by Alan Janney
We were fifty yards away. Too far for a normal person to throw a small grenade.
He wasn’t normal. The grenade came on a straight line, humming with velocity. Thrown like a hundred mile-per-hour fast ball. Carl called out in alarm, wrapped Miss Pauline up and sheltered her.
I caught the grenade and sent it skyrocketing towards stars, just like the trick at Los Alamitos. The grenade popped in the sky. The Outlaw imposter watched it one second too long. Samantha got there and sent him sprawling with a crisp blow to the skull.
Miss Pauline started running. “Don’t hurt him!” she cried. “Don’t hurt him!”
Samantha threw her hands up and swore, using words I hoped Miss Pauline didn’t hear. She snatched the bag of explosive and kept one foot on the man’s neck until we arrived.
“Young man,” Miss Pauline said, panting and peering into his face. “Young man, are you okay?”
The imposter wept, hands at his temples.
“Miss Pauline,” I said quietly. “This man has the sickness.”
“The sickness. You can tell?”
“I can tell.”
“Young man, you one of the Chemist? You with him?”
The kid, about my age, nodded. His eyes shone with tears and he sniffed. “I’m sick,” he said.
“Go ahead an cry.” With help from Carl, she sat on the pavement next to the imposter and took his hand in hers. The boy pressed Miss Pauline’s hand hard into his temple. “Cry all you want.”
“Still have the headaches?” I asked him. He nodded again.
“The headaches?” Miss Pauline asked.
“Part of the sickness. He hasn’t been sick long.”
“You,” he said. He peered intently at me, staring at my silhouette thrown into darkness by the overhead light. “You…smell.”
“That’s the sickness too,” I said.
“Or maybe you just stink?” Samantha mumbled under her breath.
“You.” He glanced at Samantha and back at me. “And you. You two.”
“Shhh, boy,” Miss Pauline said. “Let the headache pass.”
“You two,” he said again. “I know you two…somehow…”
A shock of realization. Of recognition.
“Oh no,” I whispered. Samantha lowered to a crouch. She pulled off the bandana and pushed down the mask, revealing Andy Babington’s face. “Andy,” I said, a lump in my throat.
“You,” he said. He covered his eyes again and cried. “I hate you. I hate you. Hate you I hate you I hate you hate you so much.”
I examined him. He had two fresh surgical scars, puffy and red, at the base of his skull. Small scars on the bottom of both forearms, one recently split open. I bet I could find more too. “Andy, he operated on you,” I said, voice tight. “He gave you his disease.”
“My head,” he groaned. “Hurts so much.”
“He usually keeps his Pupas unconscious for months. But you’ve only been missing for…” I glanced at Samantha. “How long?”
“About three weeks.”
“The next few months are going to be rough, Andy. The disease is savage. And I think he did some other stuff to you too. Stem cell implantation.”
“Who are you?? Shut up, shut up, shut up,” he growled. “You’re a nobody. I hate you. I hate your body. I hate your voice. Everything about you.”
It was the disease inside me already irritating the disease inside him. Two predators in close proximity. “You need to go home,” I said. “Be with your family.”
“Can’t go home,” he wheezed. He took Miss Pauline’s hand and placed it flat on his cheek. “Can’t go home.”
Miss Pauline asked, “Why is he in pain?”
“The disease. It’s changing his body too quickly. He’ll die from an aneurysm soon if he doesn’t calm down.”
“You shut up, you’re a nobody, a nothing, I despise you.”
Samantha put the satchel of explosives around her neck. “I see the little prick hasn’t lost his charm. I’m going to a safe place to detonate these, in case the Chemist planted a nasty surprise. Back later.”
Soon after she left, the police arrived. Two, three, then four cars, turning the night red and blue. Miss Pauline and Carl left to consult with them while Andy writhed.
“Andy, listen to me.”
“Shutupshutupshutup.”
“You need to go. The police have to arrest you. And then they’ll perform tests. The stress will overload your brain and you’ll die.” I crouched beside him, keeping an eye on the cops.
For once, he remained quiet.
“Understand? Your brain is fragile right now. And you’re about to be arrested. You’ll die.”
He whimpered, “I want to die.”
“That’s just the pain talking. You’ll feel better tomorrow. Will the Chemist take you back?”
“I…I don’t know…where’d she go? Lady with the soft hands…who are you…oh god…”
“Did he send you here? The Chemist?”
“…yes.”
“For me?”
No answer.
“You need to go home to your parents. Or to the Chemist. Maybe he’ll put you under again. You need to sleep as much as possible for several months.”
“I can’t think…can’t see…can’t sleep…can’t eat…”
“Here they come. Decide now.” I touched his arm. He sprang up like a cat, so fast I fell over, which was a good thing because he took a swing at me.
The police shouted in alarm but Andy was long gone, faster than humanly possible.
I was gone too. Moved even faster than Andy, stealing back to Miss Pauline’s car without anyone noticing. I flattened on the back seat and stayed out of sight.
