by Alan Janney
“That girl, in the hospital. Really pretty. Has blue eyes. She got into my head.”
“Oh she got you?” she cackled. “She got you? We thought she didn’t. You in trouble, then.”
“Why?”
“Mary a crazy-ass hot girl. Loves control. Loves to control men. She and the Father been together for several years, before Compton. She ain’t new. Not as fresh as us. She’s like the Father’s pet, but she got her own pets too. All dudes. Makes me sick.”
Samantha said into my ear, “This is taking too long. Get to the point.”
“Our plan is to remove the Chemist,” I told Carla. “We think everything will fall apart once he’s gone. We want your help. We know he’s dying, but we want to speed it up before he causes more problems.”
“Dying? Why the hell you think that?”
“Multiple reasons. You disagree?”
“You think that because he looks so ugly? Like a wrinkly old man? That’s not age. I mean, it might be. He might be dying. But he looks so old like that because he always bleeds himself dry.”
“We figured. His blood’s become powerful.”
“Got that right.”
“Any idea what he’s doing with it?”
“Course,” she scoffed. “Making his army.”
“Infecting a lot of infants?”
“Infants? Hell no. Teenagers. Like, seventeen- or eighteen-years old.”
“What?” Samantha hissed.
I stammered, “But…but that’s not possible.”
She put her fists on her hips. “Why not?”
“The virus is too strong. It kills adults.”
“Oh Outlaw.” She cackled again. “You in a lot more trouble than you know.”
“…ooooooh myyyyy gooooooosh,” Puck groaned. “This could be bad.”
“Crikey,” Croc said. “He can make adult Infected out of anyone??”
“Details, Outlaw, get us details!” I could practically hear Samantha’s teeth grinding.
I said, “Okay…so… He’s making an army. How?”
“Easy. Injects them with his own blood, and puts them to sleep. Comatose. Preserves their mind. He’s like a mad scientist. Always talking ‘bout genes and DNA crap.”
I started pacing. “That explains why he had so many at that Camino College. He had like thirty Infected.”
“Thirty?” she laughed, a short angry bark. “Those just the ones he woke up. He got hundreds.”
Puck quit typing. Samantha’s breath caught.
“…hundreds…”
“Hundreds!?”
“About half die,” Carla continued. “The survivors are called Twice Chosen.”
“And they’re just like us?”
“No. Thank God. Not as strong. Not as fast. They didn’t grow up with the virus, you know? Longer you got the virus, the more work it does. You had yours since birth. They don’t. I mean, they still a handful. But us born with the virus? We superior.”
“Good.”
“And they be crazy.”
“How so?”
“I mean, crazy. Crazy as hell. Brains don’t work right. Can’t think. Just act on impulses. Like trained monkeys for the Father.”
“How does the Chemist do all this?”
“Damn, you ask a lot of questions. The Father is brilliant. Above all else, remember that. A genius. You see why I want out of this mess? We need a solution. We need peace.”
“Absolutely. Okay, I have some ideas.”
“Me too. You go first.”
Just as I opened my mouth, Puck freaked out. “Whoa. What? Whoa! Whoa whoa WHOA!!”
I put my hand to my head, his shouts hurting my ear. “Ouch! What?”
Samantha’s voice came urgently over the speaker, “Puck! Explain! What’s going on?”
“Okay…” his voice was shaky. “…I’m not sure I’m really seeing this…”
Carla cocked an eyebrow at me and waited. I started turning in a circle, looking everywhere. I could hear Samantha doing something similar. My heart rate increased.
“Puck?! Talk!!”
“I haven’t been watching the monitors.” His voice still wavered. “Until now. And…”
“…and what??”
Carla asked, “You okay? I need to be worried?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Someone is yelling in my earpiece.”
“I think you getting taller.”
“…okay…” Puck said again. “Someone is coming up the staircase. But…”
“What? Who?”
