by P. S. Power
“Fuck.”
Pam-Pam turned to look at him, her voice low.
“What?”
He shook his head, collecting his thoughts before going on.
“The Fifth Armored… That’s a secret division. All of their people are pretty much super-soldiers. Different DARPA programs, things like that. They’re designed to kill Infected. If they’re after us…”
Complex grimaced, his bearded face tight.
“Crap. Okay. We can move. It won’t be easy. How long do we have? I don’t even know where to go. I can take the Underground down. Or…” He looked away, then tightened a bit.
No one spoke for a long time, until the man went on.
“Look, we aren’t dug into the ground here. This, the Underground, it’s inside of me. If I go into lockdown, I might be able to move, with everything in place. I mean, the internet and power will have to be taken down, but… Yeah.” He seemed embarrassed about the idea.
It made sense though. Clover thought it did.
Before he could speak, Pam-Pam did.
“Wait you mean we’re all, literally, inside of your body?”
That got the man to move his head side to side, Indian fashion.
“Sort of? I mean, it’s attached to me, and I can’t really leave. If I close it down, and go outside the door, it might carry along with me. That, well, I don’t know if it will work. It could kill everyone inside. If I die, well, that would probably kill them, too.”
Clover snorted, seeming angry, instead of embarrassed about anything. C. C. looked a bit scared, probably by the events of the moment, instead of him in particular. He patted her on the shoulder, since they were friends. No one acted like it meant he was going to try to get her into bed, which was nice to see.
“We’ll keep that one on the back burner? Right now, we need to make certain we have to move at all. If we do, then… Well, we should do it as carefully as possible.”
Everyone there seemed to agree with him on that point.
Even Pod did.
“Military attack likely at a ninety-two percent chance of happening, in six days, seven hours. Evacuation recommended.”
Chapter seven- Martha
Martha vaguely recalled going into a room, just before the change took place for her. During the event there had been a voice speaking, but that was all she could recall of what she’d done. People told her that she looked different when it happened. A disgusting one, from the sound of it.
Looking around she understood that she was in the front office space. The spot where you checked in, if it was needed, after being outside for any length of time. No one bothered her that way, though she didn’t venture outside too often. After all, she could turn into the thing that she became, a weird machine with a floating and exposed brain, at any time. Doing it on purpose was better for her, since she could get someplace safe first. If information was coming in and she was walking down the street, her change wouldn’t wait for her at all.
One brick in the right place, or even a curious child with a stick, might well kill her, in her more vulnerable state.
Still, she had the report, so understood why everyone was standing there, looking grim.
Her voice shook a bit, being she was scared. Terrified really. Being old had done that to her. Her face didn’t really look her age, of course. She was in her seventies, even though most thought of her as a well put together fifty. Some said younger than that. Why that was, she didn’t know. Her own mother had looked ancient by the time she’d hit sixty. It covered all of her though. Martha’s whole body was young. Not just spry, either. She felt good, after each change. Not strong, really, but healthy. She didn’t have any arthritis and her old asthma, the bane of her childhood, had gone away when she’d first popped, some thirty years before.
For a while she hadn’t really noticed that anything had taken place, other than blackouts and a strange voice speaking to her. Not until her husband saw her change the first time. Then, well, everything had gone away in her life after that. Luckily the voice had known how to handle finances and make money in the markets. Otherwise she might well have starved to death.
She shook, now.
“It sounds like we have more visitors coming? Military… I don’t know what to do about it.” Truly, running was the only thing to come to mind that day. Martha was about as able to fight an army as she was to be a movie star. That was, she could fantasize about it, but that wouldn’t change the fact that it wasn’t going to happen in real life.
Caroline, her young friend, seemed frightened and took Mr. Clover’s hand, for comfort. That was an attractive idea to her as well. He looked like a goat, complete with hooves, but he also seemed powerful. Strong in a way that left her feeling safe. More so than being on her own would have allowed.
Pamela, who was a bit abrasive at the best of times, though it was clear she meant well, made an angry sound. It was the kind of thing that took place right before people fought, generally, so Martha took a single step back, ready to keep going. The young lady understood what she was doing, and didn’t change her expression, but waved, to indicate it wasn’t that type of thing. Not at the moment.
Nero, who was one of the leaders there, turned to face Pamela, seeming interested in her words.
“Pam-Pam? You have something for us?”
That idea was pushed away, a hand in the air trying to push it back.
“Not a freaking clue. I’d say that we should go to the IPB, except, you know, I don’t want to die that badly.” She sounded serious, as if that was an option for anyone in the world.
Martha had seen the IPB in action, before she’d moved to Portland. Years before. In Detroit, when the collective there had been broken up by Impulse. The insane and uncontrollable killing machine that the government had sent at them. Knowing that, if they were attacked, most of them would both fight… and die for it. The woman, who was tiny and red haired, had destroyed anyone who hadn’t run away immediately.
