by Alan Janney
Her patina deepens and she can’t fight her smile. “Maybe.”
PuckDaddy is the world’s most influential internet presence. He is a mysterious and powerful hacker, a god among the cyber community, and powerful ally of the Resistance. Most men who meet Kayla want to marry her, and all the while she crushes on a man she’s never met.
“Did you stay awake all night talking with him?”
“No boy is worth talking to all night, Carmine. You taught me that.”
“Atta girl. But. Did you?”
“No!” she squeaks. “We don’t even text. He sends me messages in chat rooms and on bulletin boards. It’s like a game for him, leaving me clues.” She is smiling big and beautiful, and her pleasant scent radiates more strongly, like her pores open when she’s happy. Even stoic Dalton notices.
I say, “You need to get control of yourself.”
“I know!” She shakes her head and rubs her eyes. “I don’t know why I’m so into him.”
“When is the last time you slept?”
“Couple days ago. I’m not tired yet.” Kayla works all night, participating in hundreds of online communities, maintaining a thousand relationships. She’s our Minister of Communication but in essence she’s a spy. A constant source of knowledge.
Dalton is still watching her in the mirror, unable to resist. When Kayla is smiling and happy she is truly an astonishing sight.
What a mess we are.
“You know—” I start but suddenly I slam the breaks, tossing Kayla and Dalton forward into their restraints. The Land Cruiser leaves a trail of rubber across two lanes. I leap from the vehicle and rush to the barrier. The SUV behind nearly hits me. “There!”
Dalton rushes up, an assault rifle pinned to his shoulder. “What? Where?” Law Keepers pour from the SUV, weapons drawn.
North of the interstate is Memorial, a public park. Sitting in the middle of an overgrown baseball outfield is a tiger. An enormous animal ripping meat off freshly caught prey. My heart pounds with excitement. “Look how big. Look how royal.”
“Jesus,” Dalton says, glaring through his tactical scope. “That’s a big sucker.”
Kayla whispers, “I’ve never been this close.”
“Can you smell her?” I ask. The heady, earthy scent of the animal fills my nostrils. “She smells like…muscle and might. And freedom.”
The tiger notices us but she’s apathetic. We’re a hundred yards away, and she’s gorging herself.
Kayla’s nose wrinkles. “What is that she’s eating?”
Dalton grumbles, “Probably a large dog. Should we take her out?”
“Take her out?”
He pats the assault rifle’s barrel with his left hand. “Eliminate the threat.”
“I don’t believe you could,” I grin, nearly delirious with delight. Rumors are there’s two tigers, though I’ve never seen them together. “She’s as big as a rhino. Three times larger than normal, I think. And if you try and fail, she might be up here with us very quickly.”
A Law Keeper comments, “How the heck did it get so big?”
“She underwent the same surgery as the Guardians. Has the same modifications. The same disease,” I answer. “Same as me.”
The man whistles. “That Chemist was one freaky dude.”
Another Law Keeper clears his throat. “So, does this…does this mean the Cheerleader is nearby?”
Kayla echoes, “That’s right, maybe we should go.”
“Just a rumor,” Dalton chuckles. “Ain’t no way the Cheerleader girl hangs out with tigers.”
It’s not a rumor. Watching the beautiful animal, I know it’s not. I want to stay with her too. The tiger is like me, living how I wish I could live. Free and wild.
“She’s here,” I whisper. The crowd goes silent. “The Cheerleader. I can…feel her. She’s not far. Something in the breeze.”
“Oh damn,” Dalton grunts. “Let’s go then.”
Everyone hurries to their vehicles. Everyone but me. I watch a few moments more.
* * *
I drive to the Santa Monica Pier, parking in a lot beside the aquarium. A pod of five hundred survivalists has recently returned to Los Angeles, having decided this place is as good as any to set up camp. (The Governess estimates as many as two thousand a week are returning, and we convene with them all) I meet individually with this pod’s leader, a lean and hard man named Peter who’s lost most of his hair. He and his tribe have been through a lot of horrors and hunger in 2019, and he regards me with understandable skepticism and wariness. We chat and his defenses do not lower, but perhaps there is a spark of hope in his eyes.
