by Alan Janney
>> hey dummy key katie
>> i see u left ur phones at ur houses
>> puckdaddy transferred all ur data over to these new phones and erased the old ones
>> wiped’em clean no worries
>> don’t lose these!!!
“Aw,” Katie smiled. “Puck’s so sweet.”
“How’d he do that so fast? It’s not even dinner.”
“This is the Plus size,” she marveled. “It’s as big as a tablet.”
Colonel Jordan barked, “Speaking of dinner. You’ll be eating in your room. I don’t need my mess hall turned into a damn zoo.”
“Understood.”
“And speaking of your room, now that your secret is out, I’ve taken the liberty of moving you to nicer quarters.”
We squealed to a stop in front of what looked like a cinderblock cabin. Katie said, “Thank you, Colonel. We’re very grateful.”
“Just about every man on base volunteered to stand guard. So both entrances will have three guards at all time,” he said with a trace of pride. I didn’t bother to tell him those guards would be worthless if the Chemist attacked. But I doubted that would happen in the near future. We were expecting him. “I support you, Outlaw. We fight with you.”
Katie and I walked into our new quarters. Two bedrooms. Much nicer.
Katie checked her phone and said, “Oh look. We’re trending on Twitter.”
Chapter Seven
Saturday, January 6th. 2019
I quickly grew sick of my own face. On every television. On every news website. On every social media app. Katie’s pictures were great. I looked goofy.
The Outlaw’s secret identity finally revealed!
Blah.
Cellphone footage of our interactions with soldiers at Los Alamitos quickly went viral. Video of me playing quarterback for Hidden Spring High was spliced alongside the game of catch with marines yesterday. My yearbook pictures were dug up and shown in sequence on CNN, illustrating the remarkable change my body had undergone during the previous twelve months. Wow. I had gotten bigger. The story of my mother’s death got a lot of airtime. Katie and I watched a few minutes last night. She stroked my fingers and said, “You look so good on television. Great cheekbones.”
“I need a haircut.”
“No, it’s perfectly unkempt.”
“Next to you I look like Tarzan.”
She smiled. “Me Jane.”
Carter was furious with Samantha Gear and me. We were exposed and vulnerable. He wanted clearance to send a plane for us but I refused.
“Tell him that I’m his ally now. Not his employee,” I directed Samantha. We were all sitting on the girls’ bed Saturday morning, watching television. I’d slept in the other room.
Samantha frowned. “Tell him yourself, punk.”
“No. Tell him, Puck.”
The speaker on my phone rattled, “Tell him what?”
“Tell Carter we don’t need his plane. He’ll use it as an excuse to control us.”
Puck’s irritation came through. “That’ll be a fun message to deliver.”
Katie asked, “Where are you, PuckDaddy?”
“Dunno. Haven’t looked out a window in a few days. California somewhere. PuckDaddy should probably track his own location like he does yours.”
Samantha scowled at her phone. “The Priest is in the news again. That little whelp grows irksome.”
“What now?”
“He’s calling for Chase Jackson to repent and surrender himself to their guidance.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna.”
“Grass Valley, California,” Puck mused. “Huh. Wonder what we’re doing here. My drivers are curious animals.”
Cory texted me when he heard the news about my secret identity.
>> I knew it. You a boss.
Cory knew it?! No way. His reaction was much more subdued than Lee’s, who quickly touted himself as my best friend and assistant, and had been answering questions on his Outlaw blog and enjoying the notoriety for fifteen hours straight.
Puck reported, “Carter requests you keep him apprised of your plans. And he’ll do the same.”
I asked, “What are his plans?”
Puck said, “Don’t think he has one. He’s in Norway. Went to monitor an 18 year old Infected kid, but she died before he got there.”
Katie said, “That’s awful.”
I asked, “What happened?”
