by Alan Janney
“NO!” I screamed. I startled everyone on the bus, and I even gained the attention of sinister Melissa, the Chemist, and Tank. The bus windows weren’t tinted and Tank immediately recognized me.
“Katie? Wait,” Tank ordered. “Stop. Why do you have her?”
“You know this young lady?” the Chemist asked, indicating me with his finger. I shivered when our eyes met.
“Yeah, and she doesn’t belong here. Let her go.”
“Why would I do that?” the Chemist smiled.
“Let her go and I won’t beat you to death. Maybe.”
“I believe, my monumental friend, that a twist of fortune brought her here. I didn’t seek her out. It must be fate.”
“It’s not fate!” Tank said, his voice rising to a full-throated bellow. He stalked towards the Chemist. “Release her! Now!”
But it was too late. Melissa, one of the three scary henchmen, steadied herself and shot Tank in the head. “No no!” I cried. Tank staggered to the side…but…he was alive! I forgot to breathe. Tank shook his head and remained on his feet. My mind was spinning. Who ARE these people?? Is Tank one of them? How is he still alive?
“Dear ogre, you are in full bloom,” the Chemist laughed quietly. “I believe I’ll keep you.” Before Tank could recover, the Chemist was behind him with the staff pulled tightly against his neck. Tank couldn’t breathe! I screamed again and hit my hand against the window, but I was as powerless as Tank. He jumped and shook and crushed the Chemist against the ruined cars, but it was no use. Watching was torture. Soon he quit struggling and fell forward. I cried noisily and freely. “Melissa, administer the tranquilizers, please. He is a handful. Use the vapor; you’ll never get a needle through that thick hide.” The girl bent over Tank’s inert body and sprayed something up his nose. Tank was out, and the Chemist left him and looked up at the sky. “Where oh where are you, Carter,” the man said softly to himself. “And why didn’t you try to use this one? He’s the strongest in decades. Melissa, stow him in your vehicle, please. Mine has been ruined.”
“Yes sir.”
“Situation report,” he said to nobody in particular.
“You’ve made a mess. And nearly killed me,” snapped the beautiful thin girl, being lowered into a chair by Walter. She was gorgeous but appeared feeble. Her voice cut like a whip.
“Yes, well…” he waved her off. “Sacrifices.”
Two of the Chemist’s drones presented themselves. “We think the police have temporarily discontinued their efforts to penetrate our forces,” one of the men said. The Chemist listened as he stepped on to the roof of a different vehicle. These men were normal, not scary. One had a tablet in one hand and the other held a phone to his ear. “Appears to be a cease fire as they wait on your phone call.”
“No sign of Carter,” The Chemist stated.
“No sir.”
“No sign of the Outlaw.”
“Mr. Troy reported spotting the Outlaw north on the interstate,” the man said. “He ordered reinforcements. But we cannot confirm the sighting.”
“Splendid. I hope Troy is correct. Let’s ring the Sheriff,” the Chemist smiled. “And let caution be damned.”
“Yes sir. Calling now.”
I texted my mother that I loved her again. She was in hysterics. This was the second time in five months I’d been kidnapped, and the strain might kill her. If I survived, I would NEVER be let out of the house again. I also texted Chase and told him that I love him. The people around me were on phones speaking with their loved ones but I didn’t feel like talking. I kept staring at poor Tank being manhandled into the back of an SUV. It was beyond belief that little Melissa could heft Tank’s body.
The man with the phone walked back into the light from the streetlamp and reported, “Sir, the Sheriff is unable to take your call for the next ten minutes. Are you willing to communicate with an intermediary until that point?”
“Common negotiation tactics,” the Chemist smiled. “I will not bow. Tell the Sheriff to watch his television screen and witness his punishment.”
“Yes sir,” the man said and walked off again.
“Light the southern flare. And then light the southern bus,” the Chemist ordered. Several of his goons jumped to obey. “Then prepare this one.”
