Outcasts

by Alan Janney

  When the Father first released her into the Sanctuary, she’d destroyed a pod of Warriors. Twice Chosen stupid enough to provoke the cheerleader. Her nails acted as razors. So much blood. Evisceration wasn’t strong enough a word. Afterwards, the street looked as though human bodies had detonated from internal pressure. After viewing the massacre, Nuts began building steel claws that day.

  If she and Walter fought…I didn’t know who’d win.

  “Let me try that again,” Walter choked with a grin, hands still raised, palms out. “Let’s all talk. Please.”

  “About what?”

  I said, “We know you’re very intelligent, Hannah.”

  “We wanna find Chase. Jus’ like you.”

  Her face softened. Literally. “You do?”

  Andy Babington said, “Chase?”

  Walter continued, “Honestly. We do. We want to find Chase. We want to help. Both of you.”

  She sat, anger diffused, storm passed. “How do I help?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Andy…Andy? Andy!” Walter kicked the table again, getting the boy’s attention off Hannah’s outfit. “Andy, tell us what happened last night.”

  “Last night?”

  “You went to Compton. Looking for Chase.”

  “I remember.

  “And?”

  “I found him.”

  Walter bolted upright, cigar forgotten. “You found him??”

  “You did?” Hannah clapped her hands. “Good for you!”

  “I found him,” Andy nodded. “Him and the girl kicker.”

  Walter and I shared another look. We had the Outlaw and his girlfriend and the Shooter in our hands. All of them. Now lost. We hoped the Father never found out.

  Walter asked the ridiculous question. “Did you kill either?”

  “No.”

  “Damn it.”

  “They hurt me. And took away my…I hate him.”

  Hannah Walker stretched her arms wide and yawned. “You hate Chase?”

  “I hate him.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do. …I think.”

  I asked, “Do you know where they went?”

  Andy had been watching Hannah, and so he yawned too. “Where who went?”

  “Chase and the Shooter.”

  “The Shooter?”

  Walter snarled, “The kicker, Babington. Focus. The kicker.”

  “What about her?”

  He stood up and flung the cigar over the railing. “This is some stupid…”

  He stopped.

  We all stopped.

  The Father was here. Somewhere close. I sensed him. So did the others. He felt like a thunderstorm. Like a change in barometric pressure. Involuntarily I began to tremble.

  He stood in the penthouse doorway. Watching. A darker shade of shadow.

  Hannah shrieked in delight and ran to him. A little girl finding her daddy returned from war. I was stunned. She hugged him. He allowed her. Never seen that. He toyed with her hair, pulling back the short dirty-blonde flames.

  “Hello little candle,” he said. “I hope you’ve been a good girl?”

  “Oh yes. The very best.”

  He stepped into our lantern light. Death himself, Dracula in appearance. His visage had grown more grim, his skin pallor closer to matching his gray hair. As always, he wore a duster and leaned on the staff. “If it isn’t the Three Musketeers.”

  I stood and bowed to him. Reluctantly, Walter followed suit and gave a perfunctory nod. The Father offered me his hand and I took it. Such strength! Such power radiated. Like shaking hands with a redwood. Like shaking hands with the San Gabriel Mountain. With the earth’s core.

  A persistent slipstream at the tower’s peak caught strands of his hair, the only malleable part of his person. “Hello Andy.”

  Andy Babington swallowed and stood and nodded and sat again, like a fish flopping, no eye contact. The virus hadn’t had enough time to affect significant changes within Andy’s body, but the Father’s presence cowed him like he’d developed sensory receptors.

  The Father continued, “I’m surprised to see you awake, son. I…assumed…you’d be asleep for months. In fact…” He turned to stare at Walter. “…I ordered it.”

  The gears turning in Walter’s brain were almost audible. He’d woken Andy prematurely. He’d disobeyed orders. Insubordination, pure and simple. He chafed under the Father’s control. Strained against him, wanting to be independent, autonomous, have complete command. Could this be the time? To overthrow the Father? Even kill him? The old man appeared so slow and frail. Maybe…

  The Father read his thoughts.

