by Alan Janney
They had brought me to the exercise room the morning after Carter left. Cory refused to join; said it was too early. I couldn’t get the treadmill fast enough to challenge me, so I spent my time with weights. I hadn’t worked out in a weight room since junior year football season, and the familiar sounds and smells were welcome. After warming up, I was able to bench press over five hundred pounds, squat nine hundred, curl one ten with each arm, and a perform a hundred and fifty pull-ups consecutively. None of these were world records, the SEALs told me, but were more than they’d ever seen. I could do more if the disease was angry. I could do more if I was disciplined and exercised, and not so lazy.
After the second morning, I panted, “Is it weird watching some punk kid lift more weights than you, even though this is your career? I think it would piss me off.”
“Nah,” Sergeant Cody grinned, wiping his face with a white towel. “It’s weird watching your body actually grow in size, Outlaw. That’s some spooky-ass stuff, right there.”
“I feel like I haven’t earned the right to lift this much.”
“You took a lot of punishment on that tower, sir. Got shot and got the hell beat out you. Seems to me like you earned it. And either way, glad you’re on our side.”
Endorphins. That might be another factor in my contentment, I mused, now sitting on deck, trying not to stare at Katie’s turquoise bikini while I pondered exercise and listened to Samantha talk about the sea.
Katie sleepily murmured, “The happy version of Samantha is eery. I like her but…it weirds me out.”
Puck’s voice rattled out of a bluetooth speaker nearby. “Yeah, she hasn’t cussed at PuckDaddy for days. I don’t like it.”
“All of you, shut up. You’re ruining my zen.”
“Samantha Gear does not have zen, dummy.”
Katie chirped, “Chase has zen too. He’s been smiling more. I have loved his smile since elementary school.” She pushed me gently with her toes. I took her foot in my hand and began massaging. She’d be asleep soon if I continued.
“Gross,” Samantha said. “Now my zen is completely gone.”
“She right,” Cory said. He sunbathed too, though he didn’t earn the attention Katie did. “Ya’ll white people nasty.”
I asked, “Did you hear from your parents?”
“Made it to Toledo,” Cory answered. “Want me to come out, soon as its safe. Never gon’ be safe, though, you two keep sitting here.”
Samantha grinned. “I’ll have to get up soon. Captain Travis said we’re going to get a storm out of the Pacific. Clouds, rain, larger waves. It will ruin my zen.”
“I think that sounds fun,” I said.
“Yeah, me too, actually, now I say it out loud. Never mind, Cory. You can’t go home.”
Lee was currently aboard the George Washington, working with a team of Army and Navy engineers. They were replicating the Chosen’s new weapons in an attempt to counter them. His creativity and ingenuity, combined with my willingness to be his test dummy, and his elevated status as the Outlaw’s personal gadget inventor, was proving useful to their R&D. He already spoke their technobabble language. In many ways, they deferred to him. We heard his excited voice across the water on more than one occasion as some poor soul got zapped.
He loved the new mask Natalie North had created. I told him I no longer needed one. He had frowned and said, “Dude. The Outlaw wears a mask.” Besides, he explained, this one prevented my ear piece from falling out. He had also made new wing-suits and vests for Samantha and I. “And check out these additions, bro. See these three pockets? Boom! The first pocket holds a small can of OC spray. Know what that’s for?”
I turned the small red bottle in my hands. It was about the size of a restaurant salt shaker. “Yes. It’s pepper spray. Spray it in the eyes of Chosen.”
“Wrong! Well, kinda. But wrong! It’s for tiger eyes! You’ve seen the pictures of those herculean cats downtown, right? Well. Now you’re prepared, dude! Right in the eyes, bye bye tiger, hello wimpy pussycat. Okay, next pocket. This blue canister is full of oxygen. Only good for about five deep breaths. If you deploy the OC spray and worry you might breathe in the toxins…pow! Instant oxygen!”
“Nice. I could use this sky diving, if the air is too thin.”
