"Prime's right," Beat said and paused, the surreal nature of her sentence sinking in. "I never thought I'd say it, but Prime is right."
"They can't... I mean... You said we won?" Kevin almost begged Eydie. But Eydie had returned her head to the pillows of the couch, hiding from the world
"You can't win for losing," Elder replied.
The group fell into silence as Prime tapped away at his keyboard. Beat, Kevin and Elder watched as the helicopter filmed the remains of Madame Damnable's, and as the fire crews finally dowsed it with streams of water.
Kevin was the first to speak again. "If they want terrorists, then let's give them terrorists."
"Huh?" Beat looked up, shaken from her own musings.
"If they want mad bombers, well... hell, let's give them mad fucking bombers. But no more of this blowing up Pukes, bullshit. No, if they're going to come for us, put us in camps, then let's take the fight to them. Hit them where they live, burn their fucking buildings down!"
"You want to kill more people?" Beat asked in disbelief.
"More? More?!" Kevin stepped towards Beat, thrusting an accusatory finger at her. "All of them! I want to kill every last motherfucking Stem! But payback for each and every Puke killed tonight, that'd be a start."
"You're fucking insane," Beat dismissed. For a second, it appeared as if Kevin was going to strike her. Beat didn't flinch.
"You've had one too many Stem cocks up your ass," Kevin accused Beat. "It's made you soft."
Beat didn't hesitate. She wheeled back and smacked Kevin in the jaw. He staggered back, dropping the shotgun, and crashed into Prime's server rack.
The punch seemed to take the mean out of him. He rubbed his jaw, winced, and then shot Beat a wide grin.
"After this? You want to pile on more shit?" Beat said calmly, watching the monitor, not looking at Kevin as she spoke. "No, after this, we bounce. Load up Prime's truck with all the guns and ammo and food and water it can carry and get the fuck out." She fixed Prime with her steel gaze. "If this Bannock place is real, if Prime wasn't just pitching us shit, then we head for that. That's our best chance. But if you assholes want to stay behind and go out in some fucking blaze of glory, help yourself."
"No, no," Elder spoke up. "Whatever we do, we stay together."
Prime looked up from his terminal. Beat turned to face Elder. Kevin picked up his shotgun, still with the dumb grin on his face, and looked over. Elder had their full attention. Only Eydie was ignoring him, lost in the cushions of the couch.
Somehow, inexplicably, the decision had fallen on Elder Tull.
Chapter 13
"The bombing is trending well in the polls," Peters said, facing Nathan in the town car from the seat across from him. Peters had his phone out, tapping away, reviewing some data.
Nathan felt tired. He'd made sure to suck up a full charge into his stem before leaving the penthouse condo that morning. But still, he felt tired.
"The dead police officers have given law enforcement a much-needed sympathy bump. And to think, we thought they'd come out looking like the bad guys in all this. There's a memorial tomorrow at the Center. Nathan, you'll need to be there looking suitably distressed. I'll try and get you a seat close to the podium, but it might be hard to wrangle. A lot of political weight is getting thrown around. You'll need a black suit..." Peters turned to Jude, who was beside Nathan, wearing sunglasses and looking gloomily out the town car's side window. "Something nice this time?" Peters tone was condescending. "Something that a regular Joe would have to lay out a month's wages for. Armani, for Christ's sake. That jacket yesterday didn't poll at all..."
"Okay," Jude replied. She didn't bother to look away from the window as the reflection of the city scanned by in her dark lenses.
Nathan had managed to coax her out of the closet after discovering her there. They'd gone to bed and made love again, but all the energy of the act had been sapped from Jude's body.
Nathan hadn't pushed her on her comment, and she hadn't reiterated it. But Nathan's failure to reciprocate her love had obviously driven some sort of wedge between them. Not forty-eight hours after they'd met and already things had shifted from hot and heavy to cold and distant.
"Where are we going?" Nathan asked, joining Jude in watching the traffic out his own window. "Another interview?"
