by LE Barbant
Rebekah, a student who was a repeat from last semester, raised her hand. Elijah was proud of her newfound confidence. Her notes now recorded every other word that Elijah spoke.
“Globalization? Other countries could make steel cheaper, pushing American companies out of business.”
“Excellent, Rebekah. Coming out of World War II, the United States was the biggest name in the game when it came to steel production, as well as other kinds of manufacturing. But as Europe recovered and China shifted its economic agenda, the states faced fierce competition from other nations. Plus, many American companies took advantage of looser environmental standards and,” nodding at Tom, “cheaper wages overseas.”
He paced back and forth, energized as he led them toward the point of the lecture.
“But internationalization doesn’t quite answer the question either. Nine out of ten people you’d ask on the street would give the answers that you two just gave, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But, they wouldn’t be entirely right either. As researchers, we need to get past the easier answers—look deeper into the data. For example, US Steel, one of the largest steel manufacturers actually increased its domestic output during the 80s while also slashing jobs. By the end of the decade they produced more steel at home than ever before, while tens if not hundreds of thousands of US workers lost their jobs. How can this be? Can anyone make sense of this seeming contradiction?”
He paused, letting the silence fill the room. He guessed they wouldn’t land on the answer, but he wanted to make them work for it. Walking towards the chalkboard he wrote in large letters: TECHNOLOGY.
“New technologies emerged, in almost every sector of manufacturing, including steel, which contained the potential to increase output while diminishing costs. And the number one cost in almost any industry is human labor.”
Julie, a dirty blonde with too much make-up raised her hand. She had moved on from her crush the previous semester and now seemed genuinely interested in the study. Instead of her fawning, she was the first to criticize and question the adjunct professor at every move. Elijah loved her combative responses.
“But that’s not a bad thing, right? New technology means that steel got cheaper, which means that more stuff could be built and money spent elsewhere. Sure, steel doesn’t employ people like it used to, but they’ve found other jobs, right?”
Elijah considered his words carefully. Pointing at the chalkboard he said, “I’m not advocating against progress. But we need to be aware of how and why our world changes. You’ve grown up in a time that’s more aware of its problems than most before it, but humans seem oddly willing to repeat their past. Automation made the manufacturing workforce obsolete, as it did agriculture’s before that. At the turn of the century, 36% of Americans worked in agriculture. Now it’s less than 1%. In 1920, 40% of Americans worked in manufacturing, now less than 8% do. Transportation is currently one of the largest sectors in terms of employment. I want you to go home and Google self-driving cars and Amazon drone delivery.”
Elijah leaned against the oversized faculty desk. If he was too preachy he’d push them away. “Technology isn’t bad, but it’s not neutral. It has changed and continues to change culture in a number of significant ways. And we’re going to spend this semester looking at some of those changes, because what happened then can easily happen now. If we aren’t aware of our history, it’s likely to take us by surprise.”
****
A slight drizzle darkened the early afternoon air. Elijah was still amazed at the sheer amount of precipitation this area produced. He had read somewhere that Pittsburgh had more rainy days than Seattle. Packing his car in Boston, he scoffed at the idea. Now he wished he had invested in better shoes.
Homestead was quiet. Its emptiness provided an odd sense of comfort for the professor. He considered stopping home on Tenth but opted to head straight toward his destination. There was work to do and he had procrastinated long enough.
As he turned the corner, a lone jogger slogging through the rain ran past him on the sidewalk. She slowed her progress but kept moving in place.
“Hi, Mr. Historian.”
“Hey, Lainey. How’s your grandmother doing?” A smile spread across his face. He was glad to see the daughter of the old mill worker he had interviewed early in the year. The two of them had crossed paths several times in Homestead, and their convergences made him feel like he belonged.
“She’s as tough as ever. Giving the orderlies at the home a run for their money. You all settled up here in Homestead?”
Elijah smiled. The oddities of the Pittsburgh dialect were strange even compared with that of Boston. He wondered in what sense Homestead could be considered “up”?
