by Nat Kozinn
Tom spent the next five days of the siege feeding freely on the inmates. He would sneak up behind a solitary prisoner, break the man's neck, and drag the victim to the back of the cafeteria to feed. Tom fed on twelve prisoners before someone went looking for their missing friend and found Tom's graveyard. Once they saw the piles of bones, the inmates were more scared of whatever monster was in the prison with them than the police waiting outside. They surrendered.
In the weeks since Tom had embraced his nature, he had gained over two hundred pounds, all of it muscle. Tom’s one size fits all prison uniform was tearing at the seams. Coarse black hair had begun growing all over his body and his skin was becoming leathery and tough. His fingernails and toenails were thick and sharp. There was no chance Tom could hide the fact that he was a Chosen Son if he was examined again. He had to escape now or the guards would find him and he would be sent to Great Basin forever.
After surrendering, the inmates filed out with their hands over their heads. Tom hunched low and filed out with them. Some of the other prisoners were screaming, trying to warn the prison guards about Tom, but the guards did not want to listen. They ordered the inmates to be silent. As soon as Tom had a clear line of sight to the swamps around the prison, he made his move. With his copy of Chosen Sons clutched close to his chest, Tom charged past the bewildered police officers before they could react. He leapt over the fifteen-foot fence that surrounded the prison and disappeared into the thick Florida swamps like a bolt of lightning.
Tom felt the love of God as he ran through the swamps. He was a broken man who had become a Chosen Son and embraced all that he was. Tom felt the power of the Lord course through him. Still, there was one thing Tom had to do to throw off the shackles of his old life. He had committed a sin that could not be forgiven, even for a Chosen Son.
Tom made his way back through the swamps of the southern United States, back to the Houston Metro Area. He returned to the Fish Market, his hometown. At nightfall, he went into the town cemetery and found the graves of his parents, weeping when he saw the names Oren and Lilly Calhoun on the gravestones. They may have been members of a lesser race, but they were still Tom's parents. They deserved eternal life in paradise.
Tom dug up their graves. His powerful body was able to excavate their caskets in a matter of moments. Once Tom had exhumed the corpses, he began his morbid task. His parents had been in the ground for almost a year, and what little flesh left on their remains was rotten and riddled with maggots. Tom saw this as his penance. He gagged and choked as he ate their fetid meat, but Tom forced himself to eat as much as he could.
By consuming their flesh, Tom changed his parents' deaths from a senseless act of violence into a loving act guaranteeing their salvation. They died in service to a Chose Son, which would secure them a spot in heaven. Tom wept as he ate and thanked God for the chance to right his wrong.
13
The price of liberty has always been high. It has long been this nation's principle that the cost is worth bearing. It is essential that we hold true to this principle, even in times of crisis. Hateful speech is permissible, hateful religions are permissible, hateful thoughts are permissible. It may seem hypocritical to allow a religion while simultaneously banning its holy book, but the law sees no contradiction. We may ban a specific work that constitutes an act of terror, but nothing in our Constitution allows for the outlawing of an ideology. The court’s previous ruling in Brandenburg v. Ohio is confirmed. Cabotists have the right to exist, gather, and demonstrate.
Justice Margaret Fuller
Majority Opinion: Canton v. Houston Metro Area
It's hard to see with the smoke all around me. I'm holding back my tear production to keep my vision clear, but my eyes are getting too dry. I close them for a second and rehydrate as quickly as I can. When I open them back up, I can make out the stairwell. Toby should be on the second floor. I head up the stairs.
I can hear beams buckling above me. This fire is growing fast. I'm lucky if I have a full minute before the building comes down on me. I don't know how I missed Toby when I was getting everyone else out. I wish his brother could have told me more, but all the kid would say was, “Toby is still in there, Toby is still in there.” His parents weren't in any shape to provide better information. They were barely conscious and suffering from smoke inhalation.
>>>Gavin. What's going on? Why aren't you answering me?
<<
>>>What's he still doing there? It's eleven o'clock at night.
<<
>>>What are you guys working on?
I shouldn't have taken the call, but I’ve been ignoring Becky so much lately. It didn't feel right to do it again. Why did I buy her think.Net time if I'm never going to talk to her? I thought I could manage to chat on think.Net while navigating around this burning building. I'm starting to question my judgment.
I head into the parents' room. Maybe Toby is hiding in a closet. That's what kids do when they're scared, hide. It's amazing how often our basic instincts are wrong. They weren't developed for the modern world.
I open the closet door. There's no kid, but I am rewarded by a flaming piece of door frame that falls onto my arm. I watch it burn through my shirt. I know it's heading for my skin, but I can't move fast enough to get my arm out of the way. Nerves fire as the flames singe my flesh, then the muscle underneath. If I wasn't me, I'd be crippled by the pain. I finally get my arm out of the way, but the damage has been done to my muscles and nerves. My right arm can't move well. The frame only touched me for a second, but B-Crete burns so freaking hot. I hope I can heal it before morning. I'm out of excuses for missing work.
>>>I said, what are you working on?
<<
>>>It's about time someone besides you had to work at night. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever.
