I am greeted by a man in black fatigues with an M-16, a snub nose machine gun, strapped to his shoulder. “You’re not Redmond. Where’s your ID? Put your tools down and get your hands up.”
I do what I’m asked. There are no windows, adornments, or seats. There is a back door, plain white with more security locks. It flies open and another guard comes through looking like his skin is about to burst into flames. He walks right up to me and snatches the ID card I’d used to gain access to the room. After a moment he looks up. “I’m sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Hadley. We had a bomb threat in the building this morning and are running hot around here.” He moves to the back door quickly. “Stay put, we just need to run additional security checks. It’s protocol, that’s all.” He leaves.
Oh shit, I think.
Chapter 1.2
Ben Leman:
Two Days before the Extinction Event
I don’t like it when people look at me for too long. They stare. I turn away, then peek, and they’re still staring. Either they’re jackasses, or they just don’t have a fucking clue where their pupils have decided to take a rest. Either way, it’s their fault and I just want to slap the shit out of them then throw them off the Brooklyn Bridge.
Today the bank is full of shit eaters. Half of which have already stared at me for too long. Too bad I don’t have the guts to say something. I look down. Maybe they’ve noticed the stain on my shirt that looks kinda like Jesus.
Finally, the teller calls me up to the window. “My card doesn’t work at the ATM!” I say loudly because there’s three inches of polycarbonate, bulletproof plastic between me and this broad with the hairspray hairdo.
“To withdraw money you need to slide your card.” She says. Clearly she didn’t hear a fucking word I just said.
“It doesn’t work.” I take a chance and slide the card into the metal tray underneath the bulletproof glass.
She looks at me weird.
“Come on!” Some construction worker yells from the line.
I turn to the worker, my eyes wide open. “I’m fucking trying. This babe can’t hear me through the sludge that is so obviously clogging her ears.” I turn back and get the look that says, ‘Now that I’ve decided you’re an asshole, I’m going to sit here and pretend to type out shit just so I can waste your time’.
I wait.
“I’m sorry. Your card doesn’t work.”
My head is about to pop. “Dammit, bitch. I . . .” I shouldn’t have said that. The security guard rushes over.
“Sir, you’re going to have to leave,” The security guard stands with his hands on his hips.
“I’m not leaving until I get my fuckin’ money!” I really need the cash and my fuse has burnt up.
Two other guards leap on me from either side. They drag me to the door and throw me out.
It’s raining. I look up, seeing the sides of the brick buildings towering over me and above that, grey pregnant clouds. The rain isn’t fresh. It’s rancid and bitter. I pull myself off the sidewalk noticing a new hole in my jeans and a scratch across the top of my new Adidas Micropacers. They are seriously expensive shoes that my dad insisted on buying me.
I pull a cigarette out of my pocket. The instant I do, a gangster walks up to me. He’s got panty hose on his head, tattoos all over his arms and neck, and some fancy necklaces. Oh, and his fucking pants are hanging, not off his ass, but his knees. I’m not some conservative fuddy-duddy but some people just look like, well, dumb fucks.
“Hey bro. Got a smoke for an old friend?”
I’m not thinking straight. In some neighborhoods, having cigs turns you into a lighthouse that beckons broke assholes to your shores. I don’t bother pointing out that he is a total stranger, and I hand him my last cigarette.
“Thanks, bro.” He looks down then back up. His eyes are shimmering and his brain is visibly mulling something over. “Gotta light?” He never takes his eyes off me, which freaks me out. Yeah, he’d be the first I’d throw off the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Yeah.”
He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get out of the rain, shall we?”
Did this fucker just use ‘shall’? He guides me down a narrow alleyway, turns and socks me in my stomach. I fall, splashing in a puddle. He kicks me. Then his buddies come over and take turns. I can’t breathe. I’m seeing red.
My shoes are ripped off my feet and someone reaches into my pocket and pulls out my wallet. They dig through my cards and photos, toss the empty leather at me, and run off. When the world stops pulsating, I sit up. There’s blood in my mouth and more stains on my shirt.