“…you better brace yourself…on my gosh…”
I turned to the penthouse door and started backing away across the expansive roof. Carla did the same. She pulled out a pistol and thumbed back the heavy hammer. “What the hell, Outlaw.”
“Dunno,” I growled. “Someone is here.”
Puck said, “I think I’m going to pass out…”
The penthouse door swung open. Someone stood there. A silhouette with blonde hair. Carla sucked in air between her teeth.
A girl walked out.
It looked like-
It was-
Hannah Walker.
Hannah Walker.
“Hannah Walker,” I breathed.
“What’s going on?!” Samantha roared. “Use words! I can’t see!”
Hannah Walker had been my girlfriend. We broke up in February. She’d been a popular and attractive cheerleader who attended my high school until six months ago, when her body was incinerated in an explosion. I was there. When she died. In Compton.
She’s dead.
But she’s stepping out of the stairwell. Right now, wearing a tight red cheerleader outfit and white Nikes. Staring at me. Holding a heavy package in her hands. All the hairs on my body stood on end.
“You?” Carla recognized her and scowled, holstering her weapon. “You followed me here?”
“It’s…Hannah Walker.” My voice was a wheeze.
“What??” Samantha cried. “Hannah Walker, the dead Hannah Walker? I don’t understand. That blonde girl coming out of the stairs?”
Was it her? She didn’t look right. No. It was her, but…different. Changed. Like her skin was stretched. Or rivers had worn down her features over time. Her eyes bigger, her fingers thinner. She stopped and placed the wrapped bundle at my feet. Her hair was shorter than Samantha’s.
“I don’t get it,” I breathed. “Hannah. You died.”
Hannah watched me emotionlessly. I couldn’t stop shivering.
I said, “I went to your funeral.”
Carla shot me a sharp look. “You did? You were there?”
“She died.”
“Walker,” Carla said loudly, and she snapped her fingers. The dead cheerleader turned her big blue eyes away from me and watched Carla. Her eyelids were abnormal. Or missing. “Walker. Hey kid. You follow me?”
I sputtered, “Carla. What’s going on? How could she…”
Carla waved her hand at Hannah. No response. She sniffed, and said, “The Father rescued her, still on fire. Pumped her full of his blood. Like a full blood exchange, instead of the usual small dose. Made her strong as us, maybe. The virus saved her body, to some degree. Only woke up a few weeks ago.”
I collapsed. I landed on my knees and slumped forward onto my fists. A million emotions were drowning me. Fear. Pain. Sadness. Loneliness. Heartbreak. Confusion. So dizzy. My stomach threatened to empty itself.
Hannah patted me on the head. I groaned.
“She crazy as hell. More than most,” Carla continued. “Operating on animal instincts. She’s obsessed with some kid. Former boyfriend, we think. High school sweetheart. Keeps trying to escape and go see him.”
Me, probably. Chase Jackson, I mean. Not the Outlaw. She didn't know.
Hot tears splashed on the tarmac below me. I let them fall. I failed Hannah. Couldn’t reach her before the eruption. Now she lived, a shell of herself, playing with my hair. I was feeling too much to identify, to control.
“
She can’t speak. Breathed in too much fire.”
I looked up in time to see Hannah swallow and flex the muscles in her throat. She winced in pain and said, “I. Speak.” It came out as a whisper, low and harsh, almost masculine. That wasn’t her voice. That was a wrecked and ruined voice.
Carla’s brows rose and she nodded, impressed. “Aight, kid. Good for you.”
In my ear, “This is insane.”
I asked, “Her skin is different. Everything is. Because of the fire?”
“Yep. The virus over-produces our body, right? Did the same for her skin. But it’s not the same. Real thick, like pliable metal. Her eyes wrinkled from the heat, but those partially healed too. She the Father’s greatest creation. So he said.”
“She has a scent,” I said. “A little like…”
“Gasoline. Dunno what will happen when she around fire. She a big science experiment.”
“I. Am. Gift,” Hannah rasped. Each word was a forceful burst of air, shaped into syllables. The effort clearly caused suffering.
