by Alan Janney
I’m not terrified, I realize. I don’t feel his overwhelming strength like the other night. The Falcons are erect and tense, eyes locked on him, so they must be sensing something. The Variants sitting in the stands are frozen, rapt, many squatting on their haunches, straining forward. Like hunting dogs who’ve spotted prey.
Chase bounds up to the platform. My pulse races. We’re too close. But he moves to General Brown and salutes him.
Brown cracks a smile and returns it. “Good to see you, boy.”
The Outlaw replies, “Congratulations on your promotion. You’re the finest General on earth, in my opinion.”
General Brown knows him too?? I’m growing livid. All these prattling, over-bearing twits giving me advice? My blood boils.
He needs to cut his hair. And why is he limping?
Shut up Katie.
“Thank you for being here, General,” Chase says. “For keeping Los Angeles safe. I know you took a huge risk. Please thank your men for me.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll give you a tour and you can thank them yourself.”
“It’d be an honor.”
Hypocrite. General Brown is a hypocrite. I’m going to skewer him. And Dalton. I’m so mad I tremble.
The two men shake hands and Chase compliments the Governess on her management of the Kingdom. He speaks specifically about certain operations he admires and she flusters and reddens and waves off his praise.
Good heavens. I roll my eyes and huff. I think Katie does too.
Kiss him.
Katie. No. The Outlaw very pointedly does not speak to the Priest. He stops in front of Kayla, whose eyes are wide. I’m not sure she’s breathing. He produces a small red rose from his vest and presents it to her. Her hand trembles, and he says, “A gift. From PuckDaddy. He is your biggest fan.”
For a moment Kayla borders on fainting. She grabs his hand for balance, and I swear I smell rainbows. She asks, “You know him?”
“I do.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s one of my closest friends. He’s a good man, and he’s listening to this conversation through my ear piece.”
“Oh…really?”
Chase nods and grins and it’s magnificent.
Kiss him. Kiss Chase. Kiss him. Katie Lopez is thunderously invasive and I can’t concentrate.
Kayla’s voice fails her temporarily. She clears her throat and speaks into Chase’s ear, “Hi PuckDaddy.”
The Outlaw answers, “Puck says, ‘What’s up girl.’”
She laughs and brings the flower to her nose.
Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.
“Kiss me,” I say.
Everyone freezes. Holy sweet sugar, did that just come out of my mouth?? Kayla is aghast. The Governess throws up her hands, disgusted with me as usual. Even Katie feels stunned. Chase Jackson has said hello to everyone else and now finally he moves in front of me. We’re too close on this stupid tiny platform and at this intimate range the force of his power is intoxicating and fearsome. He gives off heat. Just a whiff of his scent and my muscles almost mutiny. He’s too dangerous. No one should be this impossibly strong. I want to rip his throat out for the sake of us all, but the urge is simply an animal instinct, a battle for food chain supremacy. I’ll use words instead.
He’s at least six inches taller than me and twice as wide, and rock hard. This close he’s quite intimidating. Height advantage has been lost.
If I could get my hands on Katie, I’d strangle her. I clear my throat, and say, “That was unfortunate.” He arches an eyebrow at me. “What I clearly meant to say is…Excuse me, Chase, but we have business to discuss.”
He’s examining my hair, my eyes, my mouth. “How much do you remember? Of me?”
“I have no memory of you.” It’s a partial fabrication. I need distance between us. I need space.
His face falls and he nods. “I heard. Just needed to verify.” His breath catches and he has my arm in his hand. Then he has both my arms and he’s running his thumbs down the scars on the inside of my forearms. I want to jerk my hands away but his touch is magic. The omnipresent storm behind my eyes, the headache, is suddenly gone. His hands radiate warmth, tingles washing away the joint aches. I feel better than I have in months. Katie groans like she feels the relief too. “You still have the scars. I put lotion on them for weeks. I thought they might go away.”