I stand on the roof of the Land Cruiser and his band of survivors gather. Over their heads I see young children playing in sand and in the calm Pacific. Teenagers inspect the powerless Ferris wheel and the yellow West Roller Coaster.
I speak unnaturally loud, for shock and awe purposes. “Welcome to New Los Angeles. I am glad you’ve chosen to return. We all are. There is strength in numbers, and you are safe here. At least safer than most of the world.”
Nods of agreement. Silence.
“I am on the leadership Council in New Los Angeles. My name is Carmine. I want you to stay here a long time and be prosperous. We need you. We want to work with you.
“However, there are conditions. And our Council sets the conditions. The first truth I want to impart today is this: you are no longer in America. You are in New Los Angeles. A new kingdom. There is no federal government. There is no 911 to call. No police. No fire department. No voting booths. Here, in this savage land, in these hard times, might makes right. At least for the time being. If you want to live here, you are under the authority of our Council.”
The crowd shifts uneasily. They cast uncertain glances at one another. Peter’s jaw hardens.
“I understand if that makes you nervous. But that’s how it must be. You will have more freedom here than you’ve ever had in a civilization before, but the Council gets the final word. On all matters.
“If you refuse to cooperate…if you refuse to contribute to New Los Angeles…if you cause harm…if you assist our enemies…I will evict you, imprison you, or eliminate you.
“On the other hand. If you work with us, if you allow us to help you, if you accept the terms, we will provide safety. And shelter. And community. And resources. And protection from the outside world.
“You have a week to decide. After that, you will either exist under the laws I set, or you will leave.”
A woman in the back, probably pretty and polished many months ago, shouts at me, “But some of these are our houses! They legally belong to us!”
I respond, “Legally? In what court? Under whose jurisdiction? How will you enforce your rights?”
She is red in the face. Desperate and exhausted and indignant. “That house belongs to me!”
“That house used to belong to you. Then you fled and abandoned your home. I took it back. So now it belongs to New Los Angeles. Why? Because I am the strongest.”
It’s a terrible thing to say. It’s awful. But it’s the cold truth and we live in a cold, hard world. Tears stream down her face and the crowd is about to turn on me.
“Not very fair, is it? I know it’s not. But nothing about the past two years is fair. And I don’t blame you for being mad. Or for hating me. But I invite you to consider one fact: the people who live here are happy and safe and fed. Why? Because we protect them. I control the Variants. There is no insane rampaging here, and we keep this city intact. And in order for it to survive, in order for it to thrive, it has to infringe on your rights. For now.
“We don’t want five hundred thousand empty houses. I want you to live in your house. I want you to be happy and safe. We want the world to calm down, and we want to give the power back to you. That’s my vision. Democracy as soon as possible. But it’s going to be an uphill battle.
“I hope you choose to stay. I want there to be people in Santa Barbara again. I want us to h
ave a healthy relationship. As a gesture of goodwill, tonight we’re sending you five trucks loaded with food and supplies. You can keep the trucks and you have access to our gasoline reserves, even if you choose to leave. As soon as you decide to stay, our Engineers will begin immediate work on restoring water to this area.”
My offer of food and supplies wins the day. They clearly don’t like having less rights within the neighborhood they used to own, but it’s hard for the hungry to turn down resources and community. Plus, the Law Keepers are unloading a thousand bottles of water.
Finally, I play the ace up my sleeve. Puppies. I have a soft spot for children and puppies. Law Keepers bring out a dozen sleepy Boston Terrier pups, plus bags of dog food and leashes and water dishes. Instant success. The kids love the animals, and parents smile at the excitement. A potent infusion of youth and innocence, hope and happiness. Life will go on. We’re going to make it. I promise.
