The Variant Mythos

By Jack Cochran

Following the Great Economic Collapse the future looked bleak. Escalating crime, homelessness, poverty, and fear ravage the country. A new global depression has devastated every industrialized nation, leaving the entire planet crippled.

This is the world John Cohen and his friends Carmen and Nosmo knew until the night of October 28, 2026. In a flash of strange emerald light the three friends are dragged into a world of powerful beings, known as the Variants. Teamed with a homeless assassin and a forgetful immortal, they soon find themselves involved in a brave new world of strange abilities, monsters, and aliens. As they try to adjust to this new life something else is stirring in the darkness. And the fate of everything hangs in the balance

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483692180

Book preview

Contents

Prologue

Part 1 Ninja Slices Pizza

Part 2 Hobo Ninja in the Tunnels

Part 3 The Golem

Part 4 Revelation of the Techno Pirates

Part 5 Prom Night

PROLOGUE

If there is an underlying oneness of all things, it does not matter where we begin, whether with stars, or laws of supply and demand, or frogs, or Napoleon Bonaparte. One measures a circle, beginning anywhere.—Charles Fort, Lo! (1931).

The true beginning of our end.—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act V, Scene i).

[The following is an excerpt from the Official Transcript of trial #3777 of the High Court on the counts of treason, sedition, multiple counts of murder, and violations of Protocol 7 and Protocol 5. This written compilation was compiled by High Court Historians #1137 and #4508 and transcribed from the video, audio, and written testimony of subject EDWARD DRAKE during Phase 4 of trial #3777. It has been transcribed into the common, modern vernacular for the convenience of your Graces.]

EDWARD DRAKE IS seated on a metal chair at a metal table. Although the overhead cone of light does not permit enough lighting for him to see much of the walls, they are a white-blue color in an effort to convey a sense of calm. Behind him is a large inset mirror and off to his right is a grayish-blue door leading out of the room. Across from him sits the Defense Council Interrogator, whom he appears to be ignoring. The Defense Council Interrogator is dressed in the standard dark red robe, her face concealed in shadow as per procedure.

Edward Drake is dressed in a black over-shirt equipped with a hood, dark tan military-style pants, and an old pair of shoes. He is less than two meters tall, with short, neatly cropped light brown hair. His appearance is that of an adult male, approximately thirty years old. His demeanor is suggestive of boredom. It is at this point that the questioning began.

Please state your identity for the record.

My name is Edward Drake.

And your alias?

The Hobo Ninja.

We need some information from you, Edward Drake.

Why?

Do you understand what is happening?

This is an interrogation.

As you might understand it, yes.

Why do you want to talk to me?

You were there when it happened. In fact, you were a major player in the events that transpired. We are in need of witness testimony.

His eyes narrowed, indicating suspicion.

What do you want to know?

We need to know how it happened. Are you willing to answer some questions?

Yes.

Excellent. Please state your date of birth.

August 8, 1834.

You lifespan exceeds that of a typical human being. How did you live to be so old?

Clean living.

Your sarcasm is noted, Mr. Drake, and it is not appreciated.

He smiles.

I don’t care.

You were an active adventurer for many years. Your experience, training, and instincts kept you alive for a very long time. Did there come a time when you began to suspect that something catastrophic was about to happen?

I don’t know where to start.

We always find it best to start at the beginning. When did you first suspect that what was happening was different than what had come before?

Edward Drake sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. Placing his hands on the top of the table he looked away again. It was several seconds before he responded.

John Cohen. My initial suspicions were raised when I met John Cohen.

The first so-called Pizza Man? What about that encounter made you suspicious?

Something felt different, he pauses here for a few seconds before continuing, and Dorothy began acting strangely. It was after the event at Ninja Slices Pizza that things started to change in noticeable ways.

At that time she had a lot of difficulty accessing her memory, didn’t she?

Yes.

We have a copy of Mr. Cohen’s journal entries regarding some of the incidents. Would you trust him to give an accurate description of the events?

Yes.

End of excerpt.

Part 1

Ninja Slices Pizza

1

From the Journal of John Cohen Volume 26, Entry 6 (Dated Monday, June 26, 2028):

I THINK I’M getting a sinus infection, so let’s get on with it before my head really starts hurting. A certain someone is demanding my attention and I hate to keep her waiting. It’s weird how life happens. You think nothing is going to change and then there’s a left turn in the road. Whenever I think about how much my life has changed I always end up at Ninja Slices Pizza.