“The bottles are the same size so…don’t confuse them.”
I pulled out a black device from the third small pocket. “Is this a flashlight?”
“Yes. Not my invention, though. This one comes from the military. It’s a high intensity strobe light. Seven flashes a second at over eighty-five lumens. It’s ten times stronger than a 747’s landing light, bro.”
“What do I do with it?”
He smacked his head with his palm. “Blind people, dummy! It causes temporary flash blindness. Especially Chosen or Infected, at night, because their eyes are already…all…night visiony…right?”
“Night visiony?”
“You know! They can see in the dark. Their pupils must be wide open and then you shine this baby into them?? That’s gonna hurt! I’m trying to find you non-lethal weapons, bro. At least act happy.”
“I am happy! These are awesome. What about a water gun? To short circuit their electro-death-gadgets?”
“We’re experimenting with water guns,” he nodded sagely. “The problem is, electricity follows the water to its source and zaps the squirter. In other words, the water gun does short circuit their gear, but it shocks them and you.”
“Ah.”
“We’re building prototypes which fire short bursts of water. Instead of a stream, it releases a single shot. Like a water balloon without the balloon. That way, electricity can’t follow the stream. It’s all very complicated, Chase. You probably wouldn’t understand.”
* * *
The squall rolled in during our thirteenth day aboard. Storms posed no threat to our mammoth ship, but the roll increased and our world became grey and wet. We stayed inside and watched the news.
Natalie North was on again, relaying her harrowing capture, imprisonment, and escape. She and the other prisoners were treated well, other than general debilitating effects due to stress and lack of sleep. The Chemist said he had special plans for her, but then disappeared. He had an empire to build, she assumed, and no time to spare.
“Have you spoken to Chase Jackson since your release? To the Outlaw?” Natalie was asked.
“No!” she laughed in self-deprecation. “I lost my phone, and thus his number. Chase!” she beamed at the camera and made a pretend phone with her right hand. “Call me!”
Katie winked. “I give you permission. I adore her.”
CNN also showed Katie’s recent Instagram photo, which sent her dancing and giggling around the metal mess hall with low overheads. Each book she recently recommended had jumped to the top of best seller lists.
Subsequent news segments were less exciting.
Las Vegas burned, once again demonstrating how devastating even small groups of Chosen were. They’d ruptured natural gas lines near the strip.
Andy Babington was still missing. My heart sank at the reminder.
The Priest was in the news again, calling for his following, the faithful, to seek the Phoenix. Join him at the Outlaw compound, he declared, and help locate the Fire Girl, Hannah Walker. His votaries numbered over twenty thousand now, and had begun farming land and purchasing live stock, preparing for Armageddon. He shone like a beacon for religious zealots.
The stock market was a dumpster fire.
Demonstrations were held in every city, denouncing all ‘mutants.’ That included me.
Another airline declared bankruptcy.
Lines were drawn between military generals. Fort Bragg was in the throes of a full civil war. Americans killing Americans. The Army suffered the most mutinies, indications that Blue-Eyes had multiple Army generals within her clutches.
Gasoline was over twenty dollars a gallon. The trucking industry strained to function, creating food shortages in remote sections
of the United States.
Police couldn’t control civil unrest in Chicago. Or in Detroit. Or Philadelphia. Rioters rampaged.
The long barricade around downtown Los Angeles thinned due to lack of manpower, and militants streamed unchecked through the border, joining the Chemist’s ‘noble’ crusade and bulging his ranks.
The world accelerated into insanity.
But. Remnants of hope existed.
The FBI found a training center for Chemist goons in Mississippi and destroyed it, capturing several hundred would-be insurgents. This led to the discovery of a dozen newly created Chosen still in their comas. We spotted Carter in the video, overseeing the Chosen’s relocation. If they woke up early, he’d cut their throats.
Samantha simmered and seethed, furious with Carter’s hypocrisy. He’d threatened to shoot any Infected communicating with the government, and now he aided them to the tune of millions.
