by Nat Kozinn
This is just what The Beast was afraid of. Now Gavin is going to think The Beast is a monster. It is going to be harder to get the boy to listen. This is The Beast’s punishment for being afraid. This is the Lord reminding The Beast that he should trust in Him. God wanted Gavin saved. The Beast had been too scared. The Beast needs to go to Gavin soon, but before he does, he remembers why he is so afraid. He remembers why he has to be careful around his brothers, why he seeks redemption.
#
Tom kept hunting in the Chicago MA for three years. He grew stronger and stronger, which made him more and more hungry. One or two kills a week soon became five kills, then ten.
Reports of "The Beast," started appearing in the news, horror stories of a creature that was slaughtering Chicago residents. The police responded with increased patrols and search teams. Tom saw this as a challenge to his dominance. These pitiful humans thought they could stop him? They thought they could keep Tom from taking what God had given him? He would show them, he would show them all.
Tom walked into Chicago Metro Police Precinct 12 one night, grabbed the officer working the reception desk by the head, and tore his head off. Tom then systematically went through the rest of the station slaughtering every officer he could find. The police tried to resist, but their side arms could not do enough damage to stop Tom.
Nine officers barricaded themselves in the munitions room. They had a high powered rifle, powerful enough to hurt Tom. They shot him in the shoulder. He felt the bullet hit bone and howled in pain. He barely jumped out of the way of the next shot and hid around the corner.
Tom was scared. It had been a long time since something had actually hurt him. He had begun to think of himself as invincible. As Tom sunk into his fear, he felt something else. He felt the beast boiling up inside him and the animal begin to take over. Tom’s fear turned to anger. How dare these officers try to kill a Chosen Son? How dare they try to challenge Tom?
Tom moved efficiently and robotically. He went back into the office part of the police station. He found a half-dead officer trying to crawl towards his gun ten feet away. The man was moving slowly. Tom had torn his belly open.
Tom lifted the dying man up and carried the man out in front of him. Then he started howling. Low and deep, it rang in the hallways. The officers in the munitions room started to shake. Then Tom took off running. He was moving at full speed by the time he hit the hallway facing the barricaded room. Tom used the dying officer as a human shield. The rifle could punch through the man’s body, but the corpse absorbed enough power from the bullets that they couldn’t hurt Tom.
The man with the rifle only got off two shots before Tom closed the distance. Tom ripped the rifle from the officer’s hands then split his skull open with it. The remaining officers fired wildly with their sidearms. They hit their comrades as often as they hit Tom. He could take the bullets, but the officers could not. Whoever was not killed by friendly fire Tom finished off with his claws or teeth.
When the killing was all over, Tom had slaughtered thirty-seven police officers inside the station. It had taken him just over six minutes. He thanked God for the bounty and took his time feeding on the remains.
Reports of the slaughter spread through the Metro Area, and Chicago became gripped by panic. What could be done about The Beast if the police could not stop him? The news dubbed the attack on the station "The Beast's Feast," and the people of Chicago became afraid to leave their homes. The remaining police shut down operations and focused on fortifying their stations.
Now, the Chicago MA knew that it belonged to Tom. He had proven his dominance over the city, the Chosen Sons’ dominance over the human race. Tom pounded his chest at night and howled through the streets. There was nothing and no one that could challenge him… until someone did.
It happened in the blink of an eye. Tom was on a rooftop, stalking an unfortunate young man who was on his way home from work. A woman appeared in front of Tom. He saw her before he smelled or heard her. Only a fellow Chosen Son could manage that.
"My name is Special Agent Linda Gibbons," she said. "I'm with the Office of Exceptional Cases, and I have been authorized to apprehend you by any means necessary. I am ordering you to surrender and lay down on the ground."
"Relax, Special Agent," Tom replied and kneeled. "I wonder if you've ever heard the word of our savior, Cabot. I'd like to read them to you now. I'm going to reach into my jacket. It's just a book, don't worry your pretty little head."