  The Father Moved.

  Moved as though he stepped outside of time. The governing laws of physics did not apply. He’d outlived them, outgrown their shackles. The wooden coffee table exploded. The Father’s staff shattered it. Or else he used telepathy, it happened that fast. The staff cracked Walter in the face, a sound of metal on rock.

  Walter woke up on the floor. His jaw broken. Blood trickling from his lips. He spit out a shattered tooth. Maybe two.

  “I invested resources beyond your imagination into Andy Babington,” the Father said, standing still, an old man again, as though he hadn’t moved. “He will die now. Most likely.”

  Andy was crying. Hannah frowned at him with bewilderment and…disgust?

  The Father turned to me. The blood drained from my face. He said, “Tell me about your efforts to recapture the girl.”

  “The…girl?”

  “After she boarded the raft with the ogre, Tank Ware. Regale me with your progress towards locating her.”

  I stayed silent. Close to hyperventilating.

  He continued, “The raft is small, yes? Couldn’t have gone far? No food? No water? Had to beach somewhere nearby, correct?”

  My chest heaved. My neck and shoulder throbbed. I’d failed. I’d made zero effort.

  “Or did you come home and…sleep.”

  “I…” I wheezed. His presence suffocated me. “I slept.”

  “Do you see?” He raised his left hand, hard as steel, and set it on my purple shoulder. “Do you understand?”

  “Do-do I understand?”

  “Do you understand why your name is Kid?”

  “Because…because I’m not good at this.”

  “Exactly.” He gave me a gentle squeeze, almost fatherly, sending lightning strikes up and down my torso and deep into my shoulder. He let go. Tears formed in my eyes. “At least you’re honest.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “I have located the girl. No thanks to you.”

  Hannah spoke up, “Located who?”

  “Katie Lopez, baby.”

  “I know Katie!”

  “Yes you do. Would you like to help retrieve her?”

  “Yes!” Hannah clapped her hands again. Old cheerleader habit? “She and I are friends. She can help find Chase.”

  “Yes,” the Father said, his voice picking up hints of a ravenous hunger. “Yes. She will help find Chase.”

  “I will go,” she said.

  Eager for redemption, I asked, “Shall I go fetch Katie?”

  “No, son. You can barely feed yourself.”

  Walter spoke, his lips unmoving. “Where is she?”

  “West. With the ogre, taking shelter on a beach.”

  “With the ogre?”

  “Will that be a problem?”

  “No sir. Do you think the Outlaw knows her location?”

  “I’m not positive, Walter. But I doubt it. Neither Katie nor the ogre appears to have a working phone. They spent the day in a picnic shelter, scavenging food and avoiding discovery.”

  Walter finally stood, holding his jaw in place. He healed at a truly prodigious rate and might be whole before morning. “I’ll get her.”

  “Yes Walter,” the Father nodded. “Yes you will. I run short on time. The world is ripe for the plucking. And if I get my hands on that boy…that mysterious magical magnificent boy…it will all
be ours.”

  “And the ogre?”

  “If possible, leave him alive. This globe has a more appealing future with him stomping all over it.”

  “Yes Father.”

  “Take Hannah with you. Should be like having the power of hell at your disposal. I’ll have Katie Lopez’s exact location forwarded to your phone. And Walter, let nothing stop you. My surgeons are prepped for her arrival.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Saturday, February 10. 2019

  I woke up at four in the morning on a blanket beside Miss Pauline’s couch. She really needed to vacuum. Above me, Samantha snored faintly on the scratchy plaid cushions. Her arm was draped off the couch’s side and rested on my shoulder.

  Yesterday had been eerily quiet. We’d followed Miss Pauline, and painted, cleaned, swept, listened to her many meetings, and played with her many unofficially adopted neighborhood kids. Miss Pauline was uncomplicated; she worked and she loved and she wielded power through those two avenues and dispensed wisdom along the way.

  “How is this helping defeat the Chemist??” Samantha had hissed at me, holding fistfuls of discarded plastic grocery bags. We both wore sunglasses and hats pulled down.