“Are you okay?” I didn’t quite register the stranger’s voice. This is, after all, New York. Strangers shouldn’t even see me. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
The voice is sweet. She’s slender, has a red dress covering her curves, and bright lipstick to match. Her hair is brown. Oh, and she’s got a curious scar running from her cheekbone to her jaw, a gnarly scar.
“No . . . Shit. I mean, no thanks.”
“Did you just get mugged?” She kneels right next to me and holds out a golden lighter.
I notice my cigarette still in my fingers. It’s now half broken and wet but what the hell. I put it up to my lips and she lights me up. After a deep drag, I chuckle. “Some fuckin’ day.” I struggle to my feet. I’m over three hundred fifty pounds these days so it’s hard. The lady actually helps me.
“Do you want me to call the cops?”
I shake my head. “Right, that would be the fucking nail in my coffin.”
She shrugs. “You wouldn’t get your shoes back anyway, I suppose.”
I wiggle my toes. My socks are soaked through. “I just want them to die a horrible death. You know? Where’s a piano when you need one?”
She laughs. “What would you do with a piano?”
“I’d drop it on their fucking heads. That’s what.”
The lady hands me her card. “Call me. I have a piano that you might be interested in.”
“Figuratively speakin’?” I ask rhetorically.
Her smile flattens out like the dying of a beating heart. “Not figuratively speaking.” She walks away swinging her ass back and forth like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.
That night at the bar I can’t think about anything but the lady in red. I stare at her card while rattling the rocks left over from my whiskey sour.
“You want another one?” Shane asks. He’s my favorite bartender. He’s thin as a stick bug and just as ugly, but he’s funny.
“I told you, I don’t have any money.”
“You’re in here almost every night. I know you’re good for it,” Shane replies. He pours a new drink.
After two more I realize that I need a woman like the lady in red. I look around the bar. It’s busy but not crowded. I notice a large chick at a table with one of her friends. She’s got blond hair and nice jewelry. I catch her looking at me. Sweat beads out of my forehead like I’m birthing sand crabs from my pores. I stand and wobble while cramming the lady-in-red’s card in my pocket. The blond meets me half way.
“Hey, babe,” I say to the women then find the nearest seat. I figure I’ll look less like a douche bag if I’m sitting versus swaying in the wind. “I was wondering if you’d take a drink and drink it with me.”
“Sure, darlin’,” the overweight blond says with a southern accent.
I start laughing. “I can do a southern chick!” I say, a little too loud. I just stuck my foot deep in my mouth with the skill of a sixth street hooker. She douses me with her drink then stomps back to her friend.
I leave before she comes back to finish me off. She’d probably take a lighter to me and watch me burn. I wouldn’t blame her. I smell the gin soaking my shirt. I fucking hate myself.
My feet take me home one stumble at a time. A car horn startles me as I’m crossing the street. “Fuck off, asshole! I’ll kill you. Kill you all!” I yell and then rush to the shad
ows of a stairwell in case someone has heard me.
The wind picks up and cools my wet shirt. It’s relaxing. Maybe I need to chill. I’ve got to get home where my bong is waiting. Oh, but I wish that lady in red was here. I pull out her card and stare at the number. Finding my phone takes less than ten seconds but seems like forever. Finally, it’s ringing.
“Hello, Ben.” Her voice is soothing but strong. “I want you to talk to my friend a while. He’s the owner of the piano.” There’s a click.
“Wait, wait. What’s your name?” She doesn’t hear me. To my disappointment, a man’s deep voice comes on. “Hello, Ben. My name is Zilla.”
“Hi. Um, I’d rather talk to the lady.”
“I know. But talk to me for just a moment because I know how alienated you feel.”
“I don’t really wanna talk about my feelings, dude.”
“That’s okay. Sometimes in life we get an opportunity like no other. There is a ray of light shining on you today. You’re like me, a cog in the machine just turning and clicking. You’re as overlooked as a grey sedan in a sea of exuberant sports cars. But I’ve stopped at your door and I’m in that shiny red Ferrari, Ben. I’m handing you the keys. So the question is, do you want to take it for a ride?”