"More of a town hall," Peters responded, not looking up from his phone. "At the WAC. Give you a chance to try your charms out on the general public – speaking of which, Jude, what about that cosmetic orthodontist?"
"This afternoon at 3," Jude replied in a monotone voice. Nathan suddenly felt self-conscious. He bared his teeth at his reflection in the car window and examined his mouth.
"Well, tell him to do the best he can without pulling anything. Bleach or whatever. There's no time before the memorial to get a partial made. I don't want him onscreen with a gaping mouth full of rotten teeth."
"Right," Jude nodded.
"Do you have a script from Waverly?" Nathan mumbled. His teeth didn't look all that bad to him. A little yellow maybe...
"Waverly is out," Peters said matter-of-factly.
Nathan turned away from his reflection. "What?"
"Out." Peter repeated. "Out of the picture. His copy didn't poll well and... well, he never really had that vision thing..."
"Then what am I supposed to say?"
"Yesterday's talking points are still on-topic. And your ad-libs yesterday trended very well. You jumped up almost universally when you went off-script. I think the honesty spoke directly to people. You won't be on camera today, so don't worry too much about slip-ups. Just speak to these people honestly, belay their concerns, and you'll do alright. Oh, and don't forget to mention the book."
"Right," Nathan said, though he was still taken aback.
"Speaking of the book, where are we on that?" Peters was talking to Jude again.
This was important enough for Jude to look away from the window. "We have the author coming in at 12:15. He was hard to track down. He was in Aspen. No cell phone. No email."
"Aspen? In September?" Peter said incredulously.
"He has a villa. He writes..." Jude waved a dismissive hand at the roof of the town car and returned her attention to the city outside the window. They were jammed in traffic on 5th, near the retail core of town. Already, the first Halloween decorations were in the storefronts.
"Good," Peters returned his attention to his phone. "I feel like a first-class fool selling a product that we don't even have the rights to."
"The book is not the product, Peters," Jude said absentmindedly.
"No," Peter allowed. "But it is the only vector we have for monetizing it... so far..."
A silence fell over the town car as it shunted slowly forward in traffic. They were almost at the intersection of Pike, just off Westlake Square.
"Product?" Nathan asked, breaking the silence. He was only half listening to the conversation. Outside his window, west towards the square, a police cruiser caught Nathan's attention as it pulled away from the curb. It accelerated away from the crowded square, heading west down Pike. But it unexpectedly performed a sharp u-turn. Its lights and sirens exploded to life as it again picked up speed, barreling back through the square. It seemed to be rocketing directly towards Nathan and the town car. Nathan gasped and pulled his face away from the car's window.
Momentarily, as the police cruiser careened through the square, Nathan noticed a figure off to the side of the road, waving its arms frantically, attempting to flag down the passing patrol car. Before any sort of recognition could form in Nathan's mind, the figure threw itself to the ground, lying down flat in the center of the square. The police car didn't slow. But, as Nathan watched, the rear of it rose suddenly, pulling the car vertically into the air.
The explosion engulfed the police cruiser in a fireball, tearing it apart like a paper model. The shock wave caved in the windows of the town car, showering Nathan in a hail of glass. He was thrown back, crushin
g Jude underneath him as the explosion picked up the town car up and threw it back down to earth.
There was darkness, then pain, and Nathan awoke with a face covered in blood.
Chapter 14
Elder Tull held the knapsack securely on his lap as the bus made its way down Eastlake. The local came to a jarring halt at each and every stop, letting passengers on and off. Elder waited patiently, making sure there was room enough next to him should anyone want to take the seat. No one did. The sight of Elder's ragged, bushy beard and filthy, worn clothes kept all the other passengers at arm's length.
Elder kept the knapsack on his lap all the same. He knew that the three pounds of Semtex in the bag would not detonate until he armed the detonator, but each and every bump the bus made still delivered a short stab of panic. It was best to keep it cradled safely on his lap as the bus slowly made its way towards downtown. Best for everyone involved.
It had been Elder Tull's decision, so it had inevitably fallen on Elder Tull to do the deed. When he'd eventually, belatedly agreed with Kevin on striking back against the Stems to avenge their fallen comrades, he hadn't fully understood what would be required of him.
