Chosen Different (Book 1)

by Kozinn, Nat

  The building security guard didn't see me come in either, because he’s dead. He looks like he was a kindly old man. He had one of those security jobs where he wasn't really there to protect people, more just to make sure everyone got their mail and old ladies had help with their groceries. Nothing like The Beast was ever supposed to happen, especially in the Metro Center. He did manage to get off a few shots before The Beast killed him. I can smell the gunpowder. I hope they hurt. Too bad The Beast crushed the gun.

  Inside the lobby, there's a dead couple in front of the elevator. Even though I know it won't work, I hit the button to call the elevator. I don't hear any signs of movement. I bet the elevator Strong-Man is hiding in a corner somewhere, following the law even though he could be helping people.

  I'm going have to climb three hundred stories worth of steps. I follow the signs to the stairwell. After climbing for a few stories, I realize I’m going to need to find another way up. The Beast has demolished the stairs. Just about everything from the sixth floor to the twenty-fifth is missing. I bet he smashed the stairs so there would be no escape from the building. Looks like he headed up to the roof. I make myself ignore the fact that the last two fights I lost to him were on roofs.

  Destroying the stairs made it impossible for the police to get up too, even if they were allowed to move in. These people have no one else who can save them, no one but me. Just like Becky. No, not just like Becky. I'm going to save these people this time. I will come through for them. I will not fail again. I'm simply not sure of how I'm going to succeed yet.

  I try to climb up the walls and what is left of the stairs, but I give up after a few feet. What little The Beast didn’t destroy isn’t very stable, and it crumbles as I try to climb.

  I need to find another way up. The answer comes in a cool breeze. I feel it coming from a hole in the wall. It must be a Cooler chamber. Of course this posh building would have a Cooler. I need a way into the tube, but the wall is made of concrete, the real stuff, not B-Crete. My knife! Ben said it could cut through anything.

  I pull out the blade and sure enough, it goes through the concrete like butter. There is about three feet of concrete, so I have to constantly stop and clear the debris away to keep digging. My missing right index finger doesn't make it any easier.

  Five minutes later, I've managed to make a slit I can squeeze through. I'm an excellent contortionist. I can relax and tighten all my muscles and tendons better than any circus performer. By tightening the right muscles in my chest, back, and abdomen, I end up as thin as a rail. I push my way through the crack.

  The chamber on the other side runs up the length of the tower. It's cold in here. This is how the building's Cooler pays his COL obligations. He spends his days making sure no rich housewives are too warm.

  As I hoped, there's a ladder leading up the height of the chamber. I could climb it all of the way to the roof, but that much climbing would take a lot of time and energy. Between getting here, maintaining my healing, and my demolition work, I've pretty much used up the calories from Gary's Manna bar. I'm going to need some more food if I want to put up much of a fight.

  I keep track of the distance I've covered as I climb the ladder. At the thirtieth floor, I cut my way out of the chamber. Once I've cleared the hole, I contort my way out onto the stairwell again. I head up, breathing deep to keep my blood flooded with oxygen. I don't release any adrenaline because I need to keep my body healing. All my contorting has reopened a couple of blood clots. Nothing dire, but I need to get the bleeding under control before I have my face-off. The Beast will be damaging my organs enough. It would be nice to start the fight not bleeding internally.

  At the two hundredth floor, I've made it as far as I can. If I want to keep healing, if I want to keep walking, I have to get some food in me. I step out into the hallway. There's a bloody handprint on the wall and a dead woman is lying in the middle of the floor. She’s been torn open. That's just how Becky looked after The Beast had at her... No! Now is not the time. Now is the time to prepare for my revenge.

  I kick open the closest apartment door and step into the nicest home I've ever been inside. The entryway ceiling spans the full one hundred stories to a skylight on the roof. Even if the Shimmering Tower has lost its hype, this family is rich.

  I head into the kitchen. Their pantry is stocked with both Manna and non-Manna foods. They even have a few cans of Coca-Cola. They must have been holding onto them since the Plagues. The family was probably saving them for a special occasion. I hope they consider saving their lives a special occasion.