I had been working at the pizza shop for about two years when it happened. The only job I was able to land was as a pizza delivery driver. Having grown up in a smaller community I qualified for a fast track driver’s license so I took advantage of that opportunity. The changes in environmental regulations and energy efficiency requirements meant that most people in the cities were frequently restricted from having licenses and vehicles were heavily regulated and taxed. I guess, in that sense, being able to simply get a driver’s license set this whole thing in motion.

My boss, Danny Hilton, ran one of the last pizza delivery services in the state. For enough money we could deliver just about everywhere within the state boundaries. The wait might take four hours in good weather, but it is good pizza. That often meant that one delivery could take up my entire shift. Whenever that would happen my parents would just smile politely and remind me that in their youth deliveries would take less than an hour. They would have laughed but it usually just made them nostalgic for the past. That look is haunting.

It was a few days before Halloween and I was working the second shift. I wasn’t supposed to be working. The shop was strangely busy for a Wednesday, so Danny called me in to help out. We had four drivers working that day and I was doing mid-range deliveries. I didn’t mind those runs. One or two trips to Findlay or Dayton made the shift go quickly and I didn’t have to go to the urban wastelands of Cleveland or Cincinnati.

As it always does that time of year in Ohio, it was getting colder outside. Since I was driving the red delivery car I actually had a vehicle with a working heater. I left one of my old army surplus jackets on the seat in case I needed it. Being in the car most of the times wasn’t that bad, so I just wore my delivery uniform shirt over an old hooded sweatshirt. My blue jeans and ball cap were sufficient with that combination.

I was in a good mood, having come back from a trip to a very wealthy home in the gated Dayton suburbs. The guy tipped me in cash (this was about a year before congress made cash tips completely illegal) and I was extremely happy to see that it was in Canadian currency. Since the new global ubancno (Universal Bank Currency Note, issued by the U.N. monetary regulation and oversight committee) still hadn’t caught on in many areas Canadian bills somehow become the default barter money. I had heard rumors that similar activity had been going on with the peso in the southern Border States, but at that time I had never been that far south. It was a plausible rumor with all the refugees trying to escape Mexico after their government fell to a council of cartel warlords. The same warlords were causing chaos all over the Southwest, though.

After the Global Economic Collapse a few years prior everyone was scrambling for a new currency but nothing really stuck as a default. It was a chaotic time. When the ubancno was formally introduced, and the Fed outlawed most private ownership of precious metals (again) the ubancno helped to stabilize many economies. Too bad it just made almost everybody really poor. The Chinese were controlling the value of the money and, since the U.S. defaulted on one too many loans, we got some rather harsh oversight.

Anyway, I had just parked when I saw a man lurking near the dumpster about fifty feet away across the gravel parking lot. I couldn’t see him very well and it was starting to rain, so I didn’t see any point in lingering around. When it came to dumpster divers we generally left them alone. Most of them carried weapons and were desperate (not much has changed). The police wouldn’t even bother coming out unless someone was actually hurt, so avoidance seemed the best alternative. I kept an eye on him as I rang the buzzer to the backdoor. Someone hit the door release button and I walked in.

Carmen greeted me as I stepped inside. Not only was she one of Danny’s favorite employees, she was also pretty (which made her one of my favorite employees). With her long black hair and that sexy brown Southeast Asian skin she could probably talk anyone into doing what she wanted. She seemed too shy to actually talk to most people, though.

Some of our co-workers teased her for having a last name like Kaminski when she was clearly Asian, but she learned to have a good sense of humor about it. Being one of the few Asians in town, she learned to put up with a lot. There was a lot of anti-Chinese sentiment outside of political circles and that usually extended to all Asians.

I never used any of the popular slander, so she made an effort to be friendly. We became friends pretty quickly. She got along great with Nosmo and me because we were all social rejects (and I like pretty girls).

She was the only person in the shop, stuck on oven duty again. The night was obviously winding down or there would have been more people still in the shop. The place was a mess and I knew we’d be there late cleaning up, but we had a good crew.

