Chapter 12: Community Service

Monday, March 27th 1:42 PM

UCSC Genomics Institute

Santa Cruz, California

“Fucking bitch!” The voice that had mocked and laughed aloud now yelled angrily from the direction of the building’s entrance.

Six pistol shots rang out, followed by shrieks of agony.

Joe sighed as he wiped his filthy hands on a dead man’s shirt. He grabbed a scoped hunting rifle with a faded, scuffed walnut stock, and checked the weapon.

Serviceable. 7.62 NATO full metal jacket—three rounds remaining. It’ll have to do.

In a low crouch, Joe crept toward the voice that had devolved to piteous wailing.

Near the entrance, a lone brunette stood aiming a revolver behind one of the planters.

Sighing, Joe stood and charged the building entrance, trusting in his boosted physical prowess, healing magic, and the enemy’s poor marksmanship.

The wretched smell of sewage increased as Joe approached the building, and he grimaced.

“Get down on the ground,” Joe commanded, approaching the young woman to the left of the disabled ramp.

She tossed the pistol onto the filthy walkway, then stumbled and fell backward as Joe neared.

“What happened here?” Joe stared her down.

The girl tensed up, nodded emphatically, and replied, “I got him.”

“Got who?” Joe edged closer.

“Mitt! He was shooting at you and your friends!” Natalie pointed behind the planter closest to the building entrance. Joe approached to find a man with short reddish hair, sprawled out and bleeding behind the last cement planter box.

“What’s your name?” Joe asked.

“Natalie.” She smiled.

“Joe.” He indicated himself.

An AR-15 rested beside Mitt where he lay convulsing. He’d been shot six times through his torso. His ragged breaths were shallow and came at irregular intervals, but he was still alive.

“On your stomach. Hands behind your back,” Joe told the girl.

Grinning, she complied.

Moving toward Mitt to collect his weapon, Joe kept a wary eye on the girl.

“Wait! What are you doing? You can’t help Mitt Townsman! He’s a monster!” Her unhappy words became a shriek as she picked herself up.

Joe shot her a stern look and she halted under his gaze, frowning deeply and shaking her head.

Townsman? The name sounded familiar. I should heal him and get some answers.

When Joe stepped toward the dying man, another voice from inside the building screamed, “No!” For Joe, it seemed like a dam had broken as dozens of other voices cried out, begging him to stop. Most addressed him as Mister Joe. They must’ve heard him introduce himself to Natalie.

Then a train of young adults and children flooded out from the building, all pleading with Joe to “Let him die.” Naked fear and apprehension shone in their eyes. The sickening stench from inside the building billowed out in their wake.

Natalie pleaded, “Please, don’t. When the other adults all got sick a few days ago, Mitt and his friends started bullying us. They beat people whenever Javier wasn’t around.” She frowned. “Especially the kids—even the little ones…”

Natalie’s gleeful eyes didn’t match her tone or her words, and Joe clenched his jaw.

He winced when he saw three kids exit the building with hollow eyes and thousand-yard stares.

The gathering crowd all wore similar expressions, and not one among them moved to assist Mitt, though many held hands.

Those shits harmed so many? Joe hated to believe it, because it meant that horrific things had happened there—things he didn’t want any further details about.

The evidence was already stacked heavily against the red-headed man, and Joe was all-too-familiar with how savage some could be when there were no consequences.

A young voice whispered, “Abbie, wait! Where are you going? We don’t know that man! It’s not safe!”

The rest fell silent when the smallest among them stepped forward; a little girl in stained gray sweatpants and a filthy T-shirt that was several sizes too large for her. She marched over to stand in front of Mitt, then held her arms out, as if to block Joe from accessing the bleeding man. Her bruised forearms ended in hands that were swollen, as if she’d been struck repeatedly while trying to defend herself.

“You sh-should not… pass.” Abbie stumbled over her words.

Her eyes had a look that Joe recognized—one he’d hoped never to see on a child’s face again.

This girl no longer fears death.

She welcomes it.

Fuck. That answers all my questions.

Joe looked down at the dying body of the red-headed man. He couldn’t bring himself to move forward and render aid even as Mitt drew a final, shuddering breath.

Too bad, son. You fucked up. Rest in peace.

“He’s finally… it’s over!” Natalie smiled.

Joe’s gut twisted as the crowd embraced one another to celebrate the man’s death.

He heard talk of killing all the bad people in the world, and Joe averted his gaze.

They don’t understand—not yet. Nobody’s ever the same, once their hands are stained with blood, he thought bitterly.

