Outcasts (15 page)

Samantha scowled, “My truck is a great solution.

“Nope,” I shook my head. “I’m not living in your truck.”

Major General Roberts offered, “How about the
San Antonio?
”

“The what?”

“The
USS San Antonio
. The Marine’s amphibious transport ship. Big ass warship, parked a few miles off Los Angeles, part of the
George Washington
strike group.”

Samantha perked up. “A warship? First good idea all day. I get to drive.”

Isaac said, “Okay, Major General, make the call if you don’t mind. I’ll order the Black Hawk warmed up. Then I’m taking the rest of the day off and spending it with the beautiful and talented Natalie North.”

We spent two weeks on the
USS San Antonio,
which was state-of-the-art and sleek in appearance, like a wedge of smooth steel. She was primarily a troop transport ship, intended to dump Marines into Los Angeles months ago. Now, thanks to the military and government infighting, the amphibious ships in the Pacific simply kept to their station with hulls full of disgruntled warriors, and receiving no new orders.

San Antonio
was a big ship, basically a floating city (though dwarfed in size by the nearby aircraft carrier). Its cavernous cargo holds brimmed with men and helicopters and landing craft. The mood aboard was stony and volatile. Marines stewed and drilled and stewed some more, keeping a weather-eye on the news, impotently watching their country stagger.

Our arrival served as a tremendous boost to morale. The seamen and troops cheered when we landed and saluted us all the way to our staterooms. Samantha and I were treated as Majors in every sense except operational duties. But in reality, they received us more as honored guests, celebrity supernumeraries, the same way Marilyn Monroe or Peyton Manning was worshipped on USO overseas tours. Lee and Cory arrived the following day. All cabins were searched for the Chemist’s super drug but none found. Any crew members wanting to collect on the massive bounty would find it impossible; they’d never get off their ship. We weren’t safe, but it was as close as possible.

Samantha and I didn’t plan on staying long, but the Chemist was sighted in France, and Walter in Portland. Our target was elsewhere.

“So??” Samantha demanded. “Let’s go downtown anyway. We could work on cleaning that place out.”

“Our goal is to surprise and eliminate the Chemist. If he finds out we’re there, he won’t return. We’ll have ruined our best chance at getting him.”

Samantha vented her frustration by drilling Marines on the aft flight deck. She ordered tens of thousands of clay targets and had Marines firing without aiming at disks arcing over the waves. Over and over again. Shotguns, not rifles. I
Threw
golfballs and busted the disks if the marines missed, which always earned cries of disbelief. We were such a hit, the commodore asked us to tour the entire strike force group. We acquiesced.

I
Jumped
from ship to ship. I leapt high in the air and coasted the distance on wings. Samantha accused me of being a circus act, but I enjoyed it. Being cooped up on the ship aggravated me, and jumping released stress. If the soldiers liked it too…well, good for them. We briefed soldiers on combat with Chosen, demonstrated the disk drill to improve their odds of survival, led physical training exercises, and took pictures. Mike Matthews ferried Samantha and Katie. Katie was a resounding smash. The guys clamored for her. She’d become an ambassador of good will. A hot one. Being wanted by the Chemist, and a bounty worth millions, made her hotter. The world knew we were aboard and tuned into her social media for updates.

They cheered for me. Adored Katie. And revered Samantha. The entire ship watched her shooting demonstrations, which included busting apples off ships a quarter mile distant. She trained and drilled and ranted and screamed, and the soldiers soaked it up.

At least until they were called into action. Packs of Chosen and armed Chemist terror groups began surfacing in other states, coordinating attacks on multiple cities at once. First Portland and San Antonio. Next Oklahoma City and Reno. The attacks focused on electrical systems and transportation, crippling response times. Marine companies began deployment to hot spots. Most terrorist groups vanished, but the attacking group at Reno was found and destroyed, even the three Chosen.

The Navy repelled small boats approaching our ship daily. Stubborn reporters or daredevils or crazed fans braved the seas and desperately tried to board, wanting an interview or audience with me, but they never got close. The Navy treated them as would-be pirates and arrested them. Twice the aircraft carrier’s escort fighters scared off news helicopters getting too close to our strike group.