Danny must have just left a few minutes before. He trusted Carmen to process the incoming orders and to prep the food. She was always amazingly fast when she worked alone. A few of the other drivers would help out if the kitchen was busy, but that was pretty rare. We were drivers because most of us were awful in the kitchen. Carmen didn’t like the other drivers, so Nosmo and I ended up getting the easy runs whenever we worked together. She was always a good friend.

That night was no different. As soon as I walked in she smiled that beautiful smile and gave me a quick hug. She bounced a little as her smiled widened. It was obvious that she had something to tell me about and she finally just blurted it out.

John! I made the track team!

Nice work! I said, not knowing what an appropriate response to that particular news was. She hugged me again out of excitement. I know I was excited. I had a real hard time hiding my excitement, so it had to be a quick hug. I had to remind myself that she was only seventeen. She was a sexy piece of jailbait if ever there was one.

Oh, you have a delivery up! she said, suddenly remembering that we were at work. For a second I thought that was a euphemism, but it wasn’t. She walked with me over to the sunlamps where a large stack of pizza boxes awaited me.

These go to Mansfield.

I’ll need three more pizza bags for this.

She laughed at me and helped me bag up the pizzas. We chatted for a little while about normal stuff, mostly her high school shenanigans. None of it was memorable. I just looked at her ass most of the time. Once all the pizzas were bagged up I set the bags down on the table by the back door.

Hey, do we have any extra subs around?

Yeah, Nosmo had me make him one. Why?

Bum bait. There’s one lurking by the dumpster. He must have climbed the back fence. And I’m not getting robbed in the parking lot again.

Good thing we don’t carry cash anymore, she giggled as she retrieved the sandwich.

I balanced it on top of the stack of pizza bags and she opened the backdoor for me. After I was through she quickly closed the door and I advanced to the delivery car. I didn’t see the guy by the dumpster again, but the dumpster divers rarely go far so I kept an eye out as I set my delivery bags on the roof of the car.

I opened the back driver’s side door to start loading the pizza bags. Danny said I could use the car to go and do my laundry before work, so I had to move a pile of my freshly laundered clothes to load up my delivery. Too many of them smell like pizza anyway, so a quick trip to Mansfield wouldn’t hurt them.

When I was done moving everything I saw someone near the dumpster again. I didn’t get a look at them; it was just a brief movement out of my peripheral vision. I had two of the pizza bags in the car just as the rain picked up. The pizza bags are waterproof, so I wasn’t worried. I was about to put the other two in the car when I heard the gate open and one of the other delivery cars pulling up.

It was the silver car, which meant it was one of our long-distance route drivers. I knew it was Nosmo by the fast entry and bad driving. Since I was stealing his lunch it was only fair to say hello, so I waited for him to get out of the car.

I had parked in the spot closer to the door, making him park next to my car and placing him between me and the dumpster. The rain was starting to come down harder, so I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my delivery hat and I waited for Nosmo to exit the vehicle. Like usual, he practically jumped out of his car. I still maintain that he hates driving and watching him get out of his car reinforces that idea. Either that or a rat lives in that car. Neither scenario would surprise me a whole lot.

I hate Cleveland, he said slamming the car door.

At this point I thought it would be a good idea not to mention that I was stealing his lunch.

Did you get robbed again? I asked.

No! It was a prepayment like usual. On the way out of that shithole some bums had built a barricade across the road. When I went to turn around some guy tried to get in. When he realized the door was locked he waved a gun at me. A real gun!

What did you do?

I floored it! Then that asshole took a shot at me, Nosmo raised his arm and used his thumb to indicate his delivery car behind him. He shot the passenger side mirror. I think he only had one bullet, but that could have been my face.

I’m surprised he had a functional gun, let alone bullets.

Privately owned firearms had been banned for several years by that point. Aside from dad’s service weapons I’ve rarely seen one. Possessing a firearm without proper authorization was an executable offense under several of the President’s executive orders. It was one of those shoot-first-never-ask-questions kinds of rules. At the minimum, you were going to prison for a long time. The East Coast and Great Lakes states were the first to get harsh seizure enforcement. Rumor has it that the Southwest is still hoarding weapons, but they have their own problems beyond weapons confiscations.

I know! he cried.

You know if you get carjacked again Danny might fire you.

It’s got a tracking device on it.

So did the yellow one and we haven’t seen that thing in months.

And he reminds me every time he sees me. ‘Hey Nosmo! Have your seen my delivery car? I’ve been looking all over for it.’ I’m never living that down.

