The Savior of Seattle

by Nat Kozinn

  “The cops? I’m sorry. Did you see a cop out in that waiting room? Hundreds of people, some who probably injured each other, are packed into that room like sardines in a can, and the hospital has to use a rent-a-cop to keep the peace. Come on, Alexis. You really going to pretend that you don’t know that the cops don’t come out here, at least not until after the shooting stops? And really, who can blame them? Mostly it’s idiots shooting idiots, and if I was a cop, I wouldn’t want to take a bullet for some young punk.”

  “Yeah, but Mario’s just a kid.”

  “Mario’s a fifteen-year-old with known gang ties. You know he’s a good kid. I know he’s a good kid. But to anyone else, there are a million punks just like him, and most of them never get their acts together. If we go to the cops, the only thing they’re going to do is stop me from doing what I’m going to do because someone up the chain is worried about the headlines. There won’t be any headlines for Mario, so they couldn’t care less about him.”

  “Okay, I get it. I didn’t think you’d listen to me, but come on, David. You have to be realistic here. Don’t you remember getting knocked out? I think you’re being a little delusional about the foresight of a gang of ruffians and how much they are worried about the police. If they were smart, they wouldn’t have made the life decisions they’ve already made. You’re crazy if you think they won’t kill you. If they’re goading you, they’re doing it for a reason. They’re going to kill you, David.”

  David sighed and went for the closet door. Before he opened it, he turned to Alexis.

  “If you knew I wasn’t going to listen, why did you bother coming down here?” he asked.

  “What, do you think you have a monopoly on futile acts of valor? Try not to die, David. It might not have to be a suicide mission.”

  “I can’t die yet. I still don’t know if Alderman Acado is going down for that sanitation contract scandal,” David said with a smile.

  “Oh, he will. I just hope you’re around to read it, even if it’s with just one eye.”

  ◆◆◆

  David walked in a dingy back alley between two massive B-Crete apartment buildings. He had a shopping bag with a thermos inside, and the contents were starting to get warm. This was the fifteenth alley he had walked through that day, and they were all starting to run together. Had he seen that old pile of T-shirts before? He wondered if he was going in circles.

  He turned the corner to another garbage-filled alley, but at the far end, pressed up against the wall, he spotted his prey.

  Scales was leaning back against a B-Crete wall, his eyes half open and his smile as wide as a train tunnel.

  David leaned down and tapped him on the shoulder, expecting his massive frame to intimidate the smaller man, but when Scales turned toward David, the smile stayed just as wide as it had been.

  “Hey, Savior, man. What’s happening?” Scales asked.

  “What’s happening is that you are a piece of crap that helped a bunch of thugs who tried to rob the church. The same thugs who then beat up a mother and her young child. That ringing any bells?”

  “Oh that, man. What’s the big deal? Everybody’s still alive, right?” Scales said. His grin was still wide.

  David reached into his shopping bag, pulled out the thermos, and then dumped the contents right over Scales’s head. The cold water hit the man like a punch in the face.

  “Ahhh! What the hell you do that for?” Scales said, his grin finally gone.

  “You didn’t like that? Good. That means somebody’s finally home upstairs. I had to go all the way down to Hearst Street to buy the water from a Cooler Chamber down there. It cost more than you’re worth, Scales. I hope you’re ready to listen. My next ideas are much less pleasant,” David said.

  “Yeah, you got your wish. You ruined my calm. What do you want?” Scales asked. David’s answer was a dirty look. “Yeah, I told them about the Manna in exchange for some cash. I figured they’d find out anyway once word got out. Then they’d break in and bust up the place again. They did it for some scrap. You don’t think they’d have done it for all that Manna? It was better for everyone if they got their hands on it before it made it in the building.”

  “It was way better to have them attack me and Mario?”

  “Hey, the kid knows how it is out here. He already punked the Hood Clowns when he quit the crew. They didn’t even beat him out like they shoulda. But then he tried to step to them? Come on. Knew there’d be consequences for that.”