He’s crying. Or at least he’s trying not to cry. Put lotion on my scars? “I don’t understand.”
“I tried to keep the Chemist away from you. But you still ended up with his scars. And I’m sorry.” He releases me and steps off the platform. At the release, my body instantly misses his.
Chase.
He shakes his head and wipes his eyes and says, “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to…you know.”
Dalton and Teresa return to the stage, appearing reluctant to leave his side. I say, “That’s understandable. I know you and Katie were close.”
“I commend you on New Los Angeles. This is an impressive reclamation project. The Variants are in great danger, and the sanctuary you’ve built is incredible.”
“Thank you. We’ve worked hard to make it so.”
“But you should never have let Walter in here.”
A rebuke. I’m stung and indignant and temporarily at a loss for words.
The Priest scoffs and speaks for the first time. “He was under guard the entire time, Outlaw. My men are highly trained, and he was lucky to escape with his life.”
“Walter is a nightmare. He came on a recon mission. He walked these streets and measured your strengths and weaknesses. Have you been to his strongholds? Have you seen his forces? Now he has a tremendous advantage. You don’t let the enemy into your home.”
General Brown is silent. He’s not sticking up for me, and he shouldn’t. It was my idea to let Walter in because I handle mutant affairs. And the Outlaw is correct; it was a disastrous mistake.
The Priest mutters, “We almost had him.”
“I’ve seen the video. Your leaders are only alive because the Shooter intervened,” he replies.
I gasp. “The Shooter? That was her? On the roof?”
“I asked her to monitor because you denied me entrance.”
I’m reeling. And torn. The Shooter is legend, a woman even greater than the stories about her. She took down a squadron of helicopters with only a rifle, and she was here watching us. If I have an idol, she’s it. But we didn’t invite her. And I need to be strong.
“I’d be a fool if I was anything other than grateful to be alive. Clearly our encounter with Walter didn’t go as planned,” I say carefully. “But I’m concerned to learn that the Resistance is sending unwelcome soldiers into our Kingdom.”
He grins at something funny I don’t understand. “The Shooter doesn’t get sent anywhere. If I ask politely enough, sometimes she says yes. And sometimes she hits me.”
“You sent her? I thought you said the Resistance did.”
He shrugs. “The Shooter and I are allies of the Resistance. Sometimes our purposes intersect.”
“Is she still here?”
“No.”
“Where’d she go?”
He pauses and frowns. “Good question. Puck, where is Samantha?” He waits, clearly listening to someone speaking into his head. We have that in common.
I ask, “Well?”
“Puck says to tell Katie he likes her new hairstyle.”
Kayla snickers and I’m ready for this charade to end. He continues before I can kick him out, “Somehow I picked up a thousand followers on the way here. Do you mind if they move in?”
I’m caught off guard again. My mouth works soundlessly, so the Governess answers. “Of course. We welcome all.”
“Thank you. The reason I came here is to alert you that Walter is moving his troops. He’s been here, scouted your territory, and he’s preparing to attack.”
“We’ll be ready.”
“No. You won’t. You’ve accompl
ished the impossible, and New Los Angeles is unreal. You’ve built a peaceful paradise and I love it. Now you’re a ripe target. And even with General Brown’s considerable help, you’re not ready to face Walter’s army of Variants.”
“We refer to them as Guardians here in the Kingdom. And our Guardian army outnumbers his two to one.”
He shakes his head and gestures towards the stands. “You bring Variants here to heal. To learn to live again. Walter gathers Variants and gives them weapons. Trains them to fight. Drills them into a mighty army. Your superior numbers won’t be enough.”
“You’re suggesting we form an alliance with the Resistance. But we are independent. We’ve fought and clawed our way here, and we’ll continue to do so.”