We couldn’t see what happened but we could guess. In the reflection of SUV windows we saw a red flare arc into the sky. And then we felt and heard a distant explosion. A bus had been detonated.
The passengers aboard my bus wailed with grief, and the screams only strengthened as the scary girl called Melissa walked up and punched a hole in the bus’s gas tank. Thick liquid splashed on the ground and we smelled gasoline. That scent was getting old fast.
I was sitting near the front. Through my tears, I noticed something I should have seen before. The keys were still in the ignition. Could I drive this thing? I stole forward and sat in the driver’s seat.
“Sir, Sheriff is on the phone,” I heard through the window.
“Good evening, Sheriff Scott. I trust I’ve gained your attention. The bus I just detonated was empty, vacated hours ago. The next bus will not be. I will only spend lives when I must to gain your cooperation. I know you have questions but simply listen, for the moment. The Outlaw was correct; there are several of us monsters living among you, and we’ve decided to live in Compton for the near future and for a variety of reasons I won’t bore you with. Tonight I established a perimeter that you will not cross. I will light the perimeter on fire soon, so there is no mistake. It is our Sanctuary. Leave us unmolested and in return we won’t stay very long. Perhaps a few months, only. We will require your assistance with several matters but, actually, no, let’s discuss those later. All innocents inside Compton are now hostages but will be treated humanely. Anyone leaving Compton will be shot, no questions asked. Anyone entering without permission will be shot, no questions asked. Now, I grant you three minutes to ask questions. Am I not generous? You may begin now. …I’m sorry, Sheriff. Poor decision. I have no time for your petty posturing. You lost your chance. Next time, remember your manners.”
He hung up. All was quiet. For several minutes we all waited to see what he’d do next but he simply sat. Gasoline was still dripping out of the bus’s tank.
“Our work tonight is done,” he said at length. For the first time I noticed the crowd surrounding us had swelled. Masked gunmen with nothing else to do encircled us. They wore a mixture of expressions, from anger to apathy to sleepiness. Bored drug addicts with guns. Great recipe. The Chemist addressed them and said, “Tonight is a success. You’ve done well. Tomorrow will be a new challenge!”
“What about Carter?” the girl named Melissa asked. She looked fidgety, like pent up energy.
“Yes, Carter,” he breathed out. “He’s near. I can smell him. I would rest easier with that issue resolved. But he’s out of time. We’ll keep the hostages. Light the cars and pack up.”
Light the cars??
Get out of there, Hannah!! NOW!!
Melissa shoved off from her car and walked purposefully towards the bridge. Rivers of gasoline had streamed down the grassy hill and through the overpass’s gutters. She was going to set twenty miles of cars on fire from the pool gathered there. In desperation I started the bus. Maybe I could run her over. The engine rumbled to life but no one heard it. Nobody paid the bus any attention. The Chemist and his retinue were all gazing up at the sky.
Someone had shouted in the distance. I heard the echoes over the soft engine drone. The shout was impossibly loud.
“What was that?”
“That,” the Chemist said, “is the sound of one of us.”
“Carter?” Walter asked.
“Someone else.”
“The Outlaw?”
The white-haired man stared feverishly in the direction of the noise, and he didn’t answer.
A helicopter was approaching, fast and close to the ground. Maybe the bus explosion had spooked the police and this helicopter was here t
o shoot first and ask questions later?
“It’s him,” he whispered. I barely heard. “He has arrived.”
The helicopter looked odd. Something was dangling underneath. Something…or someone?
“He comes riding the wind, like thunder,” the Chemist said. Mania clouded his eyes. “He comes to destroy us all.”
The Outlaw was coming! He was soaring in at over a hundred miles an hour, riding a steel bird of prey.
Walter raised his rocket launcher.
“No, Walter!” the Chemist screamed, but he was too late. Walter fired. The weapon erupted in fire and noise and the streaking projectile moved like lightning. The helicopter had no chance; it shattered in midair.
