by Kozinn, Nat
“Where is he?” I hear one of the Speedsters yell.
“Get out of there!” someone else yells.
Just a few more seconds to heal and I’ll make my break for it. If I get a good head of steam going, the Speedsters won’t be able to stop me. They might be a little faster than me, but I’m so much larger I generate a lot more inertia. Hooray for physics!
There’s a sizzling and popping sound getting louder and louder. The tents around me erupt in flames. They have a Heater; of course they have a Heater. I’m going up against the freaking Noah’s Ark of Differents.
The thing is, I don’t have to be afraid of fire anymore like my primitive instincts tell me to be. My new body is dense enough that burning canvas isn’t nearly hot enough to do any substantial damage. Air matters though, my new cells are oxygen hogs just like they are hogs for every other nutrient. I make Manna through a process that resembles photosynthesis, which creates oxygen as a byproduct. I wonder if I could alter myself to harvest that supply… I probably can’t pull that off before the smoke overwhelms me.
I’m in the center of the settlement, so any direction works for my escape. The sun is just starting to come up on the western horizon. Looks good. I stand up, plant my feet and run. Raise left knee, contract quad muscle and extend gastrocnemius muscle, contract gastrocnemius muscle as foot lands, extend all leg muscles as steps continue!
The Telepaths don’t make it easy, but I manage to find my rhythm and I’m back running, not quite at full speed, but still moving quickly. I crash through some sort of metal construction equipment, but I don’t let it slow me down. It would take something very heavy to knock me off my path.
I hear the buzz of a Speedster gaining on me, passing me, then turning around. He’s charging towards me on a collision course. He’s got more velocity, but I’ve got a lot more mass, and as expected, my inertia wins out. I hear his bones crack when he bounces off me. I lose speed and stumble, but I manage to catch myself before I go down. That should dissuade any other Speedsters from trying that.
I’m stymied by something much more basic, mud. I slip and hit the ground with a splash. I skid, bounce, and land in the middle of a swamp; I think it’s the start of a rice paddy. Good choice for a crop, lots of calories and easy to grow. I start slogging through the mud, the thick ground makes running impossible, at least with the din of the Telepaths in my head. I have to focus extra hard on each step. Lift left leg, constrict quad!
I’m hit by an overwhelming sensation of frigid cold. Any water within the cells of my skin freezes, expanding the cells. My old cells would have burst, unable to contain the larger volume. My new muscle cells are tough, the cellular wall made out of a thicker denser proteins that can withstand the force of the expanding water, saving the cells.
I plant my right foot, and push off, leaping into the air before the muscle can freeze. I land and rub my leg, the ice in the cells quickly turn back to water.
I take a quick look around, but I don’t see the Cooler who’s responsible. No matter. There are raised platforms every ten feet so workers can gather the crop whenever it does grow. I can leap across those. I rub my leg for another second. Then stand and take off, hopping from raised mud platform to raised mud platform like a frog on lilly pads.
It doesn’t take me long to clear the mud field. There’s someone in my way when I come over the ridge. I barely manage to avoid them with a quick juke to the right, but that sends me directly into another poor soul. My heavy body absolutely devastates the person, trampling them under my feet like ticker tape at a parade. I don’t have time to lament the murder, because I plow into a wall of human flesh, smashing two dozen human bodies under my feet before I finally trip up and come to a halt. They are Walters, my guilt is assuaged. They aren’t attacking me, just standing in place, but there are thousands of them.
I wave my arms, tossing the hapless creatures aside by the handful. I feel like I’m a 1920’s explorer cutting through the jungle to find Machu Picchu. I’ve gotten over any anthropomorphic emotions I had associated with the clones. When you see them bunched up like this, they don’t seem like people anymore.
I’m tall enough to see over the patch of Walters, my escape is not all that far away. I can see a mountain in the distance. If I can make it there, I’ll have some cover to hide in. And there has to be a limit to the Telepath’s range.