When he'd learned, he hadn't liked the sound of it one bit.
But Eydie was still catatonic, refusing to leave the warm comfort of the rumpus room couch; Sweet Beat was against the whole plan from the beginning; no one trusted Kevin to do the job cleanly; and Prime... well, the days of Prime being able to move freely amongst the perfectly sculpted bodies of the general Stem population were past.
So, the task had fallen to Elder, though almost no one trusted his state of mind with such a serious undertaking, least of all Elder himself.
Elder Tull was hazy on the exact details of the plan. He distinctly remembered there being a plan, something that had been discussed at great length around the table of the Candy Kitchen. Elder had nodded his consent during the briefing, and had shown every appearance of having a solid grasp of the task laid out before him. However, once the army surplus satchel charge had been dropped into his lap, each and every detail of the planned bombing had evaporated from Elder's brain. The heavy sack of explosives completely consumed his attention. He'd listened attentively as Sweet Beat had explained how to arm the device – that, at least, he could recall. But the rest...
The bus rolled to a halt on 3rd and opened its doors near Regrade Park. Traditionally, an interchange of Pukes would have occurred at this stop due to a cluster of soup kitchens previously dotting the Belltown neighborhood. Pukes between meals would congregate in Regrade Park, sleeping rough or begging for handouts. Now, the park was eerily quiet. Whatever Pukes had not been rounded up in the Night of Loves and Fishes were now far too scared to show their faces in public by day.
Suddenly, a wave of terror rocked Elder. What was he doing? The suspicious glances of his fellow bus passengers affirmed all his worst fears. He stuck out like a sore thumb, worse than Prime with his humongous gut. Everyone around him was so... beautiful. There was no way to hide Elder's true nature, not with his mouth of rotted teeth and his scraggly beard. Elder wanted to bolt off the bus, but the doors closed as the bus lurched forward. He was ready at the next stop, however, and leapt out onto the sidewalk, even before the hydraulic doors had completely opened.
His behavior drew even more looks from the other passengers. Elder, with his insane head of unwashed hair, clutching a knapsack so tightly to his chest, stumbling off the bus before it had even come to a full stop... so many passengers talking on their phones... were they calling the cops? Elder didn't wait around for an answer. He jaywalked across 3rd and sprinted around the block. He kept running, crossing a street again and taking a sharp right. Elder paused to catch his breath, leaning up against a brick wall.
He was in Westlake Square.
He was smack dab in the center of town. The square, as always, was crawling with shoppers and cops. Patrol cars, bicycle cops, mounted cops on their stem-powered stallions... Elder almost shit his pants. He'd stumbled into the lion's den. Hundreds of toned, well-dressed, youthful Stems strolling from boutique to boutique in the early autumn air. And a dozen cops – two dozen cops – all with orders to arrest any Puke on sight.
And Elder, with three pounds of Semtex in a canvas knapsack.
Elder shit his pants just a little bit.
He needed to get rid of the bomb, and quickly. He'd never reach his original target, even if somehow he could remember what his original target had been. Elder stepped away from the wall and moved slowly out into the busy square. He scanned the concrete park for a receptacle: a garbage can, a mail box, something. He clutched his cargo tightly and accidentally bumped shoulders with passing Stems. They recoiled in horror when they turned to cuss at Elder. The sweat was pouring down his forehead. He soon realized he'd never make it to any garbage can.
Any moment, someone would point and scream "Puke!" and it would all be over. The cops would descend like the Hounds of Hell. Elder would wake up in a camp somewhere – some undisclosed location. Afghanistan maybe, or Burma. Where would the government render all the Pukes? Elder knew with all his heart that he didn't want to find out. He had to get rid of the bomb. Right then and there.
A solution appeared at the curb where Pike Street bisected the square: a parked police cruiser sitting empty beside the road. A patrol officer stood about ten feet away, discussing something with two mounted policemen. None of them had looked in Elder Tull's direction yet.