<<
I leave the parents' room and head back into the kids’ room. There wasn't a closet, but I did see a wardrobe when I first came in. The wardrobe looks Pre-Plague, probably one of the family’s most prized possessions. A child could fit inside it. I grab the wardrobe's handle, and it instantly burns the flesh on my fingers. The handle is made of metal. I didn't even consider that. Now I know it's Pre-Plague. I ignore the pain, the burns are manageable, and open the door. There's Toby.
Toby the rat that is, in his Pho-Plastic cage. I don't have enough experience with children. The kid was so scared when he was pleading for me to get Toby that I just assumed he meant his brother. Next time I rush back inside a burning building, I'll have to remember to check and make sure I'm saving a person. Apparently, rescuing the kid and his parents wasn't enough. He needed me to die getting his pet rat.
>>>Speaking of making it up to me. What are you doing next Saturday night? My dad has made an official request to meet you. I think he's right. I want to show you off.
She wants me to meet her father. That's pretty heavy. I don't know how I should feel about it. I suppose we have been dating for a couple of months now. It does seem like the right thing to do. I should be excited about it.
<<
I grab the rat cage with my singed fingers and turn to run out of the apartment. Right as I'm about to head down the stairs, they collapse into a burning pit. I need to find another way out. I run through the hallway and onto the stairwell leading up. If I can make it to the roof, I should be able to jump to the building next door.
>>>You should come at seven-thirty. My dad is going to make...
Becky keeps talking to me on think.Net, but I tune her out. I need to focus on getting out of this building alive. I run up one flig
ht of stairs, but before I can head up the second flight, they collapse into another burning pit of fire. There’s no way out. I’m going to have to jump out a window.
I head back down the stairs to the second floor for a safer jump. I avoid a burning chunk of ceiling that would have killed Toby and I. The building is going to come down any second. Not only that, I am really struggling to get enough oxygen to keep myself going. I drop to the floor where the air is better, take some deep breaths, stand up, and keep moving.
I head back into Toby’s family’s apartment. There was a window in the bedroom. When I get to the bedroom, I see something better then a window: part of the floor has collapsed, giving me a way down to the first floor. I drop down the hole and land in the apartment below. Today’s my lucky day, I don’t even need to make my way to the front entrance because there’s a hole in the wall I can jump through.
As soon as I'm outside, I take a deep breath of smoke-free air. My body needs the oxygen desperately. I spread as much O2 as I can to the needy cells of my body. I head back around towards the front, wondering why a family that barely has enough money to keep itself fed would willingly take on the responsibility of caring for a filthy, disease-spreading animal.
>>>Hello, hello, hello... is anyone there?
<<
>>>Okay. I'll let you go. Try not to keep working so hard. I'll see you Saturday at seven-thirty.
<<
I get off the call. I think I should feel guilty about lying to her. I want to see her, but it's hard to justify. Going out on a date doesn't seem as important as saving someone from a murderer or a fire. Is it wrong to lie to my girlfriend if it's so I can save lives?
"Toby!" the kid yells with glee as soon as I come around the corner. "You're alive!"
The kid runs up, opens the cage, and squeezes the rat in his arms. I'm alive too, kid. Thanks for the concern.
The kid might not care, but applause goes up from the crowd that has gathered. I soak it in. I swear it’s actually making me happy, and not because I'm making my endorphins flow.
"Aren't you the big hero, saving rats? You're really making a difference," a woman in the crowd jeers, jolting me from my euphoria.
"I did save the people, too."
"Good for you. That make you feel like a big shot? You know you're breaking the law."
"I'm just trying to help. How can you have a problem with that?"
"I have a problem because the only reason we need any help is thanks to what you and your kind did to us. When I was a girl, the fire department did a fine job of helping folks. Now this whole block will burn and nobody gives a damn."
"I can't fix the world ma'am, but I can do what I can to help."
"You want to help? Why don't you do something about The Beast? He's one of your kind. That's what you should be fixing."
"I can't do anything about urban legends ma’am. I can only help with real problems."
"Urban legend? You tell that to my pops. I hadn't heard from him in two weeks. I finally went over to his apartment, and all that was left of him was bones. Does a legend do that? Does a burglar? You're just like all the rest. You don't really give a damn about us. You just want act like a hero ‘cause it makes you feel good."
#
These clothes are uncomfortable. I can feel my nerves firing off, telling me that they are irritating my skin. Normal people would call it itchy. They're hot, too. Not enough fresh air can get in to cool me down. I lower my metabolic rate, which should compensate. All this and they were more expensive than normal clothes. Still, a button-down shirt and some khakis seems like the minimum for meeting my girlfriend's dad.
I knock on the door to Becky's house. I'm five minutes early. I think that's perfect timing. Not too early to be weird, but early enough to show I'm taking this seriously. This is serious. I haven't met a girlfriend's father since I was eight. I'm pretty sure this one isn't going to give me some juice and take us to the park.
I hear someone coming, light steps, it’s Becky. I plaster my face with a grin. She hugs me as soon as she opens the door and gives me a big wet kiss. I don't even have time to hand her the flowers. A dozen roses, all different colors. They cost me three days’ pay, but I'll keep that to myself.
