by Nat Kozinn
He fires off one shot. It pierces the chest of the dummy, sending out a chunk of B-Crete. Then he shoots again, hitting the dummy in the arm. He signals for me to come over and try.
I have my body mimic his position. Left foot forward, feet shoulder length apart. I look down the barrel with my right eye. I don't have a dominate one. I breathe in and out and squeeze the trigger. It hits the dummy in the leg, off by about a foot from where I was aiming. I add a little bend to my elbow because it feels right and shoot again. I nail the dummy right in chest, exactly where I was aiming. I then put two more shots in the exact same place, no more than an inch off. Shooting is in my muscle memory now, and my muscles never forget.
I follow the Vet back up to the storefront. I hear him laughing as soon as we get to the top of the stairs.
"You got the hang of that pretty quick didn't you?" he says once I can hear again.
"I just relaxed and remembered Dirty Harry. He taught me all I need to know."
"Dirty Harry couldn't shoot like that. I tell you what, I've never seen three shots so close together. My guess is the Good Lord has blessed you with help for your shooting."
"Yeah, I'm pretty good at repeating motions."
Perfect, actually, but no one likes someone who talks like that.
"That was fun. What do you want to try next, a Berretta? A Saturday Night Special? What's your price range?"
"You know, I kind of liked the .44. How much is that?"
"I told you, that's too much gun for you. You want something more practical. Anyway, I've only got a few boxes of ammo for it."
"It's not like I'm going to be using the thing. It's just for target practice and emergencies," I say back.
"I'm not looking to sell it, kid. I just keep it around because it catches the customers' eyes. They designed it to take down big game like moose and bears. Cabot didn't leave too many of those around."
Hunting big game is just what I'm doing. I need that gun.
"It's just that it reminds me of my father."
He lets out a big a sigh. "Even if I would be willing to part with it, it couldn't be for nothing. That piece was rare even before the Plagues, not to mention the trouble I could get in for selling to a Different. I'd need at least thirteen thousand for it."
Now the negotiation begins.
"You just said it isn't practical, which means nobody else wants it. I'll give you six thousand."
"You think too much. How many of those cannons do you think are left in the world, and that work on top of it? I can't go lower than eleven thousand."
"I can't go higher than seven thousand. I see what you're saying about it being rare and all, but I can't imagine you will get another offer like this anytime soon."
The Vet lets out another sigh and furrows his brow. He comes to some sort of conclusion
"Eight thousand five hundred, including all the shells or you can walk out right now. That's a special deal for lovers of fine culture, and I don't want you coming back and complaining or telling the cops where you got it.”
"Deal." I only have 109 hours. I need this gun.
22
Even when the path seems difficult, know that you are never alone, my Chosen Sons. Your Lord is always with you. If you can endure, if you can live up to the magnificent gifts I have bestowed upon you, you will create paradise here on earth.
Chosen Sons: 54
The Beast hurries over to the church, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Once he’s on the building he bangs on the roof, which is how he tells the pastor it’s time to head up to talk. The pastor is sleeping, and even though he feels compelled by God to hurry, it takes his frail body several minutes to get dressed and climb the stairs to meet The Beast. The Beast is waiting for him, pacing furiously.
"Your Grace, it is an honor to have you in my presence, as always. To what can I attribute this honor today, and at this hour?" the pastor asks.
“I need to talk to you, Pastor Newman. I’ve been trying to figure it out on my own, like I know I should, but I can’t make sense of it,” The Beast says.
“What is it, Your Grace?” the pastor asks with concern.
The pastor is trembling but trying his best to hide it. Seeing The Beast this upset is a terrifying sight. He has to be careful not to draw The Beast’s ire onto himself.
“Why would God care more about me sending a few humans to heaven then about me saving the soul of a Chosen Son?” The Beasts asks, begging for an answer.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?” the pastor asks. He knows he has to.