  The soda is delicious. I see why old people complain that Manna-Coke is awful. I down three cans of soda and a can of baked beans, which are also delicious. Lastly, I take a big hunk of something called cheddar cheese from their refrigerator. It smells as if it's full of calories and fat, and it tastes like heaven. I have to stop myself after half a pound. Any more and it'll slow down my digestive track too much. I should have plenty of calories now.

  Food won't be enough if I'm going to take down The Beast. He's an animal. I am man. It's just like Ben said, I need to use the same thing mankind has always used to defeat animals: weapons. I could use a bigger arsenal than just my knife.

  I start cutting into the B-Crete walls in the kitchen. Soon, I've exposed the water pipes. I raise up the knife and swing down hard. Sure enough, it cuts through the Maceo Steel pipe and water spurts out everywhere. I'm surprised. It seems like cutting Maceo Steel with Maceo Steel should cause a nuclear explosion or something like that. If I live, I'll have to look up how it works on think.Net.

  I cut again and then grab the loose piece of pipe. It barely weighs anything. I gather some B-Crete and shove it in one end to give it some weight. I channel my inner Babe Ruth and take a swing. I think even The Beast would’ve felt that one.

  Next, I use a little trick from my childhood. If you mix a little B-Crete, salt, and vinegar, it releases CO2 and foam. We used to toss bags of it at each other and pretend they were grenades. It's not about to blow The Beast up, or even hurt him much, but it could distract him.

  I quickly find my ingredients and some glass jars full of something delicious and fruity called jam. They will make the perfect container for my little science projects. I mix up six of my "bombs." They're a lot bigger than the batches we used to make as a kid. I shake one up and toss it down the hall as a test. A few seconds later, it explodes with a hail of glass and foam. Works even better than I'd hoped. I put one jar in my pocket and the other four in a pillowcase I take off the couch in the den.

  The den has a Pre-Plague television hooked up to what I think is a VCR. This is how people used to watch entertainment at home. There were only a hundred or so movies to choose from and you had to buy the "tape" for each movie or you couldn't watch it. When I face The Beast, I'll tell him he's right about Cabot when it comes to home entertainment. This Pre-Plague stuff doesn't hold a candle to think.Net TV and Telewatching. I'm sure these people keep the old relic solely as a sign of wealth. It must cost a fortune just for the electricity to run those things.

  I shouldn't think about that. If I focus on how wealthy these people are, if I think about how unjust it is, I'll end up leaving them all to die. Instead I focus on Becky and how there are women on that roof just like her. I imagine that working man on the train. He's probably gotten off by now. He's waiting behind a police barricade, desperate for news that his wife is safe. I'm the only one who can make that come true.

  I check to make sure my Maceo Steel blade is secure in the sheath at my waist. I throw the sack of bombs over my shoulder and grab my pipe with the other hand. The weapons give me confidence.

  I head out of the most magnificent apartment I'll ever see and towards a fight for my life against a monster. I head back to the staircase and ascend again at a brisk pace.

  Eventually, I start to get winded. No amount of oxygen regulation can keep up with climbing a hundred stories. I stop to rest and breathe. I stretch my hearing as far as
I can, and I make out The Beast talking. It sounds like it's coming from the roof, as expected. He's ranting like a lunatic at people who are probably too terrified to hear anything. I listen as I continue up towards him.

  "What we got here is a bad news/good news situation. The bad news is that yes, y'all are going to die here today!" I hear him yell.

  Several people let out cries of horror.

  "Now, now! I haven't told y'all the good news yet. The good news is that even though your lives here on earth are ending, you're gonna get an eternity in paradise.

  "The Chosen Sons have been slaves for too long. You lucky Forgotten Sons will get to send the message to everybody. When you fall from the Tower, the whole country will be watching, and they will know that the Chosen ain't gonna to take it anymore. We’ve had enough of being slaves and we're gonna fight like hell to take back what the Lord promised us.

  "You are the lucky ones. You’ll get to die serving the Chosen, which guarantees you a spot in heaven. That's straight from the holy book of Cabot itself.