  “Is that what you’re telling yourself so you can sleep at night? He’s a fifteen-year-old kid. Consequences for him are supposed to be getting grounded so he learns his lesson and doesn’t make the same mistake when he finally becomes a man.”

  “Got to grow up quick out here in the streets. Maybe you don’t know ’cause you grew up in Pioneer Square, but fifteen counts as a man ’round here.”

  “How about ten? That’s how old Mario’s little brother is.”

  “Okay, okay, I didn’t know they’d hurt the mom and kid. Really, I didn’t. But those 49ers, man, they are messed up. Turns out they’re about more than sending messages to other crews. They’re trying to send a message to the whole hood, which includes you.”

  “Alright, well, enough arguing. It’s time to atone. You can start by telling me where they took Mario.”

  “Hey, man, I don’t know. I ain’t in their crew,” Scales said, throwing his hands in the air to enforce the idea of his innocence.

  “No, you just take money from the gang in return for letting them hurt children and biting the hand that feeds you. You better hope Sister Berta is as forgiving as she’s supposed to be. It’s a tough calling to live up to. You might find yourself out of luck the next time you need a meal.”

  “Man, that’s a whole lot of noise,” Scales said, but he could not even look David in the eye.

  “Scales, I’m trying to be patient here. I know it wasn’t you who did these things. It was the monster that lives inside you that doesn’t care about anything but its next fix. But I need to know where Mario is. I have to get to him before they hurt him—or worse. Are you really trying to protect those punks?”

  “I’m not looking out for the 49ers. I’m looking out for you. Why you think they took Mario instead of just capping him in the back of the head? It’s because he ain’t the one who really punked ’em. You are. They know you’re going to come after him, and they’re going to be waiting for you. They know they can hurt you. The whole crew is going to be waiting. I seen what’s happening to you, Savior. You’re not strong enough to take ’em on.”

  “Yeah, and who told them I can be hurt in the first place? You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you suddenly became concerned for my well-being. Now, I think you owe me the answer. Besides, they won’t kill me. It’s the only thing that will get the cops out here.”

  “I’m telling you the truth, but whatever. You aren’t going to believe me. They’re holed up in an old broken-down apartment on 61st. I only know because they told me to tell you when you came around looking for me. Like I said, it’s a trap. Big H wants you. He doesn’t have a chance out here now that he’s all messed up. He’s got to make a name for himself or he’s going to get eaten alive. Killing the Savior Seattle is the best way to do that. He’s willing to go to jail to do it.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them you followed orders without complaint,” David said and started walking away.

  “Savior, man, I’m serious. Don’t do it. Big H is going to kill you,” Scales pleaded.

  “Thanks for your concern. Don’t worry. I’m sure all that guilt will disappear with your next hit of Tranq. Or maybe you’ll finally realize what kind of monster it has turned you into and get help. Either way, I’m done with you, Scales. Have a nice life or whatever it is you’re living. Good luck with your basketball league.”

  17

  David scraped at the wall of his apartment with a blunt knife, shaving off small chunks of B-Crete, which he caught in a small P
ho-Plastic bucket. He put the bucket next to eleven matching cousins. All the B-Crete shaving had left hideous holes in his walls, but it’s not like they were in good shape to begin with. Still, there was no doubt the landlord would throw a fit if he saw it, but if that ended up as a problem, it would be a good sign for David.

  B-Crete was the perfect material for David’s purpose. It was hard to ignite, which made it a good material for housing, but once it got going, it burned hot and slow, and most importantly, it made a ton of smoke, with thick, acrid plumes that burned the eyes and lungs and made it nigh impossible to see. With his homemade smoke bombs complete, David headed toward the bathroom. On the way, he stopped to push his recently acquired boxing speed bag. He gave the sack of leather a small push and then stepped forward, leading with his right side, the blind side. He bobbed his head, dodging the bag for three swings before it finally caught him. Not bad. He could have used another few weeks to better adjust to his loss of depth perception and peripheral vision, but he was going to have to make do without that luxury.