I take questions from the crowd.
“What laws does New Los Angeles have?”
I respond, “Our Kingdom has a three person triumvirate leadership council. Me, General Brown, and our Governess. Your community will appoint an Overseer to report to the Council. Your community must abide by our Council’s leadership and our Court’s decisions. You must participate in the work. You will be given a job based on your skill-set. There is no hoarding resources. There is no violence between citizens. If we all work together, we might start handing back individual freedoms next year. Until then, we’re one big village trying to survive.”
“What about the mutants? Are they dangerous?”
I respond, “We refer to them as Guardians. And yes, they’re dangerous. But they are stable and sane while I’m in charge. And they are the primary reason we’re safe.”
“What about the federal government?”
“We are not under their authority.”
“What about the Resistance?”
“We are not under their authority.”
And so on for twenty minutes.
The final question is a shocker. “What about the Inheritors? Are you the Red Butcher? Is it true you killed all those women and babies?”
I don’t answer. I refuse to talk about the Inheritors, a topic off limits around me. I stare at the crowd until they can no longer meet my eyes. Then I stare longer before finally answering, “The supply trucks will be here tonight. If you’re hungry, visit one of our cafeterias and you will be fed.
“You have one week to decide. Oh, and if you see a tiger…leave it alone.”
* * *
I meet with the Governess for an hour that evening. She’s a brilliant administrator who supervises the city’s moving parts. She’s the brains of our Kingdom. She and General Brown have decades of leadership experience, while I’m just the muscle and figurehead. I defer to them in everything except the Guardians. I tell her about the meeting with Peter and the immigrants.
She says, “Los Angeles transformed from the most dangerous place on earth to one of the safest. So why are only a few thousand returning? Because they’re afraid of the Red Butcher!” she cackles.
I dislike my nickname, but it serves a purpose. They’re terrified of me.
I finally get to eat dinner at 7:30, and afterwards I tour the southern barracks. General Brown’s troops maintain a tightly run ship and their quarters are immaculate. The Guardians, on the other hand…much less so. I’m exhausted by 10pm and I almost fall asleep riding the elevator. Ironic that people drain my energy but I seem to spend all my time with them.
Becky is asleep in my bedroom. She’s the only person allowed entrance in my absence. She’s put on weight since our encounter in the woods and she’s regrown her personality. Nightmares, however, are her continual scourge.
I stand on my balcony and watch Night Guardians leave for duty. They climb towers and jump into the distant indigo, like bright streamers to my eyes. They don’t truly glow in the dark; the radiance is simply my mind trying to process disorienting sensory input, but that’s what it looks like. Some of them pause at the tower’s apex and stare in my direction. They possess a preternatural awareness of me. My strength is a lighthouse. They sit like gargoyles, like guardian angels collecting in ranks until dozens have gathered and stare wordlessly into my apartment.
I know what the world doesn’t. The world sees only the massacres, the grisly videos, the rampaging mutants. They don’t witness this, the Variant obedience, their docile allegiance to me. Guardians absorb the personality of their pack leader. Soon after I established control, they transformed into an extension of me, throwing off the raging violence of their former master. Now the mighty creatures are defensive instead of aggressive, hell-bent on survival rather than domination.
I raise my fist in salute and they howl in the night, a sudden bright eruption, and bound towards our borders.
That is the reason I’m here. That is my purpose. That is why I lead. The Guardians, tormented and fearsome and abused, are lost souls. Runaway freight trains. They need guidance and leadership. Limits and discipline. A north star.
I provide that.
Below my feet the coal fires are being lit. Nightly the people unwind in the streets around a brazier and laugh until time for bed. Instead of retreating into solitude to stare at televisions, they assemble in small pockets and talk. Such an unusual magical world we’ve built. If not for the violence, it’d be a fairytale.
I try to read my new books but cannot. The long day is done, responsibilities are satisfied, but I cannot un-shoulder the weight. My duties and worries and nightly whispers follow me to bed.