"Gavin! Right on time as always," Becky says.
"Actually, I'm four minutes and thirty-eight seconds early."
"Wise ass."
She notices the flowers. Her eyes light up as I thought they would. It could have been a month's pay, and it would still have been worth it.
"Gavin, they're beautiful. You didn't have to do this."
"They're not for you, they're for you father. I'm trying to make a good impression," I say with a smirk.
"Stop it. Come in, come in. Dad! Gavin's here!"
We step inside the door. I've walked her home more than a dozen times, but it's the first time I've been inside. It's a rundown Pre-Plague house, but they've done their best to make it a home. They have a couch with about twenty patches keeping it together, and there's a piece of Construct furniture placed prominently in the room. The other half of the room holds the dining table. It's already been set, and there's a candle burning. It looks they've pulled out all the stops for this dinner.
"I'll go put these in water. Dad! Gavin is here!" she yells to her father for the second time. "I'm sorry, he doesn't hear too well." she goes into the kitchen.
"Okay, just keep stirring this while I go meet your friend." I hear her father say.
Becky's father comes out to greet me while wiping his hands on a towel. He smells of beef grease. Real beef, they did pull out all of the stops for me.
He's a burly man with a thick moustache and a weathered face. I know that he's under sixty, but he looks seventy. I still wouldn't want to mess with him. There's a gnarly-looking scar on his left cheek and a sharpness to his eyes. He looks like he's been to Hell and made it out. He's got a bit of a limp, but that just makes him more of a badass. I would be intimidated by him, if he wasn't grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Gavin, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. It's an honor to have you in our home," he runs over and shakes my hand.
"The pleasure is all mine, sir. I'm glad to meet the man responsible for making Becky the lovely lady she is today."
"I'm not sure how much I had to do with that. She's just like her mother, but I'll take the compliment. Please sit."
I head towards the couch, but he stops me.
"Please, sit here," he directs me to the Construct furniture. "Do you know how it works?"
"No, I've never sat in one before."
I have sat in one before. They are another Ultracorps product after all. The guy looks so proud, it would crush him if I told him that.
"Have a seat on it and then use your hands and body to shape it how you want, whatever feels right. Once you feel comfortable, slap it hard, and it will lock into that shape. If you want to change the shape, run your hand on the Velcro on the side then shock it, and it'll go back to the blob," Mike tells me proudly.
"Thank you, sir, and thank you for having me to dinner. Whatever we're eating smells delicious. Can I ask you how you're cooking it?"
One of the reasons people eat Manna, besides the price, is that you don't need to cook it to eat it. Thanks to Cabot destroying much of the world’s supply, oil, gas, and even wood, are insanely expensive. That means a cold dinner for most people, unless they go to Oasis Burger.
"A little Pre-Plague camping stove, if you can believe it. People still find propane tanks when they are out scavenging. Sometimes I'll cook at the bar on Sundays after church. And stop calling me sir. It's Mike, unless of course you'd prefer to keep calling me sir."
For a second I think he must be joking, but then I remember he's a devout Cabotist. He'd let me call him Ugly if I wanted to.
"It's been a long time since I had real beef, Mike. I'm pretty excited about it."
"That's not all. We've got potatoes
and beer. The real McCoy, not the fermented Manna stuff. It's one thing you Chosen Sons can't make better."
"That sounds great."
"My skills as a chef are what kept me and Becky fed after the Revelation. I had to stretch a few rotten pieces of meat into enough food for hundreds in the refugee camps. I got pretty good at it, too," Mike adds.
"Were you a chef before the Plagues?" I ask.
"Not at all, I was a steel worker. Of course, after the Revelation came there wasn't much use for those. Gabby used to do all the cooking, that's Becky's mom. After she passed on, I had to take the reins. Guess I had a natural talent for it."
He's a true believer. Cabot and his Plagues all but killed his wife, and he still calls what Cabot did the Revelation.
"Becky's lucky to have you. You pulled off quite a feat. Very few children born around the time of the Plagues survived to adulthood."
"God had a plan for us. He decided we could do more good as spreaders of the truth faith. God's got a plan for all of us..."
I fidget to show discomfort. Mike notices it.
"Look at me. Here I am with the first Chosen Son I've ever had in my home and I start gabbing my head off. Why don't you tell me about yourself? Were you born in the LA Metro?" Mike says. He looks over his shoulder, to see if Becky heard him from the kitchen. I bet he promised not to preach to me.
"Born and raised in L.A.," I answer him.
"What do your parents do?"
"My dad's dead. He worked as a fisherman. He died while I was in Section 26 when his boat was caught in a storm and it sunk. They kept having to go farther and farther to find fish." I tell him. I make sure I sound a little sad.
"That must have been hard on you and your mom."
"My mom wasn’t around. She left when my Genetic Incongruity Scan came back positive."
"Well, I really stepped in it, didn't I? Maybe we should change subjects," Mike says and turns red in the face.
I hear footsteps approaching the front door. The steps are labored. It sounds like an old man.
