The One Percenters (17 page)

‘round shooting all the one-percenters but me, there’d be too much power in too few hands.”

“So it’s like checks and balances.”
Page 121

“Now you’re cooking with gas.”

“What about. . the other people? The mainstreamers? Are we immortal to them as well?”

“Absolutely not. A bullet from their gun would kill you as surely as one from yours would kill them.”

“But the numbers. .”

“Yup. There’s a hell of a lot more thems than usses.”I pondered this for a moment. Then: “What if they revolted?”

She threw me a smile that made me feel very naive. “Revolted against a force they don’t know about, let alone comprehend? Even if a few found out, the others would deem them crazy.”

“And if the whole world found out all at once?”

“Well, I can’t say for sure. I guess there’d be a whole lot of mutation going on. The world would change rapidly, and as far as I’m concerned, for the worse. I guess I can’t answer that. There is one thing I can assure you, though.”

I waited, knowing that there was no need to ask what the one thing was. Darien nee Shirl stubbed out her butt on the tree under which I’d been laying. She finished her cigarette in a few long draws, whereas I was only halfway through mine. I suppose I hadn’t been puffing away though, listening intently as I was.

“If

somehow

the

naive,

uneducated,

overconfident species known as humans should
all
come to know about this phenomenon at once, well, I have every confidence that nature would respond, react, retaliate. It always has, son. It always will. You think you know a secret, do you? You think that what you and I are discussing right now is
news?
Shit, this wouldn’t make the back page of the Universal Newsletter.” I almost stupidly asked if there was such a thing.

Instead I asked, “How can you be so sure?” It was now my turn to put out my smoke. There was still a quarter-inch of tobaccky in there, but I was content.

“Honey, there is so much for you to learn. And one woman has only so much time.”

“You’re not gonna tell me you’re actually 500

Page 122

years old and shit like that, are you?”

“It only feels like it, Ed. It only feels like it.” I laughed. “Well, how is it that you can be sure?” All of this new information was both a relief and an emotional buzz. I didn’t know how to react, and laughter seemed the most enjoyable option at the moment.

“I’m very tired, Ed. I have to move on.”

“What? No way! You are not doing this to me again. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“Go fuck yourself.” She said this as she walked away from me, both middle fingers pointed skyward.

This enigmatic woman was beginning to get on my nerves. I wanted to follow her, even to punch her, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why; I just couldn’t. I just cried. She was like a wizard from the tales of fantasy I read as a youth. And now when it meant something, all her knowledge did me nothing. I shouted, “When will I see you? Will I meet others?” My mental paralysis was gone now, and all of my questions rose. “Can I bring back the good ones? Do I have any other influence on the world? Will I ever feel normal again?” I was shouting to the air. She was gone.

Page 123

There are days when you question what the hell you are doing with your life. Those are special days.

Every day, we wonder about the little decisions we make:
Did I buy enough Italian bread? Should we
take the minivan? Should I let Harry’s mother take
our bed, or should I insist she use the pullout couch?

These decisions, while having a definite effect on our daily lives, really are meaningless. Regardless of how we approached them, our general well-being would be unaffected and life overall would continue status quo.

Then there are the special days. It is during these times that our mettle is tested. These are the decisions that form, shape, and determine our lives.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Our lives are shaped by happenstance too: a freak lottery win, a car accident, etc. But as far as our control over our own destiny is concerned, some decisions far outweigh others. I can remember three such special days in my life. The first was the day Jill died. I wondered where I’d go from there. The second was when Cristen met her fate. I wondered where I’d go from there. The third and last was when I met Darien for the second time, in that forest. I wondered where I’d go from there. As so often happens, the decision was not made based on any occurrence; rather it was the result of a little thought and a lot of alcohol.

I got very drunk that night, and pondered my fate.

As proof of my inebriation, I had a campfire lit. This is not typically the recommended course of action for on-the-run felons who are still at large in an area where they’ve committed some or all of their crimes. It was certainly a mean feat to start the fire in light of the recent rain, but I’m a trouper. I persevered and found wood that had been protected to some degree. Even so, my fire popped and crackled from the wetness of its fuel source.

I am a weak man. I knew it then, just as I
Page 124

know it now. I had also been incredibly lucky to that point. Considering the magnitude of my crimes, it was shocking that there wasn’t more pressure upon me. I suppose there are a lot of criminals out there. I imagined that the sporadic nature of my crimes and my constant moving didn’t help the police any. After all, it’s tough to track a murderer who has no motive
known
to mankind. Who the hell kills for the sake of genetics?

Nonetheless, I knew time was growing short. I couldn’t depend on randomness to protect me for long.

For all I knew, there could be a dozen officers staked out in the woods around me even as I sat beside my campfire polishing my gun. I could no longer settle for these haphazard one-hitter crimes. It was time to get serious.

Page 125

We rarely notice nature. Normally she’s a light breeze off of the Atlantic or a rainy spring day that helps the flowers reach full color come summer. Once in a while, though, she gets really pissed. It’s usually when she’s been ignored. The Nor’easter from out of nowhere that piles literal feet of snow on unsuspecting mountain hamlets. The son-of-a-bitch hurricane that ravages the coast, leaving people homeless and helpless.

The tornado winds that shoot cars off the road as though they were toys. Nature is both beast and bitch, and she’s best left alone.

Now I was a part of Her. I was sure of this now.

I was slowly losing my humanity and becoming part of a larger force. My soul was being enveloped, and not in the foul Madison Avenue way. It was as if I was plugged in to a new source of power. I had been given so much by Her that now I felt it was only right that I should represent Her as accurately and honorably as I could.

As I said, it was time to get serious.

