Kane dashed back into the kitchen to find his wife cradling Harry in her arms as he convulsed on the floor. Kane’s emerald eyes widened in shock as he stared down at Miranda.
“Thuirling sé ar a aghaidh,” she sobbed out in broken Irish as tears poured down her heavily freckled cheeks.
“Shit!” Kane barked out, dropping down to steady his son’s torso and feet. He snatched a wood-handled knife from the table and pried Harry’s mouth open, placing the handle between his teeth. As he watched, the crystal blue hue of his son’s irises leached out into his sclera, turning his eyeballs a solid blue. Simultaneously fascinated and horrified, he witnessed Harry’s eyes becoming multifaceted as well. As the convulsions subsided, his son grew still on the floor. Kane relaxed slightly as Harry’s eyes closed and he began to breathe more normally.
After a few minutes, his wife slowly got up and began pacing around the room, sobbing quietly. Kane shook Harry gently as he tried to help him sit up. With a groan, Harry opened his eyes as he came into a sitting position, then began to yell. His mother, who had her back to them, looking as though she was trying to hold herself together, collapsed onto the floor at the sound.
Harry looked around wildly, sputtering, “What happened? There are thousands of you! It’s too much; my head feels like it’s going to explode!”
“Calm down,” Kane commanded. “Close your eyes and take deep breaths. I think I understand what’s going on, but you have to listen carefully and try to focus.”
Harry did as his dad said and tried to focus on slowing his breathing.
“Now,” continued Kane, “when you open your eyes, I want you to try to focus on my face. Look only at my face and try to see just one of me.”
A look of extreme concentration appeared on Harry’s face, and he slowly opened his eyes. He winced at first, then slowly began to focus on Kane’s face. He smiled slightly, but it swiftly became a grimace as he cried out.
“There’s something wrong with my back!” He frantically tried to rip his hoodie off, then stopped his efforts with a yelp of pain.
Kane leaped to his feet, snatched a pair of scissors off the kitchen counter, and began cutting up the back of the hoodie. He gasped as the slashed garment slid down his son’s arms and a set of wings sprang open where once had been only white scales. They were unmistakably the wings of a fly, although clearly proportioned to support him if he tried to fly. With this final clue, the rest of the puzzle cascaded into place.
“A fly flew in through the window?” Kane asked as he watched Harry turn around in a circle, trying to get a better view of his new wings.
“Yep,” replied Harry, without really looking at Kane.
A low moan came from the other side of the table, and they both remembered Harry’s mother in the same instant. Moving around the table to her side, they helped her into a chair at the kitchen table. She suppressed a shudder as she took in her son’s latest acquisitions, but luckily Harry did not see it; he was still trying to adjust to the overwhelming amount of information coming through his new eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked tentatively.
“Yes, Momma,” he replied quickly as he gave her a reassuring hug.
“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed. “If I had just left that cursed window closed, none of this would have happened…”
Kane bit back a retort, in complete agreement with her confession, but he could not show his anger in front of his son. Harry was going through too much already; he did not need to take on his parents’ marital problems that stemmed from his mother’s addiction.
Harry shook his head, and with the wisdom of a man twice his age, he said, “Momma, nothing you can do will protect me forever. Eventually, you and Dad will have to let me leave the house and try to survive on my own.”
“Eventually, that might be the case. But until we have exhausted every avenue for a possible cure for you, that will not happen,” Kane said gravely, tugging them both in, and hugging them tightly. “Now let’s eat!”
. . . . .
The rest of the weekend flew by, and on Sunday, after he had secured his new scavenging permit for the hidden cul-de-sac, Kane headed to headquarters to resupply.
“Morning, Barney,” he said out the window of his SUV as he drove through the gate of the scavenger compound. With a characteristically grim nod from Barney, he continued, driving around the huge building that had once been an Amazon warehouse, then he backed up to one of the ramps they had installed at the truck docks. As the huge door began to roll up with a whine from the motor overhead, his colonel walked out onto the rarely used dock leveler. It slammed all the way down, fully compressing the hidden springs below, which was the only clue Kane had to the overwhelming weight of the monstrous man standing there.