“If you were really tossing me the keys, I’d burn some fucking rubber, dude.” I’m not quite sure what this Zilla is talking about.
“Good. Now, just because I own a Ferrari doesn’t mean I don’t know how the other side feels. I remember and I’m on your side. I want the world to feel the pain we’ve felt. I want some kind of revenge.”
“You talkin’ about . . . shooting people?”
“No. Nothing like that. I want you to make everyone throw up. I’ve got a fun little prank to play, and I need your help to play it. It’ll make history in a very clever way. It’s a neat little bacteria that will grow in people’s water heaters. And when they do their dishes or take a shower the bug will make them sick to their stomachs. It’ll be a citywide barf fest. It will make national news. It will be fantastic! Will you help me? Will you help us?”
“Hell yes,” I say without a millisecond of hesitation. The phone line goes dead.
I look at my cell, still feeling drunk. Revenge does sound good. I hold up my middle finger and spin around. “Fuck you all! You’re gonna feel my pain for once!” Though I’m still confused about how.
When I stumble around the corner of my apartment building, I see a streetlight illuminating a shiny, cherry-red Ferrari. As I approach, the door opens open and the woman in red steps out. I walk up to her trying to square my shoulders and look manly and tough. She doesn’t say a word, just holds out the keys in one hand and something in the other. I take the keys and let her push a medicine bottle into my other hand.
She steps close to me and whispers into my ear. “Take a drive, Ben, to work. Take out the guard, in a friendly way. Then pour what’s in that bottle into the circulation tank and come home. Take the long way home if you want. You’ve got two hours.” My hair stands on end. I can smell her perfume and hear the jingle of her earrings.
“Okay,” I whisper, kinda weak in the knees.
When I get in the car I notice a bottle of vodka in the passenger seat along with a white bottle labeled ‘Chloroform’ and a battery powered hand drill. I guess chloroform is a friendly way to take out the guard. Good thing he’s one of my buddies. He’ll forgive me. Maybe even enjoy himself.
I start the engine. The radio clicks on and pumps Crusaders out of the speakers. They’re my favorite band. How did they know that? My blood morphs into rocket fuel. I rev the engine then grab the vodka and swig. “Let’s do this fuckin’ deed!” I squeal the tires and fishtail into the middle lane. The buildings blow by me like I’m in a fighter jet. I pass by the snails on the road and laugh. It’s the best I’ve felt, well, since I was nine years old.
#
I remember that day well. I was shopping at Bed Bath & Everything with my babysitter and five other snot-nosed kids that I hated. I didn’t want to go back to her house, and I didn’t want my parents to pick me up either. So my solution at the time was to hide in the bathroom stall. I sat on the toilet and pulled my feet up so no one could see them.
Hours went by and no one came looking for me. It took a long time, but finally Bed Bath & Everything closed. One hour later there was such a sweet silence I thought I was going to explode with excitement. My first stop was the toy section. I pulled out a Nerf body vest, loaded it with foam darts and grabbed the biggest Nerf gun there was.
Though there were some security lights in a few spots, it was dark and there were shadows over everything. The darkness became a beast in the store. It chased after me like a phantom security guard. I kept just far enough away, staying out of its reach.
No matter, I was on top of the world! That stupid babysitter must have totally forgotten about me. I laughed at the thought of my father cussing her out. He would blame her for sure because I was his pride and joy. I was his genius. I never did anything wrong. See, my father didn’t get drunk and hit me. That wasn’t why I hated him. He always tried to get me to be smarter, the best. I had three hours of homework every night. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV, play video games, or shoot a bb gun. I played soccer, baseball, tennis and he had me volunteering at the library on weekends. God! He never left me alone!
I ran down the home and bath section, froze at the end of the aisle, then aimed my gun at the soap bottles. Rapid fire! Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam, bam! A bottle fell from the shelf and shattered on the floor. I shouldered the Nerf rifle and ran. My hand reached out and grabbed the towels, shower curtains, rugs, and other decorations and yanked them to the floor. That would slow the store phantom that still nipped at my heels.