Before Martha could work up the courage to argue against such a thing, Clover did it. Seeming more academic than she recalled him being in the past. Almost as if they were seeing a different side of the man, under pressure.
“I don’t love that idea, to tell the truth. I’ve heard the rumors, that they’re not the bad guys we always thought they were and are helping people, Infected ones, now. That doesn’t mean that’s correct, or that they’d help us, here. I mean, we have a lot of…” There was a soft, almost invisible wave down at his own body then.
Nero nodded without hesitation. They all knew what the large goat-like man meant. They had a lot of strange seeming people. Ones that couldn’t easily merge with the rest of society. Some of them looked different, but they also had some who couldn’t exist in polite society for other reasons. They seemed too angry or sad, or in some cases, simply too loving.
Martha could manage the upper world, part of the time. Right until Pod took over in the middle of a street. Then she was probably going to die, unless others protected her.
The well-spoken black fellow sounded a bit covert at the moment. At least that was how Martha was taking his body language, being stooped and leaning toward Clover, specifically. His tone was low, as if the rest of them wouldn’t be able to hear him. That was ridiculous, of course, but she understood what he was doing. He was trying to take the decision out of their hands and take the burden on himself and Clover.
“We… Could send the ones who can pass as normies away. It isn’t perfect, but if they move in small groups and we give them travel funds, that’s better than being here when the world falls in on us. Maybe we can get Complex out, too? Seven as well.”
Martha felt her face tighten. Not because she disagreed with the man, either.
“Well. That might be a good idea. I can’t leave, but there’s no reason that Dan, Carlton, Caroline and Pamela can’t. Mindy as well. There are others, I think. The fellow with the goggles? He might be able to blend well enough, if we help him do it.”
>
Clover seemed nearly ready to cry, a small smile on his lips. The rest of them stared at her, as if she might not be making sense. She thought she was, but that could be misleading. After all, she wasn’t just from a different generation, she had three of the things on some of the people in the room with her. That could mean her ideas were old fashioned or simply not up on the latest trends.
As yellow eyes looked at her from above, Pamela pushed her arm and nearly yelled.
“Why can’t you come? You look good. Half the guys here want to date you even. I mean, most of them don’t want a date, specifically, but that’s men for you, right? No one would think twice if they saw you on the street.”
The words got a few nods. Even that part that spoke of her being desirable for sex. Mr. Clover was one of them, which caused Martha to blush a bit. It had been a while since a man had suggested that she might be pretty. It was sweet of Pamela to say that as well, if not as embarrassing.
“Dear… I don’t have any control over my change all. I can make it happen, but I can’t stop it from taking place at times. Besides that, I might be needed by the defenders who stay behind. I can give them intelligence that could be useful.” That was pretty much the whole point of her ability, even if she didn’t know what was really going on when it happened. She just heard the voice. It was that and blackness for her. She couldn’t even ask a question of it. The entire relationship with that portion of herself was one way, really.
There was a finality in her words. A certain hopelessness. They had almost nowhere to go. Portland was one of the good places in the country, when it came to Infected people. The police, in the main, didn’t instantly shoot at them for looking strange, for instance. France was, perhaps, better, but that place was run by powerful Infected men and women. That meant they didn’t always make the best decisions in their use of power. That, from what she had learned over the years, ran hot and cold.
Nero grimaced, then nodded.
“This… It isn’t enough. We can fight, maybe even win, in the short term. As long as the military doesn’t just firebomb this part of the city, just to take us out. I’m tired of this. All of it. Worse, in this case, I can’t see any reason for it. I mean, why send super-soldiers after us? Practice? The worst thing anyone should be doing in our direction is sending in officer friendly to make sure we aren’t breaking any zoning laws.”
Carlton, who had tucked himself away in the corner of the room, simply standing, dressed in a snappy fashion, as was his wont, shook his head slowly. A move that got Martha to turn and look at him, since it seemed important. Shortly after that, everyone else did it as well.
“I… Don’t think they want to kill us. Or, not most of us. The Fifth Armored… They had me as their prisoner for years. Really, it was… They used me as their slave. They carted me around by force and used my power, against my will. My guess is that’s the point here. Either to get me back, or, really, to take as many of us as possible to force into being their slaves. If it’s just me…” The man turned three shades of white then, but nodded. “I won’t let them use my powers to kill again. Hundreds of thousands have died because of that. If I go out and kill myself, they might leave the rest of you alone.”
The words got Martha to tense then. Several others did that as well. It wasn’t the first time that they’d heard the basic idea, after all. The government simply taking people, holding their friends and loved ones hostage, against their good behavior like that. The other part was harder of course.
Nero shook his head, as did Pam-Pam. Martha however shook a bit as she spoke, her words trembling.
“That’s ridiculous, Carlton. For one thing, if that would work, then you simply fleeing would be enough to draw them off. We can’t know that. I… My other self, didn’t speak about that at all. It may be about you. It could be that if you died, they’d take the rest of us, to do what they might. Really, losing your power right now is a poor idea.” She tried to seem hopeful then, as if she could be correct.