Carter surprised us on the ninth day. He’d been assigned a personal helicopter, a Huey, and it landed on the flight deck that morning. He startled me by wrapping Samantha up in a fierce hug. She returned it, and for the first time I realized how big a sacrifice she’d made leaving him for me. They’d worked together for ten years before I appeared.

I saw Russia, a silent giant, in the pilot’s seat. He was an Infected from Asia, and on Carter’s payroll. A nasty man who’d cut my throat without a second thought. Shadow, Carter’s personal body guard, nodded to me from the helicopter’s door. Both intended to stay with the chopper. Apparently this would be a short visit.

Captain Travis greeted him professionally, but Carter ignored him. He pulled us into the superstructure and slammed the hatch.

“Appears sea life suits you,” Carter grunted, voice caroming in our small metal compartment. He clamped a cigarette between pointy teeth and lit it with a flick of his lighter. “Although staying in one place is stupid. Sitting ducks.”

Carter looked different. No, that wasn’t it. Smelled different? …no…but something was off.

I asked, “Why are you here?”

He shrugged and spewed smoke towards the security lights. “Was in the area.” His voice came low and full of gravel, with traces of an old accent. Probably Australian a hundred years ago. He pointed a finger at me and spoke around the cigarette. “Headaches gone? Any other symptoms?”

Samantha said, “He’s fine. What are you doing about Blue-Eyes?”

“Nothing. The witch relocated the entire White House staff to Camp David. I’d need everyone we have to break in there.” He grinned malevolently. “Still. There’s fun to be had. We’re cruising the country and hunting Chosen.”

“What about Walter?”

“He’s going up and down the coast. Not sure that one sleeps. Thought we had him in Portland. He’s dangerous. What’s your plan?”

Powerful. That was the change in Carter. He
felt
powerful. The disease in me recognized and responded to the disease in him on a deep mammalian level. Carter was ancient and strong and the illness seeped from his pores, broadcasting power. Most likely, he hadn’t changed.
I
had changed. I had grown, matured into my weird skin and its weird receptors. He intimidated me now that I could feel his strength. No, not intimidated. He didn’t frighten me. He…pressed against me. He invaded my security. He intruded. He aggravated my sensory apparatuses.

I said, “We’re going into Los Angeles. We’ll surprise the Chemist if he returns.”

“And then?”

“Kill him.”

He sneered with disdain, blue tendrils of vapor leaking from his nose. “Still just an ignorant kid.”

“And you’re still a grumpy old man.”

“You
can’t
kill him, mate. Not yet.”

“Not yet? What do I need?”

He shrugged and resettled into his duster like the close confines bothered him. “Another ten years? Thirty, maybe? I dunno.”

Samantha said, “I disagree.”

He shrugged again. “Martin’s in Europe, anyway. I doubt he’ll come back. I might go after him, myself. Want to join?”

“Maybe. Probably. When?”

“Dunno. He’s moving a lot. Need for him to settle.”

I said, “He’s coming back here.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m here,” I said.

Carter looked at me a long moment. He took a deep breath and held the ash and nicotine in his lungs, and held it, and held it, and released the fumes reluctantly into my face. “First smart thing you’ve said, hero. I admire your testicular fortitude, even if you’re not up to the challenge yet.”

“I’m ready.”

“You’re
lucky
. No other reason you’re alive, champ. You show all the restraint of a prepubescent brat. No thinking. Just leaping.”

“I’d forgotten how much I dislike you,” I mumbled to myself. Had Carter been talking to my dad? Because I hated it.

Samantha asked, “You talk with China? Or Pacific? Or Zealot?”

“China politely declines to get involved, the bitch. Pacific won’t answer. Can’t find Zealot. Crazy old man is probably closer than we think.” He nodded towards me. “You staying with him?”

“Yep. Not all of us are sell-outs, Carter.”

“Ah,” he chuckled. “You are irked that I’m taking America’s money?”

“Not at all,” she sniffed. “You forced me to hide for the last twelve years, and then you hold a press conference and demand money on national television. Sounds fair.”

“Dumb-ass here changed everything.” He jerked his thumb at me.

“You’re a stooge.”

