I vomit copiously in the grass, at my feet. The ground is spinning too much to stand up anymore, I decide to sit, and at some unknown moment I pass out cold.
the Second Commercial
A piano softly plays in the background. The pianist is in fact playing the refrain from a very popular pop song from two summers ago, but doing so with the utmost in mournfulness, to try and create an atmosphere of uncertainty. A male voice says. "We live in uncertain times." The male voice was chosen to offset the Congresswoman’s female-ness.
A picture appears in black and white, grainy, of a construction worker. He takes off his hard hat and wipes his brow. A second voiceover asks
"How am I going to support my family?"
A picture appears of an older teenage girl, sitting at a school desk with a notebook. A third voiceover asks
"How can I get into school?"
A picture appears of a disheveled male, and an older gentleman in a tie. The fourth voiceover asks
"How am I supposed to trust him?"
The picture turns to full color. The music turns cheerful, and even a little peppy. A woman in a red pantsuit with a simple string of pearls is smiling. She is attractive in an older way, and her outfit is meant to both suggest both Nancy Reagan and Jackie O.
"I'm Michelle Bachmann." She says. "In Congress I've fought for the rights of ordinary Americans, and not just the privileged few, who have chosen questionable procedures. We've got a long way to go in this country, and if I'm elected, I'll force Washington to abide by the Supreme Court's landmark decision." A pair of disembodied hands hand her an infant, which she carries. "Let’s make this world safe for our children. I'm Michelle Bachmann, and I approve this message."
The final voiceover tells us that this advertisement was paid for by the committee for natural Americans.
Five
When I wake up I'm back in Glens trailer and its breakfast time again. The smell doesn’t have the same effect on me, as it did the first time. This time it just makes me feel more sick. But at the table there's more coffee waiting for me.
"Grits are good for a hangover." Glen says. "You want to try some."
"No thanks." I reply.
He chews thoughtfully. "Kind of wasted a day there." He says. "All in all."
I sip the coffee. "I didn’t know there was a plan."
"Ayuh." Glen says. "There was a sort of plan. Introduce you to Galilee, and let him sort things out."
"Just like that, huh?" I say. "Feed me to the shark?"
His face falls. "It wasn’t supposed to be just like that." He says. "Way I figured, Galilee was supposed to get you settled in, and help you figure things out. And we would go from there."
"I hate to burst your bubble." I say. "But that didn’t happen."
"I know it." Glen replies.
Feeling bold, I press on. "I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours hauling timber, and getting drunk with some bald slob called Brian Bendis. Galilee has said maybe fifteen words to me since them, most of them unkind. So why don’t we skip all this shoulda woulda coulda, and get straight to the point where you tell me exactly what’s going on?"
"I don’t know how many answers I've got for you, missy." Glen says. "And out of them, I don’t know what you'll like."
"Start with this." I say. "What exactly is it, that you and my mother put in my head?"
****
Glen grins weakly. "Figured it out all by yourself?" He says.
"You tell me. And start right now."
"Remember what I was tellin you earlier, about the Activor project?"
"The one that didn’t go through."
He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin. "That was a fib." He says. "A half fib, anyway. It went through, it just didn’t go through with Activor."
"So what happened?" I ask.
"The department of defense." Glen says. "The DoD commisioned a research and development project in which specialized human amplification devices would be used on twelve subjects."
"Specialized in what way?"
"Reflexes. Agility. Speed. Muscle memory. The sort of instantaneous decisions that make all the difference in combat. The way it works, in theory, is that you know what to do before you think about it. Your body makes the choices."
"It sounds crazy." I tell him. "It sounds like everything the norms are freaked out about."
"It was." Glen says. "And it is. When we got the Intel back, on these guys, they were pretty much dodging bullets. One of them managed to take out a soviet tank with a nine millimeter pistol, by calculating the exact trajectory of the bullet, versus the weak points in the armor plating. They were unnerving to be around."
