by Nat Kozinn
Maria quickly pulls ahead of me. Her uniform and commands to “clear the way” prove much more effective than my polite asks and shoving. When I finally make my way to a clear spot on the stairway landing, Maria is waiting and smiling.
“They forgot you were a celebrity,” Maria says deadpan.
“What do you mean? That was all about getting my autograph,” I say with a smile. “Looks like a fire.” I point at the entrance doorway. Up above the stream of fleeing gala-goers there is cloud of thick black floating out of the doorway along with the people.
“Maybe,” she says slowly, but I can see her mind is whirling.
Thankfully, people are sheep, especially scared people. While there is a continuous flow out the two main doors, the smaller doors to the side are all but clear. I step forward, pull the door open, and perform the after you arm gesture. Maria rolls her eyes.
The second we step through the door, we’re hit by a wall of heat. Flames flicker in the far corner of the main hall, sending plumes of smoke that fill the grand chamber. People cough and hack as they scramble to make it out of the building. Some of Maria’s fellow uniformed officers are helping herd people out the doors. I don’t see Detective Rose anywhere, that guy is useless.
There’s a group of people trapped in the corner. They’re all screaming and scrambling to move backwards, but the fire isn’t that close to them and there are big gaps in the flames, why don’t they run out?
I feel an alert in my head, a think.Net call from Victor. Why would Victor be calling me? I ignore the call and continue trying to assess the scene. It looks like there’s a man screaming at the group in the corner. Is he naked?
Victor calls again. He wouldn’t call twice for no reason.
“My partner is calling me, I’ll just be a second,” I say to Maria and take the call. I know I’m being strange and rude, but Victor calling once is odd, twice means there is a problem.
>>>I’ll be there in four minutes.<<
>>>What do you mean why? Aren’t you there?
>>>Yes, there’s a fire. Since when are you a fireman?
<<
>>>The naked guy! Okay, I think I see him.
<<
Victor ends the call.
“We’re not just dealing with a fire, the building’s Heater started it, and he’s still here,” I say and point to the naked man.
He’s pacing back and forth, moving into and out of the flames as if they mean nothing. His body must be immune to the heat. He’s screaming at the group of three dozen or so people huddled in the corner. They all push and shove to dig deeper into the corner, trying to stay as far away as they can from the ranting mad man. The Governor is in the group. Several of his aides stand between him and the lunatic.
The Heater is really worked up. There’s too much other noise to make out what he’s saying, but I can tell he’s impassioned. Maybe it’s a political thing?
He takes a 90 degree turn to the right and keeps ranting and raving. Now he’s shaking his fist and pointing, he’s getting truly riled up. Only he’s screaming at a stuffed crocodile.
“He’s bonkers,” Maria says.
“Looks like,” I say. “That changes the plan. I should try to talk him down. Maybe we can end this without anyone getting hurt. While I distract him, you get those people out of here.” I break into a speed-walk towards Stephen the Heater. I move quickly but calmly. Calm is the name of the game right now. If I’m calm, it will help the Heater be calm.
“Who put you in charge!?” Maria yells as she runs after me.
I gesture for her to be quiet. “We need to be calm. We’re going after a Different which makes this an OEC matter.”
“Fine,” she says with a swallow. I wouldn’t like it if I was her either.
Stephen is walking again, muttering gibberish to himself as he paces. His feet melt the floor as he walks, leaving smoldering footprints in the tile floor. He’s made his body so hot, it already ignited all the combustible material in his vicinity. A half-dozen cocktail-height tables have been turned into mini bonfires. I have to stop him soon, or the fires will spread and the whole building will be gone.
The strategy for dealing with a deranged person is to try to engage with them warmly and calmly. They are not thinking rationally so you have to focus on their emotional needs instead of trying to reason with them. If they feel safe, they may start to relax.
I come to a stop about fifteen feet away from Stephen. I can feel the heat pouring off him, his body is a few hundred degrees warmer than the fires that surround us. Stephen has stopped pacing and is engaged in a raucous debate with himself. I can’t really understand the argument but it has something to do with snakes crawling all over his body and who put them there.
I plaster my face with the biggest grin I can generate. When normal people pretend to smile, they activate different muscles in the face than are activated during a genuine smile. Fake smiles don’t look like real smiles and studies have shown that people can tell the difference. I can control all my muscles, my smile always looks like the real thing. Hopefully it’s the little touch that will help win the Heater over.
“Hey Stephen, how’s it going?” I ask loudly, but with a low pitched and even tone.
Stephen’s eyes dart right to me, or at least they look at me. His pupils are dilated and his eyes are unfocused. His mind is a million miles away. There are streams of drool trickling out of the sides of his mouth and he takes short panicked breaths. He has scratched his own arms to bloody shreds. He reminds me of that Speedster kid who broke my arm a few weeks back.
“It’s you!” Stephen says in a deranged voice.
“That’s right; it’s me, The Beast Slayer. I’d love to come shake your hand Stephen, but I’d wind up a little overcooked. Do you think you could turn down the heat a bit?”
“I can’t,” he says. “If I don’t burn them, they’ll eat me.”
