Rise of the Transgenics

by J. S. Frankel

  On a fake fireplace’s mantel, Harry saw a number of pictures. They were pictures of when this woman was younger, standing with a man of medium height and build. He must have been her husband. Other pictures showed children and more recent ones showed her holding babies—probably her grandchildren.

  “You can sit down,” the old woman said. “My name is Josephine Hutch. As I said before, I am legally blind, but pretty self-sufficient.”

  “I’m Harry,” Harry said. He didn’t see the need to give a false name, as he was already in a lot of trouble. “My girlfriend’s name is Anastasia.”

  Josephine stared at them, her opaque white eyes wide, but her face resembled a mask. “Your last name isn’t Goldman, is it?”

  “Uh, yes ma’am, it is.”

  Her expression never changed. “The doctors told me a long time ago that I’d lose my sight,” she said in a soft voice completely free of self-pity. “I lost ninety-five percent of my sight a year ago,” she began. “Glaucoma is a rotten curse. My husband was always a good man and he took good care of me. But I learned to do things on my own alone, and I do all right for myself.”

  Taking a deep breath, she continued, moving her head back and forth as if mentally sizing both of them up and filing away their voices for future reference. “I heard the news that a young man killed some people around six months ago, and when you said something about the FBI and the prison murders, I knew it was you.”

  She leaned forward. “Did you do it?”

  Her voice came out softly, but with an edge to it like iron and he knew better than to lay some BS story on her. “No, ma’am, I didn’t,” he answered truthfully. “I was in prison when it happened, but some animal, uh, animal people did. I saw it.”

  Josephine sat back, a troubled expression on her face. “I want to believe you, but there’s no such thing as an animal-person.”

  “You might want to think again,” Anastasia said, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to move over in front of you and you can touch my face as proof.”

  Slowly sidling over, she knelt in front of Josephine and the woman put her hands out to gently explore the contours of her face. When she touched the fur, she started as if she’d been given an electrical shock.

  A moment later, she found a semblance of calm and her body relaxed. Her fingers moved carefully over Anastasia’s head, touched her ears, traced their way down the sides of her face, and stopped just short of her neck. “My goodness,” she breathed, “what did they do to you?”

  Anastasia got up and returned to her place on the couch. “I don’t know, ma’am,” she answered after blowing out a deep breath. “I used to be the same as you, as everyone else. I’m not now. Harry is trying to help me become, well, more like everyone. I don’t mind being me or looking like I do. I just want to find out why the people who did this have been doing it to others.”

  “There are others?” Josephine’s head turned in their direction and her voice went up a notch. It didn’t exactly sound panicky, but was on the verge of it. “How many are we—”

  “We’ve only seen two,” Harry cut in gently. “There might be more. We have to talk to our friend and...”

  A knock sounded at the door. “Ma’am, could you open up, please? This is the police.”

  Déjà vu happening once more, Harry grabbed Anastasia’s hand and they fell to the floor trying to hide behind the couch. “You can hide in the basement,” they heard Josephine whisper. “Far wall near the kitchen, there’s a door. Go. I’ll take care of the police.”

  No need to say anything twice. Anastasia pulled Harry over to the door and they tore down the steps and crouched under them. The sounds of the policeman’s voice filtered through. “Ma’am, we’re searching for two dangerous criminals. Have they been here?”

  Josephine’s response could have cut steel. “I’m blind! Do you think I’d know if anyone walked in here?”

  “Well, no ma’am, but...”

  That was as far as he got, and Josephine proceeded to lambaste him verbally, finishing off with “If you have a warrant, then show me, and do it now. Otherwise, I have things to do.”

  As if showing her a warrant would do any good, but apparently, the cop didn’t have the heart to invade a blind person’s home. He apologized, and five minutes later the sound of the cellar door opening caused Harry to heave a sigh of relief. “He’s gone,” Josephine called down. “You can come out now.”

