It was a fortuitous move that saved Eydie's life. Almost instantly, Elder Tull was forced up against Kevin and Beat, up against the back wall, squashed by the mass of bodies. Beat was closest to the bar and wriggled free, up and over. Kevin hit a fellow Puke with a surprise right cross and managed to struggle his way slowly towards the bar. He lost his dirty, ripped coat in the struggle, but Beat and Prime were able to pull him over the bar.
Elder simply vanished, apparently crushed by the mass of humanity, only to appear as if by magic unharmed and still clutching his plate of food on the temporarily safe side of the bar. Elder seemed unfazed as he cleaned the last of the food off his plate. The others were frantically trying to help their fellow Pukes over the bar. The gas was building around them. They were all coughing as tears stung their eyes. In the midst of the chaos, a gunshot rang out. Pukes were screaming in pain, crushed up against the bar, jammed tight. There was no budging even a single body.
Kevin's large hands grabbed Beat and Eydie by the shoulders. He manhandled them through a small, almost hidden door behind the bar. Prime followed with his handgun leveled. Elder moved hunched over.
Though the door was a room that had once served as Madame Damnable's kitchen. It had long ago been picked clean of any useful equipment, and now only grease stains and variations in the dust marked where the counters and refrigerators had once stood. But it was a dead end, with no rear exit out of the basement bar.
"What the fuck is happening?" Beat screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Cops! Fucking Cops!" Prime replied, keeping his pistol pointed at the kitchen's door.
"They're killing them in there!"
"Fucking Cops!" Prime said again.
"It's a dead end!" Kevin stated the obvious. "We're trapped in here!"
There was another series of gunshots heard over the screams in the bar. Everyone in the kitchen dropped to their knees.
"They're gonna kill us!" Beat pulled off her duffel coat and tossed it aside, revealing a red lace bra that matched her Mickey Mouse hot pants. She was searching the old kitchen for anything she could use as a weapon. She found a length of pipe attached to the wall and tried unsuccessfully to pull it free.
Elder followed suit. The seriousness of the situation was finally beginning to dawn on him. He found his own pipe and started pulling. Unlike Beat's, Elder's came free, snapping clean off the wall. There was a hiss, and then he noticed the smell of rotten eggs.
"I'm going to kill every last motherfucking–" Prime began.
"Here, look," a small voice said. Despite all the chaos, the slight sound grabbed everyone's attention. Eydie, at the rear of the kitchen, was looking up. Where the stove had once stood, there was a sooty black hole that exited diagonally up and out towards street level. It was small, no more than a foot and half across, and there was no light shining down from the chimney's far end, but it was the small kitchen's only exit.
"We can't fit through that," Prime dismissed, keeping his pistol pointed towards the door.
"I can fit through it," Eydie said, looking for a foothold. "Give me a boost."
The smell of rotten eggs was building, but the discovery of the chimney stole Elder's attention. He threw aside his broken pipe and helped Eydie up to the small, dark opening. Nimbly climbing up Elder's shoulders and onto his head, Eydie snaked into the pipe. There was some grunting and a cascade of black soot as she wiggled, but she was making progress and her feet quickly vanished from view.
"There's something blocking–" Eydie's muffled voice said from the chimney. It was followed by a series of hard thumps, then the sound of snapping wood. There was a tense moment filled with nothing but screams from the bar, and then Eydie's voice called, "I'm out!"
"Alright, Beat," Kevin took charge, "you're the next smallest. Go!" Truth be told, pound for pound, Elder was probably the next smallest in size to Eydie, but Elder's ego wasn't about to make a point of the issue. Holding out his hands for Sweet's foot, Elder leaned forward. Beat kicked off her heels and let Elder lift her towards the escape route. Her torso snaked into the chimney, and Beat found Eydie's waiting hand to help her. A push from Elder from behind, a pull from Eydie above, and Beat threaded through the pipe.