“You are gift?” Carla said. “How’d you get out? Can’t tell nobody. Okay kid? This trip a secret. For both of us.”
I pointed at the package. It was long and thin, like a wrapped table leg. “What’s this?”
“Dunno. Like I said. She crazy. Can’t believe she followed me. That ain’t easy.”
“There’s a card,” I noticed. “Addressed to me.”
That got Carla’s attention. She shut up and squatted next to me.
Outlaw,
I present you with two gifts. Am I not magnanimous?
One, the girl. You couldn’t save her. So I did. She is yours to enjoy. She’s quite beautiful. I lavished resources on her to salvage the body. Unfortunately the virus dismantled her sanity in the process. Oh well.
Two, this package. Open it now. You will like it. I spent two months making it.
By the way, please reassure Carla. She is, no doubt, in hysterics at this point, wondering if she’ll be fed to tigers. Unbeknownst to her, I knew about this clandestine rendezvous and I allowed it. I do not begrudge her exploring her options.
But she must return home.
Now.
- Martin.
Now it was Carla’s turn to collapse. She landed on her butt, her face turning several shades lighter. My eyes might be deceiving me, but Hannah appeared to smirk.
“I’m dead.” Carla said simply. I barely heard her.
“He told me to reassure you,” I pointed out, unwrapping the bundle. “Which means you’ll be okay, right?”
“You don’t get it, Outlaw. The Father can’t abide desertion. Else it be rampant. I’m dead.”
I discovered and hefted the Chemist’s gift. It was a rod, made like his staff, heavy beyond belief, black and deep blue in color, about as long as a baseball bat. One end was tapered, like a handle. There was another note.
Just like mine.
Constructed with man-made nano materials, nitrates, lonsdaleites, osmium, managing steel….I won’t bore you with details. (Indulge this one fact: I purchase the material from meteorite impacts. Essentially graphite from outer space)
In layman’s terms, it’s a metal alloy. I molecularly combined the hardest and strongest and densest substances on earth. Seven gigapascals, which is impossible.
It’s indestructible.
You could sell it for millions.
Please don’t.
You need a weapon.
- Martin
PS. Carla is considering suicide. Convince her otherwise. She will get to pick from several mild punishments.
Carla’s pistol was in her fist. She was pulling back the hammer and then carefully releasing it, with shaking fingers. Over and over. Her lips were pursed in thought.
“Carla-”
“Shouldn’t have come.” She shook her head, her voice high and tight in her throat. “Knew it. Bad idea. Shouldn’t’a come.”
“You said he’s not evil. He doesn’t hurt people.”
“Does when he has to. Damn.”
“Stay with me. With us. We’ll help. We’ll provide shelter.”
“Kill my family.” One big tear fell off her sharp cheek. “Kill my mom. Kill my brothers.”
“Not if we stop him.”
“You still don’t get it, Outlaw.” She stood up, returned the pistol to the holster, removed her glasses, and wiped her eyes. “You have to kill the man without me. I’m dead. Probably tomorrow.”
“Then don’t go back!” I stood up and grabbed her shoulder. She sagged against me. I glanced around. “Hey. Where’d Hannah go?”
Samantha replied through the bluetooth headset, “She left. While you two read the note.”
I repeated, “Don’t go back, Carla.”
“I go back, my family lives. Maybe. I don’t, they die. Definitely.” She began walking purposefully towards the door. “I’ll trade my life for theirs. All day. Every day. So long, Outlaw.”
She left.
I was alone on the roof, powerless and foolish.
Samantha crackled, “That is a lot to digest.”
“In summary,” PuckDaddy said, “The Chemist’s body is producing a communicable form of the virus. He has Infected hundreds of adults. He is able to keep them alive, which provides him an army of hyper freaks. Walter is a blood-thirsty maniac who clashes with his boss. Blue Eyes is a witch who likes to control men. And Hannah Walker is alive, Infected, and obsessed with Chase Jackson. We’re screwed. So so screwed.”