  "When I give the signal, I expect y'all to jump. I do not think I need to tell you what will happen if you don't. Let's just say, I'll have my fun."

  I can't tell if The Beast is too distracted to hear me approaching or if he just doesn't care, but he continues to rant without skipping a beat. I make it to the top of the stairs. It's time for my final preparations.

  I take deep breaths, extracting every bit of oxygen I can from the air. I saturate my blood with that oxygen, making sure my muscles don't want for it during the fight. Then I send platelets to my new organs and old injuries. I want to be prepared to heal if anything starts bleeding again. Then, I start my adrenaline flow, a slow steady stream for now, enough to get me primed.

  I've prepared my body as best as I can. I need to work on my mind. Confidence will not be enough. I have to do what Ben said. I have to let my emotions free. I have to let myself be angry. It’s not difficult. All I need to do is think about Becky and her smile. I think about how fantastic every moment I spent with her was. Then I remember her with a hole in her throat so she couldn't scream. I think of what she went through, watching her father die, getting kidnapped by a monster, and then torn open and left to die. I think about the pain she felt and how The Beast caused it all.

  Then, I think about what the rest of our lives might have been like had she lived. I think about how The Beast took that away. I let the emotions these memories create flow through me. I let the anger boil. I push the emotions even further by releasing cortisol and decreasing my brain’s serotonin. I quadruple my testosterone levels.

  All I want is The Beast dead. I imagine myself pummeling him with my pipe, raining blow after blow down on him. He tries to run, but I chase him down and beat him into submission. Then I grab him by the throat, my knuckles tense as I imagine squeezing the life out of him while he whimpers.

  I grab one of the bombs from my bag and take my pipe in hand. This monster has killed hundreds, maybe thousands of people. He took the best thing in my life from me. Now, he is going to die.

  I kick open the door to the roof.

  I roar.

  30

  I give you the land. I give you the seas. I give you the heavens themselves. I give you dominion over it all. You must simply claim your thrones as kings of the new earth.

  Chosen Sons: 59

  The Beast's heart almost jumps right up out of his chest when he smells Gavin. Gavin is not dead! The Beast's plan has worked. Gavin has accepted Cabot’s teaching. The Beast is not a sinner. He is a missionary, making converts for the Lord. He has done the Lord's work and God saved Gavin in return.

  The Beast’s heart sinks like a stone when he hears Gavin’s roar. That is not the sound of a man coming to give thanks. That is the sound of a man out for blood. The Beast sighs. If Gavin is out for revenge, there is only one way for this to end. Even if peace is unlikely, the Lord would want The Beast to try. He chokes down his urge to howl back at the boy. The Beast is trying to be civilized.

  "Gavin, hot damn! You're alive. It's a miracle," The Beast says, trying to sound as friendly as possible.

  Gavin stops his charge and holds about ten yards from The Beast. The boy has a Maceo Steel pipe in one hand and a jar of some sort in the other hand. The people on the roof all get to their feet. This might be their one chance to get away.

  "What do you know about miracles? All you know is misery," Gavin says.

  "My, my, aren't we a judgmental one. I can't help but notice you're looking pretty healthy there, boy. I suppose it's all that clean living and exercise that has you standing there, not tearing out the insides of your lovely girlfriend."

  "You think that's how I'm alive? You think I killed her? I'm alive thanks to friends. Friends are something a monster like you will never understand. You thought I was like you? No one is like you. Everyone is better than you. You are evil."

  Gavin holds up a jam jar and gives it a good shake. Then he rolls the jar at The Beast. The creature smells vinegar.

  "Have you been cooking for me, boy?"

  The jar answers The Beast's joke by exploding. The glass just bounces off The Beast's leathery hide, but the loud sound startles him. Distracted, The Beast does not notice Gavin hurling a second bomb. He looks up just in time for the jar to hit squarely in his face, the shards of glass opening tiny cuts. The foam from the jars is even more effective. It gets in The Beast’s eyes, burning them and blurring his vision.

  "Get out of here! Now!" Gavin yells to the terrified Tower residents. They were ready to go and sprint towards the door. They start filing out as quickly as they can.