Elder tried the rear passenger door. It was unlocked. In one smooth motion, he opened the door a crack and tossed the satchel onto the plastic rear seat. Almost as an afterthought, right before closing the door, he reached in and tugged on the detonator's zip cord.
He softly clicked the door closed and scurried away from the cruiser.
Instantly, Elder Tull regretted what he'd just done. He looked down at the handle of the zip cord still in his hand and up at the crowd of unsuspecting Stems teeming around him. This was no place he wanted a bomb to explode. He turned quickly, panicking, scrambling to imagine how he was now going to dispose of an armed knapsack full of Semtex, when fortune smiled on Elder. The patrol officer, hearing something over his walkie talkie, came sprinting back to the car. He threw open the driver's door, leapt inside, gunned the engine and burned the tires as he pulled out onto Pike Street.
He was taking the bomb away from Westlake! Elder cheered internally. He'd done it! He'd done his job, he'd struck a blow for Pukes everywhere. He watched the car accelerate west down Pike, but then, it suddenly made a u-turn. The officer hit his lights and sirens as he picked up speed again, heading back towards Elder.
Elder screamed. "No, no!" He leapt forward to the curb's edge, waving his arms frantically. What was the idiot doing? Didn't he know there was a bomb in there? He was coming back – back into the square, back where all the people were crowded. Elder tried to flag down the patrol car, but it sped by him, paying him no heed. Traffic was bumper-to-bumper on 5th, blocking the intersection, but the officer was accelerating towards it. Elder didn't wait for what was about to happen. He threw himself face first onto the sidewalk at the feet of the strolling Stems.
The explosion picked him up off the sidewalk and tossed him across the square like a rag doll. He faired better, however, than all of the Stems standing vertical in the square.
The shrapnel of the police cruiser cut mercilessly into the packed crowd.
Chapter 15
Elder Tull came to, lying surrounded by severed arms and legs. The square was a grind house of screams and blood, with the smoldering, twisted frame of the car bomb at the center of it all. Elder wanted to vomit, but instead pulled himself to his feet. He woozily managed to stand, the horror of the world all around him fading in and out of double vision.
A Stem woman lay on the sidewalk beside him, twitching and kicking, like a landed fish. Her left arm was missing and there was a gouge in her neck that Elder could have put his hand inside. Her eyes were fixed, pupils d
ilated, staring straight up at the blue, autumn sky about her.
Elder tested his feet, found them functional, and staggered away from the gore. The store windows fronting onto the square had shattered, mixing broken glass in with the blood. It crunched beneath Elder's shoes as he wobbled away.
A crowd was already gathering. People looked on in horror, too dumbstruck to help the injured. Elder pushed past them, lurching precariously on his unsure legs. Someone held out a hand and murmured some sentiment of concern, but Elder couldn't hear it, his ears still filled with the piercing echo of the blast.
Elder moved aimlessly away from the blast site, knowing only that he needed to put distance between himself and the explosion. He staggered along the line of stalled traffic until he found himself in Times Square. His wits were returning, and the importance of a quick escape was dawning on his bomb-rattled mind. Everywhere, cars sat with doors open and ignitions on. Drivers had abandoned their vehicles either to look up the street in curiosity, or to flee on foot in fear. None of them did Elder a bit of good, however, with traffic bumper to bumper.
He had to get out of there before the authorities arrived. It would take a half-wit cop no more than ten seconds to point the finger of blame squarely at Elder: his appearance instantly betrayed him. Elder couldn't hear it, but he saw the flashing lights of the first responders approaching. He needed to vanish – he needed to hide. His eyes darted left and right for some avenue of escape. Panic began to take him over.
What a fool he'd been to step outside the Candy Kitchen looking like he did. No one had thought it through. He'd always been so invisible before, the homeless guy on the bus or street corner that no one wanted to make eye contact with. He'd moved around like a shadow. They hadn't realized that everything had changed. After the Night of Loaves and Fishes, everything that had made him so invisible before now thrust him center stage. He had to get home and hide under a rock, Elder planned. Let the whole thing blow over.
Zombpunk: STEM Page 9
