I am seldom left alone. There are people everywhere, crowding every street, elbowing each other at bars and cafés. There is always someone within arm’s reach and I so desperately want my arm to reach. And grab at their throat. And stab at their neck. I take no pride in it, but I can deny my genetics for only so long. Those who came before me, all of them, got to enjoy the hunt until they died or retired. I strive to better myself, and indeed I have, but the wheels are already in motion. I will hunt. To wait for it only to indulge a child’s astronomical pipe dream is cruel and unusual, not to mention profoundly demeaning.

  I have, of course, said nothing. It would mean admitting to Aster that I only agreed to help her with her space project because I thought it would never happen. I was certain our trip to China would nip this in the proverbial bud and that we could move on to better things upon our return. That meeting was, alas, not the reality check I hoped it would be. I continue to believe that no sane person would think this was even remotely possible. Whether I’m right or wrong is somewhat irrelevant. I only want to hunt.

  I clearly underestimated Aster’s motivation and her ability to rally others to her cause. I don’t know why. She has, to some extent, rallied me to it. It pains me to admit it, but I have come to seek her approval. It’s not so much that I like her—she can be incredibly annoying—but to see myself in a positive light through someone else’s eyes is highly validating, and something I haven’t experienced since childhood. Though it is at times immensely frustrating, I am increasingly aware that the role of father figure I’ve come to play in Aster’s life brings me pride and satisfaction I could hardly find elsewhere.

  And in her defense, Aster is not stopping me from hunting; she’s the one who suggested