by LE Barbant
Tim cut across a side street, trying to get in front of the lumbering creature. He positioned himself behind a subcompact car parked alongside the thing’s trajectory. Tim held his breath and waited. If there was one thing his operations had taught him, it was the importance of patience. Rushing into a fight, whether on the streets of Fallujah or Pittsburgh, was a sure sign of defeat. A well-trained warrior waited for the right moment to attack.
Timing was everything.
Adrenaline enhanced his senses. He was in the zone. All else vanished. A peace that only a predator knows came over him. It transcended all worry, all guilt, all thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow. The only thing that mattered was the hunt. Victory was an afterthought, if that. But the merc rarely lost.
Ford let the creature pass by his hiding place. He waited for half a second. Then he leapt onto the hood of the vehicle and launched his body at the giant’s metal back.
But the element of surprise eluded the hunter.
Before Ford’s foot had left the hood of the car, the creature turned, ready for defense. The metal figure swiped at Ford’s hurtling body out of thin air. The combination of his momentum and the monster’s brute force drove Tim sideways through a storefront window. Shattering glass surrounded him as he landed and rolled across the dusty tile floor. Bits of glass bit at his skin. His ears were filled with the cacophony of destruction.
Tim’s head was hazy as he tried and failed to lift himself off the ground. He was vaguely aware of a sharp pain in his forearm.
Rolling onto his back, he saw a large form hovering over him. Darkness threatened to obscure his vision, but a faint red light shined through.
For some reason, all he could think of was Anna.
The last thing Tim Ford saw was a large metal fist crashing toward him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By late August, the current running between the banks of the Monongahela was like bathwater—far too warm to offer much comfort for Rita’s flesh. Her condition required a cool, wet environment. Even though she hated the city, Pittsburgh’s near-constant precipitation accommodated her needs for three-quarters of the year. But the late summer heat forced her to stay hidden most nights.
Early on in her new form, she learned how to cope with her body’s demands. Learning to live with her altered appearance took far longer.
Her reptilian form, even more than her physical aversion to sunlight, kept her in isolation. She disgusted herself, and it took no great insight to assess how others viewed her.
She’d never expected to return to her normal state, but last year’s events shattered her worldview. If someone could cure her, she knew it was Chem. Before encountering the scientist, Rita’s desperation had reached its pinnacle. Seeing Chem in action gave her a sliver of hope. Her mother had always told her that hope never disappoints. Rita wasn’t so sure. But the chemist’s skills offered her a way out of the hell she was living in.
Crawling out of the river and up across the slick black rocks, Rita covered herself with her bright yellow jacket. Avoiding well-lit streets, she moved toward her canvas. The masterpiece was almost complete, and an hour’s worth of uninterrupted effort would finish it. It mattered little to her that few would see her work of art. Purpose didn’t always lie in the appreciation of others; sometimes it was simply for the sake of oneself. She created beautiful things in the hope that she might one day be beautiful again.
Streetlights provided enough ambient light to work by, but the situation only made her miss her old studio even more. Rita walked over to a burned-out old car, raised off the ground by cinder blocks. Her webbed hand reached under and pulled out the plastic crate that held her supplies. Flipping it open she grabbed a can and shook it, the metal ball rattling around and mixing the liquid that would manifest the image from her dreams.
Rain started to fall. It was just enough to cool her skin and hopefully not too much to ruin her work. The building’s broad surface was protected by a three-foot overhang. It could handle a light rain like the one currently moistening the night air and Rita’s scaled exterior. The shelter was a necessity. Even now, painting was her life. But she needed access to water if she were to be out for any extent of time.
In the bottom right-hand corner Rita crafted rounded cheekbones and a pointed chin on the image of an elementary school girl. The eyes were set apart wide and the nose had a symmetrical form. Dark, curly hair fell down past her shoulders. The girl could have been a child model, perfect in every way.
Pausing from her work, Rita ran her nails over the girl’s brow.
Her mind wandered as she added the finishing touches. She thought of him and their last night together.
The change came quickly after the accident. Even in the early stages of her transformation, Rita knew that she couldn’t face him—couldn’t face anyone.
So she ran.
The running continued for months. She would hide out in the woods near lakes or streams, scavenging for food. More often than once, Rita considered ending it all. It would’ve been easy to do. But the thought of some hunter, or a group of teenage kids looking to get high, stumbling upon the monster in the woods and reporting it to the police or the local paper was more than she could bear. She would have become the aquatic Bigfoot. The thought of her grotesque figure adorning the cover of tabloids internationally kept her alive.
With a final stroke, Rita dropped the can to the ground and stepped back toward the river. She took in her masterpiece; her eyes started at the little girl and followed the direction of the child’s gaze. The scene was something like Central Park on a clear June day, but instead of Manhattan, it was a city of her own imagination.
It was a delight.
Perfect.