“I did it. I talked to one of my brothers. We didn’t fight—well, not much anyway. I got him to read Chosen Sons.”
“That’s fantastic news. Truly wonderful. So few Chosen Sons get to read Cabot for themselves,” the pastor says with as much excitement as he can muster. He wants to turn this into a happy conversation.
“I thought it was good news. That’s why I’m so confused. Why hasn’t God spoken to me? Why hasn’t He told me I done good?”
“Your Grace, I’m sure you are familiar with the adage ‘God works in mysterious ways.’ It is not our place to question Him, and it is not His job to explain Himself to us. If… excuse me, when, the Lord speaks to you, it will be the right time. You just have to trust in God,” the pastor says trying to reassure The Beast and keep the creature calm.
“I know, pastor, I know, but it’s hard. I don’t want God to speak to me just when there’s killing to do. I want to know He’s happy that I saved Gavin.”
“Excuse me, did you say Gavin, Your Grace? Is that the name of the Chosen Son whose soul you saved?” the pastor asks.
“I did. He’s that vigilante everyone’s been talking about, if you can believe it. He’s not an old man, not really, that’s just part of his gift from God. His tattoo said Anthropology Control, or something like that.”
“Anthropomorphic Control.”
“Huh?”
“Anthropomorphic Control. It means Gavin has complete control of his body. He makes his heart beat and his hair grow.”
“How do you know all that? Gavin didn’t come to see you already did he? We aren’t supposed to meet here for another three days.” The Beast says excitedly.
“No, I met the boy at the home of one of my parishioners. Gavin is dating the man’s daughter. I’m sorry to say this, Your Grace, but I do not think the boy will accept Cabot. I argued with him over dinner, and he was about as far from a Cabotist as anyone I have ever met.”
“That was before. You’re good at talking, but Cabot wrote the words of God. Gavin read them for himself.”
“I know, Your Grace, and perhaps I am wrong, but I would be shocked. Gavin thinks he’s in love with the girl. It may just be a puppy love, but young men are notorious for thinking their crush is true love.”
The Beast stops and thinks for a moment. Pastor Newman lightly shifts his weight between one leg and the other, worried. The Beast doesn’t usually stop to ponder like this.
“That explains it,” The Beast says suddenly, “That explains why God hasn’t talked to me. I ain’t finished what I started yet. I should have known it wouldn’t be easy. My sins are too big for that. I’m going to have to do more to save Gavin’s soul. I need to show him that deep down, he knows he’s better than the humans. I need to show him that if he has to, he’d kill one just the same as me. Now where does that girlfriend of his live?”
“Is it really necessary to involve her? She and her father are devout Cabotists. They are bedrocks of our community.”
“In that case, she should be thrilled serve a Chosen Son. She’s got some atoning to do. She knows God forbids love between Chosen Sons and Forgotten Daughters. Gavin knows that too, now. I think I might know a way to save both their souls.”
“Please, Your Grace, I’m begging you. We have so few believers as young as her.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to help me? ’Cause you know God commanded you to serv
e His Chosen Sons. If you won’t help me with this, you know how else I like to be served.”
The Beast takes an intimidating step forward. The pastor has to put his hand on his desk to keep from fainting.
23
Every U.S. citizen, permanent resident, or visitor shall submit himself or herself to the Genetic Incongruity Scan. The results of the test must be shared with the individual. All individuals must submit proof of such testing when requested by government agents, and submit themselves to retesting upon the request of any government actor.
Article 2 of the Different Acts of 2005
I don’t know why, but I feel safer with the gun hidden in my waistband. The Beast could still drop down on me any time I’m walking around outside and kill me. He could probably break my neck before I could get off a shot. But maybe with the gun I have a chance. Some hope is better than no hope.
I'm going to need a plan to beat The Beast. If I just charge at him shooting, he will tear me to pieces. He can obviously survive gunshots. He wouldn't have been able to kill all those policemen in the Chicago MA if he couldn’t. At the same time, he's not invincible. My punches might not have hurt him much, but I did get him to yelp in pain. I'm gambling that he hasn't been tested with such a high caliber bullet delivered with precision to a weak spot.
I only have 97 hours until I’m supposed to meet him at the church. Luckily, I have the perfect place to spend the day lost in my head planning my strategy: work. After all the excitement, it feels nice to have nothing but ten hours of boredom in front of me. Dr. Cole and Dr. Olsen made some breakthrough over the weekend, and they don't want to share yet. They seem like they'll be ignoring me for a while. As a bonus, it made them forget that they were mad at me for missing so much work.
I close my eyes and relax into the world of my memories. They made me try to explain the experience when they had me in Section 26. I can re-experience any memory I've made since I learned to form memories consciously. I know where all my memories are stored, and when I pull up one bit, all of the related memories become easy to recall. I remember all the sights, the sounds, the smells. I can put myself back in the memory. Then I can freeze it and explore the world.
The limitation is I can only see what I experienced originally. If I try to look anywhere I didn't look when I first formed the memory, I can’t see anything. Buildings are distorted, and the ground beneath my feet has holes in it from where I wasn’t looking.
The Section 26 interviewer didn't seem satisfied with my description. I told him it is like trying to describe sight to a blind man. I don't know how to explain much of how I experience the world to normal humans. Even most Differents don't understand. Most of them still have normal human minds, only altered bodies.
I look back through my nights on patrol, back to that first night when those thugs knocked me out. When I run back through the memory, I can hear a strange sound, almost like raindrops falling. I was too distracted to notice it at the time, but now I know what it was. The Beast was running on the roofs above me. How can someone so big move so quietly?
I search through the images in my mind. I wasn't looking at the roof all that often, considering I was in a fight. At one point when I whirled around, I did catch a fleeting glimpse of a figure in the shadows, looking down on us.
There's no sign of him again until just before I got knocked out. The sound of rain drops. The Beast coming to rescue me. Would it have killed him to be a little faster and save me a head wound?
I try to remember what happened after the thug hit me. I scan for little bits and pieces, but there's nothing, like no time passed at all. My memory jumps from standing on the street to sitting on the Slug car, with Ben the train conductor asking if I am okay.
I search through the other nights I patrolled and listen to the sounds I can recall. I hear raindrops on the night I got into a fight with the Tranq dealers, when I thought the one guy big guy had run off scared. Now I know that isn’t what happened. The Beast took care of the big guy for me.
He was also around the night I saved that family and their rat from the fire. It's hard to hear the raindrop sound of his feet over the roar of the flames, but he was there. I wasn't focusing on it at the time, but I did hear some strange booms before I found those holes that led me out. Did he make a path for me?
All that my little trip down memory lane did was confirm that he moves like a ninja, and he's saved my life at least four times, if I count the other night with the cops. This information is not helping me. I did a good job if my plan was to lower my confidence level. I make myself ignore the obvious point that I got my clock cleaned by some punks, and now I'm trying to take down a creature from Greek mythology. I'm much more skilled now, I tell myself.
I should think of something more uplifting, like where I should shoot. I go on think.Net and spend some time staring at anatomical models of gorillas and other primates. I compare that with what I remember from my fight with The Beast. He's like a gorilla mixed with a Neanderthal. His skull looks thick like a primitive primate’s bones. I’m not sure that even my .44 could punch through it. I could try to hit him in the eye, but that's not exactly a huge target, even for me.
His chest is wide like a gorilla, which means his rib cage is more spread open. That should give me an easier shot at his heart. I can only make an educated guess at where that might be. Unfortunately, they don't have any anatomical models of monsters on think.Net.
One thing I know for sure about the wider rib cage is that his intestines and stomach are wide open. I don't think gut shots will kill him, but they might be enough to slow him down so I can deliver the finishing shot to his heart or eye.
I also know I’d be better off getting the drop on him. I’d like my chances much better if the fight starts off with him asleep. But then I’d have to know where his nests are and which one he’s using now. He sticks to the slums, but that just reduces my search radius to about a hundred square miles. I could search all day, every day for six months and still not find him. Looks like a showdown outside the church is my only option.
I need to get out of my head. I got so lost in reliving my past I forgot my present. It's two o'clock already and my body needs food. It doesn't seem like I will be getting any samples from the doctors today.
I stand up from my desk and walk the few steps to the kitchen, splitting my thoughts between looking for another place to shoot the creature and wondering what there is to eat for lunch. I could use something with potassium. I'm running a little low.
Inside the kitchen, I open up the cupboard and take a quick scan. I was hoping for some Soy Snacks, but it looks like somebody polished those off already. I settle for some Millet Cakes. I'll have to choke down five or six of the things to get enough potassium. I start shoving the dense cakes into my mouth. They're like eating crackers made of B-Crete and as a bonus crumbs spill out all over me. With perfect timing, Sarah the Crash Test Dummy walks into the kitchen.
"Hey, Gavin, they make this kitchen bigger or something?" Sarah asks.
I haven't seen Sarah in months. Ever since I met Becky, I stopped going to the Big Kitchen. I wonder what she's doing here. I wave hello while I swallow my mouthful of food.
"They must have done something, because I used to see you in the Big Kitchen all the time. I haven't seen you in forever, so I decided to see what other kitchen stole you away."
This is weird. I spent weeks trying different combinations of pheromones and subtle appearance changes to get Sarah to notice me. She always acted as if she barely remembered my name. Suddenly, she's been worrying about me. Something seems off. Maybe she's just nervous, but it seems like there's something else. I can never read women that well. I understand the male mind as well as anyone possibly could, but I'm just as lost on the female mind as any other man.
"You just wait. Occasionally they put out test samples if they turn out edible. Nothing beats experimental burgers," I say clumsily after spending too long trying to figure out why she is talking to
me.
"There's that awkward humor I've been missing," Sarah says and laughs. "I used to be able to count on a strangely timed joke every morning. Maybe I'll have to start coming down here, for those experimental burgers I mean."
I don't need to be Different to be able to read this. She's into me. I spent weeks throwing the kitchen sink at Sarah. Not just pheromones, I planned jokes and stories ahead of time. Weeks of trying, and I got nowhere. A few months of ignoring her, and now she’s interested. Every think.Net show is right, women really do like it when you play hard to get. It's an ego boost, but also a distraction, and not one I have time for. I can't try to piece together clues to find The Beast while I'm talking to Sarah.
"You okay, Gavin? You seem distracted. I'm used to having your full attention."
"Sorry, it's just, are you guys busy in the crash test lab? Because things are nuts over here. Corporate is riding us this month."
"Oh, yeah. We're swamped. I'm just here because I had a few minutes, and I really wanted Millet Cakes. They're out of Millet Cakes in the other kitchen."
I hand her the cake package.
"Enjoy. Got to get those calories. See you around, Dummy," I say and head out the door.
"Everybody's got to eat."
As soon as Sarah says that, I stop in my tracks. That sentence triggers memories of my dinner with Becky's father and the "pastor." When we were talking about The Beast, Mr. Newman defended him, he even said, "Everyone has the right to eat." I remember the holy man seemed uncomfortable when we were discussing the attacks. I assumed it was because having a Different act like such a monster made his religion look even stupider than it usually did. But maybe it was something more…
I should investigate. Pay Mr. Newman a visit. Now that I've realized it, I feel stupid for not thinking of this before. Of course I should ask the only Cabotist pastor in the Metro Area about the only Cabotist Different in the Metro Area. That’s even where The Beast wants to meet me in three days. I’m a freaking moron. I wonder if real detectives ever overlook the obvious.
