by Gary Starta
Conch gulped a breath of air and then rapped upon the congressman’s door.
“Um…who is it?”
Great, he sounds distracted. Conch announced his purpose. “I have a bottle of wine for you.” He jiggled the spirit in his hand.
“But I didn’t order room service,” Katz said.
“It’s complimentary. A Mr. Finch sent it for you as a token of his gratitude.”
In a moment, the door clicked open. Katz’s blue eyes perused the bell hop. All serious, no nonsense, Conch surmised, not fooled by a small, congenial smile which played upon the congressman’s lips. His job was to size up people immediately. He needed an excuse to get in the room. He had a split second of opportunity before Katz’s suspicions could multiply.
“Mr. Congressman I can see you’re busy.” He nodded towards the lit screen of a lap top on a table. “Why don’t I come in and open the bottle for you, then you may enjoy it at your leisure.”
“Very well,” Katz said, already heading back to his seat.
Perfect, his back is even turned towards me.
Katz displayed no concern over the zipping sound emanating from behind.
He thinks I’m reaching for a corkscrew. Conch used the opportunity to grab a syringe and needle. Actually, I’ll be unleashing a new kind of spirit. One I’m sure you’ve never tasted in all your privileged life…
Katz began to immerse himself in speech writing, mumbling over jargon and rhetoric. In the fraction of an instant Conch stole to traverse the room, he felt a brief tinge of regret for his victim. For a politician, Katz was a good man. But one good man shouldn’t stop a revolution.
“Aw!” Katz cried out in pain. The serum already working its mojo from the needle jabbed into his neck.
Conch muffled the cries with his left hand, employing diligent effort to ensure every drop of the serum worked its way into the congressman’s system.
From what he knew, Katz would succumb to the disease, his body mimicking death except for some undetectable activity in nervous system. Random brain waves which would unlock a genetic message, resurrecting the congressman in mere hours; perfect timing. Katz would begin ambling about still hours before dawn, minimizing his impact upon the populace. Casualties should be preferably kept to a minimum but collateral damage, if necessary, would be acceptable because Katz must be observed in full throes of the disease for public benefit. They should be introduced to the disease because then the existence of a treatment, namely Luxate, would not only be logical but welcome.
Tucking Katz into his bed, as if he were a child, Agent Phillip Conch placed covers over the congressman with gentle care. He then installed a tiny DVR cam in the room’s corner to keep a vigilante eye. Finally, he retrieved the little blue pill from the congressman’s coat pocket and placed it into a baggie for safe keeping.
You thought you’d be telling a tale about a new drug but unfortunately for you, that can never happen. The citizens will need this new treatment. But you’ll still be telling a new tale to your constituents. An important tale that will impact all of their lives… You will have a made a difference Mr. Congressman. Sleep well…
Once back into his patriot’s uniform, black suit and pants, Agent Conch quietly clicked the door shut and exited making sure the „do not disturb" sign was in place. But soon, Conch hoped, Congressman Katz would unleash his own brand of disturbance upon an unwitting populace.
***
His eyes flittered. A small white square floated above him, perceptible, tangible, he thought. His hand reached for it but it was out of grasp. Lost in a sea of blackness, claustrophobic designs permeated his senses. Heartbeat elevated; rapid breath. He gasped once more hoping to fill his lungs with enough oxygen to grab onto the life saver.
The white square, the life saver, still eluded him however. Despair set in. Some part of his consciousness told him it was his only chance. Whatever the square contained was once his original essence, his nature, possibly even his own personal God. But a sea of ink washed over that conclusion, immersing Congressman Katz in his new life, a baptism by fire, somehow brought upon by the…attack… Yes, that was it. I was attacked. Then I fell asleep…
But did I? No. I…died… Gut instinct gnawed at the fabric of his reality, what should be reality, but somehow wasn’t. Reality had been replaced. Not with fiction but with something else…an intangible presence, something which resided in his sea of darkness for him, and for him alone. He owned this new reality, though it sounded implausible. He was sure he was cast into it exclusively. He was not sure how he knew this. And as the white square melted and sank into black, he realized he did not care anymore.
How can I still be alive…?
In another moment, Daniel Katz didn’t care for answers anymore. He only cared to feed the HUNGER.
He kicked the covers from his body to seek nourishment.
Raiding the pantry, part of the kitchenette that came with his luxurious hotel suite, the congressman no longer heeded directives to behave properly and observe manners.
He threw whatever he deemed unsubstantial, bread, donut holes and potato chips onto the floor in his desperation. Meat…he wanted it… No, he NEEDED it…NOW.
Stamping upon the bag of chips, they crunched beneath his feet as he swung open the refrigerator. Aha! Glorious meat! He ripped hamburger from a package and tossed it into a frying pan. But only seconds after he lit a flame underneath his prize, hunger necessitated urgency. He would never last until well done and medium rare seemed out of the question. He scooped a handful of the stringy, pink process into his mouth, not pausing to savor the flavor or care about the small trickle of blood dripping off his chin. He chomped and chewed.