"I'll bet."
"You would know, anyway. You've met Galilee."
"He was one of them."
"He was their leader." Glen says. "Their platoon commander. Lifetime special forces. When the unit was disbanded and blacklisted, he set about forming EAP. He runs it right now. The government would probably burn Haven to the ground, if they knew he was here."
"Yeah." I shook my head. "We had a little run-in last night. I'm steering clear."
"I don’t know if that’s possible." Glen says. "He knows what you've got in your head."
"So I'm an Amp. So what? Plenty of those around here. He can be all creepy jerk to another Amp woman."
"Kara, hun." Glen says. "Do you remember the accident?"
I shut my eyes for a second. The old dirt road, in the country. The barb wire stretched around the fence post, through the windshield where I had hit it. One eye red like a specialty lensed flashlight, red and moist.
"A little bit." I tell him.
"You were comatose." Glen says. "Brain dead. The doctors were talking about unplugging the machines. Your mother came to me, and begged me to help her. She wanted the hardware. Thought it would give her a miracle. And she was right, you came out of it okay."
My hand traces up to my temple, to the little nub of the maintenance port. "Are you saying?"
Glen nods. "Military grade hardware." He says. "Experimental stuff. The thirteenth unit is in your head, Kara. You just have to know how to turn it on."
****
No one had told me I was in a coma before.
The thought of it makes my heart pound in my chest. That, and the word Glen used. Military-grade. I imagine an Atom bomb, a plutonium core, pulsing across my brain. "But I can’t do anything." I tell him. "I'm not different at all. Are you sure all this stuff your telling me....I mean, are you sure it’s me?"
"I’ve seen what that particular unit can do, Kara." Glen said. "And I'm sure. As for why you can’t do it yourself, I'm not a hundred percent. I supplied the hardware, your mother performed the surgery. But neither one of us knew what the military did training wise, to mold their Amps. It wasn’t even something we were thinking about, really. Just getting you back to okay was enough."
"But she sent me here." I tell him. "She wanted me to find you."
"She might have just wanted you to know why you were being chased." Glen said. "She might have wanted you to keep running. The European Union's turned itself into a good place for you people these days. We get you across the border to Canada, you can get a political refugee visa."
"Or you can stay and fight." Galilee says.
He is standing there again, unbidden. I want to hate him but I cant. He is positioned in a clear position of confidence in the door frame, standing a little straighter than a true civilian would, head a little more erect. I feel the pull again, the crackle of energy between us.
"I know things that can help you." Galilee says. "And what you are, can help me. You can help all these people here. The governments started to hate. When you get a good, solid, hate going, and you put a bureaucratic stamp on it, that’s a powerful thing. It doesn’t stop on its own. It has to be met by a force strong enough to push it back, to tell it where to go. And that’s us. And you."
I look down, thinking of the last words in my favorite book, Ulysses by Ja
mes Joyce. Yes yes, I will say yes. But I can’t say yes to Galilee. After all, he's a domestic terrorist. Isn’t he?
"You've got enough volunteers." Glen says, gruffly. "Let Kara go where she needs to."
"If you change your mind." Galilee says, and leaves.
I follow him. I am compelled to do so.
****
We walk across the trailer park, and out of it. Through the piney woods that surrounds Haven. The hills roll up and down, and are covered in wild grass, leaves, the occasional beer can. Galilee is walking fast. I try to match his gait, to keep up with him.
Somehow I am thinking about my last boyfriend, Chuck Baylor. He was older than me by seven years, and not at all the best match, in my friends eyes. We lived in different apartments around the same area and shared dinners and a mechanical sexual experience once a week. I justified his shortcomings by thinking about him secretly as my grown-up boyfriend. Chuck Baylor was most assuredly an adult, with a mortgage, two children, and a divorce to prove it. I was twenty-three and fresh out of college with my teaching degree.
