Seed: Charged - Chapter 2

It began on a barstool. I was spreading the good news and toasting to my more valorous parts. The few inhabitants of a town called Cedar in southern Utah were enthralled. They seemed interested, anyway. They were nervous, too. I hadn't traveled so far for purely a social visit and a chance to tell my tale of Jess; I had been led to the town by reports of Dweller activity in the area. People needed help.

Outside the bar, a squad of well-armed Dwellers gathered, trying to conceal their approach among the broken buildings and the foliage reclaiming the structures. They, too, had been led to the town by reports, but theirs were about my activity. I had spent months hunting them down and was beginning to get a reputation.

I would give them a chance, of course. They could hear my message and choose to take a higher road than robbing and raping and eating the pioneers who ventured into the wastes to make new homes and lives for themselves, or I would beat them to death. Sometimes I'd toss them off something tall. Sometimes I'd twist the rifles they used to terrorize their victims around their necks until something important would pop. You get the idea. I felt like it was a pretty fair deal, considering. I was good either way.

I sat and I preached as the Dwellers approached, delivering my tale of Jess with nuance and charm derived from numerous recitations. I was having as nice of a time as I could while wandering the wastes and new settlements in search of people to save. One of the couples who'd gathered to greet me and tell me of their recent woes even had a daughter not much older than me. Forget good news; this was great news! She looked pretty good by pioneer standards. I couldn't tell, though, if she liked me because she liked me or because I was the purported half-Seed meat-shield that would stand between her and the aforementioned robbing and raping and eating. Again, I was good either way. I layered as much allure into my story as I could and sent it inconspicuously her way.

Jess was nowhere to be found, if you're wondering. I spoke to her constantly, hoping she could hear me. I received nothing in return. Not a word. I searched my heart for her inspiration as often as I could make myself meditate on better ideas than policing the wastes. For a time, I felt like I found her there. I felt a sense of guidance. But, as of late, nothing. I was beginning to think the entire exercise was nothing more than exaggerated mourning. My encounters with her were perhaps a function of denial, a feeling left inside after loving someone so much. But the sentiment was fading. I felt increasingly alone.

I was upset by her absence, if I'm telling the truth. And I was further upset about being upset about it. It was ridiculous to expect her to be there, the more I pondered the impossibility. She was unquestionably special. Magnificent and special and beautiful beyond compare, but she was dead. The voice I heard after she departed was only an echo in my mind from a spirit imbued with such spectacular power. Any fantasies I entertained about what companionship might be possible after her departure seemed increasingly silly as time passed. I could be a believer in the potential she sacrificed to give us and in all that she taught us but I couldn't be silly. I found it embarrassing to cling to the absurd notion of such a long-distance relationship.

They were almost upon us. I counted nine by the twitches of my audience's eyes and the reflections in the glass around me. I could hear some of their movements, the shaking of their gear. I think I began to smell them, but the wastes were fraught with odd odors, so it was hard to discern. My senses, I was learning, were heightened after my involuntary infusion of alien. I couldn't tell if they were improved or just returned to an earlier and more perfect state, but, either way, I could hear a steel magazine brush tactical nylon mesh fifty yards away. My adversaries weren't as sneaky as they thought, especially toting heavy gear to what would be another comical effort to kill me.

When I heard footsteps on the concrete outside, it was go-time. "Get down!" I abruptly commanded to my audience. They scattered and dove to the ground like they'd been aching to do for some time. I knew they were displeased by my tactics, by making them wait. I could see them restraining their objections while I spoke. But I had a larger plan in mind. Jess's example still filled me with spirit, so I couldn't simply end the violent filth that stalked the poor townsfolk. I had to give them a choice, which inevitably came with risks.

A shadow crossed in front of the floor-to-ceiling window closest to the door. It clutched the shadow of an M16. My newest adversary thought he would burst heroically through the door and fill us all with lead. He was in for a rough evening.

I shot across the room at a speed none had seen since Seed was pacified. With one fist through the window, I had my first target in a chokehold from behind before the glass hit the ground. I snatched the rifle from his hands and smashed it into the floor, breaking it into pieces. Through the panicked gurgles making their way up his esophagus, I understood that my new friend was already beginning to have a change of heart.

I took out my knife and held it to his throat. That was just for dramatic effect. I could have taken his head off sans tools, but I had a dramatic message to deliver. "Drop your weapons!" I shouted at the others. "This isn't going to end how you hoped, but there is still a way to leave here alive if you show yourselves and surrender."

A second Dweller had approached the entrance from the opposite direction and stopped when I grabbed his comrade. I could see him through the glass as I stood near the door. I wondered what he was thinking. Of the remaining eight, he had the best angle on me. Would he relent or attack? He had been ordered here, sent by one of the ruthless commanders who rose while Seed reigned and had grown more powerful after its departure. But was this particular Dweller loyal enough or afraid enough of his boss to tangle with Sal after the tales he had likely heard and what he had just seen? How much power did his warlord wield?

He shot me! Can you believe that? I was trying to save him from himself, and he shot me for it. This was the reception I was becoming accustomed to after so long hunting down the scum... or spreading the good news, or whatever you might like to call my acts. Gratitude for my mercy was rare. If a Dweller did choose to leave a life of villainy behind for a more honorable existence, it was usually after an unpleasant encounter and under duress. The whole process was really starting to rub me the wrong way. All work and no appreciation was beginning to make Sal a dull boy.

