Sanctuary: Among Monsters (The Outlaw Book 3)

by Alan Janney

  My earpiece crackled. Puck said, “Tell him if he asks about me again I’m going to empty his bank account.”

  I hesitated… “Next question.”

  “Okay. Fair enough. The Los Angeles Sniper was terrorizing Los Angeles earlier this year and then abruptly stopped when Compton was seized. The Sniper, he’s one of you guys, right?”

  My earpiece crackled. Again. Samantha said, “Tell FBI that if he calls me a guy again I’m going to shoot him in the foot.”

  I hesitated. Again. “Um. Next question.”

  He sighed. “I have more questions than answers. Such as…how many of you are there? And, for lack of better phrasing, why aren’t you all getting along? And how long have you been around? And what do I call you and your group?”

  “What has Natalie told you?”

  “Nothing. She’s impossibly loyal to you.”

  I held out my fist. Natalie gave me a fist-bump and looked extremely pleased with herself.

  I growled, “I’m not getting into details. But I’ll clear up a few things, so you’ll trust me. This information is for your ears only. Understood?”

  “You can trust me.”

  In my ear, Puck said under his breath, “This is craaaaaaaaaazy. Can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “There aren’t many of us. In fact, I don’t know the exact number. We call ourselves Infected, but it’s just a meaningless term. We’re all sick, and few of us get along.”

  “Do you mind if I write this down? You said there aren’t many. Give me a ballpark. A dozen Infected?” he asked. “A hundred?”

  “Twenty? Maybe? Maybe less. There was a sudden burst of new Infected recently, and most of them sided with the Chemist.”

  “The Chemist.” His face hardened as he scribbled notes with a pen. “You two aren’t friends, I take it?”

  “No. The Chemist is an Infected madman. We’re trying to stop him.”

  “Who is we?”

  “Me and a handful of other Infected. I’m afraid he has us outnumbered.”

  “He hasn’t announced his intentions with Compton. Could you shed some light on that?”

  “I can’t. I wish I could. But the Chemist is the reason I’m here tonight.”

  “How so?”

  “Yesterday he sent me a message. He informed me he’s going to destroy Los Angeles soon.”

  Isaac paused, staring hard, before putting his notepad away. He laced his fingers together and rested his hands on his head. He began pacing and staring off into the distance. Every few steps his eyes would flick towards Natalie, his girlfriend who happened to live downtown. He looked tired. “How soon?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “How would he destroy an entire city?”

  “Didn’t say. I thought you might have intel that could help.”

  “We have informants in Compton. Constant surveillance from a thousand angles. Thermal imaging, night-vision, long-distance microphones, satellite feeds, drones, data taps…everything. We still don’t know much about the guy. Not even a clear photograph. But there’s no way he has an atomic bomb. We’d know. Leveling a city isn’t easy.”

  “Your military is planning on going into Compton again?”

  “Yes. We’ll have to speed it up,” he said.

  “What’s to keep you from getting wiped out?”

  “Sheer force. We tried tactical incisions previously. This time we’ll launch a full-scale Normandy-style invasion. Twenty insertion points. Aerial support. Paratroopers. Even the kitchen sink.”

  “Massive collateral damage,” I said.

  “That’s why we haven’t launched yet.”

  “I have a suggestion.”

  He spread his arms wide. “I’m all ears. Truly. Anything you say, I can pass along.”

  Natalie said, “This is amazing. When this comes out as a movie, I’m going to play myself.”

  “Fight monsters with monsters. Send in your own.”

  “Huh,” he half laughed as he pulled out his notepad again. “That’s funny. Guy at a meeting said the same thing the other day. Almost word for word. One of the LAPD.”

  Samantha said into my ear, “He’s talking about Richard.”

  I know. Duh. And stop calling him Richard.

  Isaac said, “The big-swingers didn’t love the idea of sending in civilians.”

  “We go in all the time anyway. The perimeter security is child’s-play for Infected.”

  “Really?

  “And the Chemist leaves whenever he wants. I could show you recent photos of him outside of Compton.

  “Wow. Well…okay, jeez. Good to know.”