  Twenty minutes later, they sat sipping tea in the kitchen and eating freshly baked bread. “This is good,” Anastasia mumbled. Her mouth was full of food and she made satisfied rumbling noises as she ate. Swallowing, she added, “The tea is good, too.”

  Harry seconded the motion.

  Josephine beamed. “I’ve always loved baking. It takes a certain touch, and when you lose your sight, you learn how important your other senses are. You learn over time, you know. It doesn’t come overnight.”

  As if to prove her point, her fingers deftly reached out and picked up her cup, and she took a slice of the still-warm bread without bothering to search for it. “Location, location,” she murmured. “You listen, remember where you placed things...it’s really an art.”

  Anastasia seemed impressed and complimented her.

  Josephine waved her kind comments off with a slender, age-spotted hand. “Being handicapped is simply a state of body or mind. I do what I can. That’s enough.” She finished off her tea. “Now, where are you two going?”

  At this point in time, Harry wasn’t sure. “It’s still early. I guess we’re just going to try and get out of the city, ma’am.”

  “Shouldn’t you check the news first?”

  Good idea. He found the remote and clicked on the television. Sure enough, there was a young, female reporter standing outside the abandoned building, a curious crowd of onlookers behind her, breathlessly intoning into a mike, “And we’re live at the condemned Mira building, where a fight that can only be described as incredible broke out less than one day ago. Eyewitnesses state that three...animal people...fought and murdered no less than twenty people...”

  The camera cut to pictures of bodies being carried out, some of them missing limbs and all of them bloody. Harry ground his teeth in frustration, and blurted out, “But we didn’t do that!”

  “Hush,” Anastasia said, putting her finger to his lips. “There’s more.”

  Back to the reporter, who was standing with Mr. Leader of the lynch mob. He had a massive bandage wrapped around his head. Blood trickled through, and his clothes had been slashed to ribbons. “They’re nothing more than killers,” he spat at the camera. “We weren’t doing anything. They came after us and bit and ripped us apart. If they want a war, we’ll give it to them...”

  The camera then cut away to show at least thirty policemen holding the crowd back and patrolling the area, pistols in hand. This went against departmental procedure, but in circumstances like this, the cops were bound to be jumpy. The voiceover said that foot and car patrols would be beefed up in the area and around all law enforcement agencies.

  “We will provide a police presence,” a large policeman said. The caption showed him to be the Chief of Police. “We will not allow our city or its citizens to be slaughtered by these filthy animals who do not value human life...”

  With a snort of derision, Anastasia clicked off the television. In all this time, Josephine hadn’t moved a muscle, but her face showed fear for the first time. “Did you really do that, kill all those people?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “No,” Anastasia replied, getting up from the couch. “I didn’t. Harry didn’t. It was two others like me. There’s no war going on. It’s just those two...things. And I’m going to find out who and what they are.”

  Harry glanced at a clock. It was nine in the morning. “It’s still early,” Josephine’s voice came. “Since you’re probably tired, and since the police are more than likely still looking for you, why don’t you rest down in the cellar? It’s pretty warm there, a
nd you can probably find some old chairs to sit on.”

  It sounded like a plan. Carefully, Harry descended the steps with Anastasia right behind him. The light didn’t work and the space was dim. At the bottom, his eyesight adjusted and he found a few old but serviceable chairs sitting in front of a table. Sitting down, they rested their heads on the table. Harry tried to keep the sleep out of his eyes, couldn’t, and soon passed out, hoping for the best.

  “Hey, get up,” a voice said.

  Harry opened his eyes, blinked, and found Anastasia staring at him, her eyes luminous in the dimness. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I just woke up,” she said and jerked her head toward the steps. “I’m not sure what time it is, but I think we should leave.”

  Making their way up the steps into the living room, they found Josephine sitting on the couch, her hands clasped together in her lap. “I hope you slept well,” she said.

  Harry nodded, stretched out his muscles, and his shoulder, while sore, felt a little better than before. “It was pretty good, ma’am.”

