by Alan Janney
“Feeling’s mutual.”
“This is why Martin wants you, Outlaw. We don’t despise you like we do each other. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Something about your body. You are strong, yes. You are fast. You are a Leaper. But above all your extraordinary gifts, you are a leader. A magnet. Martin wants to create something lasting, something beautiful in his eyes, and you are the key to its survival.”
“He’s tried to capture me before. Does he believe I can be brainwashed or controlled?”
“Ahhh.” She leaned forward in her chair and looked us in the eyes. Cory recoiled from the potency of her gaze. I felt as though I’d been blasted with sunlight. She could turn the impact of her presence on and off, like a switch. “Now we come to it, don’t we.”
“This is so intense,” PuckDaddy whispered from his speakers.
“He does not brainwash, so to speak, in the traditional sense. Are you familiar with neural stem cell therapy?”
Of course not. Samantha shrugged.
Katie said, “Sure.”
Puck said, “Oh crud.”
“It’s a foreign language to me,” Pacific continued. “I’m a sea captain, not a surgeon like Martin. But he explained it to me and I retained enough. Martin spent ten years experimenting with his own brain cells, creating neurological tissue which can be implanted inside others.”
Katie said, “Stem cells.”
“Yes. Stem cells. He grows his own DNA inside his Chosen.”
Puck mused, “And he does it while the patients sleep, I bet. While the…Larva are in the Pupa stage. The…Butterfly wakes up with the Chemist’s disease and his DNA.”
“And not just within their brains. He implants skin tissue and bone marrow and…well, I forget. Multiple stem cells within each patient. He kidnapped several prominent physicians to perform the surgeries.”
Katie snapped her fingers. “I remember their disappearance! I read about it.”
Samantha looked more and more angry. “Isaac Anderson mentioned the disappearance too. But I don’t get it. What good does that do?”
Katie mused, “He wants to create a utopia for people who can’t coexist. The Chosen and Infected sense each other, like animals, and their bodies do not allow them to play nice. But he’s figured out a way to trick the disease.” She looked to Pacific for confirmation.
“Precisely.”
“He’s essentially…masking their scents with his own. The disease won’t tolerate others with the same symptoms, similar to an alpha predator’s territory dispute. But if he implants and grows his own DNA inside the…Butterflies, then the predators will recognize and accept each other. It’s like tricking a human body into accepting a new organ which would otherwise be rejected; there’s no reason to reject the organ if it has the body’s DNA. Am I getting my analogies confused?”
“No, Katie, that was very well explained.”
Katie beamed. “I was going to be the valedictorian.”
“He’s creating clones of himself,” Samantha realized.
“Not complete clones. But it’s enough to prevent the disease from rejecting other carriers. He’s unsure if the condition is permanent. Right now, it’s how he maintains order.”
Puck rattled, “Chase, this is why the tigers attacked you and not the Chemist. They smelled their own DNA within him but not you.”
I nodded. “I remember. He told me the tigers had his DNA. I just didn’t get it. But I’m still confused. How would the Chemist use this to control me?”
“The final stage of the Pupa phase is a medically created amnesia,” Puck responded. “I’m reading the paperwork right now. Wiping their brains with these hard to pronounce proteins and enzymes and drugs makes the patient’s memory foggy and susceptible to reprogramming. I bet he’d try that on you.”
“He did that to Hannah Walker,” I realized. “Her memory is shot. She couldn’t even remember where I live.”
“Ah yes. The fire girl. He’s quite proud of that one. Performed the surgeries himself.”
“Another thing I don’t understand,” Samantha growled, “is why his Chosen obeyed Chase? On top of the Gas Tower, he had partial control over them.”
“Did he? Hah. Extraordinary. I bet meeting the fabled Outlaw is an overpowering experience for them. His body attracts the disease instead of repels it, so they are, at least in part, drawn to him. On the other hand, they sense the disease but not the Chemist’s DNA, which identifies the Outlaw as an enemy. He’s an enemy alpha predator, an affront, from outside of their pride. They love him and hate him. Plus they operate under orders to attack and subdue him on sight.”