He stepped around little Abbie to collect Mitt’s AR-15, checked the safety, then walked numbly away to collect the other weapons near the cement barrier before rejoining Mike and the others.

To Joe’s surprise, around half the crowd followed him at a distance, including Abbie. He could hear them whispering to one another.

When Joe looked back, Abbie ran forward to grasp his muddy light jacket.

“What do you need, little one?” Joe frowned as he looked down at her.

“Is it safe, now? The bad man won’t hurt us anymore?” she asked, with the same haunted look.

Joe choked up, unable to keep his eyes from watering after everything he’d witnessed. “Yes, sweetie. It’s safe.”

Shit. We can’t leave them here alone.

Abbie sniffled as a glimmer of hope entered her eyes. Joe plodded forward and shook his head.

Behind Joe, Abbie spoke again. “You’re tall, Mister Joe. Tall like daddy.”

God damn it… The pit in Joe’s stomach churned at her words. He blinked to clear his vision as he walked and the little girl cried beside him.

A short while later, Joe spotted Mike leading the group in his direction and nodded to himself.

“Will you help my daddy?” Abbie asked Joe between sobs.

“What?” Joe turned to face her, his mouth slightly open while he awaited her explanation.

Abbie took a breath, coughed a little, then said, “Daddy’s sick inside the yoosy-essy building with the other grownups. Emma says you have magic powers that make people better…”

Oh, shit.

“Take me to him,” Joe said immediately. He whistled sharply, then nodded when he saw Mike hustling over ahead of the others.

We can’t leave. Mike’s not gonna like it, but he’ll understand. It’s part of the business…

War is hell.

---

The interior of the UCSC Genomics Institute was badly burned. Red floor tiles in the lobby were covered in filth, and the ruined furniture had been cleared out. The space carried a slight tang of burned plastic, but the sewage smell was overpowering.

Makeshift beds littered the floor, and nearly half were occupied by by the sick and dying. Gaunt youths crossed their arms and watched Joe warily from the staircase to his left.

Joe felt some of his power drain while healing the survivor who seemed worst off, a badly-bruised middle-aged man with dark hair who’d been unresponsive for days.

As bruises faded away and bones knitted back together, the face that had looked quite a lot like raw hamburger with hair in it turned out to be an attractive man in his late forties.

After the man was healed, Siobhán exclaimed, “Oh, God… Professor Miller?”

Joy’s eyes grew enormous, but she said nothing while grabbing Siobhán’s hand.

When Miller opened his blue eyes, he sat up and screamed, “Javier! Javier’s poisoned the food!” Then he muttered quietly, “It’s the glowing mushrooms. I have to tell the others… I—”

Mike patted the man’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You said something about glowing mushrooms?” He motioned for Joe to continue his rounds and stayed behind to hear the man’s explanation.

Joe moved on to heal the rest of those unresponsive, following Natalie’s lead until forty-three adults between the ages of thirty and sixty-five had awakened, along with seven children.

By the time he finished, the power inside Joe had disappeared entirely, and he collapsed from exhaustion. His breathing came in short gasps, and his consciousness wavered.

Shit. Maybe I overdid it?

Joe tried to pick himself up, but his body wouldn’t respond.

Damn.

He turned his eyes to little Abbie, sobbing in her father’s arms a few feet away. Their outlines became unclear as Joe’s vision darkened.

It’s okay. Even if I die from this, I’ve protected these families. It was worth it. Anna would have done the same.

---

Michael listened intently as his father spoke. “Son, Rihelah—I need you two to head back to our camp and gather the fishing and cooking gear, along with whatever else you can carry.”

“What about Uncle Joe?” Rihelah asked.

Mike grinned and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you worry about ol’ Schimpf, hon’. He’s the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”

His smile faded. “The rest of us are staying here to help these people put things back in order. Stick together, and move quickly. I need you both back here by sundown.”

They replied in unison, “Okay, Dad.”

While they walked out to Delaware Avenue to continue toward their camp, Michael chuckled as he looked left toward Rihelah. “You know you don’t have to call him that.”

Rihelah smiled up at him. “But it makes Papa Mike happy! Besides, I really like him! He’s basically Dad to me!”

“Well, he is single, you know!” Michael teased, wagging his eyebrows.

“I mean… he is only fifty, so…” Rihelah’s grin widened.

“Hah! That’d be so weird…” Michael cringed.

“I know, right? Still, he’s got good genes.” She elbowed Michael gently, waving her eyebrows back at him.

“You’re serious?” Michael raised his eyebrows at her, frowned, then winced a little when he received a less-playful elbow in his side.

Michael looked back for a moment.

