Outcasts (27 page)

I’d grown up in Beverly Hills. Traffic congestion was as abiding as sunlight in LA. The absence of it was like being in another city. Driving into Downtown, we could have been on another planet.

He stopped at the 717 Olympic building, our home. Two blocks over, a Cleaner crew swept dust from the street, the final stage of restoration at that crash site. Tomorrow the Cleaner crew would move to another. We called them crash sites, where helicopters had fallen or rockets punched holes through high rises. The 717 Olympic, a modern residential tower with teal green windows, had survived unscathed and so we populated it with our Devotees and Guests. The government had the 717 under infrared surveillance, we knew that from informants. Thus, the surplus of warm bodies.

The elevators required too much power for our solar panels or generators or hydroelectric engines, and so, like always, I walked ten floors to my quarters. I no longer noticed the climb. My Devotees, dressed in thick cotton robes, had been alerted. They met me at the door with fresh clothes and helped me change, another oddity I no longer considered.

“Where is Walter?” I asked.

“We have not seen Master Walter.”

“He is here?”

“We have heard Master Walter is present in the Sanctuary. Shall we locate him?”

“Oh god no. I need a nap.”

I fell into the king bed without removing my slippers.

I was roused at noon. As was prudent, none of our sleeping quarters had windows.

Walter was here. I detected him in the darkness. Walter didn’t wash often so he had a scent. An odor. But he also had a presence. His air pulsated. The Devotees were frightened of him but not enough. They didn’t appear cognizant of his evil scrim, the spreading stain he left on the atmosphere. They couldn’t detect him from another room. I could.

As always, he wore sunglasses and his hair was cornrowed and his mouth twisted with displeasure.

“She escaped,” Walter barked. He was furious in perpetuity. “You let her escape.”

“We were ambushed,” I protested.

“You are weak.”

“Tank Ware, the giant, surprised us. Even Pacific, the yacht’s captain, she didn’t…”

He pulled his knife blade out of my mattress. I hated it when he stuck his knives into my things. “You are worse than a nothing.”

“He pulled the boat’s engine straight out of the yacht’s floor.”

That gave him pause. He considered this fact with awe. Walter was a great respecter of power and destruction.

I pressed my advantage. “We weren’t prepared. He broke most of the bones in my shoulder.”

“Stop sniveling. The virus is wasted in you. You don’t deserve its power.”

I’d heard that phrase a hundred times. I knew better than to respond.

“Get up. You got an errand.”

“Walter, I’m exhausted. Send a Twice Chosen. Or a Worker. My body hurts like-”

“Get up. Or I’ll throw you from the window.”

I got up, wincing at the shifting and grinding above my heart.

“Babington. He’s back. He’s resting in a room on the east side. Bring him in.”

“I’m surprised he’s not dead. I thought for sure the stress would kill him.”

“Unlike you, maybe he’s no coward. You fail at this, I’mma drum your shoulders with a bat. Understand?”

He stormed out, door slamming and breaking. Again. The third time he’d broken my door.

My Devotees pretended not to notice. I looked in the mirror and winced at the bruising around my neck. “The elevator is almost functional, Master.”

“I hadn’t heard. Is this one of Nuts’ projects?” I asked.

“Yes. Master Scott’s been working for days now.”

Master Scott. Nicknamed Nuts. He was a reclusive Chosen, a long-time cohort of Father Martin. We called him Chosen. The rest of the world would refer to him as Infected, a term forbidden in the Sanctuary. Nuts was not strong, nor fast. He was smart. Brilliant. An inventor, making millions with patents published through proxies. A man of diminutive stature and fewer words. He hadn’t slept in years, or so Father Martin said.

“How will the elevator work?”

“We don’t know, Master.”

“Master, are you leaving again?”

I had two Devotees. So did Nuts. So did Walter, though he always left them here. So did Mary, the girl in Washington. Her Devotees were male and she took them to Washington with her. The Father said their goal was to soothe our nerves, something he no longer required. Twice Chosen didn’t have Devotees, unless specifically granted by the Father. He wanted the Twice Chosen freaks fully wound up. Our attendants were beautiful and had volunteered to attend our every wish. I had fallen in love with a former Devotee. Which made me weak, the Father said. He took her away.