Kane got out of his vehicle and walked the short distance up the ramp towards the scavenging colonel, Mitchell Bjorn. Mitchell had been a marine with Kane before the fall and could not escape the military. After the Cure cut his third tour short, he had gone to visit Thomas at the Bronx Zoo Laboratory, where Thomas worked before the fall. When no one was looking, he stole large vials of blood that had just been drawn from the male rhinos and lions. Now that he bore the teeth, claws, and eyes of a lion and the skin and horn of a rhino, the muscle he’d packed onto his already substantial six-foot, eleven-inch frame had nearly tripled. He had a literal mane of bushy black hair, imposing against his thick grey skin, and he usually kept it well-groomed and braided back in a Viking style, which fit his Scandinavian heritage and pagan faith quite well.
Without warning, Mitchell lunged towards Kane with astonishing speed. Without breaking stride, Kane drew his bowie knife, and ducking the giant man’s grasp, he raked his blade across his colonel’s navel and swiped it all the way around to his spine.
With a hearty laugh, Mitchell whirled around and rested his hand on Kane’s shoulder. “One day I’m going to catch you off guard!” he boomed.
Kane glanced down. “One day, you’re going to run out of shirts,” Kane replied with a smirk.
Mitchell glanced down as well, and with a look of astonishment, he poked his fingers through the slit Kane had cut in his shirt. “Our raider unit called you Loki for more than just your looks. Thomas is going to kill me,” he whined.
“There are many things I am certain of, but the depth of your husband’s bloodlust is not on that list.”
They both laughed, and together they walked towards the requisition counter.
“I skimmed over your haul from last week,” Mitchell began as Kane handed his supply list to the man in the giant cage. “How did you manage to cage a Pure cardinal and a Pure rat? Everyone said cardinals had gone extinct!”
“I’ve told you before.” Kane poured a cup of coffee from the kitchenette beside the requisition stand. “A lot of the things we surmised had gone extinct have just become really good at hiding.”
“True,” replied Mitchell, “but still, a fucking cardinal! I have not run it up the chain yet, but rumor is you could be getting a major bonus for that one. Rats are still pretty cheap, two to three hundred at the most, but the red bird is rumored to be worth five figures, easy!”
Kane choked on his coffee. “Really?” he gasped as Mitchell clapped him on the back.
“Yeah,” Mitchell affirmed, trying not to laugh. “That should get you even closer to buying those tick—” He halted abruptly at the glare Kane shot his way. “... tickets to that opera you’ve been wanting to take Miranda to,” he finished meekly.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
Thankfully, no one was close enough to hear the slip up, but with all of the mutations that people could acquire with enhanced hearing these days, you couldn’t be too careful.
“Anyways, any news I need to know about before I hit the road tomorrow?” Kane asked.
“There’s a huge group of ferals at the Verrazzano Bridge Gate in the southeast quadrant, and another group stalking around the Holland Tunnel Gate exit. Your best bet is to use the Lincoln Tunnel Gate or the Washington Bridge Gate,” replied Mitchell.
“That’s no good. I’ll have to risk the Holland Tunnel route if I don’t want to add three days to my trip. And I will need to borrow one of the chargers for my vehicle so I can swap it over to electric. I need to travel almost noiseless, just in case I get too close to the horde.”
“Do you still have your back seat out? You might want to requisition an extra EV battery, just in case,” Mitchell said with a nod.
“True, but how much are those running now? I thought we were running low?”
“About ten thousand dollars...” Mitchell said knowingly, “but sometimes the pros outweigh the cons. If you need to borrow some money, you know Thomas and I would be happy to help.”
“Thanks,” Kane said abruptly, “but I don’t take handouts.”
“Two hundred and fifty for the rat, six hundred and fifty dollars for the load, minus the cost of the supplies… That brings the total to five hundred and seventy dollars,” the clerk interrupted flatly, sliding the money across the table with Kane’s list.
“Five hundred and seventy!?” Kane demanded. “What was so expensive?”
