We Live Inside You (9 page)

Can your fucking emo lament. Lift. Don’t think. Get bigger.

He pressed Play on his mini-stereo and then hit Shuffle. As Death Shall Fall/Morbid Descent/Strength Over All on rotation. Great, raw shit by men bloodied on their own instruments, singers collapsing lungs to let you know that the world was a brutal place, that will was all you had. The first disc was from Denmark and Jackson didn’t know what language it was in, but he could
feel
it regardless. Power had little to do with language.

The Mercabol kicked. Jackson hit the bench and pumped the barbell until he had to roll it off him and onto the floor. His blisters popped and oozed blood. He’d been hoping they’d callous more—he wanted 1800’s whaling-ship hands. But the sight of the blood made him feel right.

I’m hard. I’m doing what others cannot. Will not. They’re sleeping now, and I’m growing stronger.

Visions hit his brain.

Terror-type: murder/rape/destruction. He pictured his fists calloused over, cement-hard, smashing anything that got in his way.

Visions of fear: Frank finding out about his ‘roid habit. Frank setting the other men upon him for training. Dog meat in the center pit.

Doubts: Needle worries—did he have guts like this without his secret injections? EndLiner worries—just what the hell was their big night really going to be like? Always worries—what made him think he’d ever be better than his father?

Shake it off. Don’t overthink. Keep pushing. Get bigger.

He dropped to the floor for crunches and supermans and then did push-ups on his fists to keep the filthy carpet fibers out of the ruptured blister pools in his palms. He popped up and grabbed the jump-rope. He worked the rope triple-fast, setting time goals on the clock, not relenting until the right minute clicked over.

More push-ups. Deep-lung breath like spoiled meat popping back off the carpet.

He chugged water. He smeared the blood from his hands across his face and chest. He flexed just to flex, to feel his new size. He silent-screamed along to his music, face straining the way he’d seen in the videos.

He desired—anyone to contradict him right now/anyone to suck him off right now.

He wondered—how had he ever questioned that this was the right path?

He flexed again, shaking in the dark, whispering “Fuck you” because it felt right.

Home from work, Jackson always checked his answering machine before doing anything else. He was one of the five people left on Earth that didn’t have a cell-phone so he spent most of his work shifts at the Shop N Save wondering who was calling him and what he was missing. EndLiners moved in small groups for their “training”—to tint their activities as the sort of random violence people brushed off when they caught it on the nightly news—but Jackson was connected to four of these small groups and didn’t ever want to miss out. He’d learned a lot during their short forays—how quickly he could run with a stolen crate of Rapid-Bulk powder in his arms (pretty goddamned fast), how hard it was to break a man’s arm (not very), how to make a noisy bar turn quiet (return to the place where you broke the guy’s arm, accompanied by five guys who look just like you).

He noticed his finger was shaking as he reached out to press the Play button next to the blinking red light on his answering machine.

Look at that, champ! The shakes, just like Pops… way to go! What’re you hooked on?

Jackson ignored the nagging thoughts. They crept up now and then, although he’d acknowledged his new reality—he was addicted to the life of an EndLiner. So were his friends. They were getting off on violence, but at least it was violence with a purpose. They were fast-forwarding human evolution, bringing…

Jesus P. Christ, man! You believe that? You buying what some crazy monkey-sniping fuck sold you through your MySpace account?

Jackson pressed the button, anxious to hear something other than the voice inside his head.

“Message One,” said the digital woman.

“Hello? … Anybody there? … You there, Jacky? Okay, well, I wish you were home. I’ve got some great news and… well, I’d rather tell you in person… Okay, so you’re really not there. I’ll just tell you. I’ve met a great lady. Her name is Rhonda and she’s been
so
good to me, and helped me see some things straight. The part I need to tell you about is that, um, she found a way to get some financial assistance through the city and she’s going to pay for me to go rehab out at Pinebrook and I’ve agreed to go and that’s pretty much that… Shit, bud, I really wish you were home… The thing is I’ve got to go in today, like three hours from now, and then I’m cut off from everybody for the whole first month as part of the deal. I was really hoping you’d come see me at her place. She’s at 6705 Kent on the northwest side and I’ll be there with my luggage in the next hour and I was hoping…Well, I don’t know what I was hoping. It would be good to see you, Jacky. It would be really good. I know you don’t have any reason—”

A sharp beep cut the message off.