A powerful benefit of the mounting fear was that it provided most Americans with a common enemy. The Chemist and his ‘mutants’ unwittingly fostered widespread unification and resilience. Cities banded together and held their ground, working together to become self-sufficient as rapidly as possible. Population centers created partnerships with local farms and water sources so goods wouldn’t have to travel cross country.
If the military and the government wouldn’t help them, then they’d help themselves.
Plants manufactured solar panels at a breakneck pace and still couldn’t supply the demand. The Chemist couldn’t block out the sun.
This massive localization project began just a few weeks ago, and then only in certain cities, but it was picking up steam. In the event of catastrophe and the breaking of interconnecting super structures and systems, the groundwork of survival was being laid. Pockets of order and stability would endure. It was the beginning of massive change. All because of the Chemist and his creations.
The television’s carnage and destruction, and the uncertainty and the hope, washed across our faces, reflecting grimly in our eyes. We stared without speaking, watched without blinking. We drank in the news, getting a full dose of our planet’s struggle. A struggle we’d help create.
“What are we doing here?” I whispered eventually. “Just sitting on this boat.”
“We need to go.” Samantha’s voice was equally somber.
Katie agreed. “The world needs the Outlaw. Needs both of you.”
“We can’t wait. Can’t just hope he’ll return to Los Angeles.”
“Europe,” Samantha grunted softly. “That’s where Puck found him last. The Chemist. Two days ago. Somewhere in Germany.”
I took a deep breath and let out a long slow sigh. “Okay. Let’s game plan about going to Germany. Follow that maniac all over the globe if we have to.”
We switched off the volume when the President came on screen to address the nation and call for peace and tolerance. His face made me want to vomit.
As a group we exited the mess hall. Captain Travis, a hard man with a salt and pepper mustache, intercepted us in the adjoining passageway. He’d been a busy man recently, coordinating the launch of seven hundred marines.
“Would you follow me to the security room, please. I require your input.” It wasn’t a question but not exactly an order either. We followed him up the ladder to a compartment near the bridge. The deck swayed beneath us, tossing Katie and Cory into bulkheads. Inside the security room was warm and aglow with computer monitors. All areas of the ship were under constant surveillance. Cody and Dalton, our SEAL shadows, remained outside. Captain Travis pointed to three monitors without live feed. No picture. They flickered blue. “Two hours ago, at approximately seventeen hundred hours, this camera malfunctioned. Thirty minutes later, the second camera failed. Then we lost the third. My bosun went to inspect the cameras twenty minutes ago. Haven’t heard from him since.”
I asked, “He disappeared?”
“Essentially. He’s not on camera and won’t answer his radio. And then. This.” He nodded to the seaman at the keyboard. The seaman punched up a recording on his computer screen. The recording was of the aft well deck. The lighting was poor. “Keep watching. Seaman Burke scanned backwards until he found it. This is a recording of our wet deck at the stern of the ship. Three hours ago. We flood the deck during operations. Watch the gate.”
Five seconds later, a shadow slipped over the top of the gate and vanished behind an amphibious landing craft. A big shadow.
Katie’s breath caught. She knew that shadow. I did too.
“Now,” Captain Travis said, voice angry. “I’m not happy. That who I think it is? Saw him on the news.”
The shadow reappeared, temporarily stepping into a shaft of light. Seaman Burke froze the picture and zoomed in. An enormous man was on screen. Smiling. Soaking wet. The security light cast a cold gleam in his eye.
“Yup,” I nodded. “That’s him. Tank Ware is here.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, February 4th. 2019
“What’s he doing aboard my ship?” Captain Travis barked.
Samantha’s jaw was set, her eyes aflame. “He’s going to ruin my zen.”
“He’s here to kill me,” I said. “And reclaim Katie.”
“He’s like you guys, right?” Travis asked. “He’s got your…condition?”
“Except he’s stronger. Much stronger.”