“The forty caliber you requested has gone up in price. We’re running low and have not received a shipment in a while.”
“It’s almost not worth it nowadays,” Kane muttered, pulling his CZ 75 out of the holster on his left hip and examining the pistol with the neon-blue grip.
“Cheer up, man,” Mitchell said, nearly buckling Kane’s knees as he slapped a huge hand onto his shoulder. “Just imagine how much you’re going to get for that bird!”
. . . . .
Later, as Kane pulled back into his driveway, he glimpsed his wife through the window, pacing back and forth. As he closed the car door, her eyes met his, then skittered away just as briskly, but the damage had been done. He could see the pain of withdrawal etched into the lines of her usually beautiful face.
With a glance around the garden, he stooped, deftly snatched a grasshopper out of the grass, and put it in his pocket. Without looking at his hands, he wiped the brown grasshopper spit on his jeans and unlocked the front door.
Before he had even closed the door to the vacuum chamber, his wife was in his face. “Did you bring me anything?” she asked frantically, shivering uncontrollably.
Glancing at the security monitor in the hallway closet, and double-checking that Harry was safely in the basement, he plucked the insect from his pocket. With a snarl his wife lunged towards him, but he put an arm out to stop her, pointing. “Upstairs,” he said, holding the bug behind his back. Obediently, his wife whirled around and dashed up the wooden steps two at a time.
Twenty minutes later, Harry came up the stairs as his father was putting the finishing touches on supper. With a glance at the table that was only set for two, Harry asked the obvious question: “Where’s Mom?”
“In her bedroom,” Kane said gruffly without turning around.
Harry approached the table and sat down with a forlorn look on his face. Kane glanced at his son, and with a muffled sigh, he composed himself and plastered a smile on his face. “Cheer up, pup,” he said as he brought the breakfast scramble to the table and set it down on the twenty-sided-die trivet.
Harry scrutinized the contents of the skillet, and a broad smile bloomed across his face.
Kane peeked at the waistline of his son’s hole-riddled Tripp pants and noticed something strange. “In all the craziness of Friday night, I barely noticed that you were hiding something beneath your pants,” he said with a wry smile.
Crimson bloomed across Harry’s white-scaled face, and Kane was momentarily astounded that his son’s transformations still allowed such an involuntarily human response.
“You know what I mean!” Kane chastised him good-naturedly. “Your gecko tail. Your mother worked really hard at sewing special zippers into all of your pants. Why are you keeping it hidden?”
“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled around a mouthful of egg and potatoes. “I just lose control of it sometimes, and even though this is extremely uncomfortable, it’s easier than having to clean stuff up all the time.”
“Okay.” Kane said, as he took a bite of his son’s favorite meal. He decided to change the subject due to Harry’s obvious discomfort, but at the last second, he closed his mouth and decided to sit in companionable silence.
“Help me with the dishes so that I can come watch you play?” he suggested after they finished eating.
“Sure!” his son said brightly, and they set about their task.
. . . . .
At four o’clock the next morning, Kane buckled his pistol holster around his waist, moving the bowie knife to the opposite side to keep things balanced. He then buckled his throwing knives around his left thigh, and finally, he slid a blue tanged Tamahagane katana of carbon steel into the sheath on his back. He closed the weapons safe in the garage, reset the alarm, and walked out to his SUV. With one last glance at his house, he backed out of the driveway, heading in the direction of the Holland Tunnel.
As he approached the first checkpoint, he withdrew his permit for the guard to look over.
“You sure you want to go this way?” the guard asked conversationally. “There’s an impressive horde roaming around near the exit.”
“I’m sure,” replied Kane.
“Suit yourself.” The guard waved him through. “Good luck!”
“Thanks.” Kane rolled up his window and drove under the raised barrier arm.
As always, as he approached the enormous wall, he was struck by the artisanship that had gone into its construction. But with the country’s best structural engineers trying to protect themselves and their families, plus a huge workforce willing to work for free to protect their own, it was little wonder that the wall was so impressive.
