Monsters of the Apocalypse (12 page)

Nestor stood
among burnt out car skeletons in the mall parking lot for a long time.

"Missiles
hit everything else, but missed the damn mall. You got to be kidding
me."

He looked
west towards the horizon and felt the exhaustion in his legs. He looked
back at the two story building in front of him and moved towards the
door. The door, long ago broken open, was nothing but a frame surrounded
by shattered glass.

Nestor moved
over the glass silently and walked through the Women's Clothing
department. There had been looting, but not total. Still on the racks
were the high-waisted jeans of middle-aged suburbia. Practical sweaters
and no-frills underwear. He took his time and ran his fingers over the
clothes. The muted sunlight's glow came through the door and cast his
shadow on the far wall.

He moved past
the perfume and jewelry counters, nothing left. He moved out of the
department store and walked into the body of the mall. The sunroof lit
the courtyard. The fountain in front of him was still relatively clean,
the chlorine a distant memory, but the white stone beneath still pristine,
except for the copper stains of the endless pennies.

Posters of
movies he'd never seen while he had been doing work overseas, or had been in
hiding from assassins, lined the walls. Women he didn't know, but that he
could appreciate nonetheless, advertised things he'd never heard of.
There was nothing damaged or vandalized. A sort of confusing respect had been
used while looting this mall.

Walking up
the stairs towards the food court, pausing in a soap store, just to smell, he
reached an old pizza parlor. There was a sign, but the name didn't
matter. It was the same cheap pizza parlor that was in every mall's food
court.

It was here
behind the counter of the parlor, smelling the memory of burnt cheese and cheap
dough, grease that had outlasted the customers, that he looked out on the
stores below him and understood the reverence that had been used during the
looting. This was where the masses came and were free to be human for
generations. To spend and eat. To enjoy the fruits of their
labor.

As he looked
over the tables of the food court, still lined up, chairs tucked in, he lit up
a cigarette and drank from his canteen. Nestor walked to the handrail and
leaned over and looked down at the little spaceship ride that shook little kids
around.

As the day
passed into night and the mall grew dark, Nestor ate a can of black beans
heated over a propane stove he found set up in a camping store. Then he
made his way to the bed section of one of the department stores and got into
one of the floor models and went to sleep.

In the
morning Nestor walked out of the mall and five huge mutants were waiting for
him.

"What
are you watching?"

Caleb spun
and looked at the little girl who had entered his room.

"What
are you doing in here?"

"I was
bored, the door was unlocked."

"Well
get out, I want to be alone," Caleb snapped.

"Then
why isn't the door locked? Everyone else locks theirs."

"I
don't know, I guess, I was sort of hoping someone might show up."

"I'm
someone."

Caleb smiled
and tapped the table. The girl stared back at him with huge brown eyes.

"Me
too. I happen to be someone too," he smiled.

"What
are you watching?"

"I'm
watching the feed of Nestor Bravo."

"Who?"
the girl moved closer, eyes wide and curious.

"Nestor
Bravo. You've never heard of him? Did you live in a cave?"

"After
my Mom died giving birth to me, my dad kept us in a homemade bunker," she
shrugged.

"Oh.
Your dad is a crazy person then, I'm sorry."

"Actually,
he was right. Though, the bunker was poorly built so I had to come
here."

"Fair
enough, that's a solid argument. Where’s he now?"

"He
wouldn't leave his own bunker. The Indian forcefully took me. He
probably died out there."

Caleb tilted
his head, inspecting the young girl with her monotone, adult voice.

"I'm
sorry for your loss. I, um… yeah. Well, Nestor Bravo is a famous
soldier. He has a camera in his head. When he looks in a mirror,
you see him. When he fights a mutant, you see it. That's him in the
reflection of that car's side view mirror."

"He's
cool looking. Why's he famous?"

"A long
story. You're all alone here?"

"I
am."

Caleb
nodded. The girl was weird. Her dark hair was a mess of tangles,
and her eyes were unnaturally big. Her skin was pale, but had a slight
tone of olive that made you think that if she hadn't been forced to live
underground she would probably have been dark. Maybe Latina or
Italian. Her clothes were ragged and old, but she stood with strength and
held eye contact like nothing in the world scared her.