I knew the bullet was coming when Stupid raised the rifle. That gave me a head start. I wasn't faster than Seed was, as far as I knew. I never saw a host dodge a bullet, anyway. The Angels always had an advantage with ballistics. But I was still getting faster with practice. By the time the barrel was pointed at my head, I was already moving out of the trajectory and raising my previously knife-wielding hand to stop the projectile. A bullet travels ahead of its sound, a nuisance I never noticed before becoming otherworldly, so I couldn't hear it coming. But the instant that lead began to tear through the fleshy outer of my grip, I tried to grasp the painful object as it flew by and splattered my blood. I just missed. I put enough pressure on the round to warp its path, though. It smacked hard into the floor just behind me. I hadn't caught one yet, but neither was I done training.

I yelled in pain. The hole in my hand would heal soon enough but it hurt every time. Then I yelled at Stupid, "Are you kidding me! I'm trying to give you a chance, Stupid!"

I was pissed. I was so tired of my job, spouting what sounded like nonsense at the ingrates. It seemed impossible that they would ever understand. How could they, really? How could they be out stealing and murdering, then beaten unconscious or otherwise violently subdued, then be ready to hear a cool story about a beautiful woman who had died to save them from what they had helped the world become? There was no way to make that jarring transition work smoothly, or I hadn't found it if there was.

I took my frustrations out on Stupid. He tried to kill me, so an eye for an eye, etc. I threw my shaking, terrified first target twenty feet across the room. He hit the wall hard enough to knock him out cold. Then I shot off after my would-be murderer. He got off another round as I approached but was uneasy and off target after the first miss. I seized the weapon out of his hands and hit him in the head with it, perhaps too hard according to the dent in the side of his melon and the blood that painted the glass beside him. I don't think I was trying for a swift execution, but I wasn't too worried about it. The dark liquid flowing from his broken cranium probably meant that a hundred future pioneers wouldn't be touched by his evil hands. His death was good news, in its own way.

Then came the serious gunfire. The remaining Dwellers abandoned tactics and foreplay. It was time to go loud and kill everyone. Bullets crashed everywhere around me, shattering the wide glass facade of the bar. One caught me in the leg but didn't slow me down much. I raced through the newly opened window to check on my audience. They had all taken cover as best they could. Being a pioneer in what was supposed to be a beautifully restarted world was a harrowing existence. Nature wasn't any friendlier than it always had been, and the Dweller threat was widespread and pervasive. There wasn't a single new village I'd visited that hadn't had a few encounters. Pioneers had to know how to fight. Mine were doing well enough. But the sight of them under heavy fire dispelled any notion I had of making friends with our murderers. The Dwellers wanted blood. They would see blood.

I had left my miraculous blade by the bar. I truly hoped that I wouldn't need it. But I'd had enough of playing nice that day. It was the pointlessness of it all that infuriated me the most. Why menace the innocent? Why live like parasites on the backs of others instead of creating an honorable life with the boundless opportunity recently opened in the world? The answer kept smacking me in the face while I tried to spread a message of peace and love and morality: they were Dwellers, people low enough to find comfort in the shadow of a monster like Seed. Maybe they were never meant to follow a spirit like Jess.

Time to go to work, yet again. I grabbed the blade and picked up a table to shield myself from the incoming fire. An aggressive trio of Dwellers was advancing toward the building, guns blazing. Being out in the open when righteous fury was in motion was unwise. With the table leading the charge, I sprinted toward the middle scumbag as fast as I could. Forty-eight miles per hour was my personal land speed record so far, but neither was I done training. The table burst when I hit him, sending his broken body flying backward. Along the way, I hit the target on my right with the blade. His two halves were shocked to be separated while still stacked atop each other. He wouldn't be causing anyone more harm while he thought his final disjointed thoughts. I figured I'd take a round or two from my third target before I got to him, but he chose a different path. After seeing the gruesome show, he was oscar mic as quick as his puny legs would carry him. The others followed suit, still shooting haphazardly, still trying to murder me in retreat.

I had a choice to make: let them live to kill another day or not. I chose not. When I got back to the bar to check on everyone, I was covered in blood.

As I entered, I saw my first Dweller still unconscious on the floor. I had forgotten about that one. As I walked over to him, the townsfolk almost in unison called out, "No!" They were sweet, worried about a guy who ten minutes ago would have done unspeakable things to each and every one of them. I smiled at their disapproval. They were good people.

"I wasn't going to kill him," I said with a chuckle as I made my way back to the bar. Then I thought about whether I was lying or not. I picked up the bottle of scotch I'd been sipping before all the commotion and took a nice long drink. Sadly, the heavenly nectar wouldn't do a thing to ease my conflicted soul. Invincibility had come with a terrible, unbearable, awful price: I couldn't get drunk no matter how hard I tried. And believe me, I tried. I rested my forehead on the bar as I clutched the bottle. What was I doing? What had I become?

When the remaining Dweller regained consciousness, I asked him as politely as I could to join me for a drink. He shuffled to the seat next to me as every eye in the bar leered at him. As he sat, I put my hand on his shoulder, slathering a bit of his friends' blood on his shirt. He trembled as he looked at me. I smiled as friendly a smile as I could force through tired teeth, then began the interrogation. "No good news for you, sir." He had no idea what I was talking about. "I'm afraid you only get 'or else.' You will tell me every detail about your encampment, your forces, and your leader, or else I will tear an appendage off your body and shove it in a place you wouldn't believe it can fit."

He talked, and I proved once again that I hadn't lost any of my charm.