“Yeah but-”
She talked over Samantha. “Finally, on top of all that, the Outlaw is immensely more powerful than the new Chosen. They obeyed him because he is king of the jungle. His will subdues theirs. At least initially.”
“They’re drawn to him. But they hate him. They’ve been ordered to attack him. But he’s the most powerful.” Samantha groaned. “What a confusing scrum.”
I asked, “What about that super drug of his?”
“Nootropics.”
Katie made a tsk noise and said, “Aaahhh. That makes sense.”
“Explain. I wasn’t going to be the valedictorian.”
Katie grinned and squeezed my hand. “A nootropic is a smart drug. A mental enhancer.”
“Yes. It speeds them up, honey. Plus, Martin uses the drug to…oh, what did he say…deliver a payload of his own genetic code. In essence, it temporarily does for the drug user what the surgery does for his new Chosen. At one thousandth the price and effort, the drug user will be safe from his aggressive Chosen. And tigers.”
She stood and fetched a pitcher of punch. She refilled our glasses, though I hadn't touched mine. While she worked, Samantha glared. “You still haven’t explained why you’re helping us.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want an army of his freaks tearing the world apart. Especially because, after he dies, they will be uncontrollable.”
I said, “The disease is communicable. That means he’s close to death, right? But earlier you mentioned decades.”
“Just a guess,” she said, returning to her chair. “Modern medicine is remarkable. And so is Martin. I imagine he’ll prolong his life much longer than we anticipate.”
“Do you want us to kill him?”
“No. I want you to stop him. The world is more interesting with him in it.”
She smiled during her response. Like it was funny. I had to ask her a question I’d been dreading. But we were all thinking it. And we all knew the answer already.
“I can’t kill him,” I said. “Can I.”
“No, dear. You cannot.”
“You don’t know that,” Samantha shot back.
“I strongly suspect it.”
“We have to try!”
I stood up and walked to the aft rail as Samantha fumed. The Chemist had been preparing for years. Decades. That was obvious. His intelligence far surpassed ours, and so did his ruthlessness. And his organization. And…everything. My plan, in comparison, was pathetic. My plan involved hitting him in the head with a stick.
“I’m not sure, Samantha,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Every time we attack him, our problems escalate. Our violence creates more violence. And he is clearly superior at it.”
“He fights in wars for fun,” Pacific commented, smiling pleasantly again with far off memories, the corners of her eyes wrinkling. “He rose to a Colonel in the Russian army during the first World War. He returned with such a satisfied soul.”
“Do you see?” I asked Samantha. “We’re kids to him. Infants.”
“Powerful infants.”
“Not powerful enough. I don’t even know if he can be killed.”
“He once commented on this,” Pacific said. “He loves literature, especially from Europe. He adores Tolkien, and compared himself to the Ring of Power. The Ring could only be destroyed within the f
ires of Mount Doom. Martin mentioned that an active volcano might be the only way for him to die, as well. He was contemplating suicide at the time.”
“Fire,” Samantha nodded and smacked a palm on her thigh. “American missiles get pretty hot on detonation. We can acquire a few.”
Pacific shook her head. “He’d hear the missiles coming. But I thought of a different way.”
“Which is?”
She chewed for a moment on her thumb, as a little girl would do, and smiled mischievously. “Drop something heavy on him.”
We didn’t respond. Perhaps our host had temporarily gone mad. This seemed…simplistic and juvenile.
“I’m not joking. His body is solid from centuries of ossification. Bullets just ricochet off, I suspect. But his skull? It has no muscle protectant. It’s simply hard. I think his skull could be split down the middle, like a rock, if you…dropped something heavy.”
“Like what?” Samantha chuckled. “A grand piano?”
“Like a mountain.”
Samantha groaned, rolled her eyes, and flopped back in her chair. “Okay. Great. Thanks for the tip.”
“Easier than throwing him into one, in my opinion.”
“He’s so old, though,” Puck said. “Hella old. Shouldn’t he be frail and weak?”