“Okay, that makes sense. I want to help you out, what can I do?” I reply in my calming tone. There’s no point in arguing, I won’t win and it’ll upset him. But I do need to keep him talking. I put my arm behind my back and signal to Maria save the people huddled in the corner.
“Nothing can stop the snakes! Only fire can keeps them away and I can’t keep burning forever,” he says. It’s amazing how much conviction the human brain can generate when believing complete insanity.
“Maybe you can turn it down a bit, that way we can get a doctor or a snake handler in here and they can help you.” I take a sideways glance and see Maria has started leading the people out of the corner.
“They won’t stop it! They want it to happen!” Stephen screams. We’re heading in the wrong direction here.
“Hey now, you know me. I’m The Beast Slayer. I’m one of the good guys. I want to help you. You seem like a good guy yourself.”
“There aren’t any good guys!” Stephen screams and suddenly his eyes come into focus. “You’re a liar. You’re taking them.” He points at the escaping party-goers.
“We have to get those people out of here. We don’t want the snakes to get them do we?” I say. This situation is coming off the rails. I take a deep breath and flood my blood with oxygen. I have a feeling it’s about to get too hot to breathe.
“You! You did this!” the Heater points at me and screams.
He clenches his jaw so hard it looks like he’s trying to grind his teeth to dust. Then his whole body turns a deep shade of red and starts to violently shake. The heat hits me like someone turned on the broiler. Pho-Plastic lamp shades that had been smoldering before burst into flames. Stephen slowly stalks towards me, his body pouring out heat like the sun.
It’s time for a P
lan B. Step one: Keep him from burning myself or anyone else alive for three minutes. Step two: Hope Victor shows up with a Step three. I turn and break into a jog making sure to lead Stephen away from the still fleeing gala-attendees.
While I run, I filter the water out of my bloodstream and direct it to my bladder. With no water, my skin quickly dries out, which should help me keep cooler and alive an extra half-second if Stephen gets too close. It isn’t ideal considering my body is already overheated and I need sweat to cool myself, but that’s a longer term problem. Stephen’s body must have a way of coping with the heat. His blood should be boiling and he’s burning any oxygen around him before he can breathe it. I wonder what’s different about the cells in his body.
Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. Stephen is hot on my heels, in every sense. As Stephen runs, a trail of flames follows in his wake. He glides past a display of stuffed lions taking down a stuffed gazelle and the whole stuffed Serengeti scene erupts in flames. It looks like a demon from Hell is after me.
I turn back from watching Stephen just in time to catch a glimpse of a tiny step leading up into the next section of the museum. Even with time slowed, I can’t stop my foot from catching on the edge of the step, which sends me splaying forward onto the floor.
I land with a thud and roll over to see Stephen closing in on me, I can already feel myself start to burn. I always hated those tiny little unnecessary single steps you only see in places like museums. I would constantly trip on them when I was a kid. In fact, I remember tripping and falling in this very museum when I was here on that class trip, everyone laughed at me. Is this my past flashing before my eyes?
I am about to die, Stephen doesn’t have to do anything but keep walking towards me. I try to scramble to my feet, but my muscles fail from lack of water and oxygen. I end up tripping again and cutting my chin open on the tile floor.
There’s a loud boom and a flash from behind Stephen, then another. Stephen stops in his tracks and turns around. Maria fires another shot from her sidearm. I watch her squeeze the trigger, but the bullet never makes it to Stephen. His body is so hot, the metal ignites and melts before it can reach his flesh.
The gunshots were enough to draw Stephen’s attention and he stalks off after Maria, spreading more flames as he goes. Plan B is looking like more of a failure and it wasn’t much of a plan in the first place. Victor will be here in 2 minutes and 30 seconds, but by then Stephen will have started a fire that’s too big to put out. The main hall of the museum looks clear, but there are countless other rooms where people may have run, not to mention maintenance workers and other staff. If this building goes up, people will die. I need to get Stephen out of the building and into the open.
“Lead him to the front!” I yell to Maria, who nods and fires another useless shot to make sure Stephen stays after her.
While he is distracted, I run around him and towards one of the 50 foot long tapestries hanging from the ceiling at the far end of the main hall. Thankfully, the flames have not spread here yet. I take a running start, leap, and grab onto the heavy felt fabric, using my body weight to pull it down from the rafters.
I drag the tapestry over to the nearby fountain and dunk it. The heavy fabric drinks up the water like a sponge. The tapestry is so water-logged it feels like it weighs a ton. I strain my right shoulder’s rotator cuff pulling the fabric out of the water.
I bunch up the fabric in my hands, and hold it out in front of me like a towel I’m going to use to get a child out of the bathtub.
“Watch out!” I warn Maria as I take a running start towards Stephen.
Stephen turns around right as I leap into the air, tackling him, while simultaneously wrapping the water soaked tapestry around him. As soon as the fabric hits his skin, scalding hot steam shoots out in all directions. I ignore the painful, yet relatively minor burns. I was going to have to regrow my top layer of skin anyway. I quickly wrap as much fabric as I can around Stephen and then pick him up in a bear hug.