Tom reached into the overcoat he was wearing and pulled out Chosen Sons. He quickly found his place.
"My Chosen Sons must not fight amongst themselves. They must know that they all share in my love equally even if their blessings are unequal. They must not let jealousy or petty politics of the old world stand in the way of the creation of the new world. My Chosen Sons must join together to create a new heaven on earth and to fill the planet with their progeny." Tom finished reading and carefully put the book back in his coat.
"Did you just hit on me? You really are nuts, aren't you. We should have known you were a Cabotist. The crazy ones always are. I don’t know where you psychos keep finding copies of that thing... As if we needed another crime to charge you with, possession of that literature is a violation of Executive Order 13586. I'm placing you under arrest for crimes too numerable to list."
"How can you work for the Office of Exceptional Cases? How can you spend your days hunting down your own kind?" The Beast asked.
"That's what you lunatics always ask me, and what I ask you is this: do you think the world is really better for Differents now than it was before the Plagues?"
"The Israelites had to spend forty years in the desert before they found salvation."
"All right, enough! Time to put your hands behind your head, or I'll be forced to use this," she reached into her coat and pulled out a large syringe, "Maceo Steel-tipped syringe with enough Tranq to knock out a blue whale. I don't want to use this. It might kill you. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in the court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney..."
Tom started to get up to try to run away. Before Tom could even get to his feet, the Special Agent closed the fifteen feet that separated the two and appeared behind Tom. She put the syringe into the back of Tom's neck and pushed the fluid in.
"No one's faster than me," the Special Agent said.
Tom writhed in agony, not from the needle, but from the drug sweeping through him. Tom felt the calm the Tranq created. It was a terrifying peace. Tom knew that he could not let himself stay in that tranquil place. Tom prayed to the Lord for the strength to fight through the drug.
By focusing on recalling the words of Cabot, the word of God, Tom was able to rouse himself from the calm. He managed to stand. He took a few slow, tortured steps away from the Special Agent. Tom was desperate to get away.
"I don't know how it's possible that you're standing, but I'd recommended you stop fighting the drug. If you do not submit I will be compelled to use further force," Special Agent Gibbons said.
Tom did not listen and continued his desperate, slow motion scramble to get away. Special Agent Gibbons pulled out two knives and proceeded to rain a hailstorm of slashes and stabs into Tom. The knives could not penetrate deep into his flesh, but she was fast enough to stab ten thousand times a minute. Even in his Tranq fog, Tom could feel the pain from the blows.
Tom tried to cry out, tried to beg the Special Agent to stop. But he could barely talk, and the Special Agent no longer wanted to listen. Realizing he was about to die, the beast in Tom took over. He mustered enough strength for one large swipe of his arm, which knocked Special Agent Gibbons through the air. It took Tom a few moments to gather himself. His stab wounds throbbed with each beat of his heart. That pain was nothing compared to what Tom felt when he saw Special Agent Gibbons.
His fellow Chosen Son was gasping for air. Tom's swipe had crushed her windpipe and the poor woman struggled
to breathe. Tom watched helplessly as she took her last breaths. When she died, Tom became a monster once more.
"The Chosen must not kill their brothers. The spark of the divine must not be taken by any but the Lord himself. The Chosen's numbers are too few and their divinity too pure. This is the gravest sin a Chosen Son can commit. Thou shalt not kill is as much cannon to the new race as it was the old."
Those were the words of the Lord.
17
All Different individuals found guilty of any crime, regardless of local jurisdiction procedures, are to serve out their sentences at Great Basin Prison. Great Basin officials are authorized to use whatever means necessary in order to suppress or contain the Different individual and their abilities.
Amendment 12 to the Defense Spending Authorization Bill of 1999
The Beast hasn't said a word yet. I wonder if he can even talk. Even in his giant overcoat, he barely looks human. He looks like a gorilla with the jaw of a saber tooth tiger. All those memories on think.Net of him looking like a Were-Wolf made me expect something like that, but it makes more sense for him to be a primate. He is just a mutated human after all. He's even bigger than a gorilla, I would guess he weighs a thousand pounds. Blood drips from the three inch, razor-sharp claws on each finger. His mouth is full of teeth that look just as sharp, capped off with four massive canines.