“No PuckDaddy. We are not senescent like mere mortals.”
“Yo Katie, tell Puck what that big word means,” PuckDaddy said. Cory, who had been completely silent, chuckled at this.
“Senescence is the process of aging, Puck,” Katie grinned.
“We’re like reptiles in some ways, PuckDaddy” Pacific said. “Reptiles grow their entire lives and age slowly. They do not cease growing, the way mammals do. You and I will never stop getting stronger and faster, until our organs quit. Thus, Martin believes his body must be thrown into a volcano. Weak? No. Frail? No. Slow? No. Brittle? …perhaps. But if you really want to kill someone, kill the bitch you call Blue-Eyes.”
Puck said, “Yeah, she’s trouble.”
“I’m the jealous type.” Pacific shrugged. “I want to gut her like a fish.”
“Speaking of other Infected,” I said, fingers drumming on the rail. “Do you know China or the Zealot? Do you believe they’d be our allies?”
“Neither of them would aid you in your quest. Australia would have, but I heard of his demise.”
Samantha stayed still, her eyes on the floor. Mitch and Samantha had been as close as Infected could be, though she never consented to marry him. She hadn’t spoken of him since his death at the hands of the Chemist.
Katie asked, “You knew Mitch?”
“I knew Mitchell, yes. I was very fond of that one. As pretty as an angel fish. We met twice, though he claimed he couldn’t remember either. The disease was unkind to his memory.”
Samantha stood and began pacing her side of the deck. Her hands gripped thick handfuls of hair and her teeth ground. “I don’t want to talk about Croc. That solves nothing. And neither does this conversation. We’re getting no where and I want to blow this damn boat into splinters.”
“You can,” Pacific chirped happily. “It’s rigged with explosives.”
Katie’s face paled. Cory grew very still.
Rigged with explosives.
“Much respect, Minnie,” Samantha crowed, inspecting her surroundings with renewed interested. “That’s crazy cool.”
I asked, “Why is it rigged?”
She shrugged as it was obvious. “I don’t want to be as old as Martin. And some days death strikes me as appealing. I want to select the time of my departure. With the touch of a button. But I can usually locate a shark to swim with, which placates my anxieties.”
“Oooooh,” Samantha groaned, as though suddenly getting a luxurious back massage. Her eyes closed. “That sounds wicked. I want a shark.”
“Minnie, how close to shore can you get us?”
“Very. I have an anchorage at Long Beach.”
I grinned, examining a map in my mind. “Perfect. I have a plan.”
Samantha cocked an eyebrow. “Where we going?”
“We’re going to visit the only people I know who defeated Martin.”
Blank stares. No one had a clue.
“We’re going back to Compton.”
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday, February 8. 2019
The lights of Long Beach glowed like a string of Christmas tree bulbs. We closed the distance after midnight, piloted by Pacific. Her steward sat crosslegged at the bow, clutching a spotlight in his fists. Other than his light, Amnesia sliced through the waves completely extinguished. Closer to the beach, closer to goodbye.
Samantha Gear and I dressed in our wing-suit pants and bullet-proof vests, and then jackets and backpacks. My Thunder Stick protruded halfway out.
Santa Monica, Long Beach, Newport, Anaheim, and all the surrounding towns within Greater Los Angeles had been partially abandoned during the previous months. Public officials estimated fifty percent remained. Anyone who could afford to leave did.
The warm breeze from land carried scents of vegetation and cooking food. “Can you smell that?”
Katie’s head rested on my shoulder, strands of her brown hair tickling me. “Smell what?”
“Land.”
“I cannot. You have a superior nose. Must be nice.” She squeezed my hand and said, “Oh God, I have an ill-diving soul. Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, as one dead at the bottom of a tomb.”
“Romeo and Juliet?”
She nodded. “When Juliet says goodbye.”
“Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”
She kissed my shoulder and raised up to stretch her arms over her head. She yawned. “Wrong scene, handsome. Wrong act. Nice try. You’re no valedictorian.”
“But I get to make out with one. Even better.”