I take another swing to brush aside some more Walters but my hand hits something hard. Then that hard thing hits me, sending me flying backwards, crashing into a pile of Walters. There’s a Strong-Man in hidden in the crowd. I get up to charge at my attacker, but then another fist comes flying from my right bashing me in the side of the face, hard enough to do some damage to the ligaments in my jaw.
A kick slams into my left side, knocking me off balance, and I stumble forward right into an oncoming shoulder from a charging Strong-Woman. The blow hits me full in the chest, knocking the oxygen out of my lungs and cracking a couple ribs. There’s a whole gang of attackers in here.
I slow down time and scan my surroundings, the Strong-Men and women are hunching low to stay hidden among the Walters but if I pay attention I can still spot their tall, wide bodies. I pick one and charge, trampling Walters as I fly into a massive right uppercut. It catches the Strong-Woman under the jaw and forces her up into the air. She flies a good twenty feet before crashing down to earth.
Two charging bulls slam into me from behind, grabbing me and forcing me forward. We break out of the crowd of Walters before I finally plant my feet and swing my arm backwards, knocking the Strong-Men down.
Three more jump out of the pack of Walters and grab me, tackling me to the ground. One of them pins down each arm, while another pounds away at my exposed chest. My ribs break, and my lungs are punctured, but as long as he stays away from my head, I will be okay, at least theoretically. I should be able to keep up with the healing for longer than he can continue to pound me, but the Telepaths are still reaching in to my mind, making it difficult to communicate with my own body and direct my healing.
If I want to take these five out, I’m going to have to hurt them bad and I can. But I don’t want to do that, I think. I just have to get out of here. I contract and expand all the muscles in my body rapidly, like I’m having a seizure, straining whole hosts of ligaments, but also tossing the Strong-Men off my body. I roll sideways, to dodge a sloppy punch and then spring to my feet.
I start pumping my legs and soon leave the Strong-Men pack in the dust with a good number of broken bones and lot of internal bleeding as a parting gift, but I can heal those once I’m clear. I need to focus on my running, which is hampered by those injures. I’m not getting enough oxygen from my injured lungs, which is slowing down my muscles. Napoleon Bonaparte.
That’s why the Speedster that comes crashing into me, does it with enough force to take me down. Without enough velocity the equation changes and my mass means a whole lots less in the inertia game. Boo physics! I tumble and bounce, pressing one of my broken ribs further into my lungs, lovely.
The buzz comes back and hits me with something. It bursts on impact, spraying me with a dense gooey black liquid. The odor hits me, it was Slug fuel. No time to get it off. I need to get out of here before the Heater shows up and ignites me; I know how this game goes.
I break back into my sprint turning my head to catch a glimpse of the Heater, just before the wall of heat hits me and the black liquid erupts in flames.
I reach down to stamp out the flames, which causes me to lose my balance and tumble back to the ground, still in flames. The Slug fuel burns hot, much hotter than gasoline and hot enough to damage my muscles. I need to extinguish the flames and I have a new way to accomplish that.
It only takes me a few seconds to dig a massive hole; I’m a capable human crane. I get into the hole and cover myself in the dirt. The dirt coffin smothers the flames, depriving the fire of the same oxygen it was stealing from me. Satisfying turnabout.
I start pulling myse
lf up out of the hole, but I hear something dropping and it’s much bigger than a grenade. I make out my friend, Reggie Crane just before he lands. The impact of his massive frame hitting the earth has the effect of a small explosion.
The shockwave tears through my body. I feel my brain rattling in my hard skull. I have extra fluid for protection but not enough; the most vulnerable part of me bruises and hemorrhages.
I try to whirl around to face him, but my mind is too muddled. Contract! I scream at calf muscles but too late. He smashes down on me with both hands, forcing the air out of my lungs.