  “Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is. I’m not sure. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “And go downtown?”

  “And go downtown.”

  “And shoot everyone?” she asked hopefully.

  “And hug everyone.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  We had eaten dinner on her lawn again, and slept in her living room again, and now I was awake at four in the morning on the floor, so acutely uncomfortable and worried that I couldn’t sleep. I quietly checked my phone. For the thousandth time. No news from Katie. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard from her in over thirty hours. An awful dread constricted my chest. I messaged PuckDaddy.

  Puck, Katie STILL hasn’t texted me.

  >> yeah her phones off

  >> captain FBI is out there now with the coast guard

  >> near the rendezvous, 5 miles off shore

  >> probably just no phone charger on his coast guard cutter

  Katie should be at a safe house by now, Puck.

  >> it took isaac longer than he thought it would

  >> president issued warrant 4 his arrest so…

  >> that changed things

  The President wants Isaac ARRESTED??!

  >> well…kinda its weird

  >> puck is following events as much as possible

  >> reading between the lines

  >> america is so fractured

  >> so many chains of command so much distrust

  >> half loyal to president

  >> half aren’t

  >> skirmishes everywhere

  >> so president issued warrant 4 his arrest

  >> probably cause blue eyes made him

  >> but who is gonna cuff isaac out here?? nobody

  >> he’s a hero

  >> and now kind of an outcast

  >> like u

  What a mess. I thumbed through some news on my phone. Mounting disaster all over the globe. And now Special Agent Isaac Anderson was a wanted man. He’d known this was coming. Anticipated it. Planned for it. Make arrangements with powerful and sympathetic allies. But still.

  I thumbed through Katie’s Instagram, hoping to see new photos. PuckDaddy texted me again.

  >> hey

  >> wake up samantha 4 me

  Why?

  >> Carter wants her help

  I pushed Samantha’s shoulder with my finger. Her eyes snapped open, instantly alert.

  “What?”

  “Puck wants you,” I whispered.

  “No. Tell him No.”

  She says No.

  >> ugh

  Samantha’s phone buzzed. And buzzed again. And again. And again.

  She snatched it and hissed into the receiver, “OhMyGosh, what the heeeeeeellll, Puck.” She listened, staring at the overhead ceiling fan thoughtfully. Then, “I don’t have the right gun.” Puck’s voice buzzed softly in the quiet room but I couldn’t interpret meaning. “Okay. I’m on my way.” She hung up.

  I asked, “What’s going on?” Samantha stood up and stretched. “And holy moly, put your pants on.”

  She shrugged. “It got hot last night.”

  “Miss Pauline would kill you if she saw this.”

  “Do you like my blue superman underpants?” She slapped herself on her rump and twisted in a circle. “Your dad does.”

  “That’s…no…that’s not funny. I hate you so much. Put your pants on this instant.”

  She did, hopping silently on one foot, shoving the other into a pant leg. “The Chemist is downtown. NSA got visual confirmation. Carter is going in.”

  I stood up too, joints creaking. Oooouch. Stupid floor. “What’s that mean? How?”

  “Puck tracked the Chemist to LA, so Carter came back. The NSA showed Carter the photo. The Chemist is on top of a tower near the residential building where they all sleep.”

  “Doing what?” I pulled my shoes on and packed my backpack.

  “Dunno. Carter and Russia are trying a quick sneak attack. If I get there in time, I’ll provide long-range support.” She eyed my reaction. But I truly didn’t know what to think. Getting rid of the Chemist was paramount. However, this didn’t seem like a good idea. Violence just created more violence.

  “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

  I wrote Miss Pauline a quick note.

  Thank you. For so much. You’ve changed everything.

  -Chase

  * * *

  “Carter’s en route,” Puck told us through our ear pieces. Samantha and I Moved north on Alameda through Huntington Park, easily outpacing the early morning traffic. “You won’t make it in time.”

  “I might get in range and get a shot off!”

  This was happening too abruptly. We had no plan, just praying we could outfight him. And we couldn’t. But Carter was going to try with or without our assistance. And Samantha was going to assist with or without my help.