Andy. Jeez. I hurt thinking about him. The disease had throttled him, forcing muscles and bones through devastating transformations far too quickly. His brain already displayed evidence of damage; he’d forgotten how he knew us. Operating on instinct and orders without sanity or reason. So much pain. Maybe if he had stayed in the coma longer.
Fifteen minutes later, Miss Pauline and Carl wearily fell back into their seats. My somnolent caretakers cranked the engine and rubbed their eyes.
“You back there?” she asked.
“I am.”
Carl said, “You the real Outlaw. Ain’t you.”
“I am.”
“And you worth half a billion dollars,” he grunted.
I kept silent.
“Well. Lordy. Let’s go find the girl. And you best sleep at my house. Not safe for you anywhere else.”
That was the truth. I should text Katie. Have her come stay at Miss Pauline’s house. But she could be asleep by now.
I’ll call her tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, February 9. 1019
Tank
“You going into hypoglycemic shock,” Katie told me. “Or something like it.”
Too fatigued to answer. My mouth was dry and my muscles kept trembling. It was after midnight and we’d been on the raft for hours. On our third and final tank of gas.
Been hungry forever. But now, face down on the wet raft in the sloshing water, bouncing for an eternity, I was also nauseated.
“We’re at the shore,” she said. She sounded exhausted and scared. And maybe irritated. Always thought she was cute when she got mad. “I think it’s White Point. Royal Palms Beach, but I’m not positive. My phone is dead.”
I wanted to lift my head but couldn’t.
“Here’s the plan, Tank,” she said. “I’m sending us straight towards the shore. It’s a rocky coast and beaching won’t be fun. But you’re too enervated by the lack of nutrition for anything else. Understand?”
No. The hell does enervate mean?
“Don’t fall in. I can’t pick you up,” she said.
I felt the ocean lift and drop us. And again. Sounds of the shore. The hissing and sucking of rocks and water.
“Here we go…”
The floor of the ocean rose and me
t us. Round stones crashed against my hands, skull, and knees. The propellor struck and was demolished. We skidded to a stop, the raft’s floor half shredded.
“Success,” Katie panted, her voice shaky. “I bet that hurt. But you won’t drown.”
I grunted something. Couldn’t open my eyes.
“Okay. Okay,” she said. Sounds of her bare feet tripping on stones. Always thought she had cute feet. “Wow, where is everyone? This place is deserted.”
A shallow wave embraced my legs and scraped the ruined propellor against rocks.
“You need food,” she said, voice receding. “I see lights. I’ll be back…ouch, jeez, the ground is so hard…I’ll be back in a minute.”
Then. Nothing.
* * *
Life slowly returned, like the volume of a radio increasing slowly over half an hour. My lips tingled. Toes cold. Another splash in my mouth. Something sweet. I gagged.
“Can you hear me?”
“Mmm,” I said.
“I’ve been trickling Pepsi into your mouth. You need the sugar.”
“Aight.”
“If you can’t swallow yet, just swish it around. Your gums will absorb a portion.”
More Pepsi. So good. I swished. Swallowed. Coughed.
“I’ve got water too. And a hamburger.”
“From where?” I said.
“Campers. Near the road. Two guys. They said I was hot, so…”
“No ambulances.”
“No ambulances,” she agreed. “You’re a fugitive, I suppose.”
“You should eat the hamburger.”
“I had a bite. You need it more than me.”
She fed me the burger in crumbs. It took a long time. Hours. Parts of my body began hurting but she said that was a good thing. Organs waking up.
“You need more food,” she yawned. “But I don’t have any money.”
“Always knew I’d get you back.”
“You have not got me back.”
I grinned. “You feeding me on a beach, babe. That’s the definition of a couple.”
“Oh? Well. I’m in love with someone else.”
“Naw.”
“Yes.”
“What’s he got that I don’t?”
She fiddled with my collar, her finger brushing my skin. “For starters, his clothes aren’t soggy rags.”
“Like what you see?”
“You’ve lost a lot of weight, Tank. Maybe…forty pounds?”
“Trimming down for you.”
She ignored that. “Did you eat anything after you jumped off the Navy ship? You swam quite a distance with no calories.”
I wiped my face but just got sand in my eyes. She knocked my hand away and brushed the grains out. I said, “Ate two fish. Raw.”
“Ew.”
“And snuck aboard at night. Could only find lemonade.”
“Yeah, Minnie likes to drink. How’d you swim to her yacht without dehydrating?”
“That storm. Had plenty of rain water.”
“Oh yes. Of course.”
“Still. Wasn’t fun.”
She placed her hands on my temples and kissed my forehead. Bliss. “Tank. Thank you. Thank you for intervening when you did.”
I reached up for her but she pulled back.
She said, “I am grateful. But I’m still in love with someone else.”
“I’ve missed you. So much.” And then, like a big stupid baby, tears began leaking out of my eyes.
“Well,” she stammered, and for a moment her voice trembled, “well, Tank, you…you shouldn’t have tried kidnapping me. Twice! You kidnapped me twice.”
“I’m the jealous type.”
“You’re the crazy type.”
“Run away with me.”
“No.” She shifted in the sand, getting more comfortable. Her toes pressed into my shoulder. Soon I’d be able to stand. “Tank, why do you hate Chase so much?”