Captain Travis pushed a button on the wall’s squawk box and spoke into it. “Officer of the deck, this is Captain Travis. Sound general quarters. Not a drill. And call the Master-at-Arms to Security please.”
Our compartment and the passageways were instantaneously filled with a siren. A voice blared over the speakers, “Attention all hands. This is not a drill. Not a drill. All hands. General quarters. All hands to battle stations. All hands to battle stations.”
“Okay,” Travis said, crossing arms over his chest. His voice was surprisingly calm after the raucous announcement. Outside and below us came the sound of pounding boots. “Let’s assume that is indeed Tank Ware. Is he here to earn the Chemist’s reward money?”
“No,” Katie answered. She sank into a chair beside Seaman Burke, hands over her mouth. “This is about pride. His parents are already rich.”
Travis said, “But his intentions are hostile, correct? Will he be armed?”
I shook my head, watching the silent screens. “His hands are too big to work a gun.”
“Then how in the hell does he plan on getting to you?”
“Better question,” Samantha scoffed. “Is how in the hell can you stop him?”
“He’s strong,” I said. “He can probably go through walls.”
Captain Travis arched an eyebrow and rapped a knuckle against the grey bulkhead. The metal rang. “You think he can rip this steel apart?”
“Not the hull. But the walls? No doubt.”
“And bullets won’t penetrate his skin.”
He glared at us, debating whether we were joking. “You think he’s the Incredible Hulk.”
“That’s a really good comparison,” I said, marveling at the revelation. “I wish I’d thought of that.”
“Meh,” Samantha waggled her hand. “Not as strong as the Hulk. And he can’t jump very high.”
Katie’s voice was small from her chair. “But he’s intelligent. He can think logically. He can plan.”
Four men appeared at the door. They wore camouflage and had pistols clipped to their belts. “Sir!”
Captain Travis drawled, “Gentlemen we have an unwelcome guest aboard. Potentially very dangerous. Please inspect the wet deck and report. Arrest any intruders.”
“Yes sir.”
“No,” I said. “Do not arrest. Do not engage. Call me if you see anything.”
Samantha added, “And don’t split up. Stay together. And get some bigger guns. Those little pea shooter won’t do a damn thing.”
They stared at us and at Captain Travis in confusion. Captain Travis clearly debated whether or not he boug
ht our story. He nodded. “Maybe better listen to them, Master-at-Arms. Couldn’t hurt. This is their crazy-ass territory.”
The four Master-at-Arms took a final look at me and departed, boots clunking on the deck. Travis pulled radios off chargers and handed them to me and Samantha.
“Channel three,” he said. “CID channel. You’ll hear any…problems.”
The San Antonio took a large wave awkwardly. We all held on as the ship rose and twisted. From somewhere down the passageway came the sound of howling wind and lashing rain.
“His name’s Tank? Tank avoided detection and got aboard because of the chop. We can’t see in the storm.”
I asked, “How do we get Katie off the ship?”
Travis shook his head. “We don’t. Not in this weather. Not unless there’s an emergency, for the next forty-eight hours.”
“This is an emergency.”
“Better idea,” Samantha said. “Let’s all jump overboard and scuttle the ship. Detonate one of your missiles. He couldn’t survive that.”
Travis arched an eyebrow again. “Scuttle the two billion dollar ship? Pass. Besides, we have no missiles that big. And it’s just one man.”
“One monster. But he’s vulnerable to fire and electricity,” Samantha said.
“We’re fresh out of flame throwers, Major Gear. But I’ll check with the Chief about tasers. Meantime, stay here. Keep the door secured. I’ll be on the bridge.” He stepped out and pulled the heavy door closed. Seaman Burke immediately twisted the lock.
Samantha rummaged through chests and drawers. “Burke. Got a gun?”
“Next room, ma’am. Aft cabinet.”
She opened the weapons locker and grumbled her displeasure. I sat next to Katie and rubbed the back of her neck. Her face was pale, hands still over her mouth.
“Maybe I should talk to him,” she said quietly. “He’s reasonable.”