Corralling him takes a herculean effort. Stephen isn’t a large man, he weighs about 150 pounds, but it’s 150 pounds that is punching and kicking as hard as it can from behind the soaked tapestry. Add another 100 or so pounds from the tapestry and I’m carrying 250 pounds of scalding, ungainly weight. To make it worse, my muscles are already weakened from a general lack of water and oxygen in my system. It’s an absolute miracle that I manage to tackle Stephen through one of the glass doors at the entrance to the museum.
Razor sharp shards of glass rip open cuts in my already singed flesh, but that’s merely the start of my injuries. Our momentum carries Stephen and I through the door and out onto the stairs. My tackle turns into a rag-doll like tumble as I bounce and slide down the stone steps.
My descent takes an eternity as each moment causes a new injury. I sprain my left shoulder in the first bounce, roll onto my front and crack two ribs. I do another end-over-end spin and land on my back, which miraculously only causes severe soft tissue injuries. I try to plant my left foot and stop myself, but my leg catches under me. I hear the bone snap, right as my nerves send me pain signals that let me know my tibia cracked. There are four more bruising and battering bounces before I finally come to a merciful stop at the base of the stairs.
A purple fabric bundle lands five feet to the right of me. Steam is still shooting out from the sides, but I’m hoping the fall took Stephen out and he’s just going to take a while to cool down. The steam comes to an abrupt stop and within a few milliseconds the tapestry straight jacket erupts in flames that instantly spread to the red carpet that recently welcomed us all. Stephen rises up from the flames like a phoenix that’s suffered a head injury. He pushes himself up to his knees, slowly.
I scream “Run!” to the crowd of gala attendees around us, but that was a waste of breath, the tuxedos and sequin dresses are already fleeing in terror for the second time in a few minutes.
I push myself up onto my feet, keeping 95% of my weight on my right leg. Stephen finishes just a second behind me in the race to stand up. He’s close enough to me that he’s cooking me where I stand.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do that. Cool yourself down and we can figure out how to help you,” I say.
Stephen doesn’t even look at me; he mutters to himself and scrapes at his arms. I turn to limp away before I’m cooked in my shoes. Stephen notices me moving.
“You have to help me get them off!” Stephen says then he starts to stumble after me.
We’re quite the pair running through the street. He’s battered and deranged and I’m burnt and crippled. Partygoers flee in front of us like we’re parting the red sea. I don’t have an endgame here.
Right then, step two of plan B ends up coming through with a flourish.
“Bring him over here!” Victor yells. He’s standing in front of a fire hydrant a couple hundred yards up the street. Thank God they have lots of fire hydrants in the fancy Metro Center.
I limp over as fast as I can with Stephen following close behind me. Right before I get Stephen into position, I trip over a crack in the asphalt and collapse to the ground. I try to push myself up, but the muscles in my right thigh cramp up. I flood extra blood to the area, but I’m out of time.
Stephen is nearly on top of me. He’s got his hands out in front of himself, pleading desperately for my help. I won’t be able to help him because he’s about to burn me alive. Do I want time to move slowly or quickly while I die?
I hear a hiss of water spray. It’s Victor opening the hydrant, if only I could have gotten Stephen thirty feet further. Instead, this is how I die.
But I don’t. A human blur saves me. I have to slow down my perception of time to see him move. In less than a second, Victor leaps behind Stephen and shoves the Heater in the back. He pushes hard enough to send the deranged man flying thirty feet through the air and into the water streaming out of the hydrant.
As soon as Stephen hits the water, the entire area becomes one giant steam room. The
steam is hot enough to scald, but compared to the temperatures I had been experiencing, it feels like a cool breeze. The steam is obscuring my vision. I can hear though, and what I hear is Victor screaming in agony. I can only imagine the burns he suffered from touching Stephen without protection.
As the steam starts to clear, a figure emerges. Stephen somehow managed to stand back up. Getting thrown thirty feet through the air took its toll though, and he’s struggling to stand. I have to make my move now, before he heats back up.
I focus and raise myself to my feet. I lower my shoulder and pick up as much speed as I can, moving in a one legged hop. Stephen sees me coming.
“Why won’t they leave me alone?” he asks.
I answer him with a perfectly delivered right uppercut that lands square on his chin. His neck snaps back, and he falls to the ground, out cold.
“The Beast Slayer did it!” someone yells from behind us. I turn around and see a crowd of fabulously dressed onlookers cheering and clapping. The Governor is among them. I’m going to be on the news tonight.
6
Though William unanimously won Rookie of the Year, he did not seem overly enthusiastic to receive the award. When reached for comment, he had this to say, “While I appreciate the honor and the esteem of the voters, I would not say I was happy with being selected as Rookie of the Year. The goal of every basketball season is to win the championship. Our team failed to do that this year. I do not play for awards or individual achievement. I play to win. Nothing else matters.”
William “Billy the Kid” Jefferson Wins rookie of the year, by Roger Burns Minneapolis StarTribune
July 6th
Sit-ups: 639
Pushups: 867
Pull-ups: 191
Running: 11.21 miles, 61.7 minutes total, 5:26 average mile time
Diet: 2,445 Calories, 180 grams protein, 290 gram carbohydrates, 65 grams fat
