by Alan Janney
My prison sucks. I knew I should have thrown the Priest into the ocean when I had the chance.
Unless I’m mistaken, this is the same prison in which Tank had been incarcerated by the government about a year ago, back when he was a notoriously violent high school senior. I’m in a large nondescript cinderblock room, at the center of which is my metal cage. All four sides and the ceiling of the cage are metal bars, and if I listen carefully I hear electricity coursing through them. It’s big enough for me to walk around inside. Nine paces, from one side to the other. The nondescript room has but one window and the Pacific Ocean is audible beyond, further confirming my suspicion I’m at the Federal Correction Institute, near the abandoned navy base.
The afternoon is wearing and Katie still hasn’t come to visit. Perhaps I shouldn’t have sent her away so hastily last night. Prison is a lot less fun without a hot Latina to hold hands with.
For the thousandth time I muse on the new and transformed Katie. Or Carmine, as she calls herself. Katie Lopez had been my closest friend since elementary school, and then the great love of my short life starting Junior year. But the Chemist altered her dramatically. Katie was sweet, slow to anger, fun, gracious, and soft spoken. All that’s gone now. Carmine is fire and determination. Sugar and spice replaced by steel and sweat. The underlying goodness is still present, and so is the relentless work ethic, and the brilliance and the loyalty. The strong belief in right and wrong. Katie was in line to be our valedictorian. Her superlative has shifted from ‘Nicest’ and ‘Most Intelligent’ to ‘Most Likely to Take Over the World But For Reasons That Are Ultimately For the Greater Good We Hope.’ Thankfully, she’s still in love with me. Probably. At least I’m fairly certain she is, on some level.
I loved her then. I love her now. And I always will. Come what may.
I wish she’d visit. I only let them imprison me so she’d feel guilty. I finished my book hours ago, and cellphone reception is spotty. Which won’t matter long, because I’m almost about of batteries. If Katie isn’t here by tomorrow afternoon, I’m leaving. The cell’s electricity won’t be lethal; I doubt LA has enough juice to spare. I’ll surprise her in her tower again. That was fun.
My guard was given strict orders not to speak with me. He sits on a stool near the door, playing a game on his phone. He’s about twenty-five and terrified of me. I call him Steve, because he won’t reveal his name.
“Steve! When’s dinner? I’m hungry,” I call from my cot. He freezes, like he always does when I shout at him, but he won’t answer. Nor even look at me. A Law Keeper should have brought us both a tray of food by now. “Steve. Steve. Steve. Steeeeeeeeeve.”
Nothing. Stupid Steve.
Meh. I might not wait until tomorrow. This is boring. I’m bored now. She has two more hours, then I’m going to find her. The novelty of prison has worn off.
After ten minutes of additional tedium, Steve and I are both aroused by a curious noise. A strange scraping, from the hallway. My sentry and I exchange glances. I shrug, like I dunno. Steve stands and moves to the door, right hand going to his pistol. He halts and stares at something beyond my field of vision. Frozen in place.
“Steve? What’s up, buddy? What’s out there? Steve?”
I’m mildly alarmed. The scraping noise draws closer and still he doesn’t move. What on earth? Perhaps it’s time I create an egress from this cage. It’ll hurt, but only for a…
The most beautiful woman in the world walks into the room. Steve is struck dumb, so wholly enamored that his mouth won’t close. She is breathtakingly attractive, a corporeal combination of promise and pain, sin and sex, wrapped inside a tight body and a tighter shirt. Her hair is blond honey, her smile beguiles and bewitches, and her eyes are a shock of rich blue.
This is bad.
Super bad.
Making no sudden movements, my thumbs fly over the phone’s screen.
Puck I’m in trouble blue-eyes is here and I —
“Stop texting, please, my love,” she says, and my hands obey. No! I try to finish but can’t. Fingers won’t budge. The text is unfinished and unsent.
The woman’s name is Mary. The world knows her as Blue-Eyes, or the Blue-Eyed Witch. Possibly earth’s most destructive villain at the moment. She sits primly on the stool, her back arched, and smiles at me.