Elder went next, standing on Kevin's shoulders. Beat was able to pull Elder up and out under her own strength. There was little more to Elder than bones and skin.
Kevin was next. He tapped Prime on the shoulder. "Move over here and help me up," Kevin instructed.
"What?" Prime glanced back for a swift second, trying not to take his eyes off the door.
"Help me up!" Kevin grabbed Prime by the shoulders and pulled him towards the chimney.
"Shit!" Prime yelled, returning his revolver to its holster. "How the fuck am I going to get up there?" Prime asked as he gave Kevin a boost.
"We'll find a rope or something," Kevin said, his head already lost in the sooty pipe. Kevin reached up and found Beat's hand waiting. Her firm grip took hold and she pulled him up with adrenaline-fueled strength.
Below, Prime was pushing on Kevin's heels when the door to the kitchen burst open. Prime let go of Kevin and reached for his gun, but quickly realized it was unnecessary. Two bloodied and beaten Pukes stumbled into the kitchen and slammed the door behind them.
Above Prime, Beat pulled with all her might, and Kevin painfully emerged from the chimney.
"There's no way Prime is going to fit through that," Kevin said as he flopped onto the blacktop of the alleyway. He was holding his arm, limp and numb from exertion. Eydie and Elder were watching the ends of the alleyway, where the lights of police cruisers danced off the walls of the buildings.
"He'll have to," Beat replied, diving her whole upper body back into the hole, thrusting the curves of her tight hot pants up into the night air.
"Help me up!" Prime ordered the two Pukes.
"What?" One of the Pukes looked at Prime, his puffy red eyes streaming with tears.
"Help me up this pipe, it's the way out!" Prime jumped, trying to reach for the opening. It was only then that Prime noticed the rotten egg smell. It meant something to him, some half-forgotten memory, but he had no time to recall.
Luckily, the second Puke was quicker on the uptake. He moved over, under Prime, and tried to boost the heavy man up. But Prime was just too heavy. Not until the first Puke joined in were they able to lift Prime from the floor and up to the chimney.
He made it just past his shoulders before getting stuck.
"No, no, stop!" he yelled up to Beat, who was pulling with all her strength on his arms.
"Come on, you fat fuck!" Beat screamed down the pipe.
Back down in the kitchen, the two Pukes were pushing on Prime's feet.
They didn't notice the kitchen door open behind them.
With Prime screaming in pain, and Beat screaming curses down the chimney, they didn't hear the SWAT officer barking orders from behind his gas mask.
They didn't see the AR-15 rise to the officer's shoulder.
They didn't hear the rifle fire until the bullet had passed through the first Puke's chest.
They didn't see the propane that was filling the room, pouring out from the broken pipe in the wall, ignite on the muzzle flash of the rifle.
They didn't hear Prime scream as the blast thrust him up the chimney, and he shot out like a cork from a champagne bottle. The explosion in the kitchen sent him crashing up against the far wall of the alley, knocking Beat clear as he exited.
The Pukes in the kitchen didn't see anything but the fire engulfing them.
Chapter 11
Nathan awoke in darkness, aware of the empty space in the bed beside him. He sat up and found the sheets missing, his naked body lit by the glow of the city, which shone in through the floor-to-ceiling picture windows of the penthouse condo. His gaze fell on the round shadow of his stem socket, perfectly centered in his torso. He watched it move as he breathed. There was no longer any inflammation or scarring around the incision. I
t was a part of him now, he realized as he rose up out of bed, looking out at the skyscrapers beyond the window. He stretched and searched the floor beside the bed for his pants.
#
It had been a whirlwind evening of cameras and microphones. The internment raids had began at dusk, sweeping up the country's Puke population. Nathan was first and foremost in the Government's media offensive.