The guard at the wall gave him almost the exact same warning as the other guard had, then shrugged as he signaled the operator to open the gate. The massive vault door, twenty feet of solid steel, swung in towards him. Just like that, he was in, navigating towards the far end of the dimly lit tunnel beneath the river. He had to weave cautiously between barbwire fences staggered throughout the tunnel to slow down anything that managed to make it inside. As his headlights fell on the last gate, a lone guard exited the shack nestled against the side of the tunnel and approached his SUV.
“Ready?” he asked without preamble. “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my show and my coffee.”
Without another word, he approached one side of the gate, and Kane approached the other. They both slowly opened the eye slits in the metal gate and took a look around at the darkened landscape.
“Clear,” whispered the guard.
“Clear,” echoed Kane.
“On my count. Three … two … one… Now.”
Both men pushed the buttons located on either side of the gate. Slowly, the gate began to creep upwards on silent rollers as they both stepped forward and gazed around cautiously.
“Clear,” they said in unison. Kane walked back to his vehicle and slowly drove through the gate.
With a half-hearted wave, the guard pressed the button causing the roll up door to slowly lower back down, blocking the guards view of the wonders that Kane saw before him in the crisp, dawn light. Nature was slowly erasing all traces of technology from the face of the planet with its creeping plants and inevitable passage of time.
Kane was on his own again, alone in the wilderness that was slowly absorbing the remnants of humanity outside the walls, surrounded by hidden mutants that would kill and eat him on sight in hopes of regaining their sanity. He killed the engine, exiting the SUV and climbing onto the hood of the car, listening carefully for about ten minutes. The zen state he was able to reach in this time made him almost invisible to most life forms; in fact, he often startled curious creatures that strayed too close. This was the trade secret to how he managed to catch so many Pures.
The world had completely lost touch with nature, but for good reason: it was trying to kill them all on a daily basis. Yet from an early age, Kane had been taught by his father to respect nature above all else. He never killed unless he had to, because he respected all life, no matter how vicious it was. Creatures that would not hesitate to hurt other people out of spite or fear would approach him just like any other living being. He had established a mutual respect with most of the critters he met. Before deer had gone extinct, he approached a few. Whether they had been bred in captivity or not, he could not tell, because they had approached him as if he were one of their own.
The last time he had seen a deer was when that bear-moose had lumbered out of the woods, startling it away. Kane had tried many times to tame the mutated beasts that now roamed the old lands of men, but to no avail. This was no exception. He’d stood his ground as the massive brute, the size of a small bus, reared up on its hind legs and tossed its head, neck muscles bulging beneath the weight of the humongous antlers, six or seven feet across. Thankfully, this beast—or its parents—had undergone only minimal mutation before the Cure was dispersed; if it had taken on any more animal attributes, it would have been unstoppable.
Hastily calming himself, he had looked it in the eyes, showing it the respect it deserved, keeping any malice or fear out of his gaze. Sometimes this backfired; some animals considered it a challenge if you looked at them the wrong way. Kane was trying anyway. Bull moose were extremely violent and territorial, but they were not bloodthirsty.
Their eyes met, allowing Kane to see the conflicting instincts warring in its mind. It must have been confusing. The beast plonked back down to four legs again, and the ground shook slightly beneath its weight. But despite his best efforts, Kane broke eye contact. With that minuscule mistake, the mutated creature became enraged and charged him. In a flash, he drew his CZ 75 and fired three quick shots deep into its right eye. The brute crashed to the ground, sliding a few feet, then moved no more.
That had been a few years ago, and Kane had improved much since then. As he came out of his trance without sensing anything around him, he noticed a red wasp crawling on his pants leg, hunting in the shadows between the wrinkles and folds. He brushed it away, dropping to the ground. Hearing nothing in the immediate area, he glanced into the cloudless blue sky, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the radiant sun.
“I need to get a new pair of shades,” he mused as he walked around to the driver’s side of his SUV. As he got back in, a flock of birds was startled from the rooftop of a giant hardware store a few blocks over, indicating that the horde was on the move. He swapped his car over to EV and drove quietly towards the tollbooths.