That was all we had in common, teaching. And even in that we were worlds apart. Chuck hated the job, for the most part. He couldn’t stand the kids. "There so damn cool." He would whine to me. "They think that means something, to be cool, to wear the clothes, and listen to the music. I wish I could keep up with them, to that point in their lives when they realize it doesn’t mean a damn thing. And then it’s going to pass them by."
Physically Chuck Baylor had little in common with Galilee. But they shared a common emotion. Chuck hated the children and Galilee hated the norms, mostly for the same reason, but groups had put the men in separate not-them boxes. About the time Chuck started voicing these opinions to me I had started pulling away from him. And then my accident, and after I was an amp, from him, nothing. Complete silence. We would even walk past each other in the hallway, and no one would speak.
I am pulled out of my reverie only when Galilee stops, in between a naturally occurring semi-circle of pines. He lifts his head and inhales deeply, through his nostrils, in a way that makes that sniffing sound. He releases it with an aaahhhh of complete satisfaction. In the same way I find myself smelling the air, the strong scent of pine needles on it. When I face him he is smiling.
"It’s important to ritualize these sorts of events." He says. "An old custom, going far back in time. The moment of self-discovery. Adulthood. Most cultures would have us do some sort of penis mutilation, but we aren’t them, and you don’t have the equipment. Let’s get naked."
He starts to take off his clothes. He strips in quick, even movements, shucking off his wife beater and grey trousers. I find myself hesitant, unbuttoning my blouse, and pulling down my skirt. Naked Galilee is tanned and chiseled, if covered from unknown scars. At last I stand in front of him in bra and panties.
"Everything." He says. "Those too."
Blush rises to my face, behind my ears. "So what is this." I say. "You just want to look."
"No." Galilee says. "I don’t care about your tits. This is how it works."
For some reason, I believe him. We’re standing naked, in the woods, staring at each other. I am trying very hard not to become aroused, and wondering if he is doing the same. Galilee holds out a fist.
"Imagine a light switch in your mind." He says. "It is in the off positions. In five seconds you will flip that switch on."
Five seconds.
"Four..."
"Three..."
"Two..."
"One..."
"Go."
I feel the words. The tremor hits me in a spasm, racks across my body, through my core. My muscles are twitching uncontrollably. Glen lied. I am having a seizure. The amp in my brain was for seizures, the light is turning white and tearing me to pieces-
****
And just like that, the world has changed.
My vision has changed. I mean that not in a spaced out, trippy new age way, but as a literal truth, the way I see things is different. There are white letters at the corners of my eyes. I can see things in different hues than usual, shades of white and green. I look closely at a tree limb, and things like CARBON and PHOSPHOROUS, INSECT LIFE, LOCAL VEGETATION appear. Reflexively, as if my brain had its own connection to Wikipedia. A similar message appears, near the center of my vision.
COMBAT AMPLIFICATION ACTIVATED
MUSCLE MEMORY
SMALL ARMS
HAND TO HAND COMBAT
ANALYSIS AND RECONNAISANCE
"It’s really something, isn’t it?" Galilee says. When I look at him I can see that he has an erection. "The first time you turn it on." He says. "It’s like this for your entire body...a giant boner."
"Girls don’t get boners." I tell him. Although I am feeling kind of tingly, down there.
"Have it your way." He says. "Apply your favorite feminine perogative for an enjoyable bodily experience."
"I cant." I tell him. "This isn’t like buying shoes."
He laughs. "Christ." He says. "Woman really enjoy that? That much, I mean?"
A flash of anger. And that’s all it takes, for me to throw the first punch.
Galilee dodges it, easy. He swings a forearm to my head. I block it.
Everything thereafter is a blur of speed. I lead and he counters. I am stunned at my newfound skill. Somehow I know what to do, where to strike. How to counter his strikes.
"I like your style." Galilee comments, as we spar. "Your outmatched in weight, so you go with speed. Lead off with the nasty stuff, incapacity blows. Fighting smart."