“He’s stupid.”
“That explains nothing.”
“And arrogant. And ugly.”
She sighed. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
“Why are you with him?”
“I love him.”
“Why?”
“For a variety of reasons. My heart loves him. My brain loves him.”
I frowned. “Huh?”
“I mean…I’m attracted to him and I’m emotionally drawn to him. But also, he has all the character traits I desire in a boyfriend. Or husband.”
“Did you cheat on me? With him?” I hated the question. But I’d been dying to know. And now I was too weak to do something stupid.
She didn’t answer immediately. Took her time. Too long. “Emotionally, yes. While I dated you, I thought about him a lot. But I remained faithful up to the end, until you got grounded.”
“Faithful until I got grounded.”
“…yes.”
“My stupid parents.”
She laughed. Always thought she was cute when she laughed. My vision was slowly coming back into focus. It was dark and we had no lights. Her hair was up.
I said, “So you cheated on me with him. At the end.”
“I did. And I’m sorry. But I didn’t want to break up with you via text message.”
“You owe me.”
“What do you mean?” she asked with a suspicious grin.
“Cheat on him. With me.”
“I will not.” She pressed my shoulder with her toe.
“One kiss.”
“No.”
“Because of my face? The burns?”
“No. Not because of your burns.”
“What if he was dead? What then?”
“Ugh,” she said and her head dropped. “I can’t think about that.”
“Maybe I’ll kill him so we can be together.”
She kicked me. “No kisses for you.”
“But I saved your life.”
“And then I saved yours. We are even, buster.”
I asked, “Are you tired?”
“Exhausted.”
“Me too. Haven’t slept in days. Let’s sleep under the raft. Use it for cover. And then get food in the morning.”
She eyed me skeptically.
I added, “I won’t touch you.”
She looked around and rubbed her legs nervously. Always thought she had great legs. “Might be a good idea. You and I are both wanted persons.”
“By the Chemist?”
“By everyone. He put a bounty on my head. Millions.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She realized her mistake. Should she have told me that? What would I do? Watched me out the corner of her eye, holding her breath.
“Millions,” I repeated slowly.
She didn’t respond.
“Hm,” I said. “Not nearly enough. I’d take you instead of the millions.”
She relaxed, relieved. “That’s sweet of you, Tank.”
“I’m a sweet guy.” I removed the outboard propellor from the raft. She laid down next to me and I pulled the raft over our heads. I was still weak and shaky, barely able to lift the light boat. The cover wasn’t perfect due to the slashed bottom. But it helped. “Comfortable?”
She faced away from me and drew her knees up. “Don’t talk. It’s weird.”
“Cold?”
“A little.”
“Want to spoon?”
“No.”
“We used to.”
“No.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
Katie fell asleep quickly. She shivered. I covered her with my arm. She didn’t push me off.
It’s a start.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friday, February 9. 2019
Kid
Twelve hours after getting slammed by the giant and falling into the ocean, I finally lowered into the waiting Lexus at Queensway Bay, just across from Long Beach, at five in the morning. The Worker who’d piloted the boat to the yacht got in the back.
What an aw
ful night.
And it was going to be an even worse day.
I’d let the girl escape.
And Walter was in town.
Plus, EVERYTHING hurt, especially my chest and neck. Broken bones. Busted lip. Loose teeth.
My chauffeur, a former taxi driver now in the employ of the Father, drove us north using back roads to enter Downtown. To enter the Sanctuary. His Kingdom.
I’d grown up in Beverly Hills. Traffic congestion was as abiding as sunlight in LA. The absence of it was like being in another city. Driving into Downtown, we could have been on another planet.
He stopped at the 717 Olympic building, our home. Two blocks over, a Cleaner crew swept dust from the street, the final stage of restoration at that crash site. Tomorrow the Cleaner crew would move to another. We called them crash sites, where helicopters had fallen or rockets punched holes through high rises. The 717 Olympic, a modern residential tower with teal green windows, had survived unscathed and so we populated it with our Devotees and Guests. The government had the 717 under infrared surveillance, we knew that from informants. Thus, the surplus of warm bodies.
The elevators required too much power for our solar panels or generators or hydroelectric engines, and so, like always, I walked ten floors to my quarters. I no longer noticed the climb. My Devotees, dressed in thick cotton robes, had been alerted. They met me at the door with fresh clothes and helped me change, another oddity I no longer considered.
“Where is Walter?” I asked.
“We have not seen Master Walter.”
“He is here?”
“We have heard Master Walter is present in the Sanctuary. Shall we locate him?”
“Oh god no. I need a nap.”
I fell into the king bed without removing my slippers.
* * *
I was roused at noon. As was prudent, none of our sleeping quarters had windows.
Walter was here. I detected him in the darkness. Walter didn’t wash often so he had a scent. An odor. But he also had a presence. His air pulsated. The Devotees were frightened of him but not enough. They didn’t appear cognizant of his evil scrim, the spreading stain he left on the atmosphere. They couldn’t detect him from another room. I could.
As always, he wore sunglasses and his hair was cornrowed and his mouth twisted with displeasure.