A noise near the dumpster drew our attention. Through the rain we could see what looked like the dumpster diver I saw earlier lying on the ground. We couldn’t see him really well, but the outline of the figure was apparent. I walked around to the front of the cars, where Nosmo joined me. We stood there for a little while staring at the unmoving form near the dumpster. We knew most bums were dangerous and this could be a bum trick. We both knew many people who had been robbed, beaten, or worse by the homeless and our hesitation to helping him was more out of a concern for our personal safety than a heartless attitude about that person’s safety.

I think it’s worth reiterating that the country was still in disarray in those days (again, not much has really changed). Government crackdowns were almost at an all-time high, but gangs and criminal activity were also at record highs. Disappearances were becoming more common. At twenty-one, I personally knew eleven people that had been murdered (one of them at a funeral). If I didn’t live in a small town statistics say that number would have been much higher. Home invasions by gang members from larger communities were pretty common. Roaming bands of nomadic homeless people were like weekly parades of despair down the main street. Strange cults began popping up. Some of them were suicide cults or little more than gangs with a religious flair. That was one of the excuses the government used to drop the hammer on religion in general. Dad’s old post-apocalypse movies were starting to look more and more like documentaries. I suppose that’s why they’ve been banned.

My parents were older than most of the parents of the people I grew up with. They valued education, but the parents of most of my peers watched pseudo-documentaries about slutty drunks rather than get involved in the lives of their children. The illiteracy rate rose with the unemployment rate and no one seemed to care unless it was mentioned on the reality programs. When the news networks were seized (or nationalized to use the parlance of an earlier time) no one seemed to notice. No one really remembers how the money collapsed thanks in large part to the cleansing of the internet for our protection. No media coverage means it never happened. Our new congressman, that the president just appointed, is claiming that no collapse occurred. He called it a phony, scandalous propaganda by religious zealots.

Edward likes to tell me that the Collapse was mostly a result of the devaluing of our fiat currency through something called quantitative easing and digitizing. Foreign computer hackers and a lack of confidence in our nation’s frivolous spending helped to burst the bubble, too. Regardless of how it happened The Great Economic Collapse was a harsh wake-up call to most of the country.

In a short time unemployment skyrocketed and cracks in the system became gaping fissures. Technology hadn’t progressed in about half a decade, probably longer. Government handouts of food and money stopped on a Wednesday, making the freeloaders and the disabled very desperate by Friday. (Few people had more than a few days worth of food.) Food riots became, and still are, all too common. You’re still more likely to be murdered for food or clothes than anything else. With all of the violence in the past few years, our approach to this situation with a single homeless man can be seen as a little more understandable. Everyone should be considered dangerous, especially someone desperate (like the homeless).

I looked over at Nosmo and he nodded to me. We had to deal with situations like this occasionally. Every elementary school child knew that solitary homeless people were dangerous and likely riddled with disease. The homeless encampments only kicked out the dangerous, unstable, and the sick and they had to be really bad to get ejected. Usually if you threw food or money to them they would leave you alone. So, our usual tactic for an injury was to shout at them and see what they needed. If they didn’t respond we called the police to have them removed. If the police showed up, they’d remove them and run them to the edge of town where the complementary beating would officially welcome them to the community. Of course, that was only if the police actually bothered to come out. As I said, if there wasn’t an injury it probably wasn’t going to happen. We were on our own a lot.

Having done this before, we had a pretty good idea what to expect. I took two steps forward and shouted. When there was no response I picked up a few stones and threw them at the guy while shouting things like: Hey! Are you okay? Again, there was no response. I walked a few feet closer, closing the distance between him and me to around twenty feet. I threw my last stone and it struck him in the head. There was no change but something behind the dumpster made a loud metallic clang. The noise startled both of us, but the homeless guy didn’t move. It was a loud metal-on-metal sound, like something thick and heavy hitting the back of the dumpster.

What the hell was that? Nosmo shouted.

I shrugged. I was about to look back at Nosmo when something behind the dumpster moved. This was a different noise, more of a sliding sound. If the rain had not been pounding down as hard as it was it probably would have been a much louder sound. With the rain I almost didn’t hear it and had I not moved up I certainly wouldn’t have heard it. Naturally the sound drew my attention. I waved back to Nosmo and tried to listen for it more carefully. Then, under the sound of the rain, I could hear a shuffling sound. It sounded like the noise was moving closer to the edge of the dumpster. There was an occasional metal-on-metal scrapping sound that made me take a few steps back.

