Outcasts

by Alan Janney

  We reached the stairwell, a madhouse of screaming. I fired my shotgun, felling two panting gunmen on the landing.

  Isaac grunted, “We’ll never make it up.”

  “Got a better idea, Special Agent?” I snarled. I ripped three grenades off the closest SEAL vest and hurled them upwards, picking out different ricochet angles to cover the most area. The grenades bounced out of sight, and detonations shook the walls. My ears rang.

  We made it only one level and then the crush of descending bodies forced us onto the 45th floor. One of the SEALs was caught and pulled over the railing, gone forever. Our hostages screamed.

  “Far side, other stairwell, move move move!” I ordered, and I stood in the doorway an extra twenty seconds, shredding hostiles exiting the stair shaft. Four rounds. I ejected the magazine, tossed a grenade, and ran. “Puck, any word on Outlaw?”

  “No,” he said miserably.

  We ascended another level and were pushed onto the 46th. This floor had been under construction. Half the level was completely open, a vast plain, all the way to far windows. The city sparkled beyond. Support beams and plumbing and ventilation shafts stood exposed.

  A small group of Chosen waited for us, standing ready.

  I muttered, “Ah. These are the new weapons Chase mentioned.”

  These twelve Chosen appeared healthier. Better fed. Stronger. And they were armed with gory gadgets.

  Six of them, four women and two men, wore metal gloves which provided the wearer with two-inch razor claws. The Chemist had decided bullets were ineffective. These claws would cut through our skin easier than bullets could puncture, I bet.

  Three of them wore heavy boots and bizarre electrical gloves. The gloves were corded with exposed wires and connected to powerful batteries in thick black cuffs. Their fingers sparked and spit. Could be a horror movie.

  The final three Chosen brandished metal bats connected to a battery strapped to their back. The metal bats were electrified.

  These Chosen and these weapons were Outlaw killers. The Chemist had grown wiser. He’d created soldiers specifically designed to hurt Infected with razors and electricity.

  “Everyone stay behind me,” I said. “Keep that stairwell sealed. Kill anyone who comes out. This just got fun.”

  One of the armed Chosen, a Latin American man brandishing a nasty looking bat, called, “We do not want you dead, pretty lady. We want you alive.”

  “Those are the Chemist’s orders?” I asked.

  “Straight from his mouth, senoritá. Put down the gun. He wants you to join the family!”

  “Is that so.”

  “And I want you in my bed, mamitá. Let’s talk.”

  “Talking’s the worst,” I growled. “Why do guys always wanna talk?”

  I fired.

  They were too far away for shotgun damage. They charged. We released grenades. These Chosen were fast, well trained, and they danced away from eruptions. Only one fell without getting up.

  I fired into the face of a bellowing bull with earrings. He died, but not before raking his claws across my abdomen. His steel slashed straight through my skin and muscle.

  The Navy SEAL on my right fired and got a piece of a second Chosen. The man fell. His baton connected with a steel girder. The battery released its load into the metal with an enormous snap, and floor insulation around the steel beam melted with a sizzle.

  This floor, the 46th, had offices on the north half. I laid down murderous fire and we retreated into the main doorway. The SEAL on my blindside was caught at the neck by an electrified glove. Their connection allowed the electricity to ground, instantly killing both men. My nostrils filled with burnt flesh.

  An electric suicide bomber.

  It would kill me too.

  The tower suddenly shook. Through the far windows, a magnificent blossom of fire. Some eruption below shook our structure like an earthquake.

  Hopefully that meant the Outlaw still lived.

  We backed into the offices and fought the Chosen and gunmen with guerrilla warfare, reducing their numbers through attrition. We hid, making them come to us. They charged into our crossfire blindly, and died. Rivers of blood ran. So did my sweat. The four surviving SEALs fought valiantly. Isaac too. The man was fearless. Mothers and daughters screamed from under tables. We survived until the grenades ran out. Then, tides turned. Their unending numbers rose against us. We lost a SEAL to Chosen with bladed hands. Then another.

  Isaac aimed and fired his assault rifle over my shoulder. Click. “I’m out,” he barked.

