Sanctuary: Among Monsters (The Outlaw Book 3)

by Alan Janney

  (“Whoa! How’d she get my shotgun?” the cop yelped. Richard lied, “I gave it to her. Now shut up.”)

  “Tank,” I said reasonably, “I pull this trigger and your brain turns to jelly. It’ll be noisy and messy. And you’ll be dead.”

  He made a soft noise.

  “You’ve lost this round. You understand that. Right? I’d rather not kill you.”

  Another quiet sound.

  Chase knelt by him. “You need help. I promise I’ll come explain things as soon as I can. Our fight is over.”

  Another noise. It was a whimper. He was crying. This mountain was leaking tears.

  “Hurts,” he said. “Everything. All of it. Hurts.”

  “Tank,” I said. “Did you kill that cheerleader? The girl on fire?”

  “Told me,” he spoke between great shuddering sobs, “burning me to help Chase. Screaming. Fire. To protect him. Burning. Hurts.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Don’t know. Hope so.”

  Richard spoke. “I don’t want to transfer him in a squad car.”

  “Smart move,” I said. “He could tear it apart.”

  Richard ordered a flatbed truck. Six men hefted Tank and laid him on the cold, hard slab. A heavy chain was crisscrossed five times over his inert figure and cranked tight. The eighteen-year-old kid was being treated like Godzilla. Made sense though; he was the only living Infected the government had. Richard was part of the Hyper Human apprehension team, and this capture would surely bolster his career.

  One of the uniformed cops called, “Detective, the office just radioed. News chopper inbound.”

  “Fantastic,” he grumbled. “Load up. I don’t want our caravan escorted the whole way with a spotlight. Ryan, you’re riding in back with a taser.”

  The cops jumped into action, and Richard walked our way. He eyeballed all of us in turn. I tried not to preen.

  “Nice job…kids.” He put a thick hand on my shoulder and squeezed. It was warm and strong, and I wondered how long it’d been since I was touched like that.

  “Thanks Dad,” Chase grinned.

  “I zapped him, Mr. J! Zap Pow, baby!” Lee demonstrated.

  “Well done, Lee. Saved the day.” Richard looked at me then. I fidgeted. “I’m in over my head. I know it. You know it. You’ll let me know how I can keep him locked up?”

  I nodded, thrilled he wanted my help. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Or swing by. I have a lot of questions.”

  “Okay…I’ll swing by. Still have stuff in your guest bedroom anyway.”

  Chase groaned under his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Monday, November 1. 2018

  Katie and I stayed up late talking. And kissing. Lots of kissing. That night, her perfume, her soft neck and shoulders, her lips, was pure magic.

  She had questions about everything. I answered them all honestly, anything to prolong the enchantment. We talked about the Infected, and Tank, and Samantha, and the Chemist, and my headaches, and my mask, and the future. She insisted on strapping the mask to my face, which quickly led to another bout of intense making out.

  After all the years. After all the longing. After all the lies. Finally we belonged to each other. Every second that our lips weren’t touching felt wasted.

  Her mother had not been hurt, just knocked unconscious. She recovered, iced the back of her head for several hours, and then shooed me out the backdoor at two in the morning.

  I barely slept, and then shattered my alarm clock on accident when it blared to life at six.

  Puck texted me as I dressed for school.

  >> hey dummy Carter is on his way

  On his way to my house??

  >> yes he wants u to know he comes in peace. no fighting

  Thanks for the heads-up.

  >> hey man. just so u know. Ive decided whatever happens, PuckDaddy will keep in touch with u. my allegiance is 2 both u and carter he will just hafta be pissd. But. i might need 2 live with u if he gets mad. need protection

  That’d be AWESOME! Definitely. Come live with me.

  >> was just a joke. PuckDaddy is a loner

  Carter arrived four minutes later. Dad wasn’t home yet. I met Carter in the yard; no way that creep was coming into my home again. The early morning was foggy and crisp, and my grass was damp with dew.

  He greeted me by saying, “I’m withdrawing my protection from Los Angeles.”