Samantha didn’t look up from her phone. “Relax kids. Happens several times a year. This disease kills pretty much everyone who has it. Remember? We’re only able to save one Infected every couple years. And even then, they often don’t last long.”
“What a fascinating and monstrous disease you have,” Katie said, rubbing her forehead in thought. “There has to be a cure.”
“Katie, tell your boyfriend to quit rubbing my leg.”
“What?!” I cried. “I’m not!”
“Are too.”
“It’s just this tiny bed.”
Katie sighed. “Do I need to sit between you two?”
Samantha sniffed. “Only if you’ll rub my leg.”
“Mine too,” I said.
“Aaaaaanyway,” Puck groaned. “What’s your plan? What should I tell Carter?”
“We have two plans.” I held up two fingers that he couldn’t see. “Keep Katie safe. And remove the Chemist.”
Puck pushed maps of the city to our iPhones and iPad while Samantha and I brain-stormed. Throughout the day we’d text Isaac Anderson and get his input on various details, and to find out what the military’s plans were. Trouble was, the military was fractured. No one was sharing information or collaborating on solutions.
Samantha and I didn’t have a very elegant plan either. Essentially, the next time Puck confirmed with certainty that the Chemist was downtown, we were going hunting. We’d take supplies and weapons and we wouldn’t come back until we had him. Puck illustrated on maps where the military thought he hid, and where the positive sightings had been. The military’s intelligence was good. They were monitoring the city from every angle and with every known technology. Much was known about the inner workings of the fortress. Except how to storm it and eliminate targets too fast to be shot, without massive civilian casualties.
“I can get you all the equipment you need,” Anderson yawned over the speaker phone. “The remaining Navy SEALs are currently training with munitions that don’t require high levels of accuracy.”
That piqued Samantha’s interest. “What kind of munitions?”
“OC spray.”
I said, “Huh?”
Katie answered, “Oleoresin Capsicum.”
I said, “Huh?”
“Pepper spray.”
Samantha tapped the phone against her lips in thought. “OC spray. That’s interesting. I bet they’re training with goggles. Might work.”
“I thought our lungs filter out the harsh chemicals. Deadens the effects. Chosen wouldn’t feel it.”
Samantha answered me, “The eyes are more vulnerable. OC spray is primarily an eye irritant. Can swell them completely shut. If the SEALs wear eye protection, and can deliver clouds of OC…it wouldn’t level the playing field, but it might help. At least slow the Chosen down.”
At noon, Katie got up and stretched her arms over her head. “Your war games grow wearisome. I’m going for a jog.”
I joined her. Our guard detail, a mixture of Air Force airmen and MPs, snapped to attention when we emerged. A couple airmen eagerly volunteered to show us their usual route. Katie and I set off at an easy pace after them, quickly joined and surrounded by most of our armed guard.
“Protective group, aren’t they?” Katie observed.
“They’ve just got good taste.”
“Samantha will have the remainder of the guards in bed with her by the time we get back.”
“What??” I nearly stumbled. “But…isn’t she…aren’t she and my dad…”
Katie grinned, chasing the le
ad airmen with easy strides. She’d been a runner her whole life. “Yes. They are. But I don’t think it’s exclusive. It’s not like Samantha and your dad can get married or something.”
“Yeah but….yeah but…”
“Besides, your father has an on-again-off-again thing with one of his commanding officers. Her name is Annette.”
“Nope.”
“Oh Chase. You’re so beautiful and adorable and naive. Your dad is kind of a hunk. How long did you expect him to stay single?”
“Until forever, obviously. His sole purpose in life is to be my father. He has no needs.”
She laughed.
I continued, “So she and my father aren’t…romantic?”
“Oh they are. But I think they both know this isn’t permanent. Ships passing in the night. Are you sure you want to talk about this? We’re being followed by a lot of ears and this is pretty juicy gossip.” She indicated our protective contingent. I glanced around and several airmen snapped their eyes forward, faces wooden and fixed. Our group crossed a street and began jogging along side the green Destroyer Golf Course. We had swelled to twenty total joggers.