I peeked around the end of an aisle in the toy section. The aisle was filled with stuffed teddy bears and animals of all shapes and sizes. I loaded a fresh clip into my rifle and cocked it. To the left was Pooh Bear. Bam! Shot him through the head. He’s dead. I turned right. There was Elmo. Bam, dead. I took a few steps. On either side were more fluffy stuffed animals. Bam, bam. All dead!
Midnight came. I had worn myself out so I went to the bedroom department. I flipped the pillows off a model bed, crawled inside the sheets, and pulled them up to my nose. I had a huge smile on my face, but I was also worried about that phantom. I put a fresh clip of darts in my rifle and set it next to me.
Six A.M. came fast. The sound of the front security gates rolling up made my heart jump. I looked around and saw my destruction. The first place I thought to go was the bathroom. I planned on hiding and when shoppers filled the store, I’d just walk out.
That’s not what happened. I had done so much damage that the police locked the place down and turned it into a crime scene. They found me hiding shortly after nine.
I expected a spanking or some form of torturous punishment, but it never came. My dad cried the whole time he spoke to me. He told me how stupid I had acted. He knew I was smarter than that, blah, blah, blah. I stopped listening shortly after that.
#
Now I chug the vodka, pushing that thought back into the ass crack of my brain, and gun it all the way to work. The car spins around corners like it’s on a track. The squealing tires give me chills. My lane is blocked but the opposite lane isn’t, so I pass the fucker and flip them off. Good thing it’s late at night and there aren’t many cars on the road. Otherwise, I’d probably wrap this car around another and head off to the afterlife with a passport to hell.
I park the Ferrari a block from the New York City’s North River Water Treatment Plant. Normally I can be found cleaning out ducts and replacing old water lines and filters for a living. Fantastic career, one that impresses the ladies, fo sho.
The guard’s name is Stanford. No relation to the rich bastards or the university of stiffs. “Hey, Ben. What’s up?” He’s built like a freight train, but, like me, has eaten his share of doughnuts. I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder.
�
�Phew, you’re having some fun aren’t you,” Stanford says.
I pull out a rag and slap it on his mouth. He only struggles for a moment before collapsing. “Sorry, Stan.” I drag him to a side room and lock him inside. Fuckin’ easy!
First, I shut down the additive tank that mixes the chlorine, fluoride, and food grade phosphoric acid into the tap water. The tank blades slow and stop. An alarm goes off, so I hurry. I pull the hand drill out of my pocket and drill a hole in the top of the tank. I carefully pour the contents of the pill bottle into the huge water tank and start the circulation blades again. The liquid spreads throughout the clean water that feeds millions of homes. Zilla had told me the liquid was a bacteria that would make millions of people barf their guts out. He told me the name of the bug, but I stopped listening when the technical stuff started confusing me.
I pause for a moment. Guilt picks at me and it feels like someone is sitting on my shoulder wagging their finger at me - tsk, tsk, tsk. I flick my finger at the imaginary angel, then I shake my head, scattering my vision and thoughts like shaking up a snow globe. They’re just gonna get sick is all. This is just a big fat prank, nothing to feel too guilty about, right? I start shaking and I feel nausea kicking in. I punch the side of the tank. Oh shit! That hurt too much. I cradle my knuckles. This’ll be a hell of an entertaining night flipping through the cable news channels.
I run back out to the Ferrari, hoping to get some miles between me and the chaos about to hit New York City, but the fuckin’ car is gone. I guess my two hours of fun are up.
Chapter 1.3
Hana Scottfeild:
One Day before the Extinction Event
It’s three o’clock in the morning, and my phone starts ringing. I just got off a sixty-hour week and am looking forward to a couple of days off. Tonight I’d dealt with a highly intoxicated man trying to chase down his ex-girlfriend. When he cut his leg running from me he started splashing blood on me, yelling that he had AIDS. It wasn’t true, but it scared me half to death. Just after I took him in there was a bomb threat at Mt. Sinai Hospital, an attempted suicide at an apartment on 121 Street, and a large-scale protest in Central Park that got ugly. I earned a pile of paperwork up to my eyebrows. It was the shittiest shift I think I’d ever worked in my entire life.
6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 Page 2