“Yes,” I sighed, easing pressure on my shoulder. “I have to leave again.”

“Would you like the pleasure of our company before you go?”

“No. No thank you.”

I couldn’t look at the two women, my attendants. Their warm hopeful eyes and sensuous mouths made me miss her. My previous Devotee. I’d never…been with a woman. I wanted to be with her. Two weeks ago, I cautiously sent out feelers to discover her whereabouts. No luck. Yet.

I said, “Please fetch me a bottle of water and an apple.”

“Yes Master.” Obediently she skipped off, eager to please. I didn’t want to know her name.

“How does the new elevator work?”

“I don’t know exactly, Master. I heard the elevator car is to be lifted off the ground by using the combined weight of Workers.” She helped me into my favorite blue jacket. It had been
her
favorite jacket too. She’d told me once, months ago. Before disappearing. Or worse.

“So…Workers will just haul on a rope or cord or something?”

She asked, “Would you like for me to find out?”

“No. Thank you. I’ll ask Nuts if I see him. You can both take the rest of the afternoon off.”

“You are generous but that is unnecessary, Master. We’ll be here when you return.”

“Please call and have my car ready.”

“Of course.”

I collected the water and apple and left, walking past a pod of Guests (hostages) scrubbing the hallway walls. The Guests couldn’t leave but they weren’t mistreated.

Actually, that applied to all of us.

I wasn’t meant for this life. I didn’t like attention, much less devotion. I didn’t like violence. I didn’t like being in charge of hundreds. Thousands.

And yet. Here I was.

Often I wished the headaches would have killed me.

Or that I had courage enough to join the Outlaw. A fate worse than death, Walter told me once, as if reading my mind. That would be your consequence.

Workers on the ground level bowed when they saw me. All of them not-so-secretly hoping to be taken to a Chrysalis one day and Transformed. The lobby doors were always open to help with ventilation. As a result, the floors collected extra dust and grim. Workers swept constantly.

Across the street, two Twice Chosen quasi-bowed towards me. Animals. Swift. Fierce. And half-mad. Not sane enough to take proper care of themselves. They were Warriors. The law enforcement. Revered and tended by Workers. I did not fear them. The strong ruled in the Sanctuary. And due to my freakish birth, I was the strongest.

My car arrived. “To the east side,” I told the Driver.

“Yes sir.”

“We need to collect a package. Mose likely from the East Barracks.”

This was when I felt the most exposed. The American government monitored us via dozens of satellites. And if they wanted to, this would be a great time to drop a missile on me. I used to bring Guests with me for protection, but I’d grown numb to the danger. Let the missiles fall.

We angled southwest on 7th and…

There!

Between vacant shops, in the alley beyond, a flash of black and orange. A tiger! Several prowled Downtown, eating rodents and dogs and occasionally human bodies. They were legend, but real. Ghosts in the flesh, haunting the city. The tiger’s heavy face regarded me for that instant. Impassive, impersonal, unafraid, like an assassin sending a simple message. I’m here. See you soon.

The Father claimed they wouldn’t attack anyone who’d been Transformed on a surgical table. I hadn’t been. He’d done
something
to the back of my skull once, but only mentioned it would make the Twice Chosen more accepting of me. Didn’t put me under. So the tigers terrified me. I’m vigilant against them. I’d come close to dying more than once.

“Did you see that??”

“See what, sir?”

“Holy…whoa…” My heart pounded and pounded and pounded. “One of those…freaking tigers…ugh.”

“Saw one the other day, sir. Shouldn’t bother
you
, right?”

“Why does he keep them here?” I wondered with a shake of my head. “Makes no sense. Why build a utopia…and then drop man-eating tigers inside?”

The commute lasted thirty-five minutes. Our car was forced to detour around collapsed streets and rubble and deserted cars. We stopped at the East Barracks, a recently abandoned condo complex. The Warriors had moved into the furnished rooms and operated out of it. As usual, my presence excited them. Rabid eighteen and nineteen year olds had all the energy of teenagers but none of the social restraints. Many of them were naked and in need of serious mental therapy. The place smelled rank after just two months, despite the operational plumbing. My presence inside the small space acted like a Mentos dropped into a two liter of soda.

