I wanted nothing more than to expose him, to call him out on his minutes-old lie of liking the human race. He had just killed a person, maybe somebody who had plans to meet with friends the next day or was in the early stages of a bright new post-Ire relationship and wanted to start a family. Whoever it was, Gene removed all their plans from existence by removing them.
“Are you listening to me, Wallace?” he muttered louder.
“About what?”
“I said I hope they catch that sniper soon so I can finish making your treat.”
“Treat? Dear God, what treat?”
“Christ, Wallace! I’ve been telling you I shot a deer yesterday and I’m now in the process of making you some jerky. I certainly can’t be standing up in my kitchen, with windows, and make it. When you knocked I got spooked and tossed the carcass in my pantry.”
“Gene, you don’t get spooked.”
“I do when I’m being hunted by not only the sniper, but all the rabble out in this development who want me dead because of my super-Ire. If they kill me, I don’t want them to have my deer. It’s all yours, Wallace. All yours.”
It was kind, and things were making sense. Was I honestly seeing a new face of this monster with a hundred faces? Maybe, but time would tell.
We heard no more shots. If anything, that shot was yet another person out in the development following Gene’s motions and hunting for deer, as they were aplenty. I left with a newfound sense of hope for the man and our friendship. I still opted not to tell him about J. Not the time, really not the place.
~~~~
Chapter 40
I Am Remarkable
Lela wasn’t lying when she said the CA was all over the case of the sniper. Only two days after hearing about him they’d located him and taken him into custody. Marshal Law, ushered into play the moment the Ire broke out onto the world’s population, appeared to be dead to rites.
He was Gerhardt DuBoine, originally from Marquette, Michigan, but had been a Development Number-5 resident since its opening. At 5’4”, 150lbs, and 66 years of age, he only had his rifle as a defense. However, DuBoine used it as a piece of offensive material. And Lela, that bitter yet wise old coffee pusher, was right in another aspect. He did it because he missed feeling the Ire.
After following the sounds of the rifle, they found the little man in a cabin, no longer inhabited, about two miles from my own. He surrendered, although if I were him I would have definitely left this world in a hail of gunfire. They took him to the central station and put him on camera for our development, and eventually the world, to see.
“I did it because everything was taken from me. I didn’t hunger to kill. I hungered to feel that feeling lady Ire gave to me that made me want to kill. I was captivated by her every time she made me feel that way. I would have done everything she asked. She was my lady. She was my world. She loved me for twenty years and then somehow, without warning, she was ripped from my arms. I knew, I just knew that taking bullets to the heads of strangers would bring her back.”
“Well, did it?” the CA official asked.
“Yes. And no. And yes, but then no. Lady Ire was watching as I killed, but I couldn’t see her. I knew she was there, though. The feeling. But she did not want to come over and touch me. She felt betrayed, betrayed that I would go on without her. But I waited! I’ve waited weeks for her return! This is on her! Ire is to blame because she left!”
Undoubtedly, the sensation felt during the Ired process mimicked the sensation of narcotics. In many ways, it was even stronger than just being ‘high’. It brought out primitive urges long suppressed by the human mind. It made the world into a legal monochromatic playground of death and destruction. It was the release of all releases. Indeed, the Ire sent us forward potentially hundreds of thousands of years in the arc of human evolution while simultaneously sending us back to the early stages of caveman I-see-I-kill days. The juxtaposition was simply too incredible for our little minds to take.
What they planned to do with Gerhardt was almost impressively archaic. Like witches uncovered in Salem, he would be the poster child of a renewed tract on authority. They announced the plan the day after his confession, their judgment beyond swift. Gerhardt would be hanged naked by the legs from a height of one hundred feet. He would receive a small slash to his throat—not enough to kill him, but enough to make him bleed consistently over many hours. These hours would see him panic and writhe in agony, a fitting punishment, in the CA’s hive mind, to killing when killing was no longer allowed.