  “You don’t have a rifle,” I pointed out.

  “Puck says there’s an enemy barracks just inside the border. On Newton.” She ran effortlessly, long strides eating up the road like a leopard. To anyone standing still on the sidewalk, we looked like Olympic sprinters setting new land speed records. “I can find what I need there.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe.”

  In the distance, almost like a memory, we heard helicopter blades pounding the air. Gotta move faster. We went over the military’s Downtown barricade as though riding the crest of a wave. She couldn’t Leap as far as I could, but the parabola of her flight cleared the machine gun nets comfortably.

  We found the barracks via olfactory methods; the disease simmering in the Chosen’s collective flesh and their combined body odor called like a siren. The door shattered as I went through, an explosion of glass splinters.

  “Carter’s at the tower.” PuckDaddy’s alert piped directly into our ear canals.

  “Too soon! I’m not in position!”

  Samantha and I ransacked befouled apartments, flinging open bedroom doors, bathroom doors, closets, custodian supply cabinets. “I’m not finding anything!” she cried.

  The barrack’s sleepy denizens woke and irritably inspected the source of their disturbance. A lot of them. Samantha needed a diversion to buy her more time. I halted my search, standing ankle deep in hallway refuse, and tied on the new red mask.

  Natalie North was right. The Outlaw wore a mask.

  I pulled the Thunder Stick free from my vest and began spinning it from hand to hand. Just in case Miss Pauline’s methodologies didn’t work. “Free hugs!” I roared, and I crushed a wall with the stick like playing a drum. “Come out, come out where ever you are! Meet the Outlaw and get a free hug!”

  “This…” Puck commented. “…this seems unwise.”

  I felt concussive throbs in my feet and in my ears. Detonatio
ns.

  “Be advised, Carter’s on top of Wilshire Tower! So is Shadow. Hunting the Chemist. Russia’s in the chopper, absolutely laying waste with his rockets!” Puck sounded frantic with hope and energy.

  “Got it! Found a rifle!” Samantha called. “Keep’em busy, Outlaw, I’m heading to the roof!”

  I strolled into the street, abandoning the apartment building. A heaving mass of bodies followed. Chosen. Of all shapes and sizes. Some of the group appeared to be in complete possession of themselves. Some appeared no more stable than angry wolves. I spotted three electroshock rods. The rest brandished steel claws. Claws everywhere.

  They hated me. Rabidly. But it was a fearful hatred. A respectful hatred. And maybe something else too. Far too many emotions for me to categorize. They formed a complete circle around me, hounds baying. Dozens. I kept turning in circles, twisting to glare and impart my will against them. I pointed a finger and they winced, ducking their heads.

  “Go back to bed and you won’t be harmed,” I said. “Or. Put down your claws. And get a free hug.”

  They raged.

  “I’m on the roof,” Samantha said. “And Miss Pauline is going to get you killed.”

  Puck shouted, hurting my ear. “Carter found Martin! Carter found the Chemist! They’re jumping all over the tower! Holy craaaaaap!”

  “I’m too far! Over a mile away!” Samantha cried. “Outlaw, I’m heading deeper downtown!”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll keep these stinkers company.”

  “No! There’s too many! Get out of there!”

  As if on cue, they rushed me. Claws slashing. Teeth bared. The Leapers launched themselves, death from above. I blocked backwards, parrying aside steel talons, crushing hands. In frenzy, their claws sank into each other, lethal backswings. Blood flew in ribbons.

  I didn’t counterattack. I didn’t ruin their skulls. Instead I played defense, using my superior quickness. Mistake. The Leapers landed on me. Steel sank into my shoulders. Into my ribs.

  Pain and numbness alternated through layers of muscle. Metal within my body, alien, out of place. Blood gushed. Samantha was right. Too many.

  “Get BACK!” I roared. Involuntarily, obeying some primal instinct, obeying the law of the jungle, the Chosen rocked backwards on their heels like one big animal flinching in fear. Just enough space.