  “Take a magazine off my belt,” I yelled. Boom! My shotgun pulped his target, and a spent cartridge clattered on the tile floor. “Only two more shotgun rounds left.”

  “You were right,” Isaac commented, tugging an assault rifle magazine off my belt. “You run out, we die.”

  “I love being right. Most of the time.”

  We had two SEALs left. And six hostages, and Isaac and me. Plus presumably three hostages and a SEAL still alive somewhere above.

  “Save your rounds!” I called. “We’re making a run for it! Hopefully we thinned the herd enough to get up the staircase.”

  Puck murmured something about that not working. But we were out of options. I discarded the beautiful, steaming shotgun in favor of my assault rifle. I still had sixty bullets left, enough to fight my way out. At least to a window. But I didn’t want to escape via parachute. I wanted to get everyone home.

  Chase’s influence on me. Damn him.

  “Let’s go!”

  We burst from our hiding spots and scrambled for the eastern stairwell.

  Puck was right. It wouldn’t work.

  We ran into a hundred enemies. Two hundred. Maybe three. Waiting for us. They were everywhere, even crawling up walls and hanging from rafters. Many marked by traces of powder around noses and mouths, indications of the Chemist’s super drug.

  We were wanted alive. They didn’t kill us immediately.

  “Hold your fire!” I screamed to my squad. Shooting would be like fighting waves with handfuls of sand. Pointless. There had to be a better option. Quickly they encircled us. They didn’t attack. We didn’t fire.

  “This sucks.”

  Isaac muttered, “My radio was destroyed. We got no help coming.”

  “Shooter.” Puck’s voice sounded sad in my ear. “Special Agent Anderson has Hellfire missiles aimed at the tower. A lot of them. I can fire them. Just…just say the word. And I will. The collateral damage might be worth taking out that god-awful army.”

  “And a quick death,” I mused.

  “Yeah.”

  “I still might talk my way out of this.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  The leader from before, the Latino carrying an electric bat, sauntered into view. He spread his hands to indicate the infinite number of men and women at his disposal.

  “Well well, señorita. You ready to talk with me? Or will we just take what we want from you?”

  My blood boiled. This man, at least, would die.

  I asked, “What are you offering?”

  “You will be kept alive and taken to the Father.”

  “And the hostages?”

  “The property you’re trying to steal?” he smirked. “They’ll be sent back to their rooms.”

  “And the men with me?”

  “They will be fed to tigers. Alive, if you don’t surrender. Dead, if you do.” He shrugged. “The Father’s pets enjoy the taste of human. Be merciful. Give yourself to me.”

  “Nah.”

  “Nah?” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Nah? We will hold you down, perra. My men will take turns with you. Nah?”

  I called, “Not tonight. Some other time.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. His men raised weapons. Probably a hundred guns. I trained mine on his face.

  That window/parachute option was looking better and better.

  All of a sudden, a loud voice burst forth.

  “NO!”

 
Such a voice! I shuddered at the sound, at the power.

  The Outlaw. He stalked onto our floor and his presence sent the enemy reeling. They cowered and ducked, forced backwards. He was enraged and engorged and his fury shone like the sun. I could barely look at him. Chosen shielded their eyes.

  The virus was a volcano in him, thrusting its power against our senses. Chosen felt the strength more acutely and they cried out when he glared. The disease in him crippled their own by comparison. And mine.

  “Back!” he ordered. The crowd acted as if scalded, and scampered away. He swept enemies backwards with his will. The weight of his anger was a physical force. He bled…everywhere. His mask was gone. His bandana missing. Clothes torn. Rod stuffed into his vest.

  A girl clutched his free hand, exhausted. Natalie North. She panted and struggled to stand.

  He approached the center of the room, pushing Chosen and gunmen ahead with his gaze. This was the Outlaw the Chemist feared. This was the man Carter knew Chase might become. A man that could break the world. Or save it.

  His body called to me. A siren. Drawing me. The Chosen experienced it too. They loved him. Feared him. And hated him. Despised him. Loathed him. How had the Chemist poisoned their minds’ against Chase so effectively?

  Hundreds of Chosen and gunmen pressed against the far walls and against each other. As they congealed into one mass, however, their resolve hardened. Their courage returned as they collected. Combined hatred swelled. Soon they’d have strength enough to defy him.