  “Infected can dodge bullets. Or block them. Some of us can influence our enemy. Control their actions. Some of us are more accurate than highly trained military snipers. We’re faster than sprinters. Each of the Chemist’s Infected will kill dozens of your soldiers. Maybe more. And we don’t know how many they have.”

  “…influence…enemy…accurate…snipers…faster than…sprinters,” he repeated, scribbling furiously. “…dozens…or more…per…You understand that I’m small potatoes, right? Low man on the totem pole? We’ve got fifty different agencies butting heads over this thing. And we’re not getting along. Even worse than usual.”

  “In the movie adaptation, I’ll get to make out with both of you,” Natalie said quietly to herself.

  “Why is the government bickering even worse than usual?”

  “Good question.” He shrugged. “We have a bunch of chiefs in a small teepee. This ongoing act of terrorism within our homeland activates obscure laws, grants power to different agencies, and creates ego struggles among cynical old men. The military is involved, so are the police, and the FBI, and the CIA, and a dozen others. Worst are the lawyers and politicians.”

  “We know the Chemist is influencing politicians. And also military generals. Are any of them acting weird?”

  “Yeah,” he said, standing completely still and examining me with intensified interest. “Yeah, they are. Really off the wall stuff.”

  “Oooooh,” Natalie cooed. “Conspiracies!”

  Isaac said, “You’re telling me the Chemist has high-ranking moles in our government.” He looked like he needed to sit down; his face was white.

  “Not just moles, Anderson. Saboteurs.”

  “My god,” he said shakily. “Can you get their names?”

  “Maybe.” I tapped my earpiece and said, “Team. Does anyone remember those names?”

  “…yes…but…”

  Samantha said, “I agree with Puck. Not a good idea, Outlaw.”

  “Why not?” I glanced at Isaac. He and Natalie were watching this one-sided conversation with great interest.

  “That information came directly from Carter’s contacts,” Puck said. “That’s his intel. I’m a dead man if I share it without his consent.”

  “And he’d never agree to share with the FBI,” Samantha continued. “He’d freak if he knew about this meeting.”

  Isaac asked, “There a problem?”

  “Yeah, the source of our intelligence is…complicated. We need to get his permission to release the names. But we didn’t even tell him about this meeting because…well, he’s complicated.”

  Natalie gasped softly. “A rift in the ranks of heroes. Juicy. And terrible.”

  “This is a time of war,” Isaac protested. “Surely he’d see reason.”

  “Do all of your co-workers see reason?”

  “Point taken.”

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m going to get those names. It’ll piss off some powerful people, and that’s okay. But I can’t ask my co-workers to do it. It’ll take time.”

  Puck sighed in my ear. “Great. Looking forward to a civil war.”

  “Okay,” Isaac nodded. “Perfect. That will grease some wheels if we have concrete evidence of the Outlaw terror group helping American citizens.”

  “You need a new name for us.”

  “Agreed. If you’re going to stick your nec
k out, then I will too. I’ve established solid contacts within all the law-enforcement agencies here, and most of the level-headed thinkers agree with me; we should be cooperating with the Outlaw group. With your permission I’d like to quietly spread the word that I established positive contact with the Outlaw, and that he wants to work with us. It’ll have to be done under the radar, because the higher-ups are bound by policy and process.”

  “Outlaw, PuckDaddy doesn’t hate this idea,” Puck said. “I can monitor communications to make sure neither you nor Isaac Anderson are being double-crossed.”

  “And,” Samantha said, “they provide resources. We just can’t tell Carter.”

  “This is soooooo badass!”

  “Just to be clear,” Isaac said, holding up a hand. He could tell I was listening to cellular chatter. “I would only alert a small group of trusted individuals. Need-to-know basis.”

  “Okay, but understand that I’m not meeting with them. I’m willing to communicate with you only. And you will stop attempts at identifying me. I value my anonymity.”

  “That’s going to be tricky,” he chuckled. “I’m charged with apprehending you.”

  “Make it work. One more thing. Our only goal is to eliminate the Chemist. He’s a worse man than you realize. If we get him, the whole evil structure will deteriorate rapidly. And you’ll never hear from us again.”