Years of being subjected to high school bullying have taught me to be a rather skittish person, so I was more than ready to run when a large robot-looking thing stepped out from behind the dumpster. It was standing upright as it emerged into the streetlight, kicking aside pieces of scrap metal from behind the dumpster. Standing over six feet tall with a humanoid shape it looked massive. It had a transparent plastic-like shell that seemed to simulate some kind of skin that covered what looked like servos, gears, and wiring. It was definitely human-shaped, with broad shoulders and human-like appendages, but it did not have facial features (just clockwork looking innards). This was not a military robot, at least not like one I’ve ever seen on TV. This wasn’t like anything any of us had ever heard of and I knew Nosmo was just as terrified as I was at that moment.

I managed to turn and start running when it came at me. Not being a very spry individual I was very fortunate that it was equally slow. Nosmo was already at the backdoor and repeatedly slamming on the buzzer. I made it by my delivery car when the robot-thing stopped in front of the silver car. I noticed it hadn’t killed me yet so, hiding behind my car like a coward, I looked at it. The thing’s movements were jerky and confused. It was obvious from the start that it was acting that way whenever Nosmo slammed on the backdoor buzzer. That didn’t make me feel any safer.

Carmen opened the backdoor at the same time the robot seemed to move normally again. Nosmo made it in the doorway with Carmen when the robot slammed its fists into the hood of his delivery car. Its fingers tore through the fiberglass hood as if it was paper. Mentally I began preparing myself to purchase a new pair of pants if I lived through this ordeal. It was brown trousers time if ever there was one.

Gripping the engine through the hood it pulled the car off of the ground and easily lifted it up. It raised the car over its head and turned in my direction. I knew I couldn’t make it in the door, but I knew I could make it to the door buzzer. The robot pulled its arms back to throw the car and I barely made it in time to slam my hand into the buzzer.

The robot jerked back and forth for a second. It was swaying too wildly to risk letting go of the buzzer. If I let go at the wrong time that car could crash right into the doorway and kill all three of us. So, I shouted at Carmen and Nosmo to close the door. Carmen mouthed something that looked like I’m sorry (it was raining and I’m bad at lip reading, so it really could have been anything) and she started to close the door.

Maintaining my hold on the buzzer I looked back to the robot. I briefly wondered how long that buzzer would keep working when I heard a strange pop followed by a hissing sound. The robot seemed to slouch slightly and then there were more noises. The sounds of electronics shorting out and popping sounds filled the night. The insides of the creature began to light up with a strange green color. The brightly-colored light was coming from a strange mist that seemed to be enveloping the things insides. It was almost hypnotic to watch and, weirdly, I’d swear that I hear someone singing a soft wordless song somewhere nearby.

Thanks to that internal lighting I could see the outline of a man standing behind the robot holding what looked like a sword. That seemed weird and unlikely. Then there was a bright green flash and a rush of air. As if in slow motion, I could see the robot’s insides turn a bright green as the mist seemed explode in a ball fire.

The mist seemed to coalesce as it shot out in a wave of beautiful green light with a loud booming sound. I heard the backdoor crumple as that energy wave knocked me back. I slammed into the concrete, hard, before flopping to the ground. It happened so fast that I only had time to see a flash of green and feel my body being thrown around. Everything went dark very quickly.

2

A WOMAN WAS talking to me, saying my name and telling me it was time to wake up. It was my first thought as I awoke in a strange bed, but when I opened my eyes the room was silent. I was a little scared, but I assumed I was in a hospital. They must have thought we were rich and near death if we got to line jump our way into private rooms. Suddenly I was worried about how long I had been unconscious. What if I had been in a coma? I couldn’t afford that. I did a quick mental check and accounted for all of my parts. Nothing hurt so I raised my head a little and looked around the r oom.

There was a curtain concealing part of my right side so my view was limited, but I could see a man’s pant legs on the bed next to me. Someone walked in front of me. She was a young white woman with a slight tan and long chestnut-colored hair wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans. Her back was to me most of the time, but I liked everything I was seeing. She was short, about five foot four inches, and she looked like she was around my age. She looked too young to be a doctor.