  “We’re leaving,” he told us. His words went into my bones like raw power, an infusion of vitality. His voice carried hope. The two SEALs obeyed him. Even they had trouble meeting his eyes.

  We didn’t speak. Isaac took Natalie North’s hand and we jogged quickly towards the door while Chase held back the rising tide of evil. But his power over them waned. Our time ran short.

  “Wait!” Natalie North cried, beautiful even in destruction. She pulled out of Isaac’s protective grip and hurried back. She released the red sash from her waist and reached waaaaaay up to tie it around his face. Her blue robe fell open but she wore lingerie underneath. The red sash covered Chase’s eyes and all his hair, like a helmet which knotted in the back. She ripped two eyeholes in the material’s thin weave. “There,” she smiled wearily and touched his cheeks with her hands. “The Outlaw wears a mask.”

  “Thank you, Natalie.”

  Puck asked in my ear, “What the HELL is going on??”

  “The Outlaw is back. Natalie North just gave him a new mask,” I replied.

  “A new one?”

  “Yup.”

  “What happened to his old one?”

  “I don’t know. It’s gone.”

  Natalie North walked quietly back to us and took Isaac’s hand.

  Puck asked, “What’s it look like?”

  “His new mask? It’s red. Covers his whole head except for his nose and mouth. Ties in the back, and the ends dangle down. Who cares?”

  “Huh,” Puck said. “Like Zorro’s?”

  “No,” I snapped in irritation. “Not like Zorro’s. You need to focus.”

  Isaac said, “Maybe he means Zorro’s first mask? In the movie, Antonio Banderas wore a mask like that before putting on Zorro’s hat.”

  “Kinda,” Natalie North nodded. “More like the Dred Pirate Roberts. Except crimson.”

  “Affirmative,” one of the SEALs nodded. “Exactly like Dred Pirate Roberts.”

  “Who?”

  “Did you never watch The Princess Bride?” Natalie asked, smiling affectionately at Isaac.

  “The what? No.”

  “Great movie, sir. A must-watch.”

  “Samantha.” The Outlaw spoke in a fierce whisper that cut like a knife. “Get everyone on the helicopter and take off.”

  “Roger that, Outlaw.”

  We fled. The wave of humanity broke, crashing against the Outlaw. I didn’t watch. I obeyed. But we could hear his Boom Stick singing. Crushing. I ran, yelling for the Navy SEAL and hostages waiting on the 47th floor. They joined us in our mad dash through darkness. Women and children staggered and we hauled them up. Our crew reached the roof and fresh air. Pilot WhatsHisName plunged his heavy Black Hawk towards the helipad.

  There wasn’t enough time to land and load two choppers. We’d have to shove into the FBI Black Hawk’s rear cabin, which was loaded with equipment and not intended for troop transport. Eight people was a tight fit. We numbered fifteen, including the Outlaw, who had somehow joined us.

  The helicopter landed hot and reckless. Forward landing wheels crunched and the fuselage sparked against tarmac. Chase and I threw Natalie and hostages into the rear cabin.

  “In!” I ordered the SEALs. They balked and tried to force me on.

  “Get in!” Chase ordered and they obeyed.

  Men. Typical stupid men.

  The horde of gunmen and Chosen arrived, pouring up the stairs. Our transport would be swarmed. Their leader, the man from before, led the charge with a sparking baton of death.

  Chase turned, casually spun his Thunder Stick, and beheaded the man with one violent hack to the base of his skull.

  Beheaded! That was intense, even for me. The helicopter’s downdraft sprayed a burst of crimson across the helipad.

  Chase held up his hand, like a traffic guard stopping oncoming cars. The enemy screamed and reeled away, collapsing backwards as one body. Their momentum terminated like an interstate wreck.

  How did he DO that?! Chase’s arm muscles bulged and he groaned in effort, like he physically pushed against…something. He stared them down, daring someone to move. Like last time, this halt was temporary. The Chemist’s forces gathered and rose like a wave.

  “GO!” I screamed at Isaac. The SEALs and Isaac pressed into the helicopter, crushing women and children between them. It was close. The men grabbed handholds, and women secured them with arms wrapped around their waists. They fit.