“Puck, where is Hannah going?”
“No idea. She vanished into some utility elevator. Puck’ll try to pick her up later.”
“I got a bad feeling,” I said. “She’s going to be trouble.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, October 15. 2018
Friday was the Hidden Spring Eagle’s final home game of the year. Our team remained undefeated, and that wasn’t likely to change tonight; we would roll over the Burbank Bears, a young team trying to rebuild. With over ninety minutes to go before kickoff, much of the team was still tailgating in the parking lot, enjoying celebrity status while they could; their football career was almost over. Four Eagles had received college scholarships thus far. Cory signed his commitment letter earlier this week. Next year he’d be playing for the UCLA Bruins! We were so proud of him we could pop. He made the decision based on their culinary program, obviously.
I wasn’t joining the parking-lot revelry. I was hiding in the coaches’ conference room. Like a coward.
Coach Keith stuck his head in. “Hey bud. Everything okay?”
“Peachy.” I stuck up my thumb to show just how peachy I was. I wasn’t peachy, though. I was grumpy. And annoyed. Annoyed at the many things I couldn’t control. Katie couldn’t meet with Tank, because the big dumb moron was still grounded. So technically she still had a boyfriend. Hannah Walker disappeared, and who knew where she was. The fate of Carla weighed heavily on my mind. Samantha Gear and Dad had been giving each other lingering looks recently. AND I had a D in Science.
Coach Keith said, “The ESPN crew is still here. The interview wouldn’t take five minutes.”
“No thanks.”
Despite my best efforts, college scouts were rating me as one of the best quarterbacks in the nation. A Blue Chip recruit, one of the top three guys every coach wanted. But news about me refusing college scholarships spread like wildfire, catching the attention of ESPN, who would be televising a short documentary on me whether I liked it or not.
Coach Keith pulled out the grey metal folding chair across the table and sat down. “I’ve never seen such a beloved and successful quarterback look so bummed. If you went into the parking lot right now, the fans would probably parade you around the field on their shoulders.”
“Conditional love, Coach,” I said, and he nodded with understanding. “That’s all that is. Performance-based adoration is…tiresome.”
“I sometimes forget that you are wise beyond your years, Chase.”
&n
bsp; “No. I’ve just experienced the power of unconditional love. There’s no contest.”
“How’d your dad take the news? That you won’t play in college?”
Hah! He handled that news better than the Outlaw discovery. “He understands some things are more important than football. I wish more people got that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our country is facing its biggest threat since World War Two, in my opinion. There’s a terrorist-occupied city down the street. And yet football still dominates our culture. How can people still be so obsessed with sports?”
“I agree. Our priorities are skewed.” He drummed his fingertips on the table. The gold ring on his finger had some special Catholic significance. “But don’t judge us too harshly. We need happy things to cling to, in dark times. Sometimes the best we can do is eat, drink, and be merry.”
“That’s not the best we can do. We can fight. Fight the darkness.”
“Ah, but you see, eating and drinking and being merry is fighting the darkness. Just not with violence.”
“How on earth is that fighting?”
“Well. Take the evil in Los Angeles. What is that guy after?”
“The Chemist? He’s after chaos. He wants to topple our society, our way of life.”
“Notice, Chase, that the Chemist conquered one of the most segregated and unhappy parts of our state. Maybe the country.”
“Okay. You’re probably right. So?”
“Evil cannot win where there is unity, where there is community, where there is happiness and love. The Chemist is still in Compton because the people haven’t kicked him out. The people there were already divided, already full of anger and divided into gangs. It’s hard for us to fight evil together when we hate each other.”
I nodded and said, “A house divided against itself…”
“Precisely. If Compton had been a happy place, with healthy levels of communal eating and drinking and merriment, the Chemist would have been forced to pick another location to land.”
“So it’s partially the people’s fault?”
“Didn’t say that. Assigning blame is narrow-minded and accomplishes almost nothing. Society’s ills are never black and white.”