“No problems so far. Wish it didn’t rain so much.”
The young woman laughed and resumed her progress. Turning, she yelled over her shoulder, “Welcome to Pittsburgh.”
****
The old mill stood silent, a monument to the past.
Elijah walked down the gravel lot, looking for signs of company. But the mill’s abandonment was complete. Other than animals and vegetation, it appeared as if no one had been there in a while.
He pushed open the rusted metal door and entered the dark confines of the factory. Elijah relaxed, happy to make it out of the rain. He moved into an open space and, after pausing to listen for other occupants, took off his tweed jacket, tie, and button-up. Finally removing his undershirt, Elijah stood, naked from the waist up.
Still damp, he shivered in the cool factory air.
He wouldn’t be cold for long.
Since the fight with Brooke, Elijah had spent more time working on his physique, but his routine lacked consistency. He’d managed to lose some of his fast food weight but beer and laziness kept hidden any increase in definition. It didn’t matter; if someone were to see him now, the scar on his chest would draw all of their attention.
The scabs had faded with time and with the help of Chem’s miracle ointment. But the clear lines mapped out a unique symbol, a square tipped onto its corner intersected by two sharply pointed ovals. His former “guest” left an indelible legacy, the outward brand a mark of his inner transformation.
Elijah closed his eyes, legs shoulder-width apart and arms tensed by his side. He focused inward, seeking the fire that lay dormant. He thought of Pittsburgh, of the needs of the many living here. He thought about Brooke and the way he felt seeing her encased in ice. He thought about Rex and Sean.
Steam started to roll off Elijah’s back. Warmth ran through his body, emanating from his chest and working its way toward his extremities. He braced himself for what was coming.
His mind registered the smell of burning flesh seconds before it made sense of the pain that accompanied it. Elijah screamed. A fire raged in his chest. His arms expanded, turning gray at first, then black. He shuddered as bright cracks emerged along his forearms.
Then the pain was gone, and Elijah felt only power.
As it had been since the day at PPG, the transformation remained incomplete. His arms up to the elbow were twice as large and hard as steel, his chest a glowing ember. But the human form remained intact and with it Elijah’s consciousness.
He reached for a large steel cylinder; straining, he lifted it to his waist. It was easily 500 pounds. Elijah, condensation steaming from heat and exertion, dropped the thing. It clamored through the mill. His strength was impressive, but it wasn’t up to its previous car-tossing level. He thought of Willa, hiding under a vehicle to escape his rampage. Thankfully, her spells and Chem’s mixture were enough to take him down.
He moved to an old concrete furnace, turning it into his punching bag. Cracks formed as his hands pounded on the solid wall.
Twenty minutes later his training was over. Elijah slumped to the ground exhausted, his body returned to its original size. He surveyed the damage.
His knuckles were caked in blood, but nothing appeared to be broken. His steel flesh absorbed most of the damage; however, t
urning was not without its consequences. Fresh burns covered his forearms and his arm hair was singed clean off, leaving his body looking pale and sickly. He got up and retrieved a bottle of meds from his jacket. The pain was becoming manageable, but the adjunct was still thankful for Chem’s prescription.
“Impressive.” A harsh, gurgling voice filled the once-quiet space.
Elijah jumped at the sound. He raised his bloody fists.
Out of the shadows stepped a woman wearing a bright yellow rain jacket. The hood hung low, covering her face.
“You must be Rita. I heard that you had a way of sneaking up on people. How long were you watching?”
“Long enough to see your secret firsthand. But I was expecting…more. What happened to the beast from the videos?”
Elijah dressed himself while considering the strange woman in front of him. She wasn’t wrong. Though his strength remained enhanced, the power was a fraction of what he had in the winter. But the power that was left was his own, and he had to decide how to best use it. He couldn’t rely on spiritual guidance from beyond the grave. Feeling defensive, he decided on a direct response.
“I hear you’re quite the monster as well. You’ve seen what I can do, why don’t you reciprocate?”
