Carmine: Rise of the Warrior Queen

by Alan Janney

  “They hate Walter. I bring him up and it sends them into a rage.”

  “I can’t use them as a weapon, Tank. They aren’t grist for the mill.”

  “These boys ain’t grist,” he replies. “Grist has no say-so. The giants have a say-so. A loud one. And they want to tear Walter apart.”

  “Do you want to bring them into New LA? A secluded section?”

  He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t go. Guys like Thompson, they like freedom. Plus I want them a secret. The powers-that-be would swoop in for research purposes. Governments would go nuts, you know?”

  “I wouldn’t let them.”

  “I don’t know if you remember or not, but I was once strapped to the back of a flatbed truck. While cameras rolled.” His voice is dark and tugs at a distant memory I can’t place. Katie remembers and shivers. “The FBI couldn’t wait to open me up once they discovered my disease. They threw me into an electrified jail cell and starved me.”

  “I don’t remember…not really.”

  “I’m never going back. Neither is my gang of giants.”

  “Maybe I can send some tailors? With materials for custom clothes?”

  “There’s an idea. Though these fine gentlemen prefer nudity. Oh, another thing I should mention.” He grins, which looks good on him despite the burn marks. “Seeing as how they worship you, I told them you’re my girlfriend.”

  “Tank,” I growl. “That’s precisely what an inveterate rascal would do.”

  “What can I say?” He spreads his arms wide, palms up. “I’m a desperate man. And I always thought you were crazy hot. Remember how much fun we used to have?”

  I do remember. In fact, it’s one of the only things I remember. Which is why I can’t think straight.

  - Ten -

  I’m driving home, a hundred miles per hour on the vacant Ten. Trying to ignore the memories of kissing Tank in Katie’s bedroom. He was not good to Katie; that’s easy to recall. As a boyfriend he’d been distant and inconsistent, and Chase’s assertion that Tank used Katie is valid. But do people not change? Have I not changed into an entirely new creature?

  It’d be easier if he didn’t feel like home when nothing else does. If he wasn’t comfortable and familiar. If my sudden love life wasn’t wrecking the rest of it.

  “Come on, Carmine,” I scold myself. I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m not a little girl. I’m not a teenager battling hormones and security issues. “Well…actually…yes, that’s exactly what I am.”

  My eyes aren’t on the road, and the truck is veering across both lanes. There’s a loud Thump from my bumper and the entire chassis shudders. I’ve run over something.

  “Oh no…” My stomach turns to ice. Looks like a person in the rearview. Tires squeal as I fishtail to a halt. “What halfwit was in the middle of the road…”

  What halfwit wasn’t watching where she was going?

  I scramble from the cab. There’s an unmoving lump forty yards back. I’m the worst Queen ever. It’s a body, lying on the hot road. I kneel beside him. Can’t call 911, it’s non-existent. On the bright side, so are the general circuit courts. I can’t be sued.

  “Hey. Talk to me.” I lay a hand on his shoulder.

  His hand snaps out, catching my wrist in an iron grip. “Gotcha.”

  This man’s very much alive. A trap!

  Men burst over the interstate’s retaining wall. A net is tossed over us both. I’m too fast. Before it settles, I snatch the center and twirl it in a tight circle, and the mesh twists harmlessly around my wrist and forearm, like a thick glove. I kick at the man’s face, the man who’s holding my arm. I stomp, intending to crush his skull, but he dodges. Again and again, impossibly fast.

  He’s Variant. From Walter. Has to be. I smell their disease.

  Another net is tossed, much larger. This time it settles around us in a wide pool. I stomp on the man’s chest and claw his neck. Blood spurts. He groans and I’m released.

  There are four other attackers. Big powerful men.

  “Stop,” I order. They laugh. How does the Outlaw do that?

  I cut the net with my nails but the fabric shifts and gives. At best I’ve tugged a hole wide enough for my hand to go through. Someone hits me from behind and I collapse under his weight. Laying on my stomach. I hammer an elbow backwards, but he catches it. These are no ordinary men.

  “Nice try, sweetheart,” he says. “We heard you’d be feisty.”