It’s bizarre. I didn’t know what happened to the helicopter wreckage until later, after the nightmare ended and I saw the news. The aircraft somersaulted into the ground several blocks away, destroyed in a grisly billow of flames and smoke. I never saw that. Like everyone else I only had eyes for the Outlaw, who landed like a movie action hero in the middle of the Chemist’s forces and sent them scattering.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Friday, March 3. 2018
Katie
Both Melissa and one of the drugged gunmen opened fire. The Outlaw dodged the bullets. He simply…moved. He was too fast and the bullets couldn’t catch him. One of the Outlaw imposters was inadvertently shot in the leg. The gunman sprayed our bus by accident. We screamed and the glass blew inwards.
The Chemist pulled out a pistol from his cloak. He shot Melissa in the head and he was about to shoot the wildly firing gunman but he was too late. The Outlaw threw a ball that connected like a hammer and the gunman collapsed. The Chemist shrugged and put the gun away.
I couldn’t take much more of this. It was overwhelming. I was sick from crying and my nerves were raw. All the bus prisoners, including myself, were staring ravenously at the Outlaw, our only source of hope.
The Outlaw indicated Melissa’s body and said, “The Evil Henchmen Union isn’t going to be happy with you.”
“I’m so pleased to see you’ve ditched the motorcycle helmet,” the Chemist said, walking boldly towards the Outlaw. His staff sparked each time the tip connected with the road, and the sparks fell dangerously close to the gasoline. “It was impersonal. The helmet distanced your audience from you. Your face and your persona are what drew the crowds to begin with, and, as they say, you should dance with the one that brought you.”
“I think the whole outfit’s pretentious,” Walter said. He was puffed up in the presence of the Outlaw, like a peacock. The Outlaw paid him no attention.
“That’s because you’re jealous, Walter,” the Chemist said. “Don’t be blinded by envy. This costume is bold, simple, and memorable. For a young adult such as the Outlaw, it’s almost elegant. Except for the helmet.”
“One of your Infected shot the helmet off,” the Outlaw responded. He and the Chemist stood five feet apart.
“That would be Troy.”
“He’s dead.”
The Chemist said simply, “Is he.”
“He is.”
Walter glanced uneasily at the beautiful girl sitting in a chair. They were clearly shaken by the news.
“Then I’ve lost two tonight,” the Chemist sighed, looking at the limp body of Melissa. “Perhaps I acted rashly.”
“How many Infected are with you?”
“Don’t ask infantile questions, young man. Walter, fetch us two chairs please.”
The man in the mask asked, “You want to sit down and chat?”
“I do. Unless you prefer my team open fire.”
I tore my eyes from the surreal parlay. A growing number of the Chemist’s army was arriving. Maybe seventy were here now? The Outlaw was entirely surrounded. But I knew they weren’t the real danger. The real danger was Walter and Carla, who was still on the roof. And the Chemist himself.
While Water was bringing the chairs, the Outlaw turned in a circle and scanned his surroundings. He zeroed in on the bus and then he found me. My heart skipped a beat. Our eyes locked. His face whitened but his gaze intensified, almost a physical force. I swear he was radiating heat. He appeared scared and furious. He was hopelessly outnumbered, just him and this mad funhouse.
“Where is Carter?” the Chemist asked and he sat in the canvas camping chair Walter brought. The Outlaw sat in the other.
“Don’t ask infantile questions, Chemist.”
“So you’ve met him.”
“I have,” the Outlaw nodded.
“And?”
“I like him just barely more than I like you.”
The Chemist threw his head back and laughed richly, genuinely. “I don’t blame you. We are cut from the same cloth, he and I. And I’m sorry to reveal that you probably are too.”
“I know about the disease.”
“Of course you do. But you are a special case. Like the mighty Carter was, many years ago. And like me.”
“And like Tank?”
“No no,” he waved the question away with his hand. “Not like the ogre at all. The ogre has sprouted. We know what he is. He’s muscle.”
“A lot of it,” the Outlaw nodded. How did the Outlaw know Tank? My head was spinning.
