The Double Human

by James O'Neal

  The scene in front of him now shocked him. It might have been the fact that this was not some foreign battlefield but only about ten miles from his house. It was clear the chaos had surprised the other cops as they arrived too.

  This force of officers who had been with the UPF ten years or less had not seen anything like this. Florida had been nearly empty through most of their tenure. Crowds had never been an issue. At least not like this.

  More than two hundred people—men, women and some kids—had taken over the restaurant and trashed it. Several cars nearby were burning. The crowd was armed with scraps of metal and baseball bats.

  Wilner noticed there weren’t too many guns. No one wanted to risk the harsh penalties for carrying a gun. There hadn’t been an armed robbery in years since punishment for gun crimes was sure, swift and severe. Who wanted to spend a lifetime fighting in some far-off land because you used a gun? The military made sure you got to see as many guns as you ever wanted.

  The commander stepped up behind Wilner and several others and said, “We need this thing quiet and we need it right now. No way we want the media to get photos of this shit. Not with more new arrivals on their way.” He shouted so all the cops in the area could hear. “Let’s suit up and see what we can do to convince these people to go home.”

  It looked to be a long night.

  Sammy Cyclops couldn’t believe how easy it was to cross into the Lawton District. One National Guardsman was on duty and he seemed greatly preoccupied by something on his V-com. Sammy heard the corporal moan to someone on the other end of the communicator, “Man, I wish I could be there.”

  Sammy didn’t say anything, he just kept walking quickly. If he had known it was this easy to slip into the United States he wouldn’t have paid smugglers for all the things they brought down to the zone like real Budweiser beer or potato chips made with salt and preservatives, not the greasy ones fried up right there in the zone. Now the trick was finding his way around inside another country. This was his first time north of the Miami Quarantine Zone since the government had cut them off.

  Another major concern was arrest. He had entered the country illegally. Even though technically he was born a U.S. citizen in the little town of South Miami, his family didn’t move north when the government’s warning of the pending new border was broadcast over and over.

  Sammy’s father had said nothing would change. He believed Miami and Dade County owed more to South America and the Caribbean than the United States. He was right in a way, but he had no idea of the problems coming down the road.

  Once the jihadist movement threatened Latin America and the money wasn’t flowing into Miami from the north, most travel dried up. The collapse of air travel added to the Quarantine Zone’s problems. No one and nothing came into the area. Jobs and opportunities dried up and by the time anyone realized it, the border was sealed and the U.S. government had declared Miami a restricted area.

  Sammy’s father died of cancer a few years later. At least they thought it was cancer. Without any real doctors and working equipment no one could diagnose him properly. He died in their home with Sammy’s mother and sister at his side.

  Now the town of South Miami was empty. The few people who stayed after the Quarantine Zone was established moved north into the main population center just south of the border with the United States.

  As he crossed the bridge and entered the United States he heard an odd sound like a sporting event. It sounded like the old soccer games where Brazilians would cheer until they dropped.

  Without thinking he turned toward the sound even though he knew he had to find a cop to tell him what he knew.

  Steve Besslia marveled at the chaos as it spread. He even appreciated the ingenuity of some of the weapons made by the rioters. One man had taken a piece of the giant broken front window of the restaurant and wedged it on a stick making a clear and terrifying battle ax. A woman used plastic food trays as shields. The crowd had turned from destroying the restaurant and nearby businesses to facing down the UPF and National Guardsmen.

  The problem as Besslia now saw it was that there weren’t very many of them. He was joined by thirteen UPF officers and there were nine National Guardsmen. They were armed but who wanted to open up on civilians? The cops and the guardsmen were not even coordinated. The guardsmen were down behind the cover of obsolete personnel carriers—the ones that got sent to a less important post like watching a quarantine zone.

  Unlike most of the other cops, Besslia had never seen combat. This might be as close as he ever got. He hoped it was as close as he ever got, but he couldn’t deny that he felt a certain level of excitement, a thrill of seeing a scene with so much potential for violence. He knew it was wrong and he wished he didn’t feel it.

  The cops stood out in front of the crowd, dodging the occasional rock or bottle. The UPF commander gathered them in a tight group and moved them behind the guardsmen.

  Their squad leader sounded like the former army captain he was. “We gotta figure out who the leader is.”

  One of the patrolmen said, “Leader? It’s a riot.”

  “There’s always a leader. Someone who the people rally behind in the face of authority. We take him out and the rest fold.”

  “How can we identify him?”

  “We could use optics to scan the crowd but it would take too long. I’m sure these numb-nuts National Guardsmen are getting the same shit as me. The government wants this ended. Like right now.”

  Then Besslia had an idea. He spoke up before he could stop himself. “I know a way, skipper.”

  The commander gave him a skeptical look.

  Besslia plowed straight ahead. “What if one of us slipped into the crowd. You know, infiltrated it. Then communicate back to you who the leader is. It would be the fastest way.”

  “One of us?” asked the commander.

  “I’ll do it,” answered Besslia without flinching.