  I shrugged. “Wasn’t doing a lot of good anyway.”

  He ignored the insult. Usually he dressed in simple black tactical clothes. Today he wore a duster, similar to the Chemist’s trench coat. His hands were shoved into the pockets. His truck was idling. “You pack your stuff now, you can come with us. Jet goes wheels-up in ninety minutes.”

  “Not leaving until the job is done. This is my home.”

  “Job here is finished. He’s going to ruin as much as he can in the next twenty-four hours, and then he’s gone. Activity is ramping up in Houston. We’ll be ready.”

  The next twenty-four hours?? Felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Today. He was attacking today.

  I asked, “Ruin as much as he can? What’s his plan?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. Couldn’t stop him if we wanted. Got his hands on too much firepower.”

  “Can’t we-”

  “We’re not public defenders, boy. There’s six of us. And he’s got hundreds. Can’t play defense. We’ll go offensive in Houston. Plan hasn’t changed. Cut the head off the dragon.”

  “We need a better plan.”

  He shook his head, and his fists flexed in his pockets. “Not open for debate.”

  “Because you’re the boss?”

  “Because I’m the boss.”

  “The boss of what, Carter?” I snapped. “You’re the boss of nothing. Your team barely knows each other. And collectively you accomplish zilch. Tell me one good thing you guys have done in the past ten years.”

  “We take care of our own-”

  “No you don’t! You bully them into doing what you want. Else you kill them. You recruit new members into a disjointed team used to further your personal shadowy operations.”

  He did not like being interrupted. He boiled quietly for a moment, and I made a note to let him finish next time. No reason to get my teeth kicked in.

  “You know nothing about me, hero,” he spoke through a clenched jaw. “Or how I use the Infected.”

  “Shouldn’t use them at all.”

  He grinned, a wicked twist of his bloodless lips. “If Martin gets his hands on you, you’ll develop a new understanding of being used. You’ll be used to kill thousands. Maybe millions.”

  “No chance.” I spoke confidently while shivering on the insides. Millions.

  “His biochemists and DNA scientists have made incredible leaps in DNA transference. You’ll have new mental processes implanted. And all will be lost. Which is why you need to be with us.”

  “I agree. Stay with me. Here. And help.”

  “You have one hour. Then we’re gone. And Shooter is coming with us.” He turned and stalked back to his truck.

  “She’s staying here,” I called.

  “Nope. She changed her mind.” He slammed the passenger door and the truck rolled away. I was tired of watching his tail-lights.

  Puck texted me.

  >> Puck was listening. It’s true. samantha is already at the airport. she decided 2 leave

  Why???

  >> dunno

  And Croc?

  >> he’s there 2. every1 is leaving

  Well…………not me.

  * * *

  I called Dad on the way to school, to warn him about the eminent attack. He already knew. Thermal imaging picked up increased heat signatures within the Chemist’s aircraft hangar. He estimated the attack would begin tonight.

  Great. That gave me just enough time to finish my homework before getting killed. A great empty chasm replaced my stomach.

  Today
. It was all happening today.

  In Science, the two seats behind me remained empty. No Croc. No Samantha. Like most of last week.

  I couldn’t focus in English, not even on Katie. She was watching me with renewed interested, enjoying the Outlaw secret. I twisted and shifted in my chair, wondering if Katie was safe out here in Glendale. Probably. Hopefully.

  At 10:15 am, Puck texted me. It was a doozy.

  >> attack beginning now

  >> all chemists attack vehicles spinning up

  >> america can’t launch missile strike tho.

  >> still protected by innocent civilians

  >> navy will scramble fighters soon

  >> this will b bad

  Craaaaaaaap. Already?? Not even lunch time. Ugh.

  >> carters plane taking off soon cant reach him they r all gone

  I grabbed Katie by the hand and pulled her out of class. The startled teacher watched us go, gaping as her prize pupil stumbled after the class dummy.

  In the hall, I whispered, “I have to go. The Chemist is attacking.”