“Then let me help. I’m capable of dealing with Walter. The Shooter and I—”
“The Kingdom is grateful for your help. As I am too, personally. But you and the Shooter have been too tainted by the disease to remain here. I’m confident we can maintain a partnership and assist one another when possible, but it must be done so at a distance.”
“Why?”
“The Guardians cannot tolerate you.”
“And you?”
“I cannot tolerate you either.”
He nods and his eyes grow distant. There’s a shift in the quality of his stillness. No one speaks. The lull lengthens and he chews on his lip, searching for answers. Finally I can bear the silence no longer.
“We thank you for the privilege of your visit. General Brown will escort you to the boundary.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a frustrated blast. “And there I will remain.”
“Explain?”
“I’ll honor your wishes. I won’t enter your Kingdom. But I’m making camp just beyond. I’ll only enter if Walter or Blue-Eyes comes in person. Thanks for meeting with me. Goodbye, Queen.”
He turns to leave without another word. The Falcons scramble to catch up and General Brown follows.
Kayla and Teresa and the Governess and Dalton are incensed with me. Their displeasure roils off in waves. So too is the fifty-five thousand gathered host of witnesses. What?? You told me to keep my distance, I want to say. But I’m not happy with me either. I’m hollow and hurt by the Outlaw’s dismissal.
Chase…
- Three -
General Brown and the Outlaw are driven to the border in a stripped-down army jeep. Brown and Chase talk for five minutes, Brown returns to the jeep, and his driver motors back towards Downtown on the Glendale Freeway.
I am waiting for them in the middle of the highway near Glendale’s Community College, a particularly abandoned stretch of road. The driver brakes to a halt, and General Brown knows better than to speak first. We glare at each other through the windshield.
“I have two questions,” I say. I’m angry beyond reason, and I don’t know how to stop. “If you lie, I’ll know.”
General Brown nods once. His driver swallows and sweats.
I ask, “Have you been communicating with the Outlaw during the past five months?”
“I have not.”
“Have you been in communication with the Resistance during the past five months?”
He opens his mouth. Stalls. Tries again. “…Carmine, I—”
I get my fingernails under the jeep’s front bumper. General Brown shoves the driver from his seat and dives to the road. I Hurl the jeep’s front axle towards the sky. The vehicle rotates upwards with a groan of metal, landing and balancing temporarily on the rear gate, perpendicular to the ground, all four wheels spinning lazily in the air.
“You’re a spy.”
“No Carmine, I am not,” he shouts back. “I am a General in a war and I communicate with my allies.”
“The Resistance is not our ally.”
“The Resistance provides us more help and support than you realize.”
“And what do they get in return?”
“So far, nothing. They help because it’s the right thing to do.” He stands and brushes himself free of dirt. The driver scoots further away from me. “We have too many enemies. Let’s not turn away our friends.”
“You send them information about me?”
“Perhaps it’s better if you read the reports yourself.”
“You send them information about me?”
“I send them updates, yes, and you’re included. But they have no input into our lives here. Read the reports. I’ll provide you the password to my account.”
“You should have told me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t demand total transparency from you in your dealings with the Guardians. I trust you. My opinion, you’re the most important person on earth. And this stretch of ground is our ark. Our best hope through the coming disaster. And I’m doing everything I can to help you, including coordinating with allies.”
“I can trust no one, Brown. No one. Not the Resistance. Perhaps not even you. I expect your password sent to my phone in the next five minutes.”
I turn and stalk down the Freeway, leaving the General and his driver wondering how to tip the jeep onto its wheels.
* * *
Dalton is waiting at the Olympic tower doors. Kayla and Teresa and the Governess are all inside, watching through the glass.
“You.” I jam my finger at the man. “You showed up in July. Did the Outlaw send you?”
Dalton doesn’t answer immediately. He glares, arms crossed over his thick chest. I wait. He lips pull to one side in displeasure. “You don’t trust me.”
“I woke up abandoned. Betrayed. I’ve earned trust issues.”