Rita stood unmoving. Elijah wondered if he had pushed her too far. There was still so little they knew about the newest addition to their group. He wished Willa, who was much better with people, was there with him.
After a minute, Rita stepped forward out of the shadows and into a patch of light that filtered in through the old factory windows. She unclasped the raincoat and let it drop to the floor.
What the hell?
Standing before him was a creature from his nightmares. Its general proportions were human, but that was where the similarities ended. Pale, scaly skin shimmered in the dim light. Her legs were knobby and bowed slightly outwards. Huge feet splayed like fans on the concrete. Long strong fingers formed claws where hands should have been. What could only be described as talons emerged in lieu of nails. But the most unnerving part was her face, lipless and cold. Large jet black eyes filled up her head, their size exaggerated by the lack of a nose. In uneven intervals, imperceptible lids would swipe down over the eyes, then disappear somewhere behind her brow.
“I…I’m sorry.”
“Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, Elijah?” The sliver of a mouth turned up at the corners. Rita raised her hands. The outsides were covered with stone white scales, like her face and neck. The undersides were smooth, like the underbelly of a fish. “Not all of us can be as lucky as you.”
“How long have you been like this?”
The creature took a step back into the shadows. “Long enough to know that it’s a curse. And that the outside world would crucify us if they could. You should take care who you show yourself to.”
Elijah put his shirt back on, self-conscious at how normal he looked. “It might be a curse, or maybe this happened to us for a reason. We could do some good with what we’ve been given.”
Rita spat. “You’re as foolish as the men you keep company with. Stay in the shadows, historian. Or else you risk dragging all of us into the light.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tenth Avenue was starting to feel like home. Chem had proposed that Tim just move in with him and Elijah, but the mercenary wanted to keep his options open—it was his style. On that drizzly evening, Tim joined the boys as they lounged around the living room, each doing his own thing. Elijah, as usual, had a book propped up, covering his face, and Chem was scratching away in a composition book. The man had hundreds of them. While Tim’s pastimes included fishing and drinking beer, the chemist seemed completely content to work on science experiments in his free time away from working on his science experiments. He was relentless.
Things had cooled off between Tim and Chem. As men tend to do, the two of them ignored the fight and slid back into normal life.
Tim flipped the channels on the television. Grainy images of Elijah and the Ice Queen—as Brooke had been aptly named by the media—filled the screen. Talk about monsters had waned after a few months. Other news cycles had taken over, and people chalked the videos up as pranks or some strange inexplicable event. Tim was amazed how short attention spans were. He figured the latest episode of “Honey Boo Boo” or “Survivor” was probably more important than creatures taking over their city. Even Chem and Elijah lacked interest in the images of themselves on the television. They had been there so many times.
But the cycle turned, and it seemed the monsters were back. The death of Robert Vinton had inspired the hysteria again, and Mayor Dobbs was riding the wave all the way to November. His political rhetoric was at once brilliant and disgusting. Tim spit tobacco-laced saliva into a Mountain Dew bottle as he considered the politician’s machinations. If the man could make people realize just how dangerous things were, they might switch over to his team—the one for security and peace of mind.
Two women sat on either side of a cheap-looking office table in the newsroom. Dirk Kirkwood, a Pittsburgh news legend, sat between them. His immaculate suit matched his hair, which was just as dark as his first day in front of the camera—nearly forty years prior.
“Let’s see what Dirk and his concubine have to say,” Tim said, turning up the television.
Elijah set the paperback down on the table next to the faded La-Z-Boy and pulled off his glasses. Chem remained enthralled with his work, undistracted by the onscreen circus.
“Monsters. They’ve been the talk of the town since February, and now with the death of the Mayor’s chief of staff, people are talking once again. I’m joined by two of Pittsburgh’s finest to discuss the attacks and the implications they have on the city. On my right is Jillian Stephens.” Dirk glanced at his cue cards. “Jillian is a writer for the blog Keystone Voice. Her work is prolific, covering everything from Steelers summer training to the mayoral race.”