She is Infected, blessed and cursed with dumbfounding beauty, but worse (far worse) is that she produces pheromones. Steve’s life is over, and mine will be as soon as I smell her and listen to her voice. Like she’s done with the President of the United States, she will rampage over my willpower.
I’m up in a flash, reduced to one option; bust the door open and kill her before she hijacks my higher brain functions. Before I bolt, however, another man enters the room, and I recognize him as a Herder. Or is he? That’s an unusual device on his back.
He fires what is essentially a water cannon. A blast of water passes through the bars and hits me, creating an instant connection between my body and the electricity. My earlier assumption was correct; it’s not fatal, but it hurts. Approximately fifty thousand volts slam into my nervous system. Electro-muscular disruption is one of an Infected’s only weaknesses, and I collapse into a twitchy fetal position.
A second man enters, pulling my metal bat behind him. He can’t lift it, so both his hands are wrapped around the handle and the far end scrapes and sparks along the floor. Sentry Steve looks curiously at me spasming on the floor, and then glances at my bat. Finally, he sits crisscross at the feet of Blue-Eyes.
Where is Carmine?? How did Blue-Eyes get this far into her territory? I need something to throw at her. Maybe my phone? It wouldn’t render her unconscious though, and I may still be able to use it, assuming it wasn’t fried. I’m recovering quickly from the shock but the Herder stands ready to deliver a second load.
I take a deep breath, hold it, and stick shaky fingers into my ear canals. This is a pose often struck by four-year-old brats, but I don’t care; it might extend my life an extra four minutes. If I breath her in, I’m toast. She shakes her head, a playful twist on her lips. Oooh, you silly boy, she says.
This is a nightmare. Electricity and Blue-Eyes, my worst-case scenario.
Withdraw your fingers from your ears, please, she says. I read her lips and shake my head. This is ludicrous. I bet Time Magazine wouldn’t have named me Person of the Year if they’d seen this.
Place the Outlaw’s totem in the corner, she says. The man drags my bat to the corner and drops it with a loud clang. Thank you. You may go.
He leaves.
Withdraw your fingers or I’ll be forced to administer another dose of electricity, she says.
I stick my tongue out. No way, crazy lady.
Very well. Go to the ocean, she tells Steve, and drown yourself, please.
“No! Steve! Don’t do it!” I shout, and I am instantly shocked with another round of water and energy. The Herder, an expert with electricity, only releases short blasts so he isn’t connected to the power himself.
Steve nods, stands, gives her a final inspection, and leaves. Steve! Stop! He has no chance, so fully ensnared is his mind. The Herder receives a nod from Blue-Eyes and he follows Steve out.
Now she and I are alone. Me, a rat in a cage, and her, the hungry Cheshire cat beyond. She tilts her head to one side, patiently observant. I can hold my breath a long time, maybe three minutes because of the weird virus, but in the end it won’t matter.
Can you hear me, she asks.
I nod.
Please release your ears and take a breath.
I shake my head, No.
You are being volitionally stubborn, Chase Jackson, she says. Her voice is only a murmur, but the distant syllables help me codify her lips into words. Even muffled, she sounds sensuous and appealing. I could execute you now, she says. I named myself Secretary of State, did you know? Then she laughs and rolls her eyes, an indication of how seriously she takes the title. Oh dear, she sighs. What fools these mortals be. Why, oh why
dear Outlaw, are you so afraid of me? You will enjoy my touch. And my voice. I promise. Are you afraid you’ll grow uncontrollably prurient?
I don’t know what prurient means, so I shrug.
She smiles, shy and seductive in one blush. I won’t mind, she says. We can use your cot.
No. No no no no no, I tell myself.
It will be our sordid little secret, she says. Reading her lips has a hypnotic effect, but my eyes won’t close. She continues, I’ve always wanted you, Outlaw, as I presume you’re aware.
No no no no no no no. Don’t listen to her. My lungs begin to ache.
We’ve never properly met, she says. I am Mary, the de facto Ruler of the Free World, and you are my new shiny toy. And I am yours, my love.