Some part of Katz’s past flickered in him, just like the wavering blue flame underneath the frying pan. He knew he was different yet he was compelled to observe past behaviors. He always ate meat and eggs for breakfast. He manhandled the package of brown Grade A"s, crushing the contents in the process, yellow syrup oozed from his fingers. He smelled it and gave a lick. Not meat. But still, it was raw and a source of protein. He continued licking the yellow ooze until he spied one of his favorites. Hebrew National salami! His teeth tore into the red, plastic packaging. He paid for his eagerness by ingesting a small piece of plastic wrapping with his kosher treat.
He threw the remainder of the package against the wall.
“This will never do!” he screamed. “I’ve got to speak before the congress today. I need fuel!”
He caught his reflection in a mirror. “Shit. I look like shit!” But he concluded a stubble filled chin was the least of his problems. “Just look at my clothes!” Rumpled and wrinkled, he must have dozed off without undressing. Was this before or after the attack? He stole a glance at a digital clock. “No! Look at the time! Appearance doesn’t matter; it’s substance. I’ve got to tell the public about the pill!”
Agent Conch perused a monitor from the privacy of an unmarked van. He tapped a finger on his chin. “Teams stay on alert and enter on my mark only.”
Conch continued to watch until the subject fled his line of sight.
Now on the move, the congressman staggered down a dimly lit hall.
A door opened, a woman peered out to find what she thought was a drunk. A male voice screamed for her to come back. She obeyed and the door clanked shut.
“No! I’ve got to talk to you! Don’t go away!”
Despair seized Katz once again. How will I be able to speak with this hunger gnawing at me? I’ve got to get rid of this craving…
His eyes glazed with a mix of confusion and fatigue attempted to focus on a neighbor’s door. He cocked his head, dog like, to detect any activity.
Convinced he heard the beep of a cell phone, he sashayed, lumberjack style to his destination. He pounded upon the door with purpose.
“I need you to open the door…”
An eye filled the peephole. A shriek followed.
“I know you’re in there. Just open the door. Please, it’s a matter of national security.” His pounding grew in intensity with each knock. Furious at their deceit, he shrieked.
“Damn it! I know you’re in there. Now own up to the problem and face it. You people are all the same. It’s why I can never accomplish anything. Your apathy sickens me.” The rest of his words were lost in a growl.
The room remained silent. The occupants retreated to their backroom to escape the lunatic ramblings of the intruder.
A voice rang out from a room next door. “Quiet down or I’ll call the authorities!”
“I can help you now. I really can, but you’ve got to let me in.”
He twisted his head to and fro. Listening, hoping a patron would oblige his request and step up for their country. I’m a new man. I’ve got the skills. I can help you. Sentences strung together like the promise of a campaign speech haunted his every step. He cupped his hands over his hears. “Stop it. Stop it.”
Daniel Katz didn’t care what he was becoming right now. He didn’t care about the promise of new social skills. He only wanted meat. Preferably red, preferably juicy…meat.
His fist banged against every passing door on his way to the elevator.
Instinct promised him living, red, juicy meat was just beyond this hallway.
Ping. Ping. Ping. He heard the elevator stopping at other floors. From below, there are people below. He punched the lit arrow pointing down.
The excruciating wait forced his intestines to dance in anticipation.
Just before the doors swooshed open, he let out a noxious belch.
He waved his hand across his face. “Excuse me.” But no one was there.
“Damn it! This is a hotel. There must be people here. People here who can help me attain my objective.”
He continued ranting, incoherent mumbling ensued, his speech system was now impaired. He surmised it had something to do with the blinding blue light. He scrunched his eyelids shut, but still he saw blue, only blue. It disoriented him. He caught the side wall of the elevator for purchase as it began its descent. Ding. Ding. Ding. Each stop filled with promise but ending with despair because in the haze of the blue light he could detect no living being, no juicy red meat for his consumption.
Finally, ground floor, finally a living being, she toddled before him, elderly, seemingly unaware of his attentions. She wasn’t fresh meat but she would do in a pinch. His arm arced forward with the grace of a ballet dancer. But the elderly woman was pulled out of reach, a tantalizing morsel dangled in front of him for play. An older gentleman, possibly her husband, bear hugged her away from him, mumbling some words Katz couldn’t quite discern but the man’s tone was disparaging.
Katz waved a hand at him. “No. No. No. No. No. You’ve got it all wrong. I’m here to help everyone. I’ve got the skills now. I just need a good meal, then I can go about doing my…” He lurched backward, head spinning, caught in a carousel of blue electromagnetic radiation. He never thought of light in these terms before. He never could. Until now… The gift forming inside him told him light was energy that could be used to embellish his new gift. But right now, a louder voice, the voice of HUNGER beckoned. It overrode the rational voice.
GIVE ME FOOD, NOW…
He couldn’t deter a moment longer. He again lurched forward for the elderly couple now making their way to the front desk.
But before he could proceed further, a man shouted. Several men appeared out of nowhere, garbed in black attire. They were serious. They carried guns. They all wore caps over buzz cut hair. One of them shouted. “Stop or I’ll shoot.” He didn’t care. It took him by surprise. The decision had been made for him. Fight, not flight. He needed sustenance. He needed to complete his mission. Why else in God’s name had he been resurrected?