Suddenly, out there by the campfire, I wished for a better job. I’m not talking about higher paying or more creative or any of that Earthboy shit. Advertising had done well for me, as I’ve said. Besides, none of that mattered anymore. What I mean is, I wish I had held a job that provided me more. .access to do as I felt right.

Nuclear physics would have done it. Or chemistry.

I could poison a waterway. That would have been dandy. An engineering degree would have made for some very interesting, if time-consuming, possibilities.

Unfortunately, it’s hard to accomplish anything in the name of the natural world by coming up with creative catch phrases and drawing clever cartoons. Good copy doesn’t exactly make anybody shit their pants or anything like that.

Still, I had to do something. The facts of my situation were sobering. No doubt I would soon be taken in and booked. Not long after that, I would be
Page 126

sentenced. It’s not as though I had gone to great lengths to conceal my crimes or hide evidence. I had just taken care to run far and fast after each one. Well, until the latest rash, that is.

Yup, I’d be sentenced. The thing is, my crimes came in, well, unforgiving states. I was in the land of capital punishment, and there would be men out there who’d love to see my head fry like an egg.

I thought about that for a moment. I would be somebody’s Jeffrey Simons.
Me!
Oh, if only they knew I was acting for good. Suddenly a terrifying thought entered my brain. What if Jeffrey… No, he couldn’t be.

I dismissed that thought. I dismissed it not because I knew the man was beneath the position. In fact, I know very little about his life before the murder spree, let alone about his skills and intellect. What convinced me that he was not a one-percenter was his victim: Jill.

There was no explanation in the world which would convince me that her genes were bad.

Still, the thought lingered in my head.

Maybe he, Simons, wasn’t a one-percenter.

Let’s assume that to be the truth. Is there any other reason, other than self-defense, that is a viable excuse for murder? Or for nine murders? Nine remorseless, cold-blooded murders? I was sure I couldn’t think of one. But I felt differently still. What if I was missing something? What if there was something
I
couldn’t comprehend? What if Simons was on a mission of his own? No, I decided.

He was nothing more than a creepy little twisted fellow who hadn’t found his natural place in the world.

Sometimes people are just plain mean. I concluded I had no reason to forgive Jeffrey Simons for what he had done to me, to us.

It wasn’t an easy sleep for me, nonetheless.

Page 127

When I awoke, I felt listless. Whenever I felt badly, I tried to think of something funny. I thought, in this case, of the way old-timers refer to the turn of the century years as aught-one and aught-two. This one was always a rib-tickler for me, even before the hum and the buzz and the droning started. Even before I felt the calling the day I spilled the grape soda.

So what could I do? I hadn’t access to large-scale weapons. I lacked the knowledge necessary for chemical play. How many options were left me?

Finally, I decided to do it in blue-collar fashion.

I had tried to avoid such a situation; it’s messy and dishonorable. But time was running short, and messy and dishonorable was still better than never happened at all. I loaded my weapon, left the woods for what I imagined would be the last time, and headed out of town to the west, right along the roadway. I figured I’d let fate decide. If I were wrong in my decision, if I had somehow erred in all of my thoughts concerning life on this miserable rock, let me find out now. Let a police officer pull me over and throw me in the back of his cruiser with the siren blaring to announce my presence to the world—his world. Better yet, let some 16-wheeler slip on the pavement and crush me into a form unrecognizable to man. If I’m wrong, I want to know it. There’s too much namby-pambiness in the world today. If I was a sinner, let the whole world cast me out at once in a loud, unfaltering voice. Grasp your stones and deliver them my way.

Once I get down that road unscathed, however, once I get down that road unscathed, fair warning to anyone or anything that crosses my path, for I would then be Master of my own domain.

Don’t fuck with Mother Nature or her bitches.

Page 128

It took me a long time to get to where I was going, which isn’t surprising when you consider I didn’t know where that was. I decided on the way to my fate I should take the opportunity to see and do the things I wanted. Fate owed me that, at the very least.

I pissed off of a high canyon bridge. That was fun. The urine traveled a long way down, and I certainly couldn’t hear its splash through the surface of the water. As I was pissing, a bird flew overhead. I took my gun from my pocket and shot at the bird. I missed horribly. Apparently my aim hadn’t improved much as I had thought. Then again, it’s not easy to shoot with a dick in your hand. Birds: nature’s little clay pigeons.

Hey, maybe that’s where they got that word. All right, I admit it. . I’m a little slow.

After pissing off the bridge, I came to a small town with a lot of cops. I felt leery, so I stayed only long enough to buy some licorice. I always loved black licorice. I believe I’m in the minority, and I prefer it that way. Y’all can keep your cherry suckers and your pops. Anise is the way to go. It’s a man’s candy. After pissing off the bridge, I came to a small town—Ha!

Yup, I wrote that already. I just want to show you who has the power here. Don’t you fucking forget that, slack jaw. And keep that fucking thermometer away from me. I don’t need people like you going anywhere near my ears or my mouth or my ass. Who would
take
such a job? Medicine is so overrated. No, I don’t like your type, Doctor; it is certain.

I am reminded, now that I think of it, that we often see the past through rosy spectacles, as if the world used to be perfect. The time between the flappers and the hippies. But that’s just not true. The world was not always so kind to women, to foreigners, to gays. Maybe we’re growing as a species.

Travel was not always so safe. Try crossing the states in a covered wagon, and your minivan will never seem so bad again. There were always wars
Page 129

and rebellions. There was always tragedy. The only difference is, now we hear about it all the time. All our goddamn technology keeps us informed. It brings us together, sure, but it also scares the crap out of us. The world has lost all of the mystery and intrigue of the past. So maybe it wasn’t a better place back then, but it sure feels like it. Today’s bad feels somehow worse.