“Message Two,” said the digital woman. Jackson expected to hear his father’s voice continuing. Instead it was Frank’s, slow and determined.

“Bring a pillow and be ready for battle.”

That was all Jackson needed to hear.

The big night was going down in about three hours.

Jackson pressed Delete on his answering machine, clearing out the false hope and the call to arms.

He ran to the cache in his bathroom, where two glass containers marked “Mercabol” were waiting.

He placed the gear reverently by his front door. He’d inject at the last minute to make sure he was cresting high tonight.

Then he was back in his bedroom, hunched over his pillow with a pair of scissors in hand.

His music was on blast. Fuck the neighbors.

Jackson smiled, thinking one word.

Tonight.

Car engines rumbled around them, dust stirred by boots floating ethereal before headlights. There were maybe one hundred men, perhaps a few less than that. Jackson estimated their combined weight at about ten tons.

Ten tons of muscles and gritting teeth, and each man holding a pillow.

Each pillow a tiny Trojan horse containing: brass knucks/billy-clubs/wrenches/hammers/fist packs/etc. No guns—Frank had been explicit about that. Any idiot could wield a gun—tonight’s message would be delivered by the flesh of these men. With the help of a few handy tools.

It would be a show of human strength. Of what the species could be, of what it had to be if it wanted to stay on top of this rock.

Frank addressed them, his voice clear and booming and without the slightest tremor:

“I’ll keep this short. You don’t need any propaganda to put a fire into you, because
your
fires are already burning. They always have been. That’s why you’ve heard the call.
That’s why you’re here tonight
. You see the world for what it is. A giant rock, floating in space, over-run by beasts. And you see the world for
how
it is—teeming with life, which means it’s also teeming with death. Destruction. Entropy.
We
haven’t been convinced otherwise by our strip malls and safe, tightly packaged industrial lives. Nature is
not
sentimental, nor does she respect intellect. The apex predators of this planet are still here because they understand the way the world works.”

Frank’s volume increased. The words came faster. Jackson found himself swaying from left to right, stirring up more dust. He noticed Kane was doing the same. Knuckles cracked around him. Heads rolled/neck vertebrae popped from the strain of over-pumped muscles.

“The strongest beasts
crush
the weak. They consume
without
sentiment
.
They conquer
! The laziest of beasts are slaughtered
and those that struggle most survive
! This is the truth of our world and any opposition is founded on whimsy.

“The people of our country have gone soft without true opposition. They compete with each other in bullshit corporate games to earn fancy SUV’s, desperate to protect their soft, weak bodies with a steel shell, so
afraid
of the world around them. They tell themselves that they are enlightened, that they’ve escaped their animal roots and have taken humanity on a higher course. These are easy to believe when your food arrives shrink-wrapped and drinking water comes with the twist of a faucet.
But take those things away and see what happens. See how fast the laws of survival take hold.

“Each of you has a mission tonight. Some of you already know what that is, and you
will
succeed! The rest of you will follow me as we begin our path to glory.

“Tonight you will show the world what the human race was meant to be.

“Tonight the fire that I see in your eyes will sweep through this city and bring it back to life!”

Jackson watched Frank watching them, staring down each of them and none of them, playing up his messiah moment for all it was worth.

“This is your time to define who you are and what you are! This is your time to take your rightful place in the world! So I ask you…”

Frank put his fists up in the air.

“ARE YOU WITH ME?”

The roar that filled the air left no doubt about the response.

With that the tribe of born-again savages began their march into the night.