  Natalie pouted, “Awww.”

  I continued, “You won’t get him without our help. He’s too good. You handle his military, and we’ll get the maniac.”

  “You said the Chemist sent you a message,” Natalie said. “Are you going to reply?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will you say?”

  “Good question.”

  * * *

  Lee texted me later that night. << Dude. I’m going to an Outlawyer rally soon. THE Natalie North will be speaking!!!! You wanna go??

  I smiled and almost typed No. But I stopped. Why not? Could be fun. I wonder why Natalie hadn’t told me.

  Yeah sure. Sounds good.

  >> Sweet!!!! I’ll let you know.

  My bluetooth earpiece buzzed. I activated it and Puck said, “You’re going to your own fan club? Not a good idea, dummy.”

  “Jeez, Puck. How about some privacy?”

  “Whatever. You want Puck to respond to the Chemist? Send him a message?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed.

  “Good! I’m pumped! What do you want to say?”

  “Tell him…”

  “…yes?”

  “Tell him…”

  “…yes?”

  “Shut up, I’m thinking. Tell him…I think a parlay is a good idea. I want to talk. And inform him we haven’t told Carter about the message.”

  “Got it,” he said. His keyboard was clicking.

  “And Puck? Sign it From Antony.”

  “Okay. From Antony. Why?”

  “Because Antony is one of the generals from Julius Caesar. And Antony won.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sunday, August 30. 2018

  Dad woke me up the next night at one in the morning. I came awake with a start to find him sitting on the edge of my bed. The hallway light was on. He was fully dressed.

  “I have to go to work, son,” he said.

  “Mmmphf. Okay. Have fun.”

  “This is kind of a big one. So…in case I don’t come back, I want you to know, that…you know, I’m proud of you. And…well, obviously everything I own is yours.”

  “What?” I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes as fast as I could. He moved back to give me space. “What’s going on?”

  “Trouble downtown. Sounds serious.”

  I grabbed my phone. No messages from PuckDaddy. Dad stood up and checked his phone too. How could there be trouble and I not know about it?

  “I have to go,” he said. He shoved the phone back into his cargo pants.

  “No wait! Is it the Chemist?”

  “We think so.” He paused at the door. “Miles of jammed cars, just like last time. Gunmen broke through Compton security lines, streaming into Paramount.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m part of SAT. So…”

  “Dad, no.” I swung out of bed and stood up, wearing boxers and a t-shirt. I couldn’t think straight. Where was my vest? My mask? “Listen, Dad. You need to stay out of there. The Chemist is a monster.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly?!”

  “Monsters can’t roam free,” he said, and his lantern jaw was set. “We stand between them and the world.”

  “We?”

  “Law enforcement. It’s my job.”

  “No, it’s not! Let someone else handle this. These guys…you don’t know, Dad. They’re too strong. They’ll kill you.”

  He came back and put his hands on my shoulders. “Chase…”

  “Dad, no,” I shook my head. “No, Dad. Samantha was right. You need monsters to fight these monsters.”

  “This is what cops do, kiddo. We protect those in danger. And the Chemist has put everyone in danger. Even you, way out here in Glendale, even you are in danger.” He squeezed my shoulders.

  “Dad…”

  “I would die to keep you safe, son.”

  I couldn’t speak. I tried. But I couldn’t.

  “Go back to sleep,” he said. “I’ll be back tomorrow sometime. Safe and sound.” And then he was gone.

  I waited as he hurried down the stairs. I waited while he gathered his things. I waited while he got into his car. I stared through the blinds and waited as he made a phone call from the driver’s seat. As he drove away, I finally flew into action.

  I called Puck and put it on speaker. While it rang, I flung aside books and shirts and football stuff, hunting for Outlaw gear. Where was it?! I was in a panic, blinking away tears.

  “Hey dummy,” Puck answered. He sounded groggy. “I only sleep once every four days. What do you want? I’m tired.”

  “Puck, check the news!” I shouted. “The Chemist is moving! This is an awful time for a nap. Ah-hah! Found it!”