After a transport helicopter thundered overhead, we could speak again. I asked, “Why can’t it be permanent?”
“They live on different planets. Richard’s life is here. Samantha’s is…everywhere.” She had begun taking deep breaths. So far the run wasn’t affecting me. “Do you mind if I take your photo with my phone while you jog?”
I said, “I don’t care. Does the age thing bother you?”
“Smile!” I smiled. Click. She asked, “What age thing?”
“Infected can live a long time,” I explained. This was dangerous territory and I’d been dreading this conversation. “Two or three times longer than normal.”
“You mean, does it bother me that when I’m sixty-five you’ll still look like a hot twenty-five year old?” she grinned, brightening the world. She could charge solar panels with her smile. “I’m okay with the arrangement.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
She elbowed me lightly. “I’ll try to die young, like maybe seventy, so you can start dating hot girls again.”
“This conversation has grown weird.”
“What bothers me is the suicidal tendencies you Infected have. I’ve heard you and Samantha and Puck talking about it, about how Infected don’t live long because cheating death sounds so…adventurous.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” I said.
“You don’t feel it?”
“No, I do. I feel it. But I have more to live for than the others do. I have you.”
“If you keep talking like that, Outlaw, then you can have me right here on the golf course.”
The Air Force airmen surrounding us around stifled laughter.
* * *
Puck called us that night. “Oh man. Turn on your television.”
“Which channel?”
“All of them.” His voice came through my speaker phone. He didn’t sound happy. Katie shot me a worried look and pressed the remote. The television on the dresser flickered on. Samantha wandered in from the other room. She was sharpening a knife.
All the major stations were playing a video recording they’d just received. Teresa Triplett was on screen. The lighting was bad. She appeared to be in an empty room, sitting on a chair, looking exhausted and scared. She wore a blue robe tied across the middle with a wide red sash.
She spoke. “This is Teresa Triplett, reporting from downtown Los Angeles, within the Empire of the New Age.” Her voice was shaky and hollow, and the mic wasn’t close enough to her mouth. “I’m here to read a message from Martin Patterson, the man you call the Chemist.”
Samantha Gear and I sat on the edge of the bed, just inches from the screen.
Teresa Triplett said in a rush, clearly going off script, “I’ve been told if I don’t read this statement then my roommate will be executed.” I groaned inwardly. Not a good idea, Teresa. You might be punished for that later. Her roommate and fellow hostage was the movie star Natalie North. “I’m being treated well. We all are. It is the presence of the United States’ military that keeps us hostage. The farther you remove yourselves from our Kingdom, the more freedom the Emperor will grant us.”
Samantha grunted as Teresa Triplett read from the paper. Katie had to elbow us aside so she could see the screen. Puck was silent. Most of the world was watching, I bet.
Teresa continued, “Our Emperor has taken notice of the media’s Outlaw discovery. This masked terrorist has been identified as a child, a mere high school student named Chase Jackson. Our Father has known this all along, and wants you to know the boy may appear innocuous but in reality he is a grave threat. Dangerous.”
Samantha grumbled, “Damn right he’s dangerous.”
“He cannot be trusted. He poses as a symbol of hope, but in reality he subverts your country and your future. Our Emperor has a message for the more rational citizens of America.” Teresa Triplett stopped reading for a moment. She stared off screen and took a deep breath. Her eyes were red and pooling with tears. “Our Emperor seeks to aid America in removing this threat. To demonstrate how committed he is and how urgent the situation grows, he offers a reward to the men and women brave enough to capture the Outlaw.”
Puck said, “Oh crud.”
“Any person who delivers the body of the Outlaw unto our Emperor shall be compensated with one hundred million dollars and the additional option of becoming immortal, like our Emperor.”
Katie gasped. Her hand on my shoulder squeezed hard. “A hundred million dollars??”