Too archaic and morbid? Perhaps, but after all I’d seen I wouldn’t wince from it. After all, the small man reinitiated the act of murder over simply killing because the Ire told us so. Nothing mattered of the apparent fact that Gerhardt was tremendously sick and deluded enough to think the Ire was a real person. His acts needed to be exemplified, and I could not have agreed more with it.
This was becoming personally significant to me. The reason was none other than Gene. By the Centralized Authority’s new standards, they would inevitably consider his actions in the past as criminal. Even if he was stopping, like it seemed he was, his super-Ire status could cause the CA to present him with a punishment similar to that of Gerhardt DuBoine.
No matter our differences and fights, I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the same thing happen to Gene. We’d been through too much and talked over too many things to allow my eyes to see him in the same light as DuBoine. My kindness was going to be my bane, as I would forego logic for friendship. I needed to protect Gene. This included his being hunted by the rest of ‘us’ who were now normal again.
I’d taken a trip with Gene before. It was awful. I needed to do it again. It was required of me to take him away from the area and people altogether. And there was only one place in existence where I could see me protecting him for the rest of his life. Renee Island.
The rest of his life. Was I honestly ready to give up everything to protect a man who constantly delivered violent punches at my face? A man who spit in the face of humanity by eating humanity? It was either save him or forever live with the image of him dangling from a cable to bleed out. The latter was not an option. No matter how hard I tried not to care, I cared far too much.
I started to pack my stuff. I would take Gene the next day, even if he wasn’t in agreement. With great confidence, I knew I would never see this cabin again. I soaked in its musty odor. And I heard its charming ring. Well, the ring came from my cell. I saw it was J calling me.
“Wolfgang,” I said. I really didn’t have time for this. Like the cabin, I would have to say goodbye to my new friend. In many ways, I thought I had kept a reasonable distance from J this whole time just for this very purpose, to make it easier to say goodbye. I may have been an amazing person for ruining my life for Gene, but I was also a sniveling rat for not having the balls to hang onto companions.
“Hello, Wallace. I wanted to know if you would like to have coffee again now that the sniper has been caught? Lela reopened her stand.”
“Well—”
“Coffee, Auker. Simple request.”
“Got the barfs, J. I’m sorry. I can’t join you for the next few days.”
“I don’t care about your vomit,” J said. “The fear of everything has passed. It’s like now, at last, we can finally breathe and I want to open up. I need to live up to my past and I have no other real friends who can listen.”
“What about Yves?”
“He’s gone. Not dead or away, just not there mentally. He doesn’t count.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, J. You’ll have to wait until I’m better.” Blowing him off was easy, and it didn’t hurt me. Interesting that I cared for nothing but Gene’s well-being and approval. J was being unbelievably kind to me and I let it go right past me. A man on a mission spares no bystanders to reach his goal.
“Very well, Wallace. I’ll wait. Timing means everything to us anymore, but I’ll wait until you’re well again.”
I had wasted valuable packing time in talking to my now-almost friend. I needed to gather my clean clothes, my spare batteries, my new cell, some food, and whatever else I may need. I was not excited. In fact, I dreaded the idea. Nevertheless, I nearly wanted to faint thinking of Gene being strung up by the legs. My choice was clear.
~~~~
Chapter 41
The Hurts’
It was a blizzard times ten. So much snow and so much wind, and so early in the season too. Such a sendoff to my development, for I would be leaving everything this day. Being the smart guy, I neglected to locate a vehicle to take us south to Louisiana. I didn’t think of this until I’d already reached the walk in front of Gene’s cabin. Fuck it all! I got to get a car!
I could barely make out the outline of the cabin while it stood only thirty feet from me. All things were a brilliant shade of white. The air was cold, but somehow soothingly cold, even with the merciless wind. I’d become comforted in the idea of helping Gene. My world was a brilliant shade of denial.
Approaching Gene with the correct words to convince him to go with me would prove a monumental challenge. There was no question about it. Head-first and with little wiggle-room, I would have to charge at his vulnerable side and hope for the best. I could make it happen.