They'd taken over an entire Belltown condominium complex, putting Nathan up in the penthouse and letting each and every camera crew or group of radio engineers use a suite. Nathan was to cycle through each suite in turn, delivering his message: The Night of Loaves and Fishes was a win-win situation for both Pukes and Stems. The Pukes would be happier in the camps. The Government was forced to act swiftly to save lives. The secrecy around the whole situation was necessary. No one understood better than Nathan the squalid conditions that Pukes endured: the constant absence of food and shelter, the fighting and thieving required just to survive. After all, Nathan was the last Puke to be converted. No, he was glad that it had happened to him – it was a blessing, and he hoped that all the other Pukes would someday see the light and willingly convert themselves. Living with the WLI was simply a better life. If the people at home had any questions about life as a destitute Puke, they should pre-order a copy of Nathan's upcoming book...
It was a speech Waverly had prepared for him. It arrived with the setting sun, in 12 point Times New Roman, stretching over ten pages. Peters had hand-delivered it, with more than his fair share of postscripts added to the document.
"...there have been no serious international conflicts since WLI achieved hegemony in the United Nations..."
Peters was speaking, but Nathan paid him no attention as he focused on the stack of papers in his hands. Peter fussed over the sports coat Nathan was wearing that had been picked out by Jude. He was displeased with the cut.
"What was that?" Nathan looked up from his homework.
"You've got to pay attention!" Peters slapped irritably at the shoulder pads of the jacket. "Where did you find this coat?" he said over to Jude. Jude was sitting and smoking next to an open window nearby.
"He looks fine," Jude replied, puffing a stream of smoke out into the crisp evening air. "He can't look too tailored, he was just stemmed last night, remember?"
Peters contemplated this, looking Nathan up and down.
"Hegemony?" Nathan flipped through his papers.
"Oh, never mind. No one is going to quiz you about current events..." Peters seemed to come to some sort of peace with the jacket.
"I... I don't know about this..." Nathan stuttered, flipping through the sheets of papers. "I've never been very good in front of cameras."
"You'll be fine, baby," Jude said, rising from her chair and putting a comforting arm around Nathan's waist. "Remember the talking points, and let the rest percolate up should you need it."
"I don't even know why I'm doing this." Nathan started to panic. "I think you've got the wrong guy."
"It has to be you, Nathan," Peters said forcefully. "No one else can speak with your moral authority."
"But... but..."
"If you go in there and tell America that the Government's internment policy is a good thing, America will believe you. You can save lives, Nathan. Right here, right now."
"But, I don't know..." Nathan said, flipping through his papers as if hoping to find some sort of ethical explanation within them.
Peters huffed in frustration and pulled at his handsome hair.
Jude interjected, "You're right, Nathan. If you don't believe what you're saying, there's no chance in hell you can sell it to anyone else. But this message has to come from you, Nathan, for a good reason: no one can speak more freshly to the life-affirming change that implantation brings about.
Jude took a step back and looked Nathan up and down in his ill-fitting sports jacket and slacks. "Think of yourself only yesterday. Can you say, honestly and truly, that your life isn't immeasurably better? Can you stand there with no hunger pangs, no borderline dehydration, no malnutrition, no starvation-fueled insanity, and not admit that life hasn't improved? Look at yourself, Nathan." Jude maneuvered Nathan to a dressing mirror where he could see himself from head-to-toe. "Young again. Healthy, your body chemistry monitored and adjusted every ten microseconds. No hunger, no aging, no obesity, no want. No heart disease, no cancer. No body that will wither away with age and trap a still vital mind in a crumbling shell. All the correct nutritional requirements and all the right chemicals balanced. Your body and mind will be sharp and animated for the full time allotted to it upon this earth."
Across the room, Peters yawned and removed his phone from his pocket, checking the display.
After shooting Peters a dirty glare, Jude continued. "And who's to say that the mind can't last forever? Immortality, Nathan, is a theory that takes forever to prove. And the WLI has only been in production, implanted in human beings, for just over ten years. There is a school of thought – controversial, yes – that believes that, given a healthy body, the perfected body in which to ride out the eons, that a man's lifespan, perfected by the stem, might not just be decades, but centuries... millennia... perhaps eternal..."