Why are you doing this, the doubts hiss at me. Life would be easier if you left to locate your past. Why? Why do this job?
Because…
Because I have to. Because of what’s at stake. Nothing less than our future. I won’t rest on my heels and hope for governmental systems to fix things, because these people are too important.
Because I believe in right and wrong.
Because we all need a purpose, and this is mine. This gives me a home.
Because I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t.
But, the voices whisper. But…
Is this job too difficult? Too big? I don’t want to stare down Walter. I want to be normal. I want my childhood bed.
I’m nineteen, for goodness sake. Who obeys a teenager? I don’t know how to lead. Can’t they tell I’m faking it? That I’m as terrified as they are?
Will this all crash? I don’t understand why this little society hasn’t imploded yet. What will happen if we begin to starve?
And yet. I can’t shake the feeling of destiny. That our Kingdom was selected for survival. That I was plucked for this purpose. That if God exists then it’s not out of control, not going off the rails, and maybe I’m here for a reason. A comforting thought as I stare at the cosmos through my missing walls.
Like last night and the night before, I toss and turn on my bed and wrestle inner demons for an hour. My Devotee learned long ago to leave me alone. He sleeps on my floor because…well, because I get lonely. And actually I enjoy the snores. It means I’m not in total solitude.
Soon my thoughts turn to love and loneliness. I wonder where Katie’s boyfriend is now. What would he think of the new Katie? Katie the freak, otherwise known as Carmine? I can’t remember him, so it doesn’t matter. But it’d be nice to have someone. Someone intelligent with backbone who doesn’t think I’m breakable. Who doesn’t think of me as a scary queen who must be obeyed. But no such men exist in my circles.
Finally I’m drifting, warm at the precipice of sleep when Kayla bursts in with a flashlight. Her eyes are as wide as the moon and her cheeks are flushed. She doesn’t speak. Becky murmurs in her sleep.
“What?!” I demand. “Kayla, if this isn’t important then I’m going to eat your dog.”
“The Outlaw…” she gushes. “He’s on his way. The Outlaw’s coming here!”
- Four -
The Outlaw is a bo
y named Chase Jackson and he’s had the disease since birth. A mighty Infected. The illness made him so uncontrollable that in 2017 he put on a mask and began leaping around Los Angeles towers. That was the planet’s first indication that something was amiss, the first Infected to reveal himself.
I have a vague recollection of this event. It occurred before the surgery and it was a big deal, and my emotions twist when I remember.
Naturally the masked man became a worldwide sensation, but his identity was kept hidden until January of 2019, earlier this year. He’s been missing since I woke from my coma.
And now he’s coming to New Los Angeles. To wreck everything.
* * *
The next morning I travel with Nuts to the Los Angeles Aqueduct Filtration Plant in Sylmar. Life in our Kingdom wouldn’t be possible without Nuts. He is kinetic energy personified. He’s over a hundred years old but rarely sleeps, like Kayla. His mind works too fast. A diminutive giant among geniuses. He manages every major project that involves electricity and water. And, well, everything else too.
I drive and he works furiously on sketches in the passenger seat, burning through a graphing notepad. Dalton and a squad of Law Keepers trail us.
I swerve around an abandoned firetruck on the side of the interstate and I ask, “What are you working on?”
“Water turbines,” Nuts barks. “Need to improve efficiency.”
He doesn’t like to talk or reveal much information about himself. Or his past, which is frustrating because I want to know everything. And he has the answers to all my questions.
“Nuts, do you remember Caleb? The boy briefly in charge? Before I showed up.”
He grunts noncommittally.
I say, “He’s Infected, right? Why’d he run away? What made him so weak-minded?”
He pauses and looks up from his diagram with hard eyes. “Don’t matter how hot you cook aluminum. It won’t ever be steel.”
“Did the Chemist think Caleb was weak?”