Behind them, the surviving adults and children worked together to clean up the horrid mess that had been allowed to accumulate while the adults were incapacitated.

Rihelah’s expression turned serious. “Can you believe it, though? Seventeen dead from poison, and that psycho Javier wouldn’t allow anyone to move the bodies!”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “I think he was trying to get rid of anyone who disagreed with his crazy ideas. One World Order… it’s such bullshit. Why else would he and his friends poison the other adults while leaving the children alone?”

Rihelah shook her head beside him.

“It makes my brain hurt, Michael… Thirty-five of them are dead. They survived the bomb, and then that bastard killed them anyway! It’s like we’re living in some kind of dystopian nightmare.”

Michael frowned. “Well… in a way, we are. It’s basically the apocalypse, and we all got shot today.”

Rihelah put her arm around his waist. “Yeah… I never want to feel that again.”

She trembled against him, and Michael wrapped his arm around her shoulder. He squeezed her gently, and she leaned into him.

She’s so little, and life’s so fragile…

Michael furrowed his brow. “Uncle Joe’s magic is amazing… You know, we’d all be dead right now if not for him.”

“Mm.” Rihelah nodded slowly, then she added in a serious tone, “Do you think the rest of us might get powers from that mysterious voice Uncle Joe talks about?”

“Hah. I hope so. The world’s gone nuts. Everything’s collapsed, and we need every advantage we can get. Never would have believed magic was real until today, though.” Michael shook his head.

“Me either. I want to be stronger, Michael.” She pulled away and threw a punch Joe had taught them.

“Agreed.” Michael met her eyes.

Rihelah reached around him and squeezed. “I want to be able to protect those kids, Michael. Keep families together, you know?”

“Yeah. It’s terrible what happened to Allison Ames and her family,” said Michael, frowning.

“Oh, God. Her husband and all five of their children…” Rihelah looked down.

I shouldn’t have brought that up.

Michael stared thoughtfully at Rihelah.

Hard not to think about those things.

“What?” Rihelah fussed with her hair.

“Nothing. How are your friends, Joy and Siobhán?”

“Damn, Michael, why do you always pronounce a name perfectly after hearing it a single time? It took me weeks to get Sio’s name right.”

“You do know I studied opera, right? Siobhán’s name is pretty easy.” Michael shrugged. “So, are they hanging in there?”

Rihelah shook her head and sighed. “Kinda. You saw what happened to Sio’s parents, and Joy was always quiet before, but never like this. They’re gonna need time.”

“Yeah. They seem like good people…” Michael frowned.

“What is it,” Rihelah asked, looking up at him.

“Townsman. I can’t believe that bastard was one of the ringleaders here. To think Mitt and Javier cooked up some batshit-crazy idea for a new country that bows to Russia… They’re the ones who nuked us!” Michael’s jaw muscles tightened.

Rihelah pulled him closer.

“I wasn’t gonna bring Mitt up, but yeah, I always hated being around him. The looks that guy gave me whenever I came to the opera made me sick to my stomach. Especially when you weren’t looking.”

“I knew he was a douche and an awful boss, but holy shit…”

“Mm. But you’ll never have to work for him, again.” Rihelah shrugged.

“Yeah.”

It took around forty minutes for them to reach the hidden cove of Fern Grotto Beach, and Michael noticed something was wrong when the beach came into view.

“Wait,” Michael whispered. He pointed ahead at the sand. “Footprints.”

At Mike’s suggestion before their journey to find Anna began, they’d raked the beach with pieces of driftwood lashed together with fishing line, smoothing it over as they left.

The trails of footprints leading down from their current position made it clear that their camp was a secret no longer.

Rihelah’s gaze met his.

“We need to check it out. Might be someone there. Lock and load while a wave’s crashing,” said Michael.

Rihelah nodded gravely.

Michael continued after they’d chambered rounds in their weapons. “Cover me from a hidden position. Like my dad said, anyone aims a gun at us, we shoot first and ask questions later. I trust you, Rihelah.”

She smiled warmly at his words.

Michael gave Rihelah a nod, then trotted toward their campsite in a roundabout fashion, making sure she had a clear shot at the tents.

The zippered doors to both his father’s tents had been forced open, and on careful inspection, Michael found the perpetrator sleeping inside the one he and Rihelah shared.

After a thorough walk-around inspection to ensure there were no other interlopers and noting that nothing had been taken, Michael slung his rifle’s strap over his shoulder and called out, “Hey, you! Get on out here!”

There was a bit of rustling before a long black and white snout poked out through the tent door and sniffed about, followed by two searching eyes. The dog spotted Michael and whined.