The snowy air went into my lungs as I made my way down the walk to Gene’s door. I could not see whether or not he was inside. As it stood, I was unsure as to why I didn’t call him first to tell him I was coming. Perhaps the element of surprise would somehow work in my favor.
I knocked. “Gene?” Nobody. “Mr. del Gregory? Hello?”
This was an empty cabin. I walked inside. Immediately, I was pelted in the face by an odor, the odor. I’d smelled it before. Death loomed. Gene had killed yet again. I thought seeing the blood coming from his pantry the other day was suspicious, not a deer. I had to open it to see what despicable things Gene had done. I would look the other way, of course, for I had come to expect these things of my friend. And I could remove his threat from the development at the very least.
Like too many stupid people in almost every slasher movie, I took slow, studied steps toward the pantry. Each step closer brought a stronger wave of foulness to my nose. The bodies were likely piled atop each other. I finally reached the pantry door. I swiftly opened it see just that, a deer hanging from its legs, the blood long gone from its body.
“Damn it,” I whispered.
My body trembled unreasonably. I had no reason to be afraid. Even if my earlier guess had turned out to be correct, it would not have been a surprise to me. Gene’s cabin contained a distinct air of peculiarity that I could not piece together with logic. He was out, likely hunting more animals. He’d spoken true of the deer in his pantry. Nothing was out of place. Why did it feel odd?
The blizzard outside began to grow in intensity, as described by the wind rocketing around at a suddenly devastating pace. I couldn’t see past the windows throughout Gene’s cabin from so much snow falling and being blow about. I heard a massive crashing sound directly outside his living room wall. A large blue tarp flapped madly in the gales.
Bracing myself in my sturdy wool coat, I went outside to investigate. The first thing I noticed was the tarp had been forced from its position over a large piece of plywood, which itself was being slightly moved around by the wind. I pulled up on the board to see stairs leading down into darkness. I took the handheld beamlight from my pants pocket, stuck it in my hand, turned it on, and traversed the badly-corroded stairs.
This was the source of the odor, not the deer upstairs. Death, as it were, resided in the makeshift basement Gene had dug. And not recently either, as evidenced by the sheer amount of stuff I spotted everywhere with my beamlight. Stacks of papers, maps, boxes, very dirty clothes, it was a microcosm of hoarding down there.
Then there was the mound. At the deepest portion of the ‘basement’ where I didn’t have to crouch anymore lay a mound all the way to the ceiling, or the bottom of the main story floor. It was covered in a dirt and grime-laden clear plastic tarp.
“Gene,” I said. “Don’t let this be what I think it is.”
I reached the mound. I then pulled the cover to unleash this basket of snakes. My whirlpool of dread was woefully confirmed. They were bodies. Dozens of them. As I looked closer, I began to surmise there may be a hundred or more. I fell to my knees, all the while unable to take my eyes off the tremendous spectacle of disarray and human degradation.
Most of the bodies had limbs removed, skin removed, and in some cases holes in their torsos where organs had been hastily removed. All were naked. Indeed, the dead in this ‘basement’ were not respectful in death. Each was a victim. I saw very young people in the mound, some possibly born after the Ire happened, part of the few successes of the birthing program. It saddened me to no end.
But nothing prepared me for what I saw next. In between the bodies on the outer portion of the mound I could view shining things down toward the center of it. I looked closer and shined my light. Skeletons. Gene had skeletons under his cabin. Old ones.
I stood and looked away before screaming at the top of my lungs for possibly an entire minute, I can’t remember. This happened as I began to tear up in total disdain over what Gene had done. Skeletons meant Gene had been killing and eating people long before I knew him. He would have been considered a serial killer before the Ire.
Moreover, Gene lied to me about it all. He was a cannibal before I knew him, and a prolific one at that. He killed like a normal person shits, a normal bodily function.
“I can’t believe you,” I whimpered to the absent Gene del Gregory. “These deaths, they’re all you are, Gene. You never could stop. You never will.”