  “It’s afternoon, almost five,” she said. “I was listening to the news.”

  “We should be going,” Anastasia began, and her voice started to get emotional. “Thank you, Mrs. Hutch. We appreciate what you’ve done for us.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” she tut-tutted. “All I did was to get you some dry clothes. If you enjoyed the bread and tea, then that satisfies me.”

  She sighed and fluttered her hands. “Right now I’d give anything to see clearly, if only for a few minutes.” Her mouth set in a straight line. “The police are everywhere. The broadcasts said so. You’d better wait a little longer.”

  Josephine got off the couch and turned in Anastasia’s direction. “If your body is as furry as your face is, young lady, then you’ll need to cover up. Go upstairs. It’s the last room on your right. Search the big chest in the middle of the room, third drawer from the bottom. You’ll find some slacks, long sleeved shirts, and a few baseball caps. They belonged to my husband. They might be a bit large for you, but the weather is cold outside, so no one will notice. Go on.”

  Anastasia took off like a shot and came back later dressed up like a teen rocker. Long, baggy pants covered her legs, an even longer shirt covered her torso and arms, and her hair was tucked under an oversized baseball cap. With the exception of her decidedly feline features, she could pass for anyone on the street. “How do I look?” she asked Harry.

  “Like you need a fashion makeover,” he responded and yelled as she smacked him on the arm.

  Josephine laughed, a rather merry sound considering their circumstances. “Now, I’m going to give you some keys. They’re to my husband’s car. I used to drive it, but...blind people don’t drive. Take it.”

  Getting to her feet, she shuffled over to a small stand in the hallway, reached inside a drawer, and pulled a set of keys from it. Hesitating, she stuck her hand in again and pulled out some money. “You’ll need this,” she said, proffering the bills to Harry.

  Surprised by her generosity, he said, “Ma’am, that’s too much. We can’t—”

  “Yes, you can,” she replied in a firm voice. “Take it. You’ll need it. If you can’t use it, then give it away. But right now you need it more than I do.”

  “Why?” Anastasia asked. “Why are you doing this?”

  When Josephine looked up, her eyes were bright and it was almost as if she could see. “I’m eighty-three years old. My husband was a good man. He passed on three years ago, and someday I’ll join him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anastasia said with a catch in her voice.

  “Don’t be,” Josephine responded with a beatific smile. Her voice, clear and true, resounded over the room and she held her head high and proud. “I’ve had a long life, I’ve raised three children, held seven grandchildren in my arms, and if this is my time to go, then there’s nothing I can do about it. If you had wanted to kill me, young lady, you would have done so.”

  With a quick and graceful movement of her hands, she reached up to smooth back her hair. “I believe in trusting people. You have to have trust sometimes. I trust people to give me the right change when I go shopping, and I trust others not to rob me when I’m walking alone. I trusted you before when you said that you needed help. That’s why I didn’t bring my pistol with me.”

  A wise smile appeared on her face. “I put my faith in those who seem good. I can’t see, but I hear very well, thank you, and from the way you and your boyfriend talk, then I know you can’t be bad.” She nodded her head twice as if to cement her words in Anastasia’s head.

  “Now, let’s all have another cup of tea. Dusk is on its way, and that’ll help you.”

  Anastasia embraced the old lady, and her purr filled the room.

  Josephine wiped a few tears away. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, my dear.”

  They left two hours later, just after darkness had fallen. The night had turned chilly, and Anastasia ran to the car first. She got into the front seat and hunkered down behind the dashboard. Harry went out the front door, but before leaving, he thanked Josephine again.

  “No need to thank me,” she said. “Just be careful.”

  After the door closed, he went to the garage and opened the door. A car, a Ford model perhaps ten years old, sat inside. Searching the trunk, he found one spare tank of gas and carefully poured it in. There was just enough to get them to a nearby gas station. It was a risk to be seen in public, but he had to take it.