Caleb liked
her immediately.

"My
name is Caleb."

"My
Dad's name was Caleb."

"Yeah?
It's one of the most common names in the world… or it was, I guess. I
don't know anymore."

"Why?"

"Cuz
everyone is dead."

"No, I
mean, why was it such a common name?"

"Oh,"
Caleb laughed, "because before the Great War, there was a period of peace
that the world had never known. It came because of a guy named Caleb they
say."

She moved
forward and climbed up onto his lap and pointed at the screen.

"Can anyone
watch this?"

"No.
Just the government and me. I hacked into it."

"Can
you share it with people? Or sell it to them?"

Caleb looked
at the back of the girl's head. He smiled.

"That's…
well, that's an interesting idea. What's your name?"

"My name
is Marianne."

"Okay.
That's a big name and you're small," Caleb smiled. "So, I'm gonna
call you Mary, okay?"

October
looked at the men who sat around the large mahogany table. The men all
struggled under the weight of famous names, infamous family trees, and
purchased titles. Ambani's, Rockefeller's, Talal's, Qinghou's and
Kennedy's. Not one of these men had made their own fortune. Most
shared little to no blood with the men who made those names famous, but their
power was real, even if nothing else about them was. He smiled.

"Gentlemen,
welcome to the garden of Eden."

The applause
was loud and long. October made no effort to bring it to an end. In
the corner he saw the impassive Flores staring at him, the slight glimmer in
his eye coming from the glow of Miho's tablet.

"Thank
you, thank you. Now if you will, a moment for those of us who did not
make it. Those of us lost on runways to the cruel hand of Jacob
Rothschild."

The silence
was thick and emotional, until, finally it was broken by Eldridge Rockefeller.

"Now,
October, there are issues to be discussed. Tragic as the loss of those
lives may be, those were men with jobs of great import here on The Island, jobs
that must be filled by qualified replacements. Have you a list of
potential candidates?"

"Um…
well… yes. Of course. My assistant, Ms. Walker, will make sure
those lists get to you this evening. Correct, Ms. Walker?"

"Yes,
Mr. President."

"Very
good. Now, I'd like to discuss the issue of the satellite feed hack, then
the cannibals and then finally…" October froze as the hand of Rockefeller
rose in a signal of silence.

"Yes,
yes, October, my boy," Rockefeller smiled. "That's all very
important I'm sure, but… the mainland is far away. We have an army, they
don't. We won. What's important is what we do with our
spoils."

This
statement was met with a round of applause.

"Um…
all due respect, Mr. Rockefeller, the mainland is very much an issue,"
October felt his heart pounding with anger, but fought to keep his voice calm
and respectful. "To assume otherwise would be folly. What
could possibly be more important?"

"The
issue of breeding procedure," Rockefeller countered.

"I beg
your pardon? Procedure?"

"Yes.
This must be handled in a professional and efficient matter, correct? Are
we to rely on charm and good suits to woo the young women of The Island?
Our family names and humankind must continue on, it's of the highest
import."

"Well
yes, of course, but…" October looked around for something to chew, but
found nothing. His anxiety and hunger radiated out to his hands, which began to
shake. "Well, we can't just force the women to breed with… we're not a
breeding factory!"

The laughter
that slowly rumbled out hit October's ears with the bite of an electric
current. He felt his face redden with embarrassment and anger.

"Oh
dear, October, that is exactly what this is. Didn't your uncle tell
you?"

"My
uncle, he…" October looked over at his uncle who merely stared back at
him. "What do you mean?"

"When
we planned this, I just assumed that your uncle would pass along word. I
apologize. You should have been kept in the loop. But, well,
there's nothing to be done about that now. I have here a list of ideas
that we think might be effective."

"We?"
October shrieked, his hand crashing down on the table with a crack like
thunder. "WE?!"

"Why
yes, the council. What is the problem, October?"