He’s awake, she said without even looking at me. I didn’t think of it right away, but her voice was not the one I thought I heard. I must have been dreaming.

I could hear the person on my right getting off of the bed. I looked over to see the homeless man I had seen at the dumpster earlier. He was wearing old clothes and he looked appropriately disheveled. He walked over to the girl scratching his short light brown hair as he did so (I assumed at the time that he had fleas). Their proximity seemed to indicate that they somehow knew each other, but they couldn’t have looked more different. While she looked like a clean-cut young woman, he looked like a thrift store threw up on him. His tan cargo pants and black hooded sweatshirt didn’t really blend well together and I was pretty sure his shoes were held together by duct tape.

There was something about him that I couldn’t quite place at the time. He looked like he would rip your throat out, but I wasn’t immediately afraid of him. He rubbed his unshaven face with fingers that stuck out from fingerless brown gloves. She tried to hand him a clipboard and he rolled his eyes and ignored her. She shrugged and glanced down at the clipboard.

How do you feel, Mr. Cohen? she asked, again without looking at me.

Um… fine?

Are you experiencing any pain?

Why wasn’t she looking at me? She must be a doctor. I assumed she was like most doctors and just didn’t care. I was just another number for some quota that needed to be filled. She was writing something down on the clipboard as we talked, so she must have wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. They probably need to fill this bed with a patient that can pay for it.

Not right now, no.

Do you know what year it is, Mr. Cohen?

Twenty twenty-six. Did it change?

The homeless guy smiled and suppressed a laugh.

What year were you born?

Two-thousand and five.

What is the last thing you remember?

There was a flash of green light or fire. It hit me, I said, looking at my hand and suddenly realizing that I wasn’t burned.

She picked up a small cylinder of some kind and walked over towards me. With her right hand she waved me to sit up and I complied. I realized that I was dressed only in my underwear and a hospital gown so I decided to ask her about my clothes. She set the container down next to me and I could tell she was going to draw some blood. She was still avoiding looking at me. Her indifference and outward coldness seemed strange and slightly distant. It made me a little uncomfortable and somehow I knew she was disinterested in me. That’s typical behavior for a doctor these days.

Where are my clothes?

She glanced at the homeless man and then responded, again not looking at me.

We’re having them tested. They’ll probably be returned shortly. If they’re not, you’ll be supplied with some replacements.

Tested? What does that mean? I asked as she pointed to my right arm. I extended the arm as she picked up a needle with an attached vial.

It’s nothing to worry about.

As soon as she said it I knew she was lying. I pulled my arm back. It was an unexpected reaction and she seemed surprised by it.

It’s unprofessional to lie to patients.

She looked confused. Before I could mentally process what was going on she grabbed my arm and pulled it out towards her again. Her hands felt oddly cold against my skin, but I didn’t think about that at the time. Her grip was a lot more noticeable. Either I was really weak or she was a lot stronger than she looked. Then, while I was distracted by her sudden display of strength, she jabbed the needle into my arm without a hint of pain.

Aren’t you supposed to be wearing gloves or something? I asked.

We’ll be fine. Just relax and we can get you home.

I tried to relax. She was a pretty woman around my age so I tried looking at her, but she refused to even acknowledge me. The homeless guy just looked bored. Hospital rooms aren’t much to look at so I just stared off into space.

Something is wrong, I heard her say. This can’t right.

What? I asked.

The homeless guy looked at me funny, but I ignored it.

Humans have never been exposed to it on this level. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have been disintegrated.

Thanks for sharing that, I thought.

Should I be worried? I asked.

Again the homeless guy gave me an odd look. This time he looked at the girl. She looked back at him and there was some kind of subtle exchange of confused looks between them. Holding my arm just above the elbow with her left hand, she pulled the needle and vial from my arm.

We should quarantine all three of them until we know what happened. Adverse reactions to this could be unpredictable.

Now I was getting scared.

What do you mean ‘quarantine’? I asked.

Now she was looking at me. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. She quickly pulled away from me and in doing it she dropped the vial of my blood. She glanced at the homeless guy but he just looked confused too. She quickly composed herself. Her sudden change of demeanor indicated to me that she was very good at concealing her emotions and that made me think that I must have really caught her off guard.

How did you do that? she said it firmly, but I could hear a slight quiver in her voice.