  The one luxury he was hoping to enjoy was a shower. He still took them on rare occasions even though his body no longer produced any odors or oils that needed to be scrubbed away. There was just something about the ritual. It had been three decades since they were necessary, and he had only taken them regularly for a few years before the bomb, but still, it signaled something. A shower meant that you were going out and doing something that day, and David intended to have a very busy day.

  Unfortunately, the water was cold. Hot water was not something his building provided, but since he could hardly feel temperature, he just closed his eyes and pretended he was twelve again, taking a long hot shower so he could be nice and clean for math class. He couldn’t remember the name of the girl he was once dead-set on impressing, but he did remember that his antics fell short. Luckily for the world, the habit of daily bathing remained, at least until the Plagues made that impossible.

  After a few minutes of nostalgia, David turned the shower off. The faucet would drip for the next three days, but that was just another problem David would be fortunate to have. He dried himself with a towel. It took a while because his towel was small and worn-out and the many grooves that now littered his body took extra attention.

  Once dry, he carefully applied his wig. Then he dressed himself in his newly purchased thick, blue denim pants, thermal white shirt, heavy faux-leather jacket, and Pho-leather work boots. Thanks to the many Strong-Men of the world, David was actually able to find clothes that fit, though the cost was exorbitant. He was hoping the thick clothing would help absorb some of the punishment he was planning to endure. Finally, he put on black leather gloves; he had filled in the tops of two fingers with more B-Crete shavings to mask his missing digits. The punks were probably too scared and focused on their mangled leader to notice the damage he had endured, and he’d like to hide that weakness if he could.

  Fully decked out, David stopped to look at what was left of his wall of accomplishments. There were only two articles remaining on the wall thanks to Mario’s vandalism. “Savior of Seattle Lays Final Pipe in New Water System” and “Construction Completed on Haught Tower Ahead of Schedule Thanks to the Savior.” Not his greatest accomplishments, for sure, but it still gave him pride. People needed water and places to sleep, even if the tower did end up being converted to high-priced condominiums a few years ago.

  David grabbed his sack full of smoke bombs and took one last look at the apartment. He wasn’t proud that he had left it in even worse shape than when he had rented it, but if Billy wanted his tenants to take care of their apartments, he could have shown the slightest bit of pride in his building. He flicked the switch on the WormLight, cutting off the supply of Manna and starving the bacteria, which quickly went dormant and lost their glow.

  ◆◆◆

  That made at least sixteen inside. David had been watching the house for most of the day, and that number appeared to be staying steady. Whenever one thug left, another one showed up and took his place. It didn’t look like they were going to risk leaving the guard crew light, and David didn’t have time to wait and see if they ever slipped up.

  He had heard Mario inside screaming out in pain, which was both good and bad news. On the one hand, it meant Mario was still alive, but on the other hand, it meant they weren’t just holding him as a means to entrap David. They wanted to hurt the boy, and besides the screams of torture, the other sounds coming from the house sounded like a non-stop party, no doubt complete with the vices that went along with those kinds of parties. David had to get moving. It may have been only a matter of time until one of the thugs, his senses dulled by drink or drugs, got a little carried away with his torture. This crew could not be counted on for good decisions.

  The screams had come from the top floor of the building—the south side to be precise, because the roof on the north side had collapsed long ago. If Mario wasn’t inside, David would have been tempted to try to act like a human wrecking ball and bring the house down on top of all these fools. It probably wouldn’t take that much force, but if he was honest with himself, David couldn’t be sure he could deliver even a modest amount. Besides, some of those idiots weren’t much older than Mario. Perhaps one or two of them would see the error of their ways sometime in the future and give up this life and become productive members of society. It wasn’t likely, but they deserved a chance. They also deserved a few broken bones to help emphasize just how bad their life decisions were.