“I know I’m not supposed to be scared for you. Or worry. But I am. You’re going to war. You enter the Coliseum to battle with stronger men who fight dirty.”
“Yeah but are they as handsome?”
She gripped my cheeks with her hands. She did not smile. Her fingers held me as if I’d disappear if she released, and her eyes shone like the moon. She was terrified, and afraid to express her fear, and it broke me. “I’m serious, Chase. You’re walking into a den of lions. I don’t know how to say goodbye when I know there’s at least a chance…”
I was ravaged. My heart shattered. I took her hand and kissed it because I couldn’t speak.
“You know?” she said and a tear spilled. “…when I know there’s a chance you won’t come back.”
“Then don’t,” I said. My voice emerged as a painful rasp. “Let’s live in hope. And not think about the…chances.”
“How? I hurt too much.”
I pulled her head close, her mouth onto mine. A kiss, transferring and sharing dreams, fears and tears. Then I said, “I love you. I will see you in a few days. And maybe, just maybe when I see you next, the world will be whole again.”
“And if you die?”
“Then I die for you. And you will marry Lee.”
A small peal of laughter escaped within her misery. “Hah. He wishes.”
“He does wish.”
She took a deep shaky breath. “Goodbye Chase. I will see you soon. The world will be whole again.”
“You don’t believe it. You’re still crying.”
She wiped her cheeks and chin with the flat of her palms. “Shut up. So are you. I’m trying.”
Samantha’s voice shuddered behind us. “Jeez, I’m crying too. This is the saddest thing ever. I might shoot you both so you’ll never be apart.”
The Amnesia cut a tight semi-circle until she pointed westward, her stern now facing the shore. The steward lowered the small dinghy. He and Cory boarded. Samantha and I tossed our backpacks down to Cory and then hopped in.
I reached up and grasped Katie’s hand. “I love you. I’ll come back for you. May flights of an
gels sing you to sleep. Or whatever.”
She waffled her other hand. “Not quite, but close enough, Romeo.”
“Isaac Anderson himself will pick you and Cory up tomorrow night or the day after in a Coast Guard cutter. You’ll be safe.”
“Be careful. To the world, you’re worth five hundred million dollars. But to me, so much more. You’re a house that I’ve bought but not yet possessed. A robe I’ve not yet put on.”
I grinned at her gleaming eyes. “Is that Shakespeare too?”
“Yes.”
“Is it kinda dirty?”
She kissed my hand and released it. “It is. We need to get married. Pronto.”
“I promise.”
The small engine roared and our little boat fled to the blackness. The dark yacht and the beautiful girl quickly vanished in our wake.
Samantha continued to wipe her eyes. “This is why you don’t get close to people.”
“Keep it together, Gear,” I chuckled. But inside I felt like a great fissure had opened in my stomach. A lump in my throat threatened to choke me.
Cory tried to comment but couldn’t. His face was a mess of tears and his mouth kept tugging down at the corners. He managed to squeak, “Ya’ll crazy,” between sobs.
Our steward hoisted the propellor and we beached near the Aquarium after one last surge. This late the beach was empty. Samantha and I climbed off. I shook Cory’s hand.
“Thanks, brother,” I said.
Cory gripped harder, hauled me close and pounded my back. He wheezed something unintelligible in my hear.
“See you soon. Take care of Katie for me.”
Samantha and I jogged off the beach. She jammed a pistol under each arm into holsters specially designed by Lee. Her fingers kept clenching like she wanted an assault rifle.
We proceeded north on streets parallel to I-710. Compton was ten miles away, deep into Los Angeles, but after living aboard ships the last twenty days we didn’t mind the walk. The earth felt hard and unyielding under my soles. Thanks to our super strange bodies, we could cover the distance in twenty minutes, but we saw no need to hurry. We strolled beside the Los Angeles River and half-empty neighborhoods on the outskirts of Carson. The streets were quiet. Even for one in the morning, the silence struck us as eerie. The recent pounding Los Angeles had endured apparently drained away energy. And hope. And pride.
