by James Somers
Taser bolts punched through Trenton’s leather coat, instantly sending current through his body. He stumbled and fell, skidding across the newly waxed floor under his own momentum. The female officer, holding the Taser gun, approached as Trenton tried to get up. She lit him up again with another burst of electricity. Trenton growled at her, raising his weapon despite the officer maintaining the voltage.
More police officers shot him with Tasers, doubling, tripling, and quadrupling the voltage delivered. Trenton buckled under the electrical load and spasmed upon the floor. The submachine gun fell out of his hand, and one of the officers kicked it away. Joseph turned to watch, after entering one of the department stores.
“Jay, keep going,” Joseph instructed. “Hide in the sporting goods department and find a weapon if you can.”
Jay resisted. “What about you and Jonathan?”
Joseph spotted Jonathan topping the escalator with Detective Stamos and smiled. “I see him. He’s all right. You’re the one we have to keep away from Trenton. Now go! He might still escape the police.”
Reluctantly, Jay turned and sprinted through the forest of clothing racks and disappeared. Joseph watched the officers close in on Trenton. After what they had all seen, they weren’t about to stop pumping him full of voltage. Joseph instinctively kept his weapon ready, although he wasn’t sure what good it would do him at this point.
Detective Stamos called out to the officers. “Don’t get near him, he’s still dangerous!”
As if on cue, Trenton exploded off the floor, sweeping his arms out, sending Taser wielding officers in every direction. He ripped the wire leads from his body and picked up one of the Taser guns. Trenton fired it at Detective Stamos, when he and Jonathan got within range.
Michael tried to get off a shot, but the Taser leads connected first. The shock sent him tumbling to the floor. Jonathan leaped toward Trenton, hammering him with a flying kick. Trenton slammed into a heavy, urn shaped trashcan. Jonathan didn’t even give him a chance to recover.
He jumped after him, but met Trenton’s Gortex boot with his chest. Jonathan fell backwards, then rolled up to his feet again. Trenton got to his feet, and they squared off in the middle of a group of wounded officers. Joseph put a bead on Trenton again, but Jonathan was still too close. Even with his expert marksmanship, Joseph wouldn’t take any chance of hurting Jonathan. More officers moved into position, but Detective Stamos instructed them to hold their fire while Jonathan stood in the fray.
•••
“You shouldn’t have done this, Jonathan. I’ll make you regret it,” Trenton said.
Jonathan shifted his stance and waited. “While you were in the lab, I was learning how to fight. Take a look around you. If anyone is outmatched here, it’s you.”
“Whatever happened to that turn the other cheek stuff, cousin?” Trenton taunted.
“You’re a murderer, Trenton,” Jonathan said. “I’m not going to let you hurt anyone else, if I can help it.”
Trenton looked around at the police officers surrounding them, then to Jonathan, and smiled. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” He tapped his temple with a bloody index finger. “We may both have brawn, cousin, but I’ve still got brains over you.”
Trenton produced what appeared to be a cell phone, then pressed a button on it.
An explosion ripped through the food court behind them. Glass storefronts shattered everywhere as the concussion wave threw people to the floor. Jonathan hit the ground instinctively, then looked up, searching for Trenton. He was gone.
Jonathan got to his feet, searching amid a cloud of gray smoke rapidly filling the area around them. He remembered Joseph and Jay, then ran toward the department store up ahead. When Jonathan got within the entrance, he found Joseph lying among a group of shattered glass, display cases. He knelt next to this friend. Joseph was unconscious, battered, and wheezing.
Jonathan had never expected to see Joseph in this condition. His balled fingers appeared broken—perhaps he’d gotten a few punches in after all. Within seconds, Trenton had nearly killed a man trained in some of the most lethal techniques used by any military.
Jonathan searched around for Jay, then he heard the police firing on someone. He saw Trenton burst through an emergency, exit door like a deranged elephant and disappear. He did not have Jay with him. Jonathan sighed, returning to his inspection of Joseph.
Jonathan emerged from the smoke, carrying Joseph in his arms—something he had never had the strength to do before. Jonathan spotted Detective Stamos and walked toward him. When Michael saw Jonathan, he holstered his sidearm and ran to help, instructing one of the other officers to get paramedics inside at once.
“Jonathan, let’s lay him down. I already have paramedics on the way,” Michael said.
Jonathan laid Joseph down gently. Detective Stamos bundled his own jacket and slipped it under Joseph, cradling his head and neck.
“Trenton did this to him before he escaped,” Jonathan said.
Detective Stamos nodded gravely as he inspected Joseph’s wounds.
“Will he live?” Jonathan asked.
Michael looked up and placed his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “We’ll do everything we can for him.”
18 UNDER LOCK & KEY
Jonathan sat on the edge of the hospital bed in an isolation room at Memorial Hospital in Branton. Doctors had already put him through a battery of tests. After being stuck numerous times for blood samples, Jonathan watched with fascination as the holes all disappeared within a few seconds time. Amazing.
Detective Stamos knocked on the door and then peeked in. “Are you decent?”