The scene moved. It stretched past the girl toward the left side of the wall; the cityscape turned into a skyline of destruction, becoming a crumpled mess by the end of the portrait. The green of the park turned yellow then brown then black. The earth was decimated. It was beauty destroyed; paradise lost.
But the young black girl’s eyes weren’t on the destruction. Instead they looked up toward the top left-hand corner. There, the sun assaulted the clouds, casting beams upon the dead cityscape. The vegetation closest to the sun was coming back to life.
It was hope.
It was her.
Rita started to tremble, taking in her pièce de résistance. Beautiful by any standard, it would never be submitted to the art critics of her past.
The rain grew harder in her outdoor studio.
Hope turned to anger—anger to rage.
Without thinking, Rita grabbed two spray cans from her plastic box and ran at the mural, a scream of indignation erupting from her throat. As one possessed, she defaced her work of art. Spraying in every direction, it took seconds to destroy the beauty that had taken weeks to create.
The cans rattled as she dropped them to the asphalt: empty guns from the hands of a killer.
Tearless sobs echoed into the rainy night air.
Then the sweet smell of blood invaded her senses. It was familiar.
Rita pivoted, running for the river.
A step from the rocky bank, she leapt, hurtling her small frame twenty feet through the night and into the choppy Monongahela.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You need anything?” Kate asked.
“A shot and a beer,” Rhett said, resting his legal pad on the edge of the desk. The speechwriter had been working twelve-hour days since starting for the Dobbs administration. As money started to dry up and polls plummeted, everyone took on more. Being new, Rhett realized that he had to carve out a place at the office through sheer determination. Upping his hours to fourteen a day wasn’t a problem. He had nothing else in the world, except his brother Paul, who seemed to show up in his office more often than expected.
“Those are a dime a dozen in Pittsburgh,” Kate said. Her smile warmed the room.
“Literally. Drinking here is way cheaper than D.C.”
Kate gi
ggled. Which wasn’t surprising. Rhett, with his good looks and quick wit, had heard the giggles of admiring women since puberty. He wasn’t even sure what he said that inspired such joviality.
“Cute laugh.” He lied. It was more like the sound of a mating hyena.
“Ahhh, thank you. My ex used to make fun of it. You’re sweet.”
“Like southern tea.” Rhett winked.
Eyelashes batted. “You going to work that thing all night? It’s just a speech, right?”
“Kate, there is no such thing as just a speech. Words have the power to wound, to heal, to inspire, and devour. I just want to be a faithful steward of them,” Rhett said, picking up the pad. “Not to mention we’re against the wall right now. Let’s just say my job might depend on this speech. And so does yours.”
“Well, even stewards need a break. It’s nearly seven. Why don’t we go get that drink? The speech’ll be here when you get back. And I’ll show you part of Pittsburgh you haven’t seen.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I can’t.” Rhett lied again. He had planned this for days—he was only surprised it had taken this long for her to make a move. “I serve at the pleasure of the Mayor.”
“Come on. One drink and then I’ll drop you back off here.” She tilted her head like a cocker spaniel.
“I shouldn’t,” Rhett said, looking at his shoes. “But, OK. Just one.”
“Yes! And I promise. One drink and I’ll bring you right back. I don’t want to get in between you and your…”
“Stewardship.”
“Right, stewardship.”
****
“That was really nice,” Rhett said, running his finger across Kate’s rib cage and down to her navel. She had an outie, which always weirded him out.
The hyena giggle returned. “That tickles,” she said. “You were a-maze-ing. Did you take classes or something?” Her body trembled as his finger moved south.
“Some of us are just blessed with special abilities, I guess.”
“Well, this girl is certainly thankful for your committed stewardship.” Kate kissed his neck.
Rhett pulled away. He rolled over and threw his feet to the floor. “I need a beer. You want anything?”
“You said just one drink and then back to work…”
“Building relationships with colleagues is one of the most important things to do when you’re new.”
“Not sure this is what that means.”
He plodded down the hall, away from the obnoxious giggle.
A noise from Paul’s room drew his attention. “Oh, hey. I didn’t think you were coming home,” Rhett said, sticking his head through the door.
The smaller of the two bedrooms was always immaculate, as if no one even lived there. Rhett saw dark circles were under his twin’s eyes. “Yeah. Job hunting sucks. Decided to call it a day.”
“I have, um, company.” While Rhett was a master with words, he inexplicably stumbled around Paul. He remembered doing this since middle school. There was something about his brother that threw him off his game. Paul saw through his bullshit.
His brother laughed. “I think everyone in the building knows you have company. She’s kind of a screamer.”
“Well, you know.”
“Do you like this one?” Paul asked.
Here we go, Rhett thought. “Yeah, I like her. I mean, enough.”
Paul shook his head.
“Stop judging me,” Rhett said. “You should try it. You might like it.”
“I just wish you knew that sex was more than this.”