"MR.
PRESIDENT! YOU WILL CALL ME MR. PRESIDENT!" October screamed so loud
that it hurt. Miho and Flores both stiffened their posture, but did not
move.

"October,
I've known you since you were a boy. I'm not about to start…"

"STOP
TALKING!"

October
shrieked the words, and had lifted Rockefeller out of his chair and slammed him
against the wall before Miho had lowered her tablet. By the time Flores
had reached the President, Rockefeller hung limply in October's big hands, his
neck having broken on impact with the wall. Blood began to pour out of
Rockefeller's ears and mouth. October stared into the dead man's eyes,
his hands still clenched hard around the shoulders of the man.
Rockefeller's feet dangled a few inches above the ground. October pulled
the man from the wall and then slammed him viciously back into it, blood
splattering all over.

No one
spoke. When Flores placed his hand calmly on the October's shoulder, he felt no
flinch or resistance. October simply watched the body fall to the ground
in the awkward position that belies the loss of the human spirit and then
turned around and faced the room. His hands no longer shook, but were
covered in blood, just like his face that was now calm under the splattered
dark red.

October's
regained self-control was palpable and unwavering.

"Gentlemen,
perhaps you had some idea that you were to be the power behind the
throne. Perhaps you believed that I would simply be a puppet, a weak and
ineffectual mouthpiece for your desires. A tool to be utilized towards
your goals of power absolute. Allow me to inform you that this is not the
case. I am the President. Not you. Not my uncle. I am
the man in charge and it is under my protection that you sleep, that you
breathe and that you will pay tribute."

October
took a moment to pass his gaze over the shocked and blank faces of this
collection of powerful men.

"It's a
brave new world, gentlemen. Make no mistake whose world it is. You
are dismissed."

The men got
up and left. They weren't weak men and despite their seeming submission,
October was well aware that already their minds were spinning with plans to
unseat him. He was aware of exactly what beast he had awoken and he was
not so foolish as to think that the next threat would fall so easily. He
looked up at Miho who had sat down, her face still lit from the glow of her
tablet, the slightest of smiles upon her face.

"Do you
find this funny, Ms. Walker?"

"Yes,
sir," Miho smiled, her head tilted slightly with curiosity.
"Don't you?"

October
looked from the smiling Miho to the lifeless body on the floor. He felt
blood rush to his head with the realization of what he'd done, just before his
legs buckled and he passed out.

"Freeze
right there, mutant!"

Jacob and
Coughlin both stopped, lifting their arms up without being told to.

"Well,
Coughlin, here's where you pay me back. Go get me in."

Coughlin,
hands still up, moved slowly in front of Jacob who tried very hard to smile at
the gunman and not look hungry.

"Don't
shoot him!" Coughlin yelled, the sweat on his lower back turning his shirt
a shade darker. "He's not a threat! He's Jacob Rothschild!
It's Jacob!"

The man
lowered his shotgun. He nodded and two men appeared on the edges of
nearby buildings and took aim. Once he was sure that Jacob and Coughlin
had seen the snipers in place, the man moved slowly forward. At about ten
feet away he stopped. He motioned for Coughlin to move aside which
Coughlin did with reluctance. Jacob kept smiling.

"Okay,
so you look like him. Your hair is… Maybe you are him. He got
The Shot, which means he's a mutant now, like you. Problem is, I don't
see how what you
used
to be much changes what you
are
."

"I have
a history of saving people."

"That's
why I haven't shot you. Beyond that what are you hoping for?"

"A word
with the boss and then I'll go."

The man
turned and walked off leaving Coughlin and Jacob standing in the middle of the
street, guns trained on them from above. Coughlin slowly turned his head
to Jacob.

"I
guess you don't really need me anymore, so I'm just going to take off."

"Sure.
Thanks, Coughlin. Of course…"

Coughlin
dropped his hands and had taken two steps when he fell dead with two bullets in
him.

"…you
might want to ask first. Damn it, Coughlin."

Jacob looked
down at Coughlin's dead body. He really wished he hadn't promised not to
eat him. He looked up at the snipers and nodded.

"Nice
shot, guys."