Anthony DeCosmo - Empire

Garrett glanced at them quickly, as if hastily fulfilling an obligation for eye contact. Those eyes then found the ground.

“As you are quite aware, destruction came to this Earth in many forms, and the manner in which people faced that destruction came in many forms as well. I witnessed acts as cowardly and as selfish as I had been guilty of in my neglect for my family, but fate showed me the best, as well. I watched from a distance as a police officer protected a mother and her child. With the last bullet expended from his pistol, he grappled a monster twice his size. It cost him his life.

“I saw a woman ram her car into a giant beast as it assaulted traffic when she might have lived longer had she driven off. As I snuck through the parking lot of a retirement village, I witnessed a teen age boy run into a burning building under assault from fire-breathing insects to rescue an elderly man, perhaps his own grandfather although equally as likely a stranger.

“I saw so much that day, that as I look back, it was as if a higher power granted me a tour of the human soul; as if Virgil took my arm and guided me through the inferno.

“So yes, I saw the best, but also the worst. For every police officer protecting a family there was a scoundrel using the chaos as an opportunity to ravish a woman, or loot a store of wares. Imagine that, stealing a television in the midst of the Apocalypse! What absurdity.

“I saw, in others, my shortcomings. As everything fell apart, I realized how small a man I was, and how utterly worthless to anyone around me.”

He wiped his brow.

Kristy Kaufman said, “That’s the old world, General. None of that matters now. Forget the past.”

“How kind of you to say, but I remember the past. I hold on to it, you understand.”

He clutched the fabric of his uniform above his heart.

“I begged my way onto a pick up truck heading south to Florence, where a cousin lived. I hoped to connect with a family I had distanced myself from, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to redeem myself. I failed in that regard, but as I roamed the streets, I saw a group of what we now call ‘Ghouls’ attacking a neighborhood. I felt certain I would soon perish, and for the last act of a despicable life, I desired to die for someone else.

“A car burned on the street, I can still smell its foul smoke. Through a thick plume of that smoke, I saw a trio of those Ghouls charge through the front door of a home, and I am certain I heard a scream at that point, perhaps a woman or maybe a child. Regardless, I stormed to the rescue with nothing other than my bare hands. I did not expect that my fists would be any match for the claws and teeth of those animals, but absolution-not victory-remained my priority.

“I found that this was no ordinary home. It was, in fact, the ‘War Between the States’ museum. In the lobby, I found the three Ghouls. I also found at my feet, a toppled display case, smashed open and its contents strewn on the floor. Something like ‘swords of the confederacy’ or the like.

“I never held a sword in my life, and this example did not appear particularly sharp. Nonetheless, I dispatched the three beasts, I am still not sure exactly how. It felt as if providence guided my blows. When I searched the museum, I found no trace of damsels in distress; perhaps I imagined the scream.

“Regardless, I left the building, sword in hand, and sought to send as many monsters to their doom as possible before they could end my suffering. Opportunities for such a glorious death abound for I saw at least nine, maybe ten of the things attacking persons trapped in cars and swarming homes.”

He turned to his friends and told them, “I killed all of them, without suffering a single scratch on my person. I was tired and worn and with each moment I expected to die. My only thought was that I would die fighting; that I would die with some manner of dignity, the way a good southern gentleman faces his fate. You must understand that the odds would have been stacked against me even if I carried a machine gun as a weapon, let alone an ancient sword with a dull blade.

“When it was over, a father thanked me for saving his family trapped in their overturned minivan. He said, ‘God bless you.’ I wondered if God would ever do such a thing.”

“You saved all those people,” Kristy said. “You redeemed yourself.”

“No, my dear, the balance sheet in my soul is still red; many markers for a life wasted remain to be paid. Nonetheless, I should have died that day. The life I lead now is borrowed time and I shall put it to good ends. In a way, it is a dream of what I wish I had been before. Therefore, I embrace it fully. I take all that was good from my southern heritage and carry it into this new world, leaving behind the bad including the lazy, dead parts of the man who failed his family. This is who I must be, from now until the day fate comes to collect its due. Until then I shall be the person I should have been when destiny knocked on my door and I failed to answer.”

Grandpa Trump took JB by the hand and the two strolled off along the hospital corridor with Tyr the Elkhound pacing behind protectively. Dr. Maple closed the office door behind them and turned to speak with the boy’s parents.

The doctor desperately suppressed a yawn before he started; it had been a long day.

No. It had been a long morning followed by a long day followed by a long evening and, finally, what had the makings of a long night. He had spent every minute of that time testing, analyzing and theorizing about Jorge Benjamin Stone, a three-year-old riddle of a boy.

“Your son is fine,” he blurted out as their mouths started to form an assault of questions. “He has a good bump on his head but no lasting damage.”

“Dr. Maple,” Ashley said. “I doubt it took you all day to tell us that.”

“Well, of course, no,” he stumbled. “I ran those extra tests.”

“And..?” Trevor encouraged an answer. “What did you find?”

Ashley stared at him in a mixture of anger and surprise. She suddenly realized that he had ordered their son to be thoroughly examined, like a specimen in a research lab.

“I…I’m not really sure,” the doctor admitted.

“You poked and prodded him all these hours and you’re not sure?” Trevor treated the doctor like a field General who failed an assault.

“What did you do to my son? You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Ashley’s anger blossomed in the red of her cheeks. Anger at both of them. Anger at her son being treated like a guinea pig.

Dr. Maple held up his hands defensively. “Nothing! No, no, everyone relax. We did only the least obtrusive of tests. He barely felt a pinprick. In fact, it seemed to me your son enjoyed the entire process. Nonetheless, for all our work the tests-the scans-can only provide a snap shot. Some of our brain specialists were able to do a little more but-”

“Brain specialists?” Ashley shouted and alternated death-dealing glares between the two men.

“What did you find?” Trevor repeated, ignoring Ashley’s anger.

“You’re son, he is extraordinary.”

“Yes, thank you, but what did you…” Trevor stopped himself. Dr. Maple had not offered a casual compliment. He offered his analysis. “What do you mean… extraordinary?” the father changed his tone.

Dr. Maple led them both to seats next to his desk.

“Your son…his mind…his brain,” Maple struggled to find the description and decided it best to retreat and start somewhere approximating the beginning. “For all our science and technology, we still know very little about how the brain works, how it does the things it can do. It controls our involuntary reflexes and all of our bodily functions. Like the computer at the center of each person. But so much more; personality, senses, perception, memory…so much. Yet the normal human being accesses and uses only a small percentage of the cells inside the brain.”