  “Found what?” he asked.

  “My mask.”

  Samantha walked in, yawning. “Why do you need your mask?”

  “It’s the Chemist,” I said, hopping into the Outlaw’s pants.

  “Whoa!!” Puck cried through the speaker. “Lots of action! Crazy movement!”

  “Details, Puck,” Samantha shouted. She darted back into her room. “Talk loud!”

  “Ah jeez, I don’t know, this is a lot to digest…aaaahhhh…okay, okay…looks like the interstates surrounding the area to the east of Compton are all clogged. Another big chunk of the city. About as big as Compton? Roughly? Hang on, I need to alert Carter.”

  Oh man, oh man, oh man. Why does Dad have to be going too?! Now I’m going to worry about him the whole time. Where are my shoes? Stuff like this should be left to…other people. People wearing armor. People who aren’t Dad. Ballbearings. I need ballbearings in the vest. Where’d I put them? My room is a hot mess. I really need a weapon, other than just throwing stuff. Kinda lame. Maybe borrow Lee’s Hazer again, or whatever he called it.

  I zipped the vest, grabbed my mask and jumped down the stairs. Samantha was on the phone with someone, probably Croc. “I’m gone!” I cried. She told me to wait, but I didn’t. I slapped red decals on the bike, jumped on, and aimed it downtown.

  What was my plan? Did I have a plan? Heck yes I had a plan. Leap into the middle and hunt down Infected before Dad could find them. I called Isaac Anderson. No answer. That guy sucks.

  Seven minutes later my speedometer read 130 mph, and I was hurtling south on the 5. This part of the interstate was four-lanes wide, and I rocketed under green roadsigns faster than I could read them, weaving around red taillights. Puck called.

  “Talk to me, Puck.”

  “Outlaw, I’ve got you and Shooter on the line. I’m also coordinating with Croc, Carter and Russia. They’re inbound, southwest of Co
mpton,” he said, voice loud in my helmet.

  “Russia? Who’s Russia?”

  “Reinforcement, from Russia. He’s Infected. I’ll fill you in later. Shooter is three miles behind you, playing catch-up. Recommend you stay on the 5 and avoid 710. But you won’t get close, even on the 5.”

  Samantha spoke. “Traffic backed up?”

  “For miles. But Puck has good news. The Chemist has finally shown his face.”

  “Finally,” I said. “Change of plan. Let’s go take him out. Where is he?”

  “That’s the bad news. He’s in East Compton. I have multiple visuals on social media, but it’ll take you over an hour. Too congested. Carter will get there before you.”

  “So,” Samantha asked, “he’s just posing for pictures?”

  “No. Folks inside Compton are using Twitter and Instagram to document the chaos. The Chemist is in the background of a handful. Web analyzers picked it up.”

  I was skirting the edge of the city instead of driving straight through. The crowded downtown skyline looked peaceful compared to the mayhem ahead. I could see the glow of a thousand distant emergency lights. The cars around me had slowed.

  “Puck, I have a weird favor to ask. Can you locate my dad?”

  “Sure. First chance I get. I’ll pull his number off your phone and find him that way. I don’t usually monitor him.”

  “Keep us posted,” Samantha said.

  Just then, another call came through. I answered it blindly because I couldn’t check the caller-ID. It was Isaac Anderson. Love that guy. We spoke for sixty seconds and I clicked back over to my call with Puck and Gear.

  “Shooter, get off at the next exit. We’re catching a ride.”

  * * *

  Los Angeles was in pain. Millions were scared. Hundreds of thousands were angry, many of them armed and moving at the whim of a madman. The American military was neither outmanned nor outgunned. But it’s hard to win against zealots, especially zealots snorting drugs and fighting without pain or fear or reason.

  Soto Elementary School is a flat pale building with a large parking lot. Gear and I waited there next to a chain fence, bouncing on our toes, as the beating of helicopter blades grew louder over the city noise. Gear had a black custom-made MSG90 semi-automatic sniper rifle slung across her back. I didn’t know what the letters or numbers meant, but it looked like it could shoot down the moon.