  “Where?” she asked. She was a goddess. Her hair was up today, with a pencil stuck into the stylish pile of perfect brown twists. Her green shirt turned her eyes hazel, and everything about her was bright and golden.

  “No one knows what he’ll do. I probably can’t help. But. I’m going just in case.”

  “I understand.” She pulled down the zipper of my hoodie a few inches, enough to reveal the red thread of my Outlaw vest. “Come home with your shield, handsome. Or upon it.”

  I blinked. Huh?

  She said, “Spartan women used to tell their lovers that. Before battle.”

  “Pretty gruesome.”

  She wrinkled up her cute nose and mouth in thought. “Then how about…come home in one piece and I’ll give you extra kisses?”

  “That’s a deal.”

  “Could you be hurt doing this?”

  “I could be. But I’ll try not to be.”

  She kissed me lightly on the lips and said, “I’m in love with a maniac. I guess this is part of the job. But please come back to me. You’ve been mine for only twelve hours. And I require much more than that.”

  * * *

  The Outlaw flew down the 5 on his silent motorcycle. Traffic was already backing up. Awful days always start this way.

  Puck related the news to me. It wasn’t good.

  Once again, the Chemist struck first. Twenty minutes ago, as the George Washington aircraft carrier prepared to scramble its F/A-18 Hornet fighter jets, a lone AV-8B Harrier Jump Jet lifted off from the Chemist’s hangar and raced towards the aircraft carrier parked ten miles offshore. Radar identified the threat, and the carrier’s Combat Air Patrol immediately swooped in and neutralized the enemy Harrier. However, before being blasted apart by interceptors, the Harrier released four air-to-surface AGM-65 Maverick missiles. The missiles were inexpertly launched; two of them splashed harmlessly into the water. But two of the Maverick missiles struck the massive carrier, detonating against the hull and damaging millions worth of equipment, including (among other things) the elevators and catapults. It would be hours, if not days, before another fighter jet could launch.

  In other words, the Navy could only provide the two patrolling F-18 Hornets as protection for Los Angeles. Not good enough.

  By sheer luck, I found my dad. His car was parked at Exit 3A of Interstate 101, barricading the downtown entrance, hopefully outside the killing fields. He and a handful of cops were glaring south and west, into the towering glass canyon. A mandatory evacuation had been dictated, and the Los Angelenos fled, but not fast enough. Dad and his crew helped orchestrate the stampede.

  “Whoa…holy hell, it’s the Outlaw,” one of the cops blurted. The crowd of motorists noticed and began to cheer.

  Dad glanced sharply at me. “What are you doing here?”

  I parked my bike and jumped on top of his car for a better view. “What?! Is this not Santa’s parade route??”

  “Hey Richard,” one of the guys laughed nervously. “Aren’t you supposed to arrest this guy?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” he barked.

  It was one of those days where the blue sky rose forever. The distant clouds piled high and deep, like the surface of another planet just out of orbit. Clear skies except for the grey birds-of-prey screaming overhead. The two remaining Hornets, sixty million dollars of ugly steel death, were encircling the city and ravaging our ear drums. Those two fighter jets were temporarily the only thing keeping Chemist aircraft grounded.

  While police officers watched the air show, Dad tapped my foot and whispered, “You need to go home.”

  “I cannot, Detective Jackson,” I replied.

  “Why not?”

  I crouched so we could speak. “A wise man once told me that we need to stand between the world and the monsters.”

  He glowered, not enjoying his words used against him. “That’s my job! Not yours.”

  “Our job. I live here too.”

  “Please, son. Don’t do this.”

  One of the onlookers blurted, “Here comes the cavalry! Those are Air Force Pave Hawks!”

  A small squadron of six green helicopters thundered in from the north, moving ridiculously slow compared to the Hornets. State-of-the-art Pave Hawks, bulky and powerful utility choppers. It was the best America could muster on short notice; all other nearby vehicles, hundreds of them, had been destroyed, captured, or couldn’t lift off. Perhaps America’s most humiliating moment…ever?

  The Chemist had twelve helicopters, at least. And several Harrier jets.