"I don’t know what the fuck that means." I manage to pant out.
"You don’t have to know." Galilee says. "You only have to do." And with that he gets past my guard with a nasty shot to my kidneys, that I somehow roll back from. My hands up, ready for more. My bare ass stinging from my naked roll, across the dirt. It fades back a little. I’ve been fighting like a Ninja naked, in the woods.
I look at Galilee. He is the same, only, thankfully, deflated.
"You won’t beat me." He says. "But that’s not the point. You only have to beat them."
"Them?" I ask.
"Them. Normie norm. All the normie norms out there in a big, bad, amp-hating world. Good luck, and be careful."
"Why?"
"One of them has a gun." He says, with his back turned. Before I can blink, he's gone.
I get dressed, feeling tingly all over. The vision fades away. Just when I think it’s gone, I concentrate a little, like a squint, and it pops back. I wonder, how does my head not hurt from all this? But it doesn’t. I feel alive and fine, better than good.
Halfway down the trail I see them. Three men, young, and dressed in a mildly threatening fashion. A camouflage hat with a deer skull. A black shirt with Marilyn Manson on it. The rebel flag, of course, is displayed on patches and tattoos, as well as splotchy beards that do a poor job of covering acne.
"Hey." Marilyn Manson says to me.
"Hey." I notice for the first time, they are blocking my path. "Excuse me."
They don’t move.
Marilyn Manson cocks back his head, probably giving me what he thinks are fuck me eyes, but instead just looks like a dumb, teenage leer. He looks less obviously redneck than the others, with black dyed hair and piercings. But when he speaks, his voice gives away that country tang. "Saw you up in the woods." He says.
Deer skull is the largest in the group. His face sports an ear to ear grin. "Did they amp up yer tits?" He asks, and the third man bumps into him with his shoulder, snickering.
"It was a good show." Manson says.
"You can fuck like that?" Deer skull asks, fuwk lahk thaht. "All super speed? That’s amazing."
I’m standing back, in a neutral position. For some reason, I realize I'm not as scared as I should be.
"Excuse me." I say, trying to pass by the group, by the member that hasn’t said anything. He shoves me, hard. I catch myself quick. I see his face, a deranged high and tight, Marine
or neo-Nazi. Framed in anger.
"Excuse yourself!" He spews. "Amp bitch! Running into! Me!"
"Look." Marilyn Manson has his hands out, in a semi plaintive gesture. "We know your into a good time." Guhd Tahm. "That’s all were saying. I mean, we saw your performance, and your friend told us to meet up here."
"Its gettin hot in har!" Deer skull sings. "Tahk awf all yer clothes!"
"That’s all were saying." Manson says.
I see high and tight moving one hand to the front of his waistband. A glint of metal flashes where I can see.
The letters in front of my face blink once, :THREAT
The movement takes over. As if I could see myself acting in a way that was physically possible but highly unlikely. I let high and tight get his hand all the way around that 357, finger in the trigger well. then I grab once at the wrist, and with the other I shove the gun around, so his finger breaks with a crack inside the trigger well. I then pull back, and fire,
Once, Twice,
Three times, all center mass,
And drop the gun in front of me.
The three are on the ground. They are not moving, not really, but their bodies are, twitching and pumping blood out like a faucet. It comes out bright red, but turning dull against dirt and grass and weeds. Marilyn Manson looks at me, and his mouth moves, or I think it does. He looks young, lying there, too close to Owen Meany.
Six
I didn’t remember walking back to Brian’s trailer.
I remembered the rest of it, though. Telling him everything. Calm like, at first, and then breaking down, near the end. At the worst of it. He tried to be comforting but he was clumsy at it, rubbing my back in a dorky way and mumbling something noncommittally sympathetic. then he says something that actually interests me.
"I wondered when this would happen." He says.
"What do you mean?" I ask, drying the wet from my eyes.
Amped Up Page 4