  “Wait!” I shout, throwing all my willpower into the imperative. He does. He even recoils. Hah! I gather a fistful of net and reach back far enough to pull mesh around his neck. He makes a choking sound as I haul him forward. The situation reverses, and now I’m on top of him. I’ve got his noose in one hand and I use the other to pulverize his face. Two of his friends grab my arms and pull me off. They’re standing on top of the net and I’m under. I jerk hard on the material and the two men lose their footing. We all fall, but they’re still grasping my biceps.

  I’m lost in the sea of mesh. The net is everywhere, slowly tightening a fierce grip. The fight is silent, ugly, desperate. I head-butt a man through the net. Stars explode in my vision but he lets go. I use my free hand to attack the other assailant but net catches me. Mobility fading fast. Instead of hitting him I roll on top and and press my nails into his throat.

  There are five of us tangled and trussed. I’m the strongest and I might still win the fight except for the final man. He’s not caught in the net. He calmly approaches and sets his boot against my skull. The net has been pulled tight over my face like a mask. He presses down and I glance at him in fear. He’s holding a sledge hammer.

  “Well, well. We caught a fish.” He hefts the hammer onto his shoulder. “Know what Walter said? Go for the head, he said. Newborns are vulnerable to concussions, he said.”

  I’ve got a man in my hands, nails in his neck. He isn’t moving because he knows I’ll severe his carotid artery. But that’s not doing me a lot of good at the moment. I’m essentially frozen, caught in acres of fabric. I could break it or rip through with enough time.

  “I’d offer to let you surrender, but you know what Walter said?” he continues. “She won’t go quietly, Walter said. Don’t give the bitch an inch. So. I’ll have to use my trusty sledge.”

  “Stop,” I say again, but without much conviction. I can’t get full breaths.

  “Don’t move. I’m serious. I might miss and crush your esophagus and Walter’ll skin me. Don’t kill her, he said. He really will, you know. Skin me.”

  “How scary for you,” I pant. His weight shifts, and the sledge is hefted in both hands over his head.

  Then there is a tiger. A massive beast bounding over the interstate’s railings.

  I see a flash of teeth and fur in my peripheral vision and my assailant is suddenly gone. Men scream. The net in which we’re all caught drags several feet, jerking in short tugs, terrible noises like wet paper tearing. I am wrapped snugly, but pressure eases as the net rips. The men worry me; the tiger terrifies me.

  Not tiger. Tigers.

  There are two. One behind me working on the net (or working on something in the net) and one padding eighteen inches from my face. I pinch my eyes closed and concentrate on not trembling. Play dead, play dead. Dead people don’t tremble. Katie is a cold knot of terror sitting on my stomach.

  I block out gut-wrenching sounds but I cannot ignore the smells. A coppery scent I can’t pretend doesn’t exist. Rotten meat. Thick musk. A sweet natural odor, like overly ripe fruit.

  There’s a final sharp tug on the net. Followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged. After that, silence. The men are no more. I try counting seconds but I’m too frightened. The net is loose enough that I could escape but not quickly. Untangling will require effort and time. I’d rather not be eaten during my getaway. The tigers are still close; I smell them.

  I wait.

  I wait.

  After an eternity, the shocks on my truck groan and squeak in protest. I ris
k a peek. A massive tiger has its front paws on the truck bed, snuffling. Sufficiently intrigued, he (she? it?) hops fully aboard. He’s too big to fit so he rests forepaws and his heavy head on the roof of the cab and remains there, as if expecting a ride. The other tiger is walking towards me. She moves with powerful grace, muscles bunching and pressing in harmony. A well-built and perfectly hinged weapon. Her mouth is a cage of pearlescent fangs. She reaches my prostrate figure and collapses with a Humph of air. Thick fur and brawn settle on the net, and she leans against me. Another deep breath like a sigh, and she begins a rhythmic chuffing.

  Is she…are we…cuddling??

  That’s exactly how it appears from my angle. Our bodies are touching. She’s pinned me effectively to the interstate. I don’t dare move. Do these tigers hate only men? I’m glad Dalton isn’t here. I can no longer see my truck, but judging by the noises I’d say the male is bouncing up and down, perhaps trying to make it move. Twenty minutes later a vehicle passes on the other side of the interstate barrier but it doesn’t slow. I wouldn’t either if I saw tigers.