  Firing up the engine, he pulled out onto the street and drove carefully to the nearest gas station. Anastasia crouched further down in the front seat while a young attendant filled up the tank and Harry handed over some of his recently gifted funds. He’d pay Josephine back if and when he could.

  Ready now, he drove off, and as he did so, a warm feeling ran through him. So far, they’d been met with suspicion and hatred. However, after meeting Josephine, his faith in humanity had been restored somewhat. Not everyone was bad, there were many good people out there, and he’d just been fortunate enough to find them.

  Anastasia snuggled up next to him and he drove carefully, avoiding any places where he thought the police might be waiting. The streets were covered with snow and he did his best to avoid the slippery spots.

  “Where are we going now?” Anastasia asked after they’d cleared the neighborhood and found the entrance to the highway.

  Entering the fast lane, he kept his head hunched down and stepped on the gas. The car shot forward. “To see a man who knows how to get us to Russia.” With that, he steered straight ahead, moving steadily down the road to find out what lay ahead.

  Chapter Eleven: A Meeting of Minds

  Their journey up to Mercy Hospital took roughly an hour, and along the way, they tried to figure out what to do. “We have to figure out a plan of attack,” Harry began.

  “A plan of attack,” Anastasia repeated, arching her eyebrows. “If you want a battle plan, try to avoid getting killed by John Q. Public, avoiding the terror twins, and getting this done.”

  She hunched over in the seat, covering her face as much as possible with the hood. Had anyone in another car looked in, they would have seen only the hood, Harry felt.

  On his end, he drove carefully, kept his speed down and didn’t dare cut off anyone. Police cars were all over the highway with their sirens wailing. More than once, he felt his heart jump when a cruiser passed him by. Anastasia hunkered down in her seat, shoulders hunched and hoodie up and covering her ears.

  Up ahead, he saw a line of cars and heard people yelling, “I didn’t do anything, officer!” along with “Police brutality” “Fascism!” and worse. A roadblock stood in their way of freedom with police officers checking everything and everyone.

  Panic seized him, and for a brief moment, he had thoughts of flooring it and trying to escape. Reason prevailed, as there was a line of cars in front of him, very little room to maneuver, and at least fifty armed and very dan
gerous cops were on patrol. He knew that they’d shoot to kill.

  “Pull your vehicle over!” a cop yelled through a bullhorn and waved his arm in their direction.

  Now or never, Harry thought, and slid his car into an empty spot. As the police officers approached, his heart rate jumped into the red zone. If they were discovered, forget about making it to the hospital—any hospital—alive.

  Memories of both lynch mobs remained fresh in his mind. Anastasia remained in a bent over position. Rolling down the window, he asked, “What’s the trouble, officer?” and fought to keep his fear under control.

  “Those things have been spotted around here,” the cop answered, snorting his disdain. “If we catch them, there’ll be no need for a trial.”

  Yeah, lynch mob, Harry thought. “You’d kill them?”

  “Wouldn’t you?” The cop bent over to scan the interior of the car. “What’s wrong with your passenger?”

  “Uh, my girlfriend has diabetes,” Harry answered, thinking fast. “She needs insulin, so I’m taking her to the hospital.”

  A dubious expression crossed the police officer’s face, but then his walkie-talkie crackled. “Yeah, what is it?” he rattled into the receiver, still staring at Anastasia.

  He listened intently, and a second later rang off. His face lit up like a hunter on safari about to take down an especially rare and dangerous animal. “We got a tip from some old lady. Seems two of those things were seen heading in the opposite direction. You drive safely.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Harry answered politely. Thank you, too, Josephine.

  Getting underway once more after clearing the roadblock, he turned on the radio. “And we have a special report coming in,” the announcer stated in a voice designed to send tremors of panic into the most laid-back person. “Rumors of cat people and a rhino-type monster have been confirmed by residents of the Bowery and downtown Manhattan. According to eyewitnesses, they are working together, and the police have issued a warning for citizens to stay in their homes and lock the doors.”