A woman with strawberry blonde hair and alabaster skin forced a smile at the camera. “Thanks for having me, Dirk. And, it’s a journal, not a blog.”
“Sure,” Dirk said, with a smirk. “And on my left is Darlene Henderson of the Pittsburgh Times.”
A woman with big bleached hair and makeup to match, splitting the difference between Dirk’s and Jillian’s ages, smiled and nodded.
“So, let’s start with you, Darlene. What do we make of these monsters?”
“To be blunt, Dirk, these monsters are a threat and they need to be dealt with. It was a mistake that some sort of zero-tolerance mandate wasn’t enacted after the PPG Event. Who knows what’s running around in our city? It’s time we wake up and realize that the monsters are the true threat. These…these…things are the true terrorists.”
Tim Ford turned to Elijah. “She just made you a jihadist, Eli. What do you make of that?”
The historian didn’t say a word.
“Jillian?” Dirk asked, pivoting to his new guest.
“I couldn’t disagree with Darlene more. In fact, I think she’s watched far too many sci-fi films. What we need now is sound reasoning and evidence. Unfortunately, neither of these sells papers. People need to maintain a sense of calm until we understand what is real and what’s a fabrication.”
Red splotches grew through the heavy makeup on Darlene’s neck. “Really? What else could explain the gore and destruction at PPG Place? A dozen people saw monsters flying through the air and fighting in the square. Not to mention Robert Vinton. What killed him? You and your blog can’t see what’s really happening here. This is an invasion and it needs to be stopped.”
Dirk chuckled. “Now, ladies. Let’s be civilized.”
“Something happened in February, that’s the truth,” the young reporter said. “But we need proof before we start screaming about the end of the world. It’s easier to profit from a situation like this than it is to confirm it, and I for one am not convinced that a glowing Bigfoot is behind the murder of our Mayor’s chief of staff.”
As th
e other reporter leaned in for attack, Tim shut off the television. “I’ve seen enough war to last me a lifetime. I’m gonna bounce.”
He gave Elijah and Chem a nod as he walked out the door.
****
Light rain blanketed the Pittsburgh sky, making Tim Ford’s flannel cling to his bulky frame. He didn’t mind the weather. In fact, he relished it. The overcast skies and thick dampness matched his disposition. After years in the arid Middle East, the Western Pennsylvanian humidity was a constant reminder of where he belonged. The smell of fresh rain on the hot city streets was the odor of home—and he had been away from it for far too long.
When Tim returned to Pittsburgh, monsters were all anyone would talk about. He didn’t know whether or not to believe the stories—titans of fire and ice duking it out downtown—but he was determined to find out for himself. That was how he first encountered Chem, and Rita.
Although they turned out to be non-threatening to the city he called home, there were other forces at work, legitimate dangers to be confronted.
Robert Vinton’s death confirmed Tim’s hunch.
If folks like Elijah and Rita were real, then it stood to reason that something more nefarious could be behind the recent death. Whatever this monster was, it would serve as an appropriate match for the ex-military specialist. Ford needed a formidable opponent, and Chem’s drug-slinging clients weren’t enough to appease his need. Tracking across steel and concrete differed from his previous experience in the jungles of South America or the deserts of Iraq. Harder, in a way, as the environment hid signs of passage. But Ford was born and raised in the Steel City; he knew it like the back of his hand, and the creature wasn’t exactly hard to find.
Crouching behind a parked SUV, Ford spotted the monster as it lumbered down the darkened street. Its heavy footsteps, metal on concrete, filled his ears. Over seven feet tall, the figure stalked across the road, eyes fastened directly ahead. Its surface reflected the scant light available in the dim of the early morning hours. Hints of glowing red danced around its surface. From all accounts given to him by Chem, this thing could have been the transformed figure of Elijah Branton. It also matched the grainy videos captured by the YouTube journalists whose videos had gone viral. But the historian claimed to be out of this game, and Tim’s gut told him to trust the guy. This thing was something else entirely.