Forgetting my surroundings, I fell to my butt and let my back lean on the pile of human bodies. I needed to be somewhere, yet I couldn’t bring myself to move. Just then, the arm of one of his victims, a fresh one, fell onto my shoulder. I didn’t jump, for it didn’t scare me. But I read the bracelet on the wrist. ‘Corrine Hurt, B. January 5 2036 Minnesota Development 5 Birth #20’ it read in a small, plain font around its surface.
I stood and looked at the pile. The body to the right of Corrine looked awfully familiar. It, too, wore a bracelet on its wrist. ‘Bonnie Hurt, B. October 15 2037 Minnesota Development 5 Birth #22’. Sisters. They were born of the same mother, possibly the same father, in the ill-fated birthing program.
Although it would change soon thanks to the Ire’s exit, seeing children was a rarity. Seeing child siblings who looked alike was even scarcer. Seeing child siblings dead right beside each other was almost unprecedented. How special must I have been to see the trifecta of child spotting?
This ‘basement’ was a tomb. It contained the remains of humans through two generations. I wished just then that ghosts were real so they could talk to me and tell me all the things Gene did to them while they were still alive. He was a genuine devil.
I cried next to the mound of bodies for another half-hour or so. Shocked, I also felt it was my duty to be there beside so many lifeless bodies strictly for their comfort, to give them the respect in death stolen from each of them by Gene. I wanted to be their mother, their nanny, their priest, and their brother. I wanted to let them know their deaths meant something. In thinking this, I realized that in fact it was my obligation to remove Gene. Wow, such a flip in orientation—whereas I’d arrived at Gene’s cabin to take him to Renee Island for his safety, I was about to leave Gene’s cabin to roll out the plan to have him extinguished.
The walk back to my cabin, of which only hours earlier I was certain I would never see again, was wrought with perilous wind-driven snow blasts and a sudden drop in the temperature to a bone-biting degree. Even so, I was much more likely to be torn apart by the fresh collection of devastation built up in my heart over what I’d discovered of my friend. And he was my friend, regardless of his villainous constitution. Even Hitler had a buddy, although his wrongs were directed by hate and malice while Gene’s
were directed by the environment and his vulnerability.
How could I go on knowing Gene was a creature of great evil? I had to sort it out. And no matter what I now knew about him, I continued my intent to not allow him to be strung up like Gerhardt DuBoine. Gene had to be eliminated by a hand that cared about him. If his sister were still alive, it would have made the next task exponentially easier.
~~~~
Chapter 42
Nice Guys Finish Dead
“Gene?” I said to him over the cell.
“Hello, Wallace. Sorry I haven’t contacted you in the last couple of days. I was out hunting deer. I need to make you plenty of jerky. I make it really good.”
“Worry not, my friend.” Saying pleasantries hurt worse now than ever; it took all my energy not to break into tears. “I was wondering if you would meet me somewhere.”
“Somewhere? That sounds rather ominous. Where, Wallace?”
“Do you know of the old Atadulc Water House? It’s a pub in the remains of St. Cloud that hasn’t seen a soul since the Ire.”
“I recall that place, yes. Why? What’s there?”
“Something I found. And you can give me some of that delicious jerky while you’re at it.”
“I’ll go, sure. I have a car I found and got working so I can drive there. Thinking tonight?”
“I am. I, too, have a car. I’ll meet you there around six tonight.”
“Can’t wait, Wallace. Goodbye.”
I was alone on the cell call now. “Please, Gene, don’t go to the pub. You’re going to die.” All said to a dial tone.
With a quick question to a completely random stranger in the development from my cell, I was able to locate a small handgun. It had three bullets in its magazine. With the promise that the man’s Ire was absolutely vanquished, I took the quick trip about five cabins over to obtain Ben’s gun, a .380 ACP Re-Harp. Ben, his age seemingly about to eclipse a thousand, told me as he handed it to me, “I’ve used it once to shoot a moose. If you must employ it, I hope to God it’s to save yourself.” Charmingly fearful words for sure, but wise overall.
The Populace Page 23