  Above us, the Navy Pave Hawk circled. “Puck!” I shouted. “Tell that Pave Hawk to light this place up!”

  “You got it!”

  The enemy surged. We met them at the crest of the staircase. The Outlaw dealt death with each hack, and I fired my assault rifle as fast as machinery allowed. Their gunmen returned fire and I absorbed hits in my vest and thigh, but we slowed the tide.

  Pilot WhatsHisName threw the helicopter back into the sky, diving straight towards stars.

  They were safe.

  The Pave Hawk ducked, suffering a salvo of enemy gunfire from lower levels. Then, its heavy miniguns roared and unleashed .308 death into the top floors. So loud! Glass exploded. The structure shuddered.

  “Outlaw, time to go!” We turned in unison, sprinted to the side of the helipad, chased by a sea of insanity. I angled towards the Pave Hawk and Leapt.

  Not even close. I couldn’t jump like Chase. And if I had gotten close, I’d have hit rotors most likely. Stupid! Stupid Samantha! So high up. The free fall would last…sixty seconds? I couldn’t do math with wind howling in my ears. Then Chase slammed into me. He took my hands and carefully placed them at at my waist. Of course! The flight suit. I’d forgotten, too hopped up on adrenaline, so ready for death. Almost welcomed it. But not today. I hooked gloves into pants, extended the wings and took flight.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday, January 7. 2019

  Samantha and I flew miles across Los Angeles. We landed around midnight when we saw the lights of an iHop on 6th Street. Both of us famished, I helped Samantha stow her parachute. She announced she was going to kiss Lee on the mouth as a Thank You for the wings and chute. If I knew Lee, he was going to suggest Second Base might be a more appropriate sign of gratitude.

  Samantha extracted a bullet from her outer thigh, the way a normal human would remove an air rifle pellet, and secured the wound with a bandage. To avoid recognition, I wrapped the sash around my head in a more common fashion, like a balaclava, and we collapsed into a booth. Everything hurt. The bones in my hands a
ched. My face felt raw, like someone had scorched the skin with electricity. Which they had. My ribs burned from slash wounds. Claws had raked my neck. My ears rang from Samantha’s gunshots. Every time I blinked the darkness filled with muzzle bursts.

  Patrons inside the warm diner cast curious glances our way but we weren’t dressed dissimilarly from extreme hipsters. Except for the blood. Each of us was splattered with an alarming amount of drying blood. But other than that, we fit in. And our vests. Those were weird too. And my Stick of Treachery. That was also odd.

  “Omelets,” we told our server. “Five each. Whatever’s quickest.” She cocked an unamused and heavily penciled eyebrow and sauntered off.

  I had texts from Puck.

  >> PuckDaddy is tracking u

  >> stop flying around

  >> where r u 2 going

  >> r u at an ihop ??

  >> anderson is freaking out

  >> ur at a ihop i can tell

  >> ur so weird

  >> fine. eat and ignore Puck

  >> not like PuckDaddy has been worried sick

  >> i gave isaac ur location

  >> don’t think he cares right now

  >> hes got natalie

  >> bet hes making out

  I texted Katie. We are alive. But we didn’t get him.

  >> Aw, I’m sorry, handsome. You’ll get him next time. I’m sure you tried really hard.

  I grinned. I love you.

  >> Back at’cha! Come find me. I don’t know where I am but I have all the kisses for you. =)

  Samantha asked, “Do you have your wallet?”

  “No. Left it with Katie. Why?”

  “iHop is going to frown on our lack of funds. Tell Isaac to bring us money.”

  “No way. He just got Natalie back. Let’s give them some privacy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I am not washing dishes to pay for this food.”

  “I’ll text Dad.”

  She perked up. “Even better idea. I could use Richard right now.”

  “Oh,” I grimaced and my stomach lurched. “Holy…never mind, ew. Gross. I’ll just go rob someone.”

  I ate four omelets, two plates of hash browns, two bowls of fruit, three chocolate pancakes, and drank six glasses of ice water and three mugs of coffee. Samantha ate an extra pancake, just to prove she could consume more. No talking. Just shoveling food. My hands quit shaking after twenty minutes.