He's just staring at me while he chomps on the arm of the officer who shot me with the dart. He took out both of those officers in one move. They didn't even know what hit them. Then he threw one of the dead policemen and me over his shoulder, as if we were dolls, and bounded over ten rooftops in the blink of an eye.
I can still hear the rest of the officers yelling in the distance. They think I killed the dead cop the monster left. He moved so quickly, none of the other officers even saw him. If I survive this, the police will triple their efforts to hunt me down. They catch cop-killers.
I tell my hand to move and it responds, clumsily. Whatever they shot me with is wearing off. I still need more time to recover though, and I want to be able to surprise The Beast when I can finally move. I sit there propped up against the corner and meet his gaze.
"You hungry, boy?" he asks with a blood-filled smile and extends the arm he's eating out towards me.
His voice is deep and gruff. He sounds like a monster out of a children's program on think.Net. Appropriate, because if a kid ever saw this man, that kid would have nightmares for the rest of his life.
"Your instincts are no good. It's easy to spot pigs from a mile away, even if you can't smell 'em. You got to watch yourself, the Forgotten Sons don't like rule breakers," he says and waits for my response. I don't have one.
"Still can't talk, boy? Good, then you got nothing to do but listen. I've been watching you for a while now, seeing you help little old ladies across the street and beating on punks. I even watched you try to hunt me down. You ain't much of a hunter, Gavin. You're lucky your prey wanted to be caught."
He finishes the arm he's eating and tosses it aside. He rips off most of the officer's thigh as easily as I would tear a piece of bread. He eats it in one bite.
"Don't worry, I ain't mad at ya. I was at first, but then I had time to think on it. You're doing what you do because you don't know any better. You've been brainwashed so you can't see what's wrong with the world. You can't see how far it is from the righteous path. You think all your silly antics are the right thing to do because you've never had a chance to be touched by the truth. That's the humans' fault."
I'm not thrilled to be hearing another speech on how great Cabot is, in part because I lost control of my bladder when the cops shot me with that device. My wet pants aren't making me feel like a Chosen Son. I have to keep listening until it's time to make my move though.
"I was like you once, Gavin. I was afraid of what the good Lord gave me. I thought this body of mine made me a monster. I asked the Lord, why me? But that's how he works, he don't make it easy to find your way."
I'm almost ready. I flex my muscles to remove the lactic acid that’s built up and get them ready to move.
"I spent a long time struggling to find my way. You're headed down that same road, boy. Wasting your time saving the Forgotten Sons while your own kind toil away as slaves. God saw my struggles and saved me. He showed me His latest Revelation. The good Lord gave me freedom through the Word of Cabot. Cabot showed me that I ain't a freak. I am one of God's Chosen Sons. You are Chosen too, Gavin Stillman. The earth belongs to you. The Lord said so Himself.”
So, I guess he can read. He must have gotten my name off my D tattoo. Good eyes, too. He closes those eyes for a moment as he finishes his speech. It's time to make my move. I lunge at him, hoping to knock him off the side of the building, but I see him react before I get halfway there. He leaps away from me like a grown-up playing tag with a toddler. I land and whirl towards him. He's standing upright now. He must be eight feet tall. He's grinning at me.
I cock my first back and align my arm. I let fly with a punch to his stomach that would make Mohamed Ali double over in pain. The Beast doesn't even try to move. He just maintains his haunting grin as the most powerful punch I've ever thrown hits him square in the gut. He flinches ever so slightly. Meanwhile, the nerves from my fist to my elbow send out pain signals. Three of my knuckles are broken, and he kept his grin. I've punched walls to greater effect.
"Get that out of your system, did ya' boy?" he snarls.