The giant stands over me and pounds his fist down over and over again. Each blow from his hammer-like fists drives me deeper and deeper into the ground. My bones crack under his relentless assault. He breaks three more of my ribs and keeps pounding.
I put hands over my head, protecting the only part of me I can’t heal. Arms break. Brain rattles. Have to try to heal brain the old fashioned way but people in my head make it hard. Gizzard. So many punches, so much injury. He keeps pounding. Try to ask him to stop but lungs too weak. Can’t get good breath. Still hot from fire and holes from broken ribs. Need a second to heal if he would stop hitting me. How long till he tired? How long can I take this? Am I going to die?
Blood spurts out of the center of the Strong-Man’s chest, all I see is crimson. He falls to the ground, letting out a wheezy last breath.
The Beast stands over the giant, blood dripping from the knife that is his hand. He extends his other hand to me.
I take him up on his offer. I can’t stand on my own power.
I can only stay upright by balancing on my right leg, which is only severely and profoundly bruised, not broken. I need a few seconds to rebuild my left femur. I wobble and The Beast extends his arm for support. I balance on him while the bone grows back. I have to reach down to touch his shoulder I’m so much taller than him now.
The Beast has his head turned to the side, making sure to look away from the man he just killed. I think there’s a tear in his eye. A second ago he was all rage, now he’s devastated.
“We need to get out of here Gavin. There’s a whole lot of our kind here, I can smell em. They are just going to keep coming and coming. It’s gonna get real ugly if we stay,” The Beast says.
“Give me another second, the bone is just about done,” I say and stretch my leg to try it out.
I’ve also been directing my brain to repair itself. My old cells seem like ancient technology when I try to direct them. It takes forever for those cells to undergo mitoses, and the cells themselves are so weak and fragile, even the slightest bit of damage kills them.
There’s a whoosh and a gust of wind hits us both. The Beast goes airborne first, his lighter weight making him more aerodynamic. It’s not wind, we’re being sucked backwards. I hunker down; trying to fight the gale forces but the ground beneath my feet gives way and I’m sucked backwards myself.
I have a few cuts that are still open and I can feel my blood being pulled from my body, a loose flap of skin tears off. I’m moving unstoppably towards a giant pipe the end of which must be a recently built Hoover system. There’s a giant Maceo Steel grate on the end of the pipe. I can see The Beast there, splayed out and grimacing from the vacuum. I manage to spin myself around, pointing my feet down towards the pipe.
I go into a crouch as I hit, the force of the vacuum makes it almost impossible to stand. It is also impossible to perform respiration. The Hoover tube is sucking out all the oxygen before I have a chance to breathe it.
I try to flex my legs but it’s too hard. Those freaking Telepaths won’t get out of my head. Elections. I rock back and forth, but I can’t coordinate my movements well enough to gain momentum. My muscles are failing, they need oxygen. My nerves are misfiring, they are damaged. And my own freaking mind is refusing to listen to me!
I’ve taken as much as I can take. This is my head and I get to decide what to think. I control this body, inside and out and if I want to stand, my muscles will damn well do that and I don’t care what anyone else has to say!
My legs extend but I want more, no one gets to control me. I am too powerful. Wind can’t stop me! Nothing can stop me! I am too strong. I was chosen by God! I will kill them all!
But there’s no one here. I’m alone. Just me and the deafening vortex coming from the pipe. I still can’t breathe, but down below the opening of the pipe, I’m spared from the brunt of the force.
How did I do that? Where did I find the strength to pull myself free? It’s like some other part of me did it, a part that isn’t just in my head. I’ve read quite a few neuroscience books, and one of the things I learned as a certainty was that we are still light-years away from understanding how the brain works, and that extends to the nervous system. That’s doubly true for the brain stem, the area where the spinal cord meets the brain.
In order to understand, we want to draw distinct lines between the brain stem and spinal cord, but the human body is not so discreet. When I regrew my nervous system after I got The Beast’s hand, I had to draw an arbitrary line between brain stem and spinal cord. I think I went too far.