  The morning slowly gives way to afternoon and still I wait. Now, both tigers are laying beside me, basking in the sun. Every few minutes my phone buzzes inside the cab. Hello? Kayla? Hi Kayla. Yeah I’m here with the tigers. Waiting to be eaten. How’re you? Worst case scenario, I wait here until Night Guardians begin making rounds. No, that’s not true. Worst case scenario, the big cats get hungry before then. Best case scenario, Guardians are nearby already. Maybe I can find them…

  I close my eyes. Deliberately I reduce my heartbeat with leisurely breaths. I need to unclench. Relax. Find that point where my body almost melts. Cast myself outwards, utilizing the trick I employ from the observatory. To map the world and allow the world to notice me, possibly catch the attention of Guardians in close proximity —

  Both tigers shift uneasily. The animal before me twitches his head, like shaking off pesky flies. Behind me, the other big cat coughs and I’m washed with his warm breath. Their uneasiness is hot and alien in my mind. I experience their irritation as if its my own.

  Our bodies are linked through the shared virus. I don’t understand its mysterious connections, but I’m unwilling to explore them further at the moment. It’s not telepathy, but we experience each other. I close myself off. No reason to upset my would-be devourers. Is this what the Outlaw means? Is this how he bottles his biological output?

  And so we remain. For hours. I’m getting a sunburn and major crick in my neck.

  Around two o’clock, both animals raise their sleepy heads and gaze north with golden eyes. I hear it too. Singing. A faint melody with no tune I recognize, sung by either a man or a woman with a cold. The longer I listen the more feminine it registers, but harsh, as though issued from a damaged throat.

  Both animals slowly press themselves off the road. He yawns. She nudges my shoulders with her terrifying maw. Still I don’t move a muscle. The song turns into a whistle and both tigers begin padding away. First one, then the other jumps easily over the interstate guardrails.

  The whistling grows closer, probably from the abandoned Alexander Hamilton High School grounds north of the road. I tell myself to count to fifty and then go. When I reach twelve I frantically claw at the netting, free myself, and run like hell.

  * * *

  I’m still shaking when I get out of the shower. Kayla sits on my bed crosslegged, eyes wide. “So why didn’t they eat you?”

  “I don’t know. It makes no sense.”

  “They ate the guys in the net.”

  “Ate or mauled. I didn’t inspect the carnage. But I think the tigers…liked me.”

  “So that’s why didn’t they eat you?” she asks again.

  “Kayla. I. Don’t. Know.”

  “They just…laid there? Like they wanted to be next to you?”

  I nod. She’s set out sparkly clothes for me. I ignore them and find some black active wear instead.

  “Do you think the person whistling was the Cheerleader?”

  I say, “That’s my best guess. And I didn’t want to be stuck in a net when she showed.”

  “But why didn’t they eat you?”

  “Kayla! I don’t freaking know! It was extremely frightening and I’d like to talk about something else.”

  “They don’t eat the Cheerleader either. Have you thought about that?”

  “Yes,” I admit. “That has occurred to me. But then again, they haven’t eaten any Guardians that we know of.”

  “What were you doing out there anyway?”

  “Investigating a tiger report,” I say.

  Liar liar.

  Shut up Katie. I’m not mentioning Tank. I continue, “Heard a tiger rumor on the street. So I went.”

  Secrets secrets are no fun. Secrets secrets hurt someone.

  - Eleven -

  I wait on the Los Angeles International Airport’s tarmac near the Tom Bradley Terminal, watching a private jet on approach. Kayla is bouncing beside me. Dalton and General Brown are sweating silently in the truck. Nearby Mason and his cadre of Falcons sharpen their knives.

  Anyone claiming that our occupation of Los Angeles is a waste of resources can use the airport as evidence. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of airplanes sit unused. The concourse is herculean in size and it’s a vacant wasteland. I’d feel bad about the billions in unused assets but air travel is at a barebones minimum since the gasoline shortage. Kayla said commercial air traffic is nonexistent and even the military operates at 25%. Which means the Resistance is spending a fortune on this jet.

  “This is boring. I’m bored now.”