“Here’s an idea,” he said, tapping his temple and staring at her. “Get your hands on some missiles. All of them. The hacker can help. Stash the kid on a skyscraper until Martin comes to investigate. Then blow the whole damn city. He’s vulnerable to fire.”

“The government won’t-”

“Who said anything about the government? You do it. Collateral damages be damned. Then disappear. I’m building us a fortress in the Rockies to survive the coming end of civilization,” he laughed, an evil slow sound. “We’ll watch the world rebuild itself and carve out whatever piece we wish.”

“We’re after different things now, Carter. I want to prevent the end of civilization.”

He chuckled. “So did I. For a while. But this might be gratifying. More for us, in the end.”

“You want to live in the shadows and get your jollies accumulating a kingdom. I don’t.”

“And you want to get married and adopt all the babies,” he scoffed.

“No,” she snapped, chin jutting, chest out. “I just want to live. And that involves taking care of this place.”

“I do that.”

“No. You manipulate and steal and violently impose your idea of order. You want control. I want…”

“What?”

“Freedom. And in your perfect world, we’re all on your payroll. You’re the only one truly free.”

He had sucked all the tobacco into his lungs and now chewed on the butt. “You make me sound like Martin.”

“No. Martin wants to be God. To live in a world he creates. To be worshipped. You don’t want to be worshipped. People aren’t important enough for you to worry over their opinion. You want your part of the world to move exactly as you demand without anyone knowing you’re there.”

He arched a brow, spit out the dead cigarette, and nodded. “Bingo. And no price is too large. Stay in contact with me. Maybe we’ll all get what we want.”

She nodded.

“You,” he pointed at me. “You’ve gotten stronger, mate. I can feel it. You radiate like the sun. Don’t let Martin strap you to a table. Or there will be no earth left for me to salvage.”

He hugged Samantha again before leaving. Had I read their relationship wrong? Did he love her? As a woman, or maybe as a daughter?

Whatever. I was relieved when his Huey took off, but I had a bad feeling. The Chemist wasn’t the only old white guy trying to control our future.

By the end of our second week aboard the
San Antonio
, most of the Marines were gone and our ship felt hollow. It wasn’t until the ship emptied that I realized how tranquil I’d become. During the previous fourteen days, all my stress and anxiety had been washed away by the Pacific Ocean. Bobbing on the swell and staring at the blue horizon and listening to the waves was cathartic. Therapy for my soul. The undulations balanced me. Part of my happiness could be attributed to the empty ship affording more secrecy. Fewer eyes staring at Katie and me, keeping us apart. More Katie equaled more bliss. Secret kisses from a beautiful girl could turn any dinghy into a floating Eden. But it was more significant than that. I slept better. I smiled more. I felt stronger.

Samantha underwent the change too. She didn’t scowl for days. She and I stared at deep waters without speaking for hours on end, long after our other companions grew bored. She took to diving from the flight deck and swimming laps around the hull.

I did not join her. Whales are scary.

This was our first experience on a boat. At least, our first experience longer than a couple hours. Like a baby in a rocker, the constant motion calmed us. Soothed the disease’s demands.

“Carter told us that sea life would suit us. He knew.”

“I wish I’d known years ago,” Samantha said. She and I sat on the bow, legs pressed through scuppers, feet dangling over foaming crests twenty-five feet below. The wind brushed her short hair back, and infiltrated our nostrils and lungs and minds with sea and salt. Her eyes closed and she took deep breaths. “I could have lived on a sailboat between Carter’s assignments.”

Katie sunbathed on the warm deck behind us, soaking up afternoon heat in a turquoise bikini. A hardback copy of
The Goldfinch
lay open beside her, face down. This was her third book of the trip, all Pulitzer winners. I turned around to ogle her now and then, and to glare at crew members on the sponsons watching her with binoculars.

I loved her. I ached to be closer, to experience all of her, to touch more than humans beings could, to consume each other. I wanted her all to myself. She and I needed our own boat. Just us. Long talks into the night. Long nights with no naval officers. She felt it too. Sometimes our eyes would meet like ships colliding, staggering both of us, throwing sparks I’m surprised weren’t visible.