I wrench my eyes closed. I refuse to watch her sensuous mouth any longer. I can’t. I won’t. She won’t dare get into the cage with me, not until I’m under her spell. So I’ll sit here like a stone.
Another two minutes, and my lungs scream and I’m light-headed.
Katie! Puck! Samantha! Somebody! Anybody!
Her voice drones on, even as I near unconsciousness. I will hold my breath until I pass out, but after that I’m depleted of defenses. Survival instincts will engage, and my body will gulp oxygen before I wake. I will breath her, will listen to her, will taste her, will fall in love with her…
…will…will…
* * *
…will love her…
The most attractive woman in the world is in my cage. She sits on my pillow on the floor, and places a hand on either side of my head, and leans over. Her corona of hair tickles my face.
“Beautiful boy,” she says. “You made an error. Would you like for me to tell you?”
“Please.” I hear myself say the word from a dream. My head pounds and my fingers tingle, but I possess no ability to move anything. She has me.
“You are most susceptible to my charms from within a hypnagogic state. Much easier to be inculcated this way, I’m afraid, my love. Better for you to have grasped the bars of your cage with both hands and simply held on.”
“Maybe I could—”
“Shhhhh.” She lowers her face until our mouths touch. With each word, her lips tug on mine. “The planet’s mightiest warrior. Insensate and underneath me. Just how I prefer him.”
Everywhere I look I find intoxicating blue eyes. Her sweet breath fills my nostrils, and her words warm my ears. She expands inside my head. I’m being saturated.
I could strangle her. She doesn’t have a tenth of my strength. One squeeze. But I can’t. I won’t. Would never.
“I’m not so bad, am I?”
“No ma’am.”
“And to think of all those awful imprecations you hurled my way.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I forgive you. My sweet boy.”
“Thank you, Katie.”
She recoils in surprise. What? What’s wrong? She smacks me, hard, but the emotional pain is far worse than physical. I hurt her somehow, and I hate myself for it. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…what’s wrong?”
“What is my name?”
“Your name is Mary. Your name is Blue-Eyes.”
She takes a deep breath and sighs, a flash of irritation. “I suppose your blunder should be expected. That whelp has you coiled around her finger, and you are not yet lucid.”
“Who is a whelp?”
“I’ve long had my eyes on you, Outlaw. Inspected you from afar. Not another man on earth possesses your bravura in battle. The Outlaw. Defender of Los Angeles. The Masked Man and Infamous Vigilante. You even destroyed my Father.”
“The Chemist.”
“Yes. I couldn’t muster the fortitude for patricide, so I must thank you. You released me.”
I know what she’s doing. She’s binding us together using her pheromones, her voice, her beauty, and even flattery. She is soaking me with her essence, but I don’t mind. Maybe once I did, but not now. I can’t stop staring at her. She says, “You are the first in two hundred years that the Infected will follow. We all sense it, you know. The call to be near you. To nestle under your wings. The rest of us are malcontents, despising each other from a safe distance. But you? Oh yes. You shall be my regent. And we shall not let the little pretend princess ruin our destiny. She is a lesser being, far beneath us, commanding only those grafted with the common DNA.”
She’s talking about Katie. Carmine. A flicker of irritation at this. No one should speak ill of Katie.
“Do you know how we’ll defeat her? We’ll take away her support. Kill those she loves. Remove her allies.”
“Like me.”
“Yes, love. Like you.”
“No.”
“Oh yes. She’ll think she’s failed, and her resolve will slacken. The little girl will be lonely and broken and vulnerable.”
“No…”
“No? Do you love me?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about the Inheritors, Chase.”
“Katie says she killed them all.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Maybe. I’ve looked for those children and I can’t find them.”
“I’ve searched too,” she says. “And found no trace. If they exist, they must be discovered. No cost is too great.”
“I understand.”
“Tell me about Carmine. Enlighten me.”
“Where is she?” I ask, sudden unexpected panic rising in my chest. “Did you hurt her?”
“Focus, my love. If you don’t want me to hurt her, I will refrain,” she says. It’s a lie, but I’m comforted anyway. “But you must focus. What is her agenda?”