  Kayla scolds me, “Carmine, if you want to form your own kingdom then you must keep up healthy relationships with your allies.”

  “Why me? You’re the minister of communication. You do it.”

  “They want to form an alliance with us, and that means meeting with the Queen.”

  “Boring.”

  “Isn’t this airport lovely? Let’s bring bikinis and sunbathe here tomorrow,” she says, and Mason and the Falcons glance her way. Like everyone else, they are not-so-secretly enamored with her. I’m not sunbathing, but she’s right: it’s lovely here. The broad sweep of tarmac gives the breeze a runway and the wind in our hair is invigorating.

  “You want to sunbathe here so PuckDaddy can zero in his satellites and spy on you.”

  “No I don’t!” she squeaks.

  “Yes you do.”

  “Carmine!” She is all kinds of pink.

  “Do you send him selfies?”

  “No.” She furiously smoothes her skirt which keeps mutinying in stronger gusts. “Besides, if the online rumors are true, he can access our stored photos and even spy through the phone’s camera.”

  “Wow. That better not be accurate.”

  “The FBI’s entire cyber-ops department can’t keep up with him.” She is beaming with pride.

  “And he’s in love with you.”

  “No. He is my biggest fan. That’s what the Outlaw said.”

  “You’re a hot mess.”

  “I’m a hot mess? Maybe I should show you the photos PuckDaddy sent me last night. Of a certain Queen walking on the beach and holding hands with an outlaw.”

  Mason and the Falcons look at us again. Ohmygosh Kayla shut up. “Photoshopped. Don’t listen to rumors.” Katie Lopez is laughing somewhere in the front of my skull.

  Kayla smirks prettily. “Truce?”

  The jet touches down. Tires scream and engines roar and I pinch Kayla during the commotion. She hits me back and for the span of three seconds we’re two little girls swatting at each other. “Stop it, stop it, ow, stop it, ow, you’re a freaking Queen, stop it!”

  The jet taxis to a stop near our motorcade. We form up near the ladder as it unfolds from the hatch and the engines whine down. A security guard emerges, complete with sunglasses and earpiece and scowl. He’s followed by Isaac Anderson, figurehead of the Resistance and former FBI Special Agent in Charge. He’s a handsome
guy, like Captain America without the shield.

  Isaac Anderson salutes the General and shakes my hand. Big solid grip. “Carmine, I am General Isaac Anderson of the Resistance, and I’m honored to meet you. I visited you in the hospital. In March.”

  “Thank you, General. You visited because the Outlaw asked you?”

  “No. Because I’d grown fond of you. Of Katie Lopez.”

  We move to the table and chairs erected on the tarmac. Isaac waits for Kayla and I to sit, and then he does too. Dalton and the Falcons circle us at a distance. I say, “I hear good things about Katie. She must have been an impressive high school senior.”

  “She was. I was on a coast guard cutter, speeding to the rendezvous to retrieve you…to retrieve Katie, I mean, and escort her to a safe house, when we learned you’d been abducted. I haven’t had a chance to apologize yet. I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

  Forgiven. A thousand times over. It was never your fault, Katie remarks.

  I say, “I’m surprised at how many friends Katie had that are important figures in today’s world. You, Chase, Tank—”

  “And others you don’t know about yet. You and I and the rest all got caught up in the Outlaw’s wake. And then tossed around during his collision with the Chemist.”

  General Brown chuckles, picking invisible lint from his pants. “And now we’re all circling the Carmine tornado.”

  “I think you’ll find Chase is a more likable natural disaster than I am,” I say.

  Isaac Anderson smiles to himself. He’d been inspecting me, as if for the first time. “I doubt it. I don’t believe the Red Butcher rumors.”

  Kayla winces. The rumors about me serve a purpose, but she hates them. The gossip isn’t pretty. I killed five hundred children. I’m a vampire. I’m a werewolf. I eat people. I’m going to expand up and down the west coast. I’m going to take over the world. All brutal. And some of them true.

  He continues, addressing us all, “I appreciate you meeting with me today, I know you’re busy people. I’m here to cement our alliance. The Resistance is in a war, and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I’m here to provide you with intel, and hopefully create a bridge of cooperation. To be frank, we want you as our ally. We—”