“The disease manifests itself differently in different bodies. Did you know this? I imagine you’ve met Carter’s hired gun, the mercenary sharpshooter. I believe it’s a woman, though I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her. She’s a shooter, like Walter here. Like Troy used to be.”
“What about the rest of your hit squad?”
“Well. Let’s not spoil all the surprises. I’m not sure they even know themselves, yet.”
“Contact!” Carla yelled from her perch above the market building. I was so entranced by the conversation that I jumped. “Movement on the roofs.”
“Monitor and report,” the Chemist replied. “Probably one of Carter’s Chosen, but not the man himself. Carter would never be spotted on a roof top.”
“Chosen?” the Outlaw asked.
“Carter calls us the Infected. An unhappy term. I prefer Chosen.”
“What are you doing here, Chemist? Why do you need an army? Why do you need hostages?”
“I need hostages because of you, to put it bluntly,” the Chemist smiled. “Your newspaper stunt has turned everything upside down. Not that I mind. In fact I thrive on chaos.”
“Carter said you’re building an army.”
At the Outlaw’s statement, there were murmurs of agreement within the ranks of onlookers. Someone fired a fully automatic weapon into a wall and they all cheered. Walter silenced them with a glare.
“Of course Carter said that,” the old man said. “Don’t be simple. He wants you…on his team.”
“You are obviously building an army, Chemist.”
“Don’t be certain about things you do not know,” he snapped in reply. “You know nothing. You are an infant, yet.”
“I know you should leave these people in peace.”
“Peace,” he shook his head grimly. “You’ve obviously never walked this part of the city if you think they live in peace.”
More shouting, more cheers, more gunfire. The crowd was growing restless.
“Doesn’t matter, Chemist. You’re not helping them.”
“I’m not here to help.”
“Then enlighten me,” the Outlaw suggested and he spread his arms expansively. “Why all this?”
“Teach a newborn how to dance? Explain calculus to a toddler? I think not. Have you controlled your headaches?”
“I think so,” the Outlaw shrugged.
“How?”
“I found peace. In a person and in a place.”
“You found love,” the Chemist nodded. “Love is the only hope for broken minds. The human psyche was designed to be loved and only then are we whole. And love will protect you from the coming insanity. Carter refuses to teach that to his spawn.”
“Is that what you’re doing in Compton? Spreading
love and joy?”
“I’m here on a mission, boy. I bring with me purpose and community and I give it to those who have nothing. I don’t offer my followers love, but I do offer them identity. Which is the next best thing.”
The Outlaw asked, “What mission?”
“I will teach you that and many other things. You belong here.”
“Teach me?” the Outlaw cracked. “How? You want me to move into your hovel and start snorting coke with the rest of your drug addicts?”
“The drugs would not work on you, Outlaw. Nor do they work on Walter. He tried. You would know this, if you had a guide.”
“I don’t need a guide.”
“No one on earth needs a guide more than you,” the Chemist pointed a finger wavering with emotion. “You’re just now realizing that you’ve stumbled into a larger story but it’s even bigger than you think. Trust me, Outlaw. You’ve stepped into a minefield and Carter will not help.”
“Tell me why you’re in Los Angeles.”
“I’m here for the same reason Carter is,” the Chemist replied.
“Which is?”
“We’re here to harvest, Outlaw.”
“Harvest what?”
“You haven’t told him,” the Chemist said quietly. “Have you, Carter?”
A new voice, one directly above our bus, barked, “Of course not. Don’t be stupid, Martin.”
“You are here to keep an eye on your protege?” the Chemist smiled. His name was Martin?
“He’s not my protege,” said the voice above. It was a gravely and sharp voice. “Kid’s a damn nuisance, actually.”
“You’re still smoking,” the Chemist said. “The habit of fools. I could smell your foul reek a mile away.”
“Weird looking team you’ve assembled,” the man on the roof said. “Buncha kids that can barely walk, thinking they can hide in shadows.”
The Outlaw asked, “Why don’t you two grumpy old men just kill each other?”
“I’ve tried,” the man above said.