  Dad took my shoulders in his beefy fists and held tight. “This is too big. He’s too strong. He’ll kill you.”

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

  “No!” He was shaking me and blinking back tears. “You’re the only good part of my life. You’re my child.”

  “How many people are downtown, Dad? A million? How many in those towers? I’d guess a hundred thousand. I figured it out on the way here; the Chemist bought himself a few hours of destruction. That’s what he’ll do. Destroy the towers. He told me he was going to tear down our high places.”

  “Let the military handle it. Please.”

  As if on cue, the Chemist struck again.

  Sinister hisses and bright streams of fire erupted from three Los Angeles skyscrapers, including the US Bank Tower and the Aon Center. Like firework launches. Dozens of vapor trails snaked off into the sky.

  The gathering crowd of stranded motorists gasped and aah’ed. What’s going on??!

  “He’s clearing the way for his attack,” I growled.

  The two Hornets had no chance. One or two surface-to-air missiles could be out-maneuvered by modern fighter jets, but not dozens. The Hornets evaded desperately, curving and ducking across the sky, but the SAMs were numerous and dogged. The fighters were bucked by near misses, the pilots tossed sideways, disoriented, and then, contact.

  I closed my eyes. The sound of detonations reached us soon after the bright flashes. Hornets breaking apart. The sounds of war.

  The nearby helicopters, new Pave Hawks, had been hovering two hundred feet in the air over Korea Town, a half mile from the towers. They responded to the new threat, their noses pointing skywards and climbing, closing the distance. They were going to engage the enemy on the towers.

  Their shadows fell across Natalie North’s building.

  Natalie! I hope she’s out. No time to text her.

  I said, “Those choppers are toast. I’d bet my allowance he’s got Infected waiting for them. I gotta go. Get on the radio and get the people out from the towers. Those are his targets.”

  I saluted him. He finally let go and I Jumped.

  But it was already too late. In order to reach the taller peaks, the Pave Hawks first had to pass above smaller ones, like the Century Plaza Towers. The Chemist’s men were there and ready.

  His monsters lifted off into the sky. Dozens. Maybe more, Jumpi
ng from the lower roofs, aiming for the helicopters as they flew past. Their leaps carried them farther and higher than humanly possible, bodies slamming into the unprepared Pave Hawks. Like swarming parasites, the Infected climbed aboard, easy ingress provided by the open gunner doors. All six helicopters were boarded in less than twenty seconds. The furious battle between crew and Infected caused one Pave Hawk to spiral out of the sky and crash into Pershing Square Park. Two others collided mid-air, metal shrieking, blades breaking. They plummeted out of our sight.

  Downtown Los Angeles is not very big in comparison to other cities like New York or Tokyo. Most of LA is flat, not tall. City planners built the city horizontally instead of vertically, and arranged the few high-rises in a relatively tight cluster. Other cities have a hundred skyscrapers stretching to the sky; Los Angeles holds only twenty within its downtown area.

  During periods of high stress and adrenaline, I could jump between many of them.

  As I moved, the institutions in my mind broke down and gave way to the virus, to anarchy, to the unimaginable. I went up the twin California Plaza towers, leaping between them using both arms and legs, like a panther scrambling up boulders. My shoes squeaked like trumpets on the glass. I’d marvel at the feat later; right now, the swelling urgency was too great.

  Puck’s voice came into my trusty bluetooth headset. “Oooooooh no, Outlaw. Where’re you going, dummy? You’re making me nervous.”

  “Get’cha war paint, Puck!” I cried, throwing myself up and across the airy void between the two glass-sided vertical mountains. I was out of breath already. “We got work to do!”

  On top of Two California Plaza, I landed in the midst of three men dressed in faux Outlaw masks. They weren’t Infected; their bodies were thin and flimsy, and they struggled to rearm two shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. I took a well-deserved deep breath, and then incapacitated all three with one swoop of the heavy rod, their skulls clunking like pumpkins. Their faces were dusted with a thin coating of the Chemist’s super drug.

  “Chase,” Puck scolded me. “You can’t win this.”