to spot.
Kim plays with settings, checks herself out in a mirror and runs her hands across the silk. “It’s like wearing a body bra.”
I look Kim over. She’s gained a few pounds since we’ve met. All the solid meals we’ve had are catching up with her already. Even her color is good. Kim puts on her clothes.
I pick up a hammer. “You’ll love this.” I swing the hammer hard into her gut. The shirt stiffens into one solid piece and knocks her back a step.
“What the fuck, asshole…?” Kim feels her stomach. “Hey, that didn’t even hurt.”
She smiles, grabs the hammer from my hand and hits herself. “It hardens for a sec when I hit it.” She puts down the hammer and feels the fabric. “Will this stop armor piercing rounds?”
“From a pistol, but not from a thirty-caliber rifle, they have too much punch for this armor.”
Kim looks at me and smiles. “Thanks.”
Dad returns a half hour later and lays out three clips on the table. He points to one. “This is armor piercing, and they’re hard to come by.”
He tosses me a grenade. “It’s an incendiary device that we put down enemy cannons. It can burn a hole through four inches of steel.”
After loading all our equipment, we get on our bikes.
“They activated the neighborhood watch.
“What does that mean?” Kim asks.
“That means our friends know that something could happen tonight,” Daniel replies.
I turn on the battery.
“Contact Detective Coleman, tell him where I’m going and to expect my call,” I tell Dad. “See you on the other side.”
“See you on the flip,” he answers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kim and I cruise on the road heading to the Bone Yard. We take the fork heading north that leads to the refinery. Barges filled with recycled plastic from bay communities dump it at the refinery, a series of concrete ponds the size of swimming pools surrounded by mounds of recycled plastic. Mutants fill the ponds and add bacteria. The microbes digest the plastic into diesel fuel. Then the workers skim the oil off the top and purify it. It’s dirty work.
The area encompasses four square miles. A ten-foot-high chain-link fence keeps the recycled plastic from blowing away. It has three exits. The north exit leads to the Bone Yards; the east exit is back towards Ceres.
A few hundred yards from the east exit we stop
“Did you see that?” Kim asks.
“What?”
“Someone just lit a cigarette…He just took a puff. He’s two hundred yards from the gate by the stack of railroad ties.”
We drive around the east gate and find the frontage road to the south. Kim is in the lead with our headlights off. In ten minutes we find the entrance. The gate is on wheels and locked with a chain. I get my lock pick set from my vest, and in three seconds, the lock is open.
Kim opens the gate while I drive through. A mile north we find a mound of earth twenty feet high with a picnic table on top. We lay our bikes down. The glow of a fire backlight a mountain of tires.
“Do you think it’s them?”
“Get me within a hundred yards, and I can tell you if it’s the Sons of Chaos,” Kim replies.
We ride closer and hide our bikes in a mound of plastic that looks like coffee grounds. Sounds of rock and roll music, heavy on the bass, a thump from close by.
“I can read their thoughts; it’s them.”
I text Detective Coleman. “Chaos at the refinery. Follow the music.”
“I want to get a closer look,” I say.
“Wait…�
�� Kim says, but she’s too late, and I’ve already merged with a nearby shadow.
For the next few minutes, I skip through the shadows, using the music to find my way to the camp. After exiting a shadow, I stand under a methane collector. They look like large pressure cookers with a pipe on top to collect gas. The yellow light of a bonfire illuminates a row of Harley Davidson electric motorcycles. At the end of all this is the armored pickup.
A large generator, its cord connected to an industrial drill mounted on a stand, sits in the bed of the truck. A man stands in the back and guides the drill against the safe locking mechanism.
Behind the bikes, a topless woman dances. A few men watch, but the others look bored, even though they continue to stare.
Walking towards the truck, I use the loud music to mask my approach. Climbing in the back, I punch the man using the drill in the kidneys. I pull the pin on the thermite grenade, lean over the cab and drop it on the hood. Turning around, I dash back to the methane cooker.
Halfway there, a man yells, “Shit, I smell thermite!”
A troll steps out from behind the cooker and lands a punch to my gut. I go flying into a pile of plastic jugs.
Luckily, the vest stiffens into a hard shell, protecting me from serious injury. I bury myself in the pile of jugs and try to catch my breath.
The troll dressed in a Kevlar vest and shorts moves towards me. “Come out, little mouse.” Kicking the bottles, making them fly, he laughs. “The trouble with mice is you always kill’em.”
The troll scatters the pile of plastic, and I take a chance, getting up quickly to run. He’s in hot pursuit, and fast, but he can’t make the turns as tight as I can. Weaving in and out of mounds, I find a shadow and wrap it around me.
The troll, wearing the largest pair of Nike’s I’ve ever seen, comes barreling through, his radio squawking: “Everyone report! We have a perimeter breach!”
“Track my radio, he’s near me,” Big Foot reports.
I move away, staying in the shadows. Various mutants approach from multiple directions, some on bikes. Flashlights and headlights destroy the shadows, limiting my places to hide, and suddenly I’m visible to all. Two men flank me, and I put my hands up.