They needed a leader. Desperately. It wasn’t me; I’m no leader. It wasn’t Walter; he wanted to burn the world and everyone in it. Certainly not Nuts. It should’ve been the Father but he constantly trotted the globe.

It could have been Carla. She had possessed leadership skills and common sense. The Warriors had followed her. Until the Father strapped her to the nose of a helicopter and crashed.

I missed Carla.

I suspected this was the true reason the Father sought the Outlaw; the Outlaw was a commander. A natural chief. With him at the helm, the Father’s army would be motivated and impervious. Unstoppable. But now, with no leader and no mission, the Twice Chosen raged like angry elephants. They howled and gibbered and tried communicating with me through their delirium while I searched the rooms. I discovered Andy Babington on a cot in the back.

“What happened to your mask?” I asked.

He groaned.

I tossed him a new bandana and a pair of ear muffs. “Put those on. Cover your eyes and ears. We need to go. Hurry up. I don’t want to stay here.”

He looked rough. Close to death. His scars were angry and red, but the rest of his pale skin glinted with sweat. He fumbled with the bandana, at length covering his eyes and ears. I hauled him up and guided him through the dirty main level. He tripped on trash. The Warriors watched with interest, sympathizing with their brother who struggled through the familiar pain, and jealous at his special treatment.

He fell asleep immediately in the back of the Lexus.

“Take the long way home,” I ordered the Driver. “There’s no rush, and he needs the sleep. We both do.”

Stay mobile. Stay away from Walter.

“Yes sir.” He glanced curiously at the man, the boy, sleeping on the back cushions.

“He’s a special project. One of the Father’s. I don’t know why,” I explained.

He held up his hands in mock defense. “I ask no questions.”

“Probably a good idea.”

He woke me up at five. We’d cruised downtown for three hours. The sun descended towards the Pacific and our street sat in shadows cast by looming towers.

“Well done,” I told him.

“Thank you, sir.”

Andy felt better. Slightly refreshed, able to remove his blindfold. He followed me into the lobby, lit now with battery powered lanterns. We could afford to light the tower with electricity, but why draw unwanted attention? Anyway, we had millions of batteries.

A short bald man stood beside the elevator, frowning over schematics. He spotted me and scowled, which was meaningless. He always scowled. It indicated recognition.

“Kid,” he greeted me.

“Nuts. I hear you’ve got a working elevator.”

“Bah.” His furrowed brow deepened. “It ain’t the elevator that’s working. It’s the people. You been remembering your heat shield, boy?”

“No,” I admitted. Nuts had built and provided us with radiant heaters which, when directed at the walls in our rooms, would render American infrared sensors useless.

He swore and shook his head.

I said, “Did you hear how Pablo died?”

“Water. Electrocution. Fell off the boat.”

“I hate those electric rods, Nuts. Too many accidents waiting to happen.”

“Bah,” he said again. “War is hell. Get on the elevator.”

“It’s ready?”

“Get on. Tenth floor?”

“Tenth floor.”

He radioed, “Tenth floor,” to…someone. Andy and I stepped into the elevator. If this fell, we
probably
wouldn’t die. At least I wouldn’t. But it wouldn’t feel good either.

“You won’t crash. Hydraulics prevent it from plunging,” he explained. As if to calm our fears, he stepped into the car too. His radio squawked. He spoke into it, “Ready and go.”

The car rocked gently. Then again. And again, and we lifted an inch, the car swaying. Another jolt. We began the ascent. This car didn’t have operational doors. Or a ceiling. We could see how the system functioned. Our car constituted one end of a pulley. The other end, the counter weight, slowly descended towards us. People. Six of them. Workers, stacked in a make-shift metal elevator car, lit by two lanterns. They laughed and smiled as we passed.

“Those jolts we felt,” I reasoned, “were Workers getting into that metal car. They loaded until the weight was great enough to lift us.”

“Yep,” Nuts confirmed. “Their metal car is lighter. It attaches easily to the requested floor. We ain’t got enough amps yet, but we got people. People power.”

“And if it breaks, we won’t fall?”

“Air pressure prevents it. Like a storm door mechanism. Slowly hiss back down to earth. My own invention.”

“What happens to the Workers if it breaks?”

He shrugged. “We get new Workers.”

Andy shifted but did not speak.