Do what? I asked. She looked kind of angry and I had no idea why considering that she sounded a little uncomfortable. This was very confusing.

What’s wrong? the homeless guy asked her. He looked just as confused as I was.

He’s reading my mind.

I really didn’t know how to respond to an accusation like that, so I followed it up with my usual response.

What?

How is that possible? he asked. This made me more nervous because he just seemed to accept what she said and now he looked more guarded. Typically only the crazy tinfoil-hat people think of telepathy as a normal activity. What happened to get me in the crazy ward? Was she a doctor or a patient?

I don’t know, she said sounding a little nervous. He shouldn’t be able to do it.

He’s not a Variant, is he?

What’s a ‘Variant’? I asked.

No, she said as both of them ignored me.

Do you want me to kill him? he asked.

What?

No. we replied in unison. I was a little more emphatic than she was about it.

The guy held up his hands as if to indicate that a good idea was being dismissed. That didn’t make me feel any better. We went from quarantine to death in about ten seconds… because of telepathy.

I slowly slid off of the bed and retrieved the vial of blood. Cautiously, I extended my hand and offered it to her. Although she has always denied it, she seemed to hesitate when she reached out for it. I held my other hand up in a surrendering gesture.

I’m sorry for… reading your mind, I said, feeling stupid for even saying that sentence. I say dumb stuff around pretty girls routinely, but this was a new one for me.

She took the vial from my hand, our fingers brushing briefly. There was a quick rush of adrenaline when it happened. She quickly turned away from me and walked towards the door. The homeless man looked a little confused as she walked out of the room. The look he gave me was odd. I think he was sizing me up and it scared me. He’s had a dangerous look about him at that moment. I was confused too so I just stood there looking stupid and terrified.

Wait here, he said before rushing out of the room behind her.

I laid down on the bed and suddenly felt very tired.

3

I STARED AT the ceiling for a long time. Then, I walked around the room several times and even repeatedly counted all the items on the counter by the sink. I can still see that damn counter in my head. One box of gloves, one pair of scissors, a box of red biohazard bags, a dozen syringes sealed in easy-to-open plastic sheathes, and a small assortment of handheld electronics whose purpose was unclear to me. Bored to the point of frustration, I laid back on the bed and tried to sleep.

As soon as I was in that spot right between sleep and consciousness the door opened. I glanced over, hoping that this would be something to do (preferably something that didn’t involve telepathy). At first I assumed it was a couple of doctors or nurses in scrubs so I looked away again. When I closed my eyes again my brain realized that the figures were Nosmo and Carmen. I shot upright, causing them both to giggle like schoolgirls. Only one of them is cute when they do it. The other one is an idiot with a stupid name.

Carmen ran up to me and gave me a hug. Despite the thrill of having a pretty girl pressed into me, she lingered too long for something not to have been wrong. I noticed the Nosmo was holding an extra set of scrubs and, unable to do much with a ninety-pound girl wrapped around me, I motioned for him to put them on the counter nearby. After he did it, he tapped Carmen on the shoulder and she pulled back from me. They sat next to each other on the bed next to mine.

Are you okay, John? Nosmo asked.

I’m fine. Are you guys okay?

He nodded, but something was obviously bothering them. He leaned in, making us huddle in secrecy. Carmen looked around suspiciously and leaned in close, letting us smell a hint of her strawberry shampoo. She wasn’t the most covert person I’ve ever met.

Where the hell are we? Nosmo quietly asked.

No idea. Some hot chick our age and that homeless guy from the parking lot were in here a few hours ago. Are you guys okay?

We’re fine, Carmen said, joining the conversation. We overheard the doctors talking about you being exposed to more of… something.

I don’t like this, John. Something’s not right. I think this is some kind of military installation.

What do you mean?

We’ve been escorted everywhere we go, but this looks more like a military infirmary than a real hospital. We’ve only seen two doctors and they only seem to know how to do basic emergency medicine. They were looking at some of the equipment like they’d never seen it before. They used strange medical terms I’ve never heard before. I’m pretty sure the National Guard trained me better than these assclowns. And I think they were both armed.

All right, they’re probably watching us. We treat it like a Mansfield until we find out otherwise.

They both nodded.

A few months before this happened, Nosmo and a driver named Ted got taken hostage by a small cult near Mansfield who planned on using them as ransom with the federal government. They wanted food and their