“Than what?”
“A tool. It’s supposed to be a beautiful expression of love between two people.”
“How would you know? Did you read that someplace?” Rhett snorted. Rather than true debates, he easily fell into ad hominem attacks with his brother. “Don’t be so naïve. Sex is sex is sex. It’s like running. People do it for all kinds of reasons. That doesn’t make any of them wrong.”
“It’s exploitation.”
“We both got what we wanted out of it.” Rhett left the room for the kitchen. He could sway some of the most powerful people in the world with his words, but nothing he said could bend his brother. At least one argument a week ended with “whatever.”
Kate was spread out on the bed in mismatching bra and panties. She certainly hadn’t planned the escapade that morning before work—though Rhett had.
He set an opened bottle on the bedside table. “I brought you a water just in case.”
“Ah, that’s sweet. I mean, you did give me a workout. I think you broke my Fitbit.”
“I’m better than a Stairmaster.” Rhett kissed a mole on her shoulder. Her skin smelled like saffron and sweat. “So, tell me about our boss.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Well, I know a lot already. But there has to be more. Does he do anything weird?”
Kate looked for the answer on the ceiling. “He makes this grunting sound in his throat some times. You know, like it’s itchy in there, and he’s trying to scratch it.”
“I totally hear him do that all the time.” Paul manufactured a laugh. “What about, like, work stuff?”
“He’s demanding, but fair.”
Rhett feigned yawning. “That is so exciting.”
Kate gave a playful slap. “I probably shouldn’t talk about that.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to get you into trouble or anything…” Rhett paused. Silence spoke louder than words.
“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…”
Reticence was familiar. They all dodged at first. But Rhett could be persuasive. “Come on. You can trust me.”
“I know,” she said. “Ok, so, you did not hear this from me. Over the past six months, he’s been buying things that don’t make any sense. I mean, he’s the Mayor.”
“They all buy porn. Some stranger than others.”
She laughed and slapped him again. “No, not that. He keeps having these invoices go through for strange things.”
“Like what?”
“I shouldn’t tell you, he trusts me.”
Rhett leaned in and kissed her softly. His eyes inches away from hers, he asked, “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“OK.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chem collapsed on the couch across from Elijah.
Their house, though decrepit, had a spacious living room. A large mantle hung over the top of a defunct fireplace. Chem wondered if it could be restored into a working unit, offering something to its residents. But his work in the basement lab always trumped any projects in the rundown rental. Two thrift store sofas and a worn-down faux-leather recliner surrounded a beat-up coffee table. Several trash-picked lamps illuminated the room, completing the ensemble.
Elijah sat reading. He stared through his glasses, entranced by the pages. He didn’t stir.
Chem cleared his throat, louder than he had to. Elijah responded by turning a page.
“So, how’s it going?” Chem finally asked.
The historian looked up over the edge of his hardback, evidently annoyed by the interruption. “Huh?”
“Oh, good. You are here. I thought you were going to keep giving me the silent treatment,” Chem said with a smile. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my side job. I didn’t want you to get involved.”
Elijah closed his book and set it off to the side. He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s fine. It’s not really my business anyway. But you could have told me. You know pretty much all my secrets, and it’s not like I’m completely sticking to the law either.”
Chem nodded in agreement. “It’s the life we’ve been thrust into. How has this semester been going? You making any progress?”
Elijah squeezed his eyes closed and then open again. He pulled the dark plastic frames from his face and set them on the end table. “Oh, right. It’s going great. I mean, for a while I thought I’d lost the touch
. But this week was different than it’s been for a long time. I was really into it.”
Chem cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t know if I was burned out or just really tired of the classroom, but the last two years I wasn’t putting anything into my teaching—just running on autopilot, you know. But I have a renewed sense of purpose. I feel like I was made to teach again. The other day, it wasn’t like everybody was doing backflips to be there, but I was telling stories, drawing them in, and maybe even making a few people who really didn’t want to be there curious about history. It was kind of like my first days.”
“Elijah?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t really give a shit about your history class.” Something between a sneer and a smile developed on Chem’s face. “I was asking about your changes. You have some pretty powerful stuff swimming around in that blood of yours, and if you’re going to learn how to use it right—use it well—you have to learn how to focus and direct it.”
Elijah laughed. “Oh, that.” He crossed his legs and sat up straight. “Yeah…there’s been less progress on that front. Ever since February, the power has been strange. There’s a burning inside of me, it’s always around—but I’m not exactly sure how to source it completely. It’s sort of like somebody handed me a bicycle, and I’ve never ridden one before, or maybe have never even seen one before, and they told me to practice riding. So, I’m flying blind here. But I think it’s coming along.”
Chem nodded. “Good. I’m sure you’re changing the world with your lectures, Elijah, but I want to know that if something goes down, your other skills haven’t gotten rusty…pun intended.”