“You’ve got to let me…”
He pushed himself into the air and flew to the astonishment of the armed men, a middle aged overweight man in wrinkled clothing mimicking their childhood hero, Superman.
But his flight ended abruptly as it began. He descended to the floor, a lead balloon, deceptively unarming. Before the S.W.A.T. team could react, he was erect. Towering over the cowering woman, her arm being pulled by her partner, desperation bookmarked the old man’s face in sweat. The old man simply did not have the strength to save the girl.
A man in a black cap yelled. “I said stop or I’ll…” Another man waved a hand as if throwing a ball.
A bullet whistled through Daniel Katz’s skull. Its penetration complete, it bored into a wall replete with some of the congressman’s newly infused brain matter.
Everyone seemed to freeze in moment of time to stare at the spectacle. It glowed blue, ever so briefly. It stopped in time for everyone to doubt what they had just witnessed. The goop of gray, pink material slinked down the wall. The uniformed men escorted the elderly couple to safety. The man in charge, the only man dressed in a suit, approached the front desk clerk.
“But how did you get here so quick? I didn’t even finish dialing the number?”
Conch surmised the man witnessed the disturbance via monitor.
“A patron from upstairs,” Conch lifted his eyes upward, “phoned in a complaint. We were en route. And about your surveillance cams, we’re going to need all your tapes.”
The man mumbled.
Conch raised a hand as if he were a traffic cop.
“No word about this to anyone. National security…”
The clerk’s eyes pleaded.
“No more questions. I’ll take the tapes now.” Conch shrugged his shoulders just enough to open his jacket, revealing a holstered gun.
“Good to see you’re doing your part for your country,” Conch mumbled in the direction of the exiting hotel worker. A S.W.A.T. member appeared behind his shoulder wearing a quizzical grin. He answered as if on cue. “Yes sir. Always, sir…"
The tape would find its way to all major broadcasters in mere hours. It ran behind the announcer, portraying the late congressman as a man clearly affected by his disease. It cut off just as Katz appeared to take a lunge at his intended victim.
A broadcaster announced Katz had apparently fallen ill to a mysterious disease. But that the public need not panic because the CDC"s preliminary results have determined there is no immediate threat of outbreak.
“Officials believed the disease has been contained for the moment. And that the public should go about its everyday business. However, just as a precaution, the medical community is fast at work in finding a remedy for the illness which had been likened to mad cow disease. For now, there is no fear of food or water contamination. And it is unknown as to how the congressman contracted the unknown disease…”
The broadcaster shifted his focus to other news per the station managers request in hope that further updates would bolster ratings. None of the broadcasters were privy to the real story as were the large segment of the populace. For them, there was no need to panic. It was just another bad news story and tomorrow there would be a new bad news story to take its place. Yet for a few people, the sting of the news would linger long into the coming day.
Chapter 18
Finch insisted he give Lorelei a brief, but inclusive walking tour of Washington, DC. She never did agree to play tourist, her begrudging silence nagged at Finch as she tagged along near oblivious to absorb the majestic beauty of the nation’s capital. He bathed in it. Long exhalations of his breath forced Lorelei to become inquisitive. She asked what he saw in the Lincoln Monument, the Smithsonian museums and the White House; especially from afar, since they could only observe the buildings, visiting hours long passed. An architectural feast is how Finch described it, feeling passion emanating off the structures, exuding pride over his new country. It did give Lorelei pause, and excuse, to smile.
He apologize
d for his reverie, explaining his pursuit of citizenship made him appreciate America and its symbolism. Lorelei dismissed his reasoning, crediting his detour as allowing her „battered soul" time to breathe.
Finch reflected.
“You did something good for your mind today. You’ve changed but you’re still human. We need to do this every once in a while. Take stock. And it didn’t hurt that we helped our nation in the process.” He had grabbed her hand for a shake. “Put it there, Patriot.”
She shook his hand smiling. “Okay, you can cut the speech now. I’m not freaking Statman, you know.”
“No,” Finch deadpanned. “Too curvy and wearing too much clothing… Wait a minute. You just referenced a sci fi film. Shit, you do watch it, don’t you?”
“I got suckered into it by my daughter’s father, that’s all.”
They both caught each other smiling during the ride home. The walk pushed their arrival time back to just before dawn. As Finch clicked his door open, he had no preparation to what awaited.
Burnham slouched on the sofa, remote control in hand, pointing at the television. An all-news cable station played, a red and blue banner provided background for white letters scrolling across screen, ticker style.
His head turned away from the news momentarily, but Burnham refrained from meeting Finch or Lorelei’s stare.
“What’s with the dourness?” Finch asked Burnham. “Gee, it’s usually me all dire and depressive. Well mate, cheer up, mission accomplished. Lorelei and I just saved the world.”
Finch pranced into the living area, feet nearly dancing on air. At least that’s the way Burnham perceived him.
“There’s no gentle way to tell you this, guys.” Burnham amped the volume until the TV blared.