I answer him with another punch to what should be his kidney. Not quite as powerful as my first blow, but this time, I hit a softer spot and he feels it. He doubles over a bit. I follow that up with a kick to his shin. That seems to hurt him too. He lets out a low growl. Good, he's not invincible.
I pull my hand back to deliver a chop to his throat. I imagine it will crush his windpipe, but imagine is all I get to do. His hand shoots out like a bullet, and I have to stretch time as far as I can to make out his movement. There's nothing I can do but tense my muscles to accept the blow.
He pushes me. I can tell from his muscles that it's just a little shove, but it sends me flying backwards almost ten feet. I land with a thud.
"Stay down!" he says, and his grin transforms to a glare.
I don't listen. The shove was impressive, but it didn't hurt me. Maybe he's never had to learn to fight since he usually gets the drop on his victims. Maybe if I keep attacking him, I'll get an opening. I spring up and charge back at him. I throw a feint with my right hand and follow it up with a left aimed squarely at his throat. He catches my fist in the air. His massive paw makes my hand look like a child's.
"You have some terrible manners, Gavin. I've saved your life a few times now. The least you could do is listen while I try to save your soul. It’s what God wants."
To emphasize his point, he crushes my fist. Without any visible effort, he breaks just about every bone in my hand. My nerves cry out. He shoves me back down to the ground. The shove causes a huge tear in my right hamstring. I’m going to have trouble standing.
“What do you mean saved my life?” I ask, still lying on the floor.
“You think you’ve been a big hero all by yourself? You’ve got a guardian angel, me. You’d be dead three times over if it wasn’t for me. Who do you think put you on that train?”
That first night, when I got my head cracked open. I didn’t win the fight by some miracle. I was saved by this monster. He must have killed them. He must have put me on that train. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead.
I think of that and start to soften a bit, until I remember that this lunatic kills and eats women and children. Saving me doesn’t change that. Either way, I’m not winning this fight, not right now at least. My only hope of getting out of this alive is playing along.
“Okay, if you want to talk, talk. I’ll listen,” I say.
"It’s not me I want you to hear, its God. I've got Cabot’s Revelation itself right here," The Beast says.
He reaches into the massive coat he's wearing
and pulls out a thin book. The cover is tattered, and the pages have yellowed. He hands it to me. I take it with my less injured hand.
The front reads Chosen Sons: The Book of Cabot. Just having this book in my hands is a crime. How did he get it? The government claims to have destroyed every copy. Is it real?
"It's real," he says, sensing my disbelief. "I always carry it with me. It saved my soul. I bet it can do the same for you."
"How did you get this?" I ask.
"A prison, if you could believe it, hidden in a back corner so only I could find it. The Lord’s work for certain. A miracle sent down from heaven to save my soul."
It's a miracle of math anyway. I knew Cabot sent books to just about every government building in the country. It was his warning to everyone before he spread his Plagues. The government tried to round up and destroy every copy after the Plagues. What's the chance a prison would be the place they'd overlook?
"Be gentle with it," he says.
I know that this book is just the ravings of a mad man, but I have to read it or The Beast will kill me. I tell myself that's the only reason I open the cover, not because I'm curious, not because I've always wanted to see what it is that the Government is so afraid of. I’m just reading it and memorizing it verbatim so I can use it to try to manipulate The Beast, I tell myself.
“Here is the record of the 3rd book of our Lord, as spoken to his vessel Cabot: ‘I am your Lord. Take what I tell you now and spread it to all mankind. Make my truth known to any who will listen,’” it starts.
#
"You must simply claim your thrones as kings of the new earth," it ends.
As soon as I look up from the last page, The Beast snatches the book from my grasp and cradles it as a child would a teddy bear. It looks like it caused him pain to have the book out of his possession for even a moment, let alone the three minutes it took me to read every page and memorize every word.
"Well?" he asks, but then changes his mind and shakes his head. "No, don't tell me yet. You need time to think on what you read."