Jude caressed Nathan's chest under his sports coat. He could see only his own eyes in the mirror looking back at him. As before, he saw High School Nathan looking back. Somehow, someway, he was that Nathan again, with a beautiful woman beside him, touching him softly. A world of possibilities was in front of him, and a dark, half-forgotten dream was behind him. Had he ever really been a Puke? He could barely remember. Had it really only been yesterday? No, it had to have been longer. It seemed like a previous life, not a previous day.
Yes, Nathan would be able to sell the Night of Loaves and Fish to the American people because he believed in it himself. Looking at himself in the mirror, he knew there was nothing about his old life that had been worth redeeming. Everything good and honest and worth having was in front of him now. He only wished a similar fate to all the other Pukes, especially his former friends: Elder Tull, Kevin, Sweet Beat, the Prime Administrator, and Eydie.
Yes, even Eydie. He could only hope she'd find the peace to see the stem for the universal good that Nathan now understood it to be. He dared not hope for her implantation. No, that was beyond imagining. But peace... peace he could wish her.
Because now, Nathan had Jude.
#
Each interview lasted no more than ten minutes, but they were stacked back-to-back so closely that Nathan had no time to breathe. The first three or four interviews, by anyone's standards, were terrible. Nathan muttered and stammered and started sentences that he never got around to finishing. But after five or six tries, Nathan began to hit his stride.
The questions were universally bland, softball pitches that allowed Nathan to keep to his talking points. The big national evening news broadcasts were up first. Nathan's interview went out live while America sat down to its sitcoms. He followed the official announcement by the Big U spokesman, carried on each channel in turn, detailing the Government's new policy on Puke internment.
To his credit, the official minced no words describing the new Government action. They highlighted the nature of the Supreme Court's decision, and the size and shape of the rock and the hard place between which the new ruling put America's law enforcement. Much of the bagwork was already taking place, with many Pukes eager, even welcoming their own arrests. The promise of a square meal and a warm bed was far too enticing for most to resist.
What was left for Nathan to do was explain and comfort. The news from the Big U spokesmen hit home like a shot to the gut, shocking a sleepy nation. The silence on the news sets was palpable, as each network anchor in turn, sitting at his desk, cut away to the interview with Nathan.
Jude had done a superb job of making Nathan look both humble and accessible. A snarling maniac Puke, like Elder Tull, would have done little except scare the American people. A slick, Peters-like Stem, convers
ely, would have looked too much like a ploy. For his purpose, Nathan wore the ill-fitting sports jacket well. Disheveled but handsome in a well-traveled sort of way, he was able to speak honestly and to the point about the WLI's benefits – how it had personally changed his life. "The Pukes have their rights, sure," Nathan said in his sixth interview. "But what good are rights when you're dying, starving in the street?"
He quoted himself in each consecutive interview after that. It was soon the only talking point he needed. After the Big U spokesman dropped his bomb, Nathan was there to pick up America's spirits.
By nine, the public opinion numbers were starting to roll in. Nathan could see Peters on his cell phone in the halls between interviews. He was laughing and gave Nathan a warm thumbs up. Things were going well.
They broke for half an hour at ten before the late night news began. Jude took Nathan's hand and spirited him quickly to an elevator, and back up to the penthouse apartment.
They fucked ravenously, Jude face down on the condo's dining table, Nathan behind her, his fingers completely encircling her wasp-like waist, until he exploded. Afterward, while they were still naked, Jude showed Nathan how to check the charge level on his stem, and hooked him up to a wall socket for a top up.
It was a strange sensation, as the current entered his body. Almost instantly, he felt revitalized.
Jude had just begun to tend to Nathan's brand new erection when Peters' impenitent knock sounded from the door.
There were more interviews well into the night, but Nathan had boundless energy. He was beginning to understand what it meant to be a Stem: you never got tired, you never had to slow down. You could give a 100% all day and still fuck like an animal all night.
It was like some wonderful drug.