Caroline spoke then, her words sensible and adult.
“I think we all agree there. Besides, you can always kill yourself later, if we’re actually about to lose. After we try everything else. Better a slave then dead. Maybe, at least.”
After a moment, Martha nodded, since to her slavery was even worse than if they were coming to simply kill them all.
“Then… What can we do?”
Nero looked down, his face sad. He didn’t speak. Not for a long time. No one else did either. Finally, it was Carlton, Gift as the others called him, who spoke. It was done with a shrug.
“Masada?”
No one else seemed to understand what he was suggesting. Martha did, having read about the idea, a few times in her long life.
She explained, so that the rest of them would be on the same page.
“Mass suicide, to prevent ourselves from being taken by a force we can’t defeat? I… There are children here. People that have harmed no one. We should save them if we can. If not…”
The words didn’t seem to make anyone happy. Unfortunately, no else seemed to have anything better for them.
Chapter eight- C. C.
Carrot Cake looked around the front room of the house that she shared with her friends. Roommates, more or less, though they were closer than that, she had to think. Like a real family. The others didn’t just look out for her because she looked younger than she really was, even. They took care of each other just because.
That meant she wasn’t going to let them be hurt, or die. Not if she could help it. That one was hard for her to wrap her head around, of course. She didn’t have a power or any skills that could do anything of note given the situation. Except that, even if she was pushing thirty, instead of the fifteen she looked to be, she did have some knowledge about things that could be of use.
The first was that she was good with computers and Dan, her best friend, even if he didn’t know she felt that way about him, had just set them all up with computer access that allowed them to finally work online. Real data was available to them and would be able to flow going the other direction, if she could get the right materials.
The use of Gift’s powers to get cash in was helpful, of course. It wasn’t lost on her that she and the others could also just use that to move people, as well as get things in to aid them day to day. The trick had been in creating a power in Pam-Pam that allowed selective sorting of materials being brought in. The mass of the coins and bills was enough to show that sending people to a specific spot, going outward, should be no harder. Unless the power simply didn’t allow for it to be used on people.
It did though. She’d had it used on her, more than once. She’d wished to look different and her body had actually changed, on a biological level. That should mean that they could teleport people around using it. It needed to be tested, of course.
Quickly, settling in front of the shared laptop that was placed in the corner of their living room, she nodded to herself. What was needed then, would be two-fold. They had to find a new place for everyone to go, and move them into place, as soon as possible. There might well be logistical matters that she hadn’t taken into account yet, of course.
At the same time, they needed a distraction. That, she thought, would be just as difficult. They needed to show that they were about to be attacked and put that information out to the world. It might not get enough traction, if it just went up, of course. In her whole life, nothing she’d done had ever managed to go viral. Not even close to that. They needed to get someone famous to push the idea for them. Someone so big that even the government couldn’t hide what was happening there.
The problem there, she decided after poking around online for a bit, was that she didn’t know of anyone who would listen to her, in particular, who fit that bill. There were a few celebrities that had taken up the Infected rights cause, of course. None of them were people she could email directly.
That meant she buried herself in an internet deep dive for hou
rs. Working away constantly, until she noticed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently.
She smiled as she turned, expecting it to be Dan. It wasn’t, being her other friend, Pam-Pam. The younger girl looked a few years older than Carol did, but was actually seventeen. That kind of thing ran hot and cold in their community. Most people more or less looked their age. For some reason, a few people either seemed a lot older, or much younger, than they actually were. It wasn’t a gift, for all of them. Being in her thirties and looking like a teen could have been nice. Instead it just tended to cause problems. At least in her life.
It would have been even worse if she’d been living above, in the normal world. She couldn’t get a date in the Underground, but up top she wouldn’t have had a place to live or a way to support herself. Not other than selling gems, of course.
Caroline didn’t find a hero to save them. Not even a celebrity who had an email account that she could reach out to. Instead what she found was a single message board. One that she had to register with in order to post a basic plea for help. For that, well, she just told the truth.
“Help. We’re about to die or be taken as slaves by the military.” Her words were muttered, but had Pam-Pam looking quizzical, instead of pissed off at her.
“What’s up?” She seemed to want to know, which meant that Carol was going to tell her.
She didn’t have a choice in the matter. Not if the question was genuine seeming. She could keep her mouth shut, with a lot of effort, if the words were truly meant to be rhetorical. She even had secrets, since no one had asked certain things of her. Like her age. It had never come up, so she hadn’t volunteered it.
Smiling, since she didn’t have permission to act on her own, she shrugged.
“I found a place online where I can put out a plea for help. The people there claim they try to help others, anyway. The name is a bit weird. The Proxy Union. Still, I looked it up and they do seem to try. It’s kind of their thing.” They fought for others. If their board information could be trusted, they did that even if it meant dying.