“I used to be the Outlaw’s security detail, and he asked me to keep you safe.”
“Have you been communicating with him?”
“Every week.”
“Pack your bags. I want you out of the tower. You are dismissed.”
He doesn’t budge. Inside the lobby, Kayla’s eyes are pooling and Teresa Triplett’s hands are clenched in her blond hair. Perhaps I’m being unreasonable but I don’t care. They’re spying on me. Don’t trust me. Think I’m weak.
And that’s the one thing I can’t be.
* * *
New Los Angeles has a large population of orphans. Hundreds of them, and they live in the eastern portion of Downtown, in houses surrounding the Utah Street School. This might be the cleanest part of the city and the kids take great joy in gloating to anyone who listens. They go to school, play on the soccer field and basketball courts, and work like the rest of us, tending their own gardens and chicken coops.
The children meet me as I turn off 1st Street onto Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Dozens, wearing the widest smiles I’ve seen in days. I’m coerced into dancing and hopscotch and a game of knockout. They show me their paintings of me and the Guardians. I speak to them in English and Spanish and when that fails I speak in hugs.
After thirty minutes, Miss Pauline comes to my rescue. She shoos the kids back to their chores or studies. She’s a pretty lady, maybe fifty-five with streaks of grey in her curly black hair. Miss Pauline is the former mayor of Compton, keeping much of south LA afloat during the upheaval and exodus. As her citizens fled for greener pastures, she gathered the stragglers and homeless and took care of them. Now she’s the orphanage Overseer, working with fifty of her friends to raise the kids.
“Well,” she sighs, wiping her hands on a rag. “Look who come to see me. It’s Miss Temper Tantrum herself.”
“Temper tantrum?”
“News travel fast, sweetie.”
I’m not sure why I’m here. I didn’t know where else to go. I couldn’t bear to face Kayla or the Governess, and to suffer their reproach. Miss Pauline seems to sense my distress so she takes me by the hand and walks me towards her house. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically, and soon my feet have trouble walking in the heeled booties. I’m crying quietly. Carl, Miss Pauline’s constant companion, arrives and takes my other hand. Then he’s carrying me, though I don’t remember being lifted.
Soon there’s nothing.
* * *
I don’t know how long I slept. The rays of sunlight filtering through are turning red.
Miss Pauline is at her kitchen table, looking over sheets of homework while two little girls sneak glances at me. Carl is in the back, teaching a boy how to hammer in hinges.
A whisper. “She’s awake.”
“Mmhm.”
“Miss Pauline, she awake.”
“Well then why don’t you bring her tea?”
“Yes Miss Pauline.”
A rattling cup and saucer are placed on the coffee table next to my couch.
I say, “Thank you.”
“Miss Pauline, she say thank you.”
“I heard. What do you say?”
“Thank you.”
“No, child,” Miss Pauline says. “You’re welcome.”
The little girl tells me, “You welcome.”
She returns their homework. “You two. Go play. Get.”
The two girls, wearing white clicking braids, wave and run out the front door.
I ask, “How long have I been asleep?”
“Long enough. Heard you kicked the Outlaw out. Before he can come see me.”
“Do you know him?”
“A little. He stayed with me, back…I don’t know. Long time ago, seems. Came for help. Remind me of my Anthony.”
I sit up and rub my eyes. “He can’t stay in New Los Angeles. He upsets the Guardians.”
“I expect he does. Lot of things upset you people.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I grin and sip the warm tea.
“Suppose it was February. Maybe March. He came to talk. He and the pretty white girl with guns. Forget her name.”
“The Shooter? Her name is Samantha Gear. She’s famous. I didn’t know they came to see you.”
“Didn’t stay long. But I liked him right off. Carl too, and Lord Jesus knows Carl don’t like nobody.” She smiles in memory and fans herself with a paper. “Talked about you. The Jackson boy did.”
Despite myself, I flush with pleasure. “What’d he say?”