“To stay alive. And keep her Guardians safe.”
“That is all?”
“I think so. She’s still new. Still raw, and the virus was unkind to her.”
“How so?”
“She hears voices,” I answer. Or at least, a voice. “She can’t control her emotions yet. Suffers headaches.”
“Is she strong?”
“Very,” I nod. “She and the others like her communicate somehow. They have an awareness of one another.”
“An awareness? Tell me more.”
“I don’t really know. They know if she’s angry. They’re connected in ways we aren’t.”
She pulls back a moment, her eyes searching for far-off answers, and she sucks lightly at her teeth. “That’s an unforeseen side effect.” Mary is older and more knowledgable than me, and she’d been a close companion to the Chemist. She perhaps has the world’s most complete understanding of the virus. “She and her mutants will be overwhelming in combat, if that’s accurate. And you’re sure her aspirations go no higher than simple survival?”
“That’s what she said.”
“Such a foolish, childish dream. Her existentialism and Walter’s nihilism are simple-minded. She’s a dreamer and he’s a common thug. Coordinating with that neanderthal is a necessary evil I can only abide for so long.”
“Why do you work with Walter?”
“To get what I want.”
“Which is?”
“Domination without destruction. And, of course, a touch of hedonism. Quite simply, my love, I want it all. But she’s a feisty one. That much cannot be denied. Do you love her?”
“I do.”
“What a pity. In romance, Chase Jackson, I will abide no competition. Young Carmine must lose her life, then.”
“But you said—”
“And you will be the one to assassinate her.”
“But—”
“It is time to depart. First, however, I must take precautions.” She produces a bizarre collar. Gunmetal grey and black, and an inch thick. I sit up so she can fasten it around my neck. “It’s a big snug, but that is your own fault. This collar contains explosives, dear Outlaw, and will ignite if you stray from me. Your head will be popped clean from those broad shoulders. I also have a trigger in my possession. I will execut
e you, rather than risk losing you. Do you understand?”
“Yes Mary.”
“Good. Follow me. We must not be tardy for our flight.”
She turns and walks from the cage. I stand and retrieve my phone, which is dry and resting on the cot. I slip it into my pocket, but before I let go, calling upon some hidden reservoir of willpower, my thumb presses the SEND key.
Text message sent.
Katie. Puck. Help.
- Five -
We abandon our motorcycles on the eastern ridge of Caistic Lake. Walter knows we’re here but his troops can’t regroup fast enough to form orderly ranks. Their heavy artillery will be too late. Thousands of us crest the rise and sweep across the dam’s peripheral structures, which include a small heliport and boat rental shack.
“The water level is over Kayla’s mouth,” PuckDaddy warns through my bluetooth headset. “Another two minutes and she’ll begin to drown. The rest of your troops will follow two minutes after that.”
“I see her.” I’m at the pinnacle of Castaic’s massive earthen dam, glaring into the valley far below. Walter’s forces are scrambling from the interstate, tiny soldiers hurrying to meet us. They assumed we’d attack from the south, but instead we come from the north. My hammering heart breaks to see Kayla struggling to keep her nose above water. “I’ll reach her in time.”
But as I speak, eruptions shake the dam. Deep concussions vibrating through our legs. Mason is beside me. “There.” He points to the far side of the dam where dirt is flung into the blue sky.
“What’s he doing?” I growl. “He can’t bust this dam. It’s enormous.”
“He’s not,” Puck says. “Just the spillway. In essence, he opened the floodgates.”
He’s right. The western spillway becomes an avalanche of water. This is not the work of pumps but rather of gravity, a roaring wall of water. The lake now spills freely and aggressively into the lagoon.
“Set your cameras to record, Puck,” I say.
“Why?”
“The world must see what happens when you attack the Kingdom.”
As one body, we launch ourselves from the dam and its surrounding ramparts. I didn’t issue an order; they felt the command. Four thousand of us. Our nearest enemies are the released convicts who occupy the eastern shores. They witness their death howling down the slopes and they cannot muster strength enough to stand against us. They break ranks and flee, moving in slow motion. There is no hope for them.