  The commander thought about it, a flush coming over the scar on his right cheek. He looked up at Besslia and said, “Good idea, get to it. But you might not be able to use your V-com in the crowd. It wouldn’t look right and would attract too much attention.”

  “I’ll shut it off and stash it before I join the main group. Once I find out who the leader is I’ll go back, retrieve it and give you guys a call.”

  The commander said, “Besslia, you’re full of surprises today.”

  Mari had the school officially closed and girls on their way home in a few minutes. Once she had heard about the riot and the spreading violence just above the border she acted quickly.

  Now it was her and Leonard as he secured the rear gates and she waited for him before she locked up the front doors. She had seen too many little things go wrong to think that a riot in the district couldn’t spread or inspire a similar event down here. Even as she scurried around to lock up she thought about Tom Wilner. She gave a silent prayer that he would be safe. His commitment to duty wouldn’t keep him away from something like a riot in his own district. The thought of him and the small UPF force facing a dangerous crowd made her legs weak, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

  Leonard hurried in from the courtyard. “All set. I put an extra chain through the rear gate and all the outer windows are locked.”

  “Good. Thank you, Leonard. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  He smiled and nodded.

  “We should get out of here in case the riot spreads.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Mari was surprised by the question. “To my home, of course.”

  “You live even closer to the border. You need some place safer.”

  She thought about that and without hesitating said, “Can I stay at your house?”

  As she watched his face she realized her first idea was to keep him from being alone in the face of his aunt’s death. But now he looked like he might be uncomfortable with the idea.

  She said, “It’s all right, Leonard.
”

  “No, no. Of course you can stay at my place. It’s just a little messy right now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d like the company.”

  As they headed out the front door she realized she might be the one that was uncomfortable. The idea that he knew a murdered prostitute crept into her mind. But it was only until the riot blew over.

  What could happen in a short period of time like that?

  FORTY-FOUR

  Steve Besslia was scared but not sorry he had volunteered for this assignment. He had slipped off most of his equipment and was now debating taking his big duty pistol into the riot.

  Tom Wilner shook his head. “You need it in case something goes wrong.”

  “But it’ll be too obvious. The mission is to identify the leader of the group.”

  “And stay alive.”

  “Look, you got your chances to be a hero in the war. You’ve done your bit, now I’m gonna do mine.”

  “You don’t have to prove yourself, Steve.”

  Besslia thought about it and smiled. “I know I don’t. That’s why I’m doing it. It’s the right thing to do. It needs to be done and it was my idea. That’s why I’m doing it. It feels good not to have to do it to prove myself.”

  The UPF commander walked over to them. “You got balls, Besslia. I’ll give you that.” He tossed a white T-shirt to him. “That’s my brightest, whitest shirt. It should make you easy to point out.” He turned to Wilner. “Willie, you’re gonna keep an eye on your buddy and let us know if there is a problem.”

  Wilner nodded.

  Besslia liked the attention of the UPF commander. He pulled off his durafiber shirt and slipped on the wide T-shirt. It draped over him like a tent.

  Besslia said, “No way I’m trying to hide a gun under this thing. I already look like a kid wearing my father’s shirt.”

  “I’ll be watching you like a hawk.”

  “You won’t get distracted or bored, will you?” Besslia smiled.

  “I’d still like you to carry a gun.

  He looked at his partner. “You’re gonna be watching me. What could go wrong?”

  Tom Wilner peered through powerful binoculars with settings for night vision, infrared and three other settings on the visual spectrum. Now he was just using magnification and the light provided by the setting sun and streetlights. He had been searching the crowd to see if he could see anyone directing things, but the shell of the restaurant building blocked a lot of the action.

  He flinched as one of the tall yellow arches started to rock and was finally pushed over. It crashed onto the street, trapping one man. Parts of the plastic covering shattered and spread across the black asphalt. No one moved to help the fallen man.

  The crowd had grown in the last twenty minutes as more and more district residents heard about the disturbance. That made sense because many of the new arrivals were unhappy about their forced relocation and this was the most exciting thing to happen in the district in a long time. The added people made it harder to see but the newest rioters didn’t seem to have their heart in the violence.

  Besslia had made one last contact with Wilner when he was about to slip into the crowd. Now Wilner was on the alert to watch for him on one side of the crowd. As if on cue, Wilner saw the flash of Besslia’s white T-shirt as he emerged from a street to the side of the restaurant.

  Wilner got on his V-com to his boss and said, “He’s in.”

  “Roger that,” the commander’s voice answered back. “Stay on him, Willie. He’s too good of a cop for us to lose.”

  Wilner lost Besslia behind the building and took the binoculars from his face and stood up to get a better view of the crowd.

  As he stood there a man’s voice behind him said, “Can I talk to you?”

  Wilner turned to see a man with an eye patch. Then he realized who it was.

  The man said, “You remember me?”

  Wilner just nodded.