I could feel it in the anger, some sort of animalistic part of me that didn’t just not want to die, it was fueled by rage. I don’t think it was my own, it was The Beast’s. It was the part of him that lets him move without thinking. It was the part of him that makes him immune to Telepaths. There’s an animal in him and now it is inside me. It’s why I’ve felt the urge to kill whenever someone has challenged me. It made me violent, and it just saved my life.
Although, that may turn out to be temporary. I’m still not going to be able to get out of here, unless I’m up for digging in and crawling for every inch I take. And that’s going to be impossible with my dwindling oxygen supply.
The Beast is still splayed out like he’s on the cross. He’s unconscious, he can’t survive much more of this. He needs oxygen too.
There’s a crash, and the screech of the vacuum becomes higher pitched. The grate has been partially blocked by a square chunk of metal. It bends against the grate, but holds.
I put my hands on the sides of the chunk, then scream at my oxygen deprived muscles to push, forcing the piece of metal further onto the grate, and blocking off most of the opening.
With that much of the pipe blocked, the air around slows enough to take some decent breaths. I let the oxygen flow into me, speeding a large supply of red blood cells to my lungs so I can spread the O2 to my needy cells.
I feel myself getting stronger. And the vacuum isn’t enough to stop me now. I can continue on my way. The Beast is still stuck on the exposed portion of the grate and the Hoover is still ripping the air away before he can breathe it. He won’t survive if I leave him here.
That’s what he deserves. He’s a monster. He may have helped me, but he only did it out of some sort of misguided religious notion. If he lives, he’ll kill again, there is no doubt about that. I’m actually saving lives by killing him. Not even really killing him, just not saving him. Hell I thought I killed him before when I tossed off that roof all those months ago, what’s the big deal with going through with it now? Maybe because he saved my life twice in the last 12 hours?
I know myself, and I know what I’m doing. It is a common human behavior known as rationalization. The mind is capable of making superhuman leaps in logic, often several in succession, whatever it takes, to justify a behavior we know is wrong.
The first time I killed The Beast, or thought I did, he was trying to kill me. He’s not trying to kill me anymore; in fact he’s saved my life several times of late. There’s moral grey area in killing a man who is trying to kill you. Leaving a man to die when you could save him is black and white, and I’m trying to justify my way into standing in the dark. I already went down this road when I had to give him the blood transfusion. I know I’m going to save him.
I go over to the metal slab, and push it further along the grate, sliding The Beast off like I’m scraping
food off a pan with a spatula.
He’s unconscious, but he has a decent pulse. He’ll live. Assuming we make it out of here that is. I lift him over my shoulder.
I can hear buzzing coming towards me, Speedsters. There’s something else in the distance. A low grumbling coming from so many different sources I can’t pick them out individually. It’s coming from far away, not from the Different “city”.
With enough internalized screaming, I finally get my legs moving and I’m going at a decent clip, when another rumble joins the din. It’s coming from a different direction than all the rest, it’s a single large automobile, and it’s heading towards me. Another surprise.
All of a sudden my mind is clear. The only voice in my head is my own. I can move normally, which is as fast as a speeding bullet.
Another voice does want into my head though, but it’s asking permission like a think.Net call. It’s from Linda and Ben at the same time.
>>>You hear us coming at you?
<<
>>>Stolen. And you should know, driving is an absolute blast.
<<
The pair are blocking out the other Telepaths freeing my mind and letting me live the true glories of my new power. I pump and pump my legs, getting faster and faster, charging towards the oncoming automobile. The car comes into view in the distance; it’s a large army truck.
It almost seems like slow-motion compared to me. I overtake them in a matter of seconds and come to a stop a few hundred yards in front of them. The brakes screech. Ben and Linda step out of the cab.
“That was incredible! You just keep learning new tricks!” Linda yells as she steps out.
Then they both notice The Beast slung over my shoulder.