  David left the roof and went back through the abandoned building he had been using as a perch to spy. He said a little prayer as he went down the stairs, hoping for a little divine intervention to keep the battered building standing. His prayers were answered, and he made it down to the dark street. That was one advantage of being so far out from everywhere else. There was virtually zero light coming from anywhere save for the building with the gang. Of course, being blind in one eye didn’t help him see in that darkness, but one cannot get everything.

  Under cover of darkness, David pulled out one of his homemade smoke bombs, threw a match into the small bucket, and tossed the bucket through one of the windows. He started with the rooms that didn’t have any light, tossing eight of his bombs inside and waiting until he heard a few shouts and screams. Then he let fly with the rest, tossing the bombs into the rooms full of activity. It didn’t take long for the building to fill with smoke. The thick plums bellowed out of the windows and men started running out the front door. Soon, the smoke was accompanied by the glow of flames. The fire quickly spread throughout the building. It was now or never.

  David went back through the abandoned building he was using for his perch and made it to the roof. He lined himself up with the room where he thought Mario was being held and then stepped back to the far edge of the roof. He started running, pumping his legs as hard as he could. Then he leapt, sailing through the air like he was powered by rockets. He plowed into the outer wall of the building, his mass and speed providing enough inertia to cut through the brick. He kept going, punching through the wood and plaster. He had enough speed and weight to break the building materials, but his body paid the toll from his misuse. The sharp edges of the broken bricks tore through his supposedly protective clothing and into his body as he passed by them. The wood splintered, stabbing into his body in dozens of places.

  He landed in the middle of the room with a crash. His body sank into the floor like it was quicksand. The old floorboards shredded his denim and the legs underneath, tearing a groove that cut deep into his left knee. When he pulled himself out of the floor, he found that he could no longer bend that leg. He looked around, but Mario was not in the room. He had guessed wrong. The smoke made it almost impossible to see. He could feel the heat emanating all around him, even through his desensitized skin. If he had needed to breathe, he would have succumbed to the smoke in a matter of minutes.

  He set out to look for Mario, dragging his left leg behind him. In the hallway, there
was a sudden crash, and a chunk of inflamed wood collapsed on top of David. He brushed the wood off as quickly as he could, but the flames spread to his tattered shirt and his wig. He tore off the flaming garments, leaving him bald and shirtless. He kept going and found the boy tied to a chair in the next room over. Mario was out cold in his seat, and his face was covered in blood and bruises, but he was breathing. An anonymous thug lay on the floor next to him; he had succumbed to the smoke as well.

  David reached down and ripped through the rope fastening Mario to the chair. He picked up the boy and threw him over his shoulder, and then he stopped and picked up the unconscious gang member, throwing him over the other shoulder. He limped down the stairs, hoping they wouldn’t buckle under his weight. On the first floor, instead of heading out the front door, where the gang would be waiting for him, he went to a wall in the back, dropped the two younger men, and went to work. It took him several hard punches to break through the wall. The glove on his left hand tore in the process, and chunks of his knuckles scraped away, but he managed to punch a hole big enough to squeeze through. He hoisted Mario onto his shoulder with his right hand, but when he reached down to pick up the gangbanger, he found that his left hand was now trapped in a first he could not unfurl. David used his right hand, missing digits and all, to grab the man. He dragged the thug until they made it a few yards away from the building.

  David left the thug and kept going with Mario on his back, turning into an alley a few blocks away. He put Mario down and shook him. The boy was letting out shallow breaths.

  “Mario, wake up!”

  Mario opened his eyes and let out a few shallow coughs, gasping to catch his breath.

  “Savior? Where am I? What happened?” he asked.

  “I smoked the rats out of their nest. Might have gone a little too far, but you’re alive, so I guess it worked out.”