  Leonard Hall didn’t push his steam-powered Honda to the full twenty-four miles an hour it could go. He didn’t trust himself with Mari alone at his house. He didn’t want to hurt her but he hadn’t intended to kill his aunt either. It just happened.

  He didn’t feel right saying no to her request to stay with him during the emergency.

  She chatted with him on the drive out to his house, asking a few innocuous questions about his childhood and how he grew up. He lied like he always did. No one would believe him anyway.

  Then Mari asked, “Leonard, are you lonely?”

  He snapped his head at the way she asked the question. “Why?”

  “Well.” She hesitated. “Someone said you might have known one of the dead prostitutes. I just wanted you to know that there are a lot of women in the zone who would be good for you?”

  He fidgeted and felt the sweat buildup on his forehead. Leonard didn’t answer but noticed one thing: Mari had a wonderful neck.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Wilner had stepped back from his observation post for a minute to listen to Sammy Cyclops’s story. The shaken zone resident had risked a lot to come into the United States just to talk to Wilner. He knew he had a moment or two while Besslia was behind the building. Still he had another UPF officer pick up the field glasses and keep an eye out for him.

  Sammy said, “I had to tell someone.”

  “Tell what?”

  “I know who the Vampire is.”

  “How?”

  “I saw him the day he killed some of my boys down at the old North Miami city hall.”

  Wilner remembered the day and also how the men died and he hadn’t shot them. “You have my attention.”

  “Then he killed three of my newer boys. He stabbed two of them right in front of me. Used a big-assed spike right into their throats.”

  Wilner now focused all of his attention on the man. “Would you be able to identify him? Did you get a good look at him?”

  “Good look? I know him. I know where he is.”

  “Who is it? Where is he?”

  “He’s the handyman at the school for girls in the north end of the zone.”

  Wilner stared at him while he made the simple connection. He mumbled to himself, “Mari’s school.”

  Sammy answered anyway. “That’s right. We was shaking her down when the handyman come and interrupted us. He moved like a damn cat. He played with us. He was twice as fast and double as strong as any of us. It’s like he’s a double human, the things he does.”

  Wilner grasped his shoulders and said, “Gray hair, average height and weight?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Did you hear his name?”

  “Larry or something white like that.”

  “Leonard?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  Wilner felt a rush of fear as he thought about Mari so close to a killer.

  Steve Besslia dodged a rock thrown indiscriminately. The noise seemed less intense inside the crowd than it did from across the wide street. He could see why the meager force of cops and military border guards had not scared the crowd into dispersing. When he looked toward them he could hardly tell if anyone was even watching the growing riot. The National Guardsmen were crouched behind one of their heavy vehicles and the UPF men weren’t numerous enough to seem threatening at all.

  Many of the rioters were more interested in stealing food and equipment from the destroyed restaurant and trashed warehouse next door. A woman ran by with an armload of meat patties. Apparently she didn’t listen to rumors.

  The crowd flowed from the rear of the restaurant where he noticed a concentration of people, then saw a man standing on a crate and addressing them. This seemed like the logical place for him to start looking for a leader. The problem was that he knew if he ventured toward the building he’d be out of view of Wilner.

  So far no one had shown any aggression toward him. The excitement of the assignment had given way to a cooler assessment of what needed to be done. Was this a sign that
he was maturing and becoming a professional? He took a minute to get an estimate of how many people were in the crowd. He looked for avenues to surprise them if the UPF needed to assault the rioters. He also kept out a tactical eye for where he could escape if things turned ugly.

  He stored the information like he was reading someone else’s battle plan. He knew that when he briefed the commander he’d be able to go through each aspect of his recon. But he still had to determine the leader and right now there was only one candidate.

  He eased toward the rear of the building and out of the safety of Tom Wilner’s view.

  Wilner felt the anxiety build in him as he continued to sweep the crowd with the binoculars in an effort to find Steve Besslia. Sammy Cyclops had moved farther back and was sitting, waiting for Wilner to escort him back into the zone. The crowd had grown larger but not more aggressive.

  The UPF commander approached Wilner.

  “Who’s the pirate?” he asked, pointing a thumb at Sammy.

  “He just told me who the killer is.”

  “The neck guy?”

  “Yeah, the Vampire.” Wilner wanted to ask to go get him in the zone but he knew his duty was to watch Besslia. It ate at him that Mari might be down there with the killer close by but he rationalized that Leonard had been there all along and not harmed her.

  He felt his stomach tighten just at the thought of it and it made him realize how much he cared for the schoolteacher from the Quarantine Zone. She wasn’t just beautiful, she cared about the people down there and saw the value in running her school.

  Wilner started to silently pray for Besslia to come out of the riot. Laying prone on the street, he had caught a couple of glimpses of his partner as he worked his way through the crowd.

  A discussion, which was getting louder, erupted behind him. Wilner lowered the binoculars and twisted, looking over his shoulder. His commander was leaning in close to a National Guard captain.

  Wilner saw other guardsmen hefting a large but portable flasher. A large-caliber machine gun mounted on their personnel carrier swiveled toward the crowd.