“Any person who delivers the Outlaw still living shall be compensated with five hundred million dollars, and the option of becoming immortal, like our Emperor.”
Samantha stood, her face as grim as death. She retrieved a pistol from the other room and stood between us and the door, her arms crossed. She and I shared the same thought; we might need to fight our way out in a minute.
Five hundred million dollars is not just life-changing. It’s world-changing for generations of lives.
Teresa continued, now talking through sobs. “The Outlaw is a vicious murderer. His capture will result in injuries and most likely multiple casualties. He won’t be afraid to slaughter any brave soul that draws near. Therefore, if a valiant group is required to capture the masked terrorist then our Emperor will increase the reward to fully compensate your patriotic sacrifices.”
Noises were increasing outside our door. It was eight at night. We all stared at the wooden door, which seemed to shrink and grow more fragile.
“We know from news channels that the Outlaw is traveling with certain companions. Our Emperor offers rewards for these lesser terrorists, too. You may find these terrorists in southeast Los Angeles. Treacherous and disloyal government officials are hiding the Outlaw on the military base Los Alamitos. Find them. Bring them to me. Or kill them all. Happy hunting, and may God continue to bless America.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday, January 6. 2019
My phone rang. Special Agent Isaac Anderson.
“Two things,” Anderson barked in my ear. “One. We gotta get you out of there immediately.”
“Sooner the better,” I said, glaring warily at the door. Fear for Katie’s safety was carving holes in my stomach. Rumor of the bounty on our heads spread instantly. Instantly! Like wildfire. We could hear men outside growing rowdy.
“Two. We found him.”
“Found the Chemist?” I asked. Samantha turned from the door to eavesdrop on the phone call, her eyebrow arched. I put the call on speaker.
“Roger that. The Chemist. He made a mistake. We’ve been monitoring as many towers as we can with microphones and infrared cameras. We got lucky. That recording was made on the thirtieth floor of the Gas Company Tower, and based on heat signatures it appears the Chemist was present.”
“How do you know?
He answered, “Infected have warme
r blood. Didn’t you know? You guys run hot.”
“Heck yeah we do.”
Samantha spoke up. “Is he still in the tower?”
“The warm body we believe to be the Chemist is still in the tower, yes.”
“Level it. Cut the whole tower down.”
“Negative. Several hundred civilians are housed there too.”
“So what?” Samantha snapped. “Do it anyway. This will result in lives saved, ultimately.”
“Samantha,” Katie whispered. “Natalie North could be in that tower. He loves her.”
“Oh God,” Samantha groaned and raked fingers through her hair. “Everyone and their damn feelings. War is hell. Gotta walk through it to win.”
Isaac continued, “Navy SEALs are preparing to drop on that tower within thirty minutes. If we’re lucky, he’s still there.”
“No! Anderson, don’t send them! I’ll go,” I shouted.
Samantha said, “Those little boys will get chewed in half. You need monsters. Just get us a chopper.”
“SEALs are going in. I fielded a call from the Secretary of Defense, personally authorizing us to escort you two in also.”
“Great.” She ground her teeth. “Babies for us to take care of. Tell them they need semi-automatic shotguns and grenades. As much as they can carry.”
Anderson said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. My helicopter is already spinning up. But I’m worried about Katie. She can’t go with you and she can’t stay there.”
Katie sat on the edge of the bed, posture erect, beautiful brown hair pulled back, watching me, excited and worried. I said, “I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we pushed out of our private barracks and into madness.
Our protective wall of United States servicemen had grown to over a hundred bodies. A complete ring of armed marines and airmen encircled our small building, three deep. Unified, they faced down a rising tide of greed. Night had fallen and our corner of the base wasn’t well lit, but the sounds alone were frightening enough. Hundreds of men and woman massed on Liberty Avenue, armed with flashlights and firearms. They wanted me. They wanted us. Dead or Alive.