Jonathan tugged on his print hospital gown with a smirk. “As much as I can be.”
“Yeah, I hate those things. How are they treating you? Lousy food, I’d expect.”
Jonathan flexed his arm where the needle sticks had been. He felt stronger than he ever had. “I ate the food anyway, but you’re right—lousy. The mutagen has not only made me stronger and able to heal really fast; it’s made me hungry all the time too.”
Michael sat down in a chair and scratched at his five o’clock shadow. “I talked to the doctor about some of the test results they’re getting back. It seems your metabolism is running wild. Your heart rate is up, blood pressure is high, and of course your appetite is trying to compensate for all of the energy you’re burning. They want to do some strength tests on you later in the employee gym, after hours.”
“I want to see Joseph and Jay.”
“Joseph is still in surgery, but doing fine,” Michael said. “He had a punctured lung and a cracked sternum, among other things. Jay is in protective custody down at the station.”
“Which one?”
Michael sighed. “I’d rather not say, for the time being.”
“But Trenton is out there. He’ll try to get to him.”
“Not if he doesn’t know where he is, which is why I’d rather not say for now,” Michael insisted. “Just trust me. I don’t want that psycho to get the kid anymore than you do. We really need you to do these tests for us. Unless we understand what that mutagen has done to the two of you, we stand little chance of catching Trenton.”
“You mean, killing him, don’t you?”
Michael looked him in the eyes. “If that’s what it takes, Jonathan. We didn’t start this, but we had better finish it, or this guy is going to kill a lot more people.”
Jonathan lay back onto the bed. “I never would have imagined his research could cause all of this. You know Trenton actually believes he has jumpstarted human evolution.”
“Really? What do you think?”
“I don’t believe in evolution, Detective. I believe the Bible—that man was created upon the earth in the image of Almighty God. No. Whatever this mutagen is, it’s not something to make man better.”
A man pushed open the door to the isolation room. “I would heartily agree, Mr. Hallowed.”
Michael stood up. “Jonathan, this is Dr. R
ico Vasquez. He’s the one responsible for all of these tests they’re running on you.”
Dr. Vasquez walked over to the bed, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Hallowed.”
“Jonathan, please,” he said, sitting up on the bed again.
“Of course, Jonathan. I’m sorry that we’ve been putting you through all these tests, but we need to understand what’s happened to you. Detective Stamos tells me it’s quite urgent we find a way to stop Dr. Hallowed. Incidentally, I’ve followed some of his research over the past year—very radical, to say the least.”
Michael inserted himself into the conversation. “So you’re saying it’s not this evolution thing?”
“On the contrary, Detective. I quite agree with Jonathan—man was created by God. This mutagen Dr. Hallowed has created is something far more deadly than some miracle strength drug. It somehow bypasses the regulatory functions at the cellular level, sending the body into overdrive—strength, agility, healing—it’s turned them both into supermen, of sorts. However the effect is short lived.”
Michael looked curious now. “What do you mean?”
“We read one of Trenton’s files labeled, Full Burn,” Jonathan said. “It talked about the same sort of thing—that years would be taken off our lives by using these powers, unless the formula was altered to compensate for it.”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Dr. Vasquez said. “At the metabolic rate your body is being forced to function, it could kill you within a year.”
Jonathan sat there stunned—Dr. Vasquez’s last phrase ringing over again in his mind. Only one year to live! Lord Jesus, why is this happening to me. What have I done to deserve this? Please help me.
Dr. Vasquez and Michael both stood there looking as though they had already purchased flowers for his funeral. “Trenton said something about being able to counter that effect. Is that possible, Doctor?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m afraid genetics is not my specialty. I only know your body can’t run at this level indefinitely. As jacked up as you are, your organs will begin to self destruct. The harder you push yourself, the faster it will come. In the meantime though, I’d like to have you do a strength test for us. We won’t push you hard, Jonathan. I promise.”
Somehow, Dr. Vasquez’s promise wasn’t very reassuring right now, but Jonathan still felt led to cooperate. “All right, but then I want to see Joseph.”
Dr. Vasquez smiled and waved him toward the door. “Okay, but not until he’s in recovery.”
•••
Trenton pressed the channel up button on the television remote as he sat upon one of the double beds in room #32 at the Starlight Motel on the outskirts of Branton, bordering Donalee. There had been a single occupant staying in it when Trenton arrived. The man had cracked the door on the chain lock. Trenton simply pushed. The chain snapped and the door cracked the man in the side of the head with enough force to render him unconscious.
Trenton had taken the man’s keys and promptly loaded him into the trunk for safe keeping, while he used his room. The whole affair reminded him of gangster movies he’d seen. He smiled. In the back of his mind, he was toying with whether, or not, he should leave the man there. He probably would.
In the meantime, more pressing business demanded his attention. Trenton watched the previously recorded news footage—wounded people being evacuated from the Branton Mall, earlier in the day. Also, they were displaying a very poor picture of him from a scientific symposium he had attended two years ago. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Much better now.
In addition to the mall footage, he watched video clips of the Genetic Corp building, still closely guarded by even more police officers than had been there the night before.
“They have a whole army of police officers at their disposal. It’s not fair,” he said.
You should have an army of your own—you are a god after all.
“That’s true. Why should I have to do all the work alone? My research will benefit all mankind—I’m doing it for them. They should help me retrieve what I need, but where can I find people who are willing?”
Where better than the streets and those whom the police persecute on a daily basis?
A news article appeared on the television—a case against the notorious crime lord, Ming. The police had failed, again, to produce any evidence with enough substance to convict him.
Trenton smiled. “Yes, but where to find him.
Have those who work for him arrange a meeting of the minds between you.
“Yes, but I don’t know who works for him, or how to find them.”
They all work for him. To find a criminal, one need only to go where criminals breed.
•••
At the very least, Jonathan was glad for a set of clothes to replace his exhibitionist hospital gown—a tank top shirt, sweat pants, and tennis shoes. He sat down on the Nautilus bench press seat and waited.
Dr. Vasquez walked around the machine. “I’m going to set this for 300 pounds to start,” Dr. Vasquez said. “That’s still an impressive weight, especially for a man your size.
He slid the pin under the plate marked 300. Detective Stamos watched, leaning upon the door frame.
“All right, Jonathan, let’s see you do a rep with this,” Dr. Vasquez said.
Jonathan grabbed the bar and slid it away from his chest on the track. It moved easily and he did the rep with little effort. He set the weight back into place and looked at Dr. Vasquez. He seemed unfazed, but the expression on Detective Stamos’ face was astonishment.
“Very good, Jonathan. Now, let’s try something a little bit heavier,” Vasquez said. He reached around the machine and moved the pin to another weight setting. “Now, try this.”
Jonathan grabbed the bar again. “How much weight is this?”
“I’ll tell you after you lift it.”
Jonathan shrugged, then pushed the bar away from his chest. It did take some effort this time. The weight was noticeably more, but it wasn’t killing him to do it. The stack of plates went up, and then back down smoothly. Jonathan felt the whole machine shudder as the stack returned to position with a clack.
Now when Jonathan looked around at everyone’s expression, they were all astonished. Jonathan squirmed around on the bench, so he could clearly see where the pin was set. It had been placed under the entire extended stack of plates—a total of one thousand pounds.
“I can’t believe it,” Michael said, from the doorway.
Jonathan could hardly believe it himself, but he knew for certain he could have lifted more.
19 FRIEND OR FOE
By the following afternoon, Trenton had abandoned the car he had taken from the gentleman at the motel in Branton. He didn’t feel bad about the theft since he had been kind enough to leave the man with his car—though still locked in the trunk.
Now, he strolled down Queen Avenue in the heart of Donalee. Trenton walked briskly down the cracked, uneven sidewalk. Trash blew by him, carried on a steady malodorous breeze. He stepped over the homeless along his route. Once or twice, he even stepped on them, smiling. He was looking for something specific—a point of contact with Ming.
The streets were crowded today. Children played in the streets, riding skateboards and bicycles. Some were already preparing for life in Donalee by committing vandalism. “This is repulsive,” he said to himself.
This is my kind of town—the lower elements thrive here. This is where an army can be built—an army of gods under our control.
“This is no army—these are not gods,” he said to himself.
They will be, once we get the mutagen formula—they’ll be an army of slaves at my command.
“What about me?”
You’re already mine, Trenton. You belong to Nemesis.
Trenton stopped in the middle of the street, arguing with himself. People walked by, wondering at the man.
“I’m Trenton Hallowed—my own person.”
I am y
ou and you are me—we are one—we are Nemesis—we are a god now.
Trenton smiled. “Yes, a god. I did it. My research made this possible.”
We did it—you are nothing without me.
Trenton began walking again. “We did it. I’m Nemesis. I’m a living god.”
Yes. Now we gather our army.
Trenton spotted, among the dirty streets and downtrodden, exactly what he had been looking for. A young oriental man, dressed in black, in a parking lot. He was sitting inside of a black BMW, with several other similar cars parked nearby. Several men were positioned around him wearing sunglasses. They were all armed, but none of them were trying to hide it. Perfect.
Trenton walked right into the parking lot where they were. The men went on alert—guns at the ready. After all, either he was coming to score some drugs, or he was trouble.
A nervous young man passed a full money clip into the window of the BMW, then received a plastic baggy. When he saw Trenton, he almost tripped, trying to get out of his way. Trenton spotted the contents of the baggy and recognized it as the latest drug of choice—Joy.
He let the boy pass and approached the car instead. A sawed-off, double barreled shotgun peeked over the driver’s window. Trenton heard several of the men slide and release the firing bolts on their submachine guns. They meant business.
“Aren’t you that dude they’ve been showing on the news?” the young oriental man asked.
“I’m looking for your boss—Ming—I want a meeting with him, now.”
The drug dealer laughed along with his cronies. “You must be as crazy as they’re saying, man. Nobody meets with him, especially not some psycho like you!”