  Gavin goes in for the kill. He moves like a man possessed, swinging his Maceo Steel pipe like a bat. The Beast tries to fight. He could kill Gavin in one swing if only he could see the boy. The Beast flings his arms about, but Gavin is able to dodge the sloppy blows. Gavin keeps swinging his pipe, raining blow after blow down on the creature. The makeshift bat is constructed from the hardest substance on earth. Each blow hurts The Beast. One swing cracks a bone above The Beast’s eye and another swing cracks a rib. Gavin avoids a large swipe from The Beast and drives the pipe into the creature’s exposed side, stabbing one of many half-healed gunshot wounds.

  The Beast howls in pain. He smacks the pipe away, knocking Gavin to the ground along with it. Seeing his chance to escape, The Beast turns towards the door. He’s no longer thinking about winning. He doesn’t care about proving his dominance or spreading the word of Cabot. The Beast is afraid, afraid of Gavin. He has to get away. He whimpers.

  Gavin reaches into his sack and pulls out another jam jar bomb. He takes aim and rolls the jar like a bowling ball towards the feet of the fleeing creature. Gavin's aim proves true, and The Beast steps on the jar mid-run. It explodes under his foot, knocking The Beast to the ground.

  Seeing his chance to finish the fight, Gavin yanks out a knife from the sheath at his waist and runs towards The Beast at full speed. He lifts the knife over his head and swings it down at The Beast, who is kneeling on all fours. The creature tries to roll out of the way, but the knife catches a chunk of his shoulder, slicing through it with ease.

  The Beast howls and gets to his feet, but Gavin swings again. This time, the boy slices into the creature's side. The Beast howls once more. He has to run, he has to hide. Hide! Gavin smiles as he watches The Beast's panic, and prepares to deliver the finishing blow.

  Gavin stops in his tracks when he hears the scream of an elderly man struggling to pull a young woman up off the side of the building. They are the only Tower residents still left on the roof. She must have fallen when the jar exploded. She is barely hanging on. Gavin considers his options for a moment. He could kill The Beast right now, but the woman just looks so much like someone he loved, someone he just lost. He doesn’t want this woman to die too.

  Gavin sheaths his blade and runs over to the struggling woman. He pushes the older man aside and hauls the young woman up off the side of the roof by the co
llar of her jacket. The pair scurries away, but Gavin has turned his back to The Beast. The Beast’s vision clears just enough to see his target. He charges at Gavin.

  31

  Whereas Ultracorps and its subsidiaries have been largely responsible for the construction of the Metro Areas.

  Whereas Ultracorps and its subsidiaries are providing food and other essential services to the citizens of the United States of America.

  Whereas Ultracorps provided many services free of charge in the years following its founding.

  We herby Commemorate May 3, 1995, as The Unified Logistics Technology and Research Applications Corporation Appreciation Day

  The Unified Logistics Technology and Research Applications Corporation Appreciation Day Act of 1995.

  All I hear is a whistle before the blow. It could just be a gust of wind, but the wind has never shattered my T11 and T12 vertebrae. The wind has never ruptured my new lower intestine and one of my kidneys. The wind has never knocked me fifteen feet through the air.

  I land with a thud and lay in a heap while I try to come up with some sort of plan. Right now, the one thing going for me is that The Beast still doesn't want to kill me or, he wants to kill me slowly. If The Beast had used his claws for that blow instead of his fist, he would have chopped me in half.

  Since he didn’t, I’m only bleeding internally. All the little wounds from the last fight have reopened inside of me. No amount of blood vessel constriction or slowing of my heart rate will be enough to stop the flow. If I don't have time to focus exclusively on my healing, I'm going to be dead in fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen minutes seems like a pretty long time right now. I could be dead in fifteen seconds. By some miracle, my spinal cord was relatively unharmed by The Beast’s punch, but those shattered vertebrae make it almost impossible for me to stand up. I have one chance now. I put my hand on the blade at my waist and wait for The Beast to approach me. I can tell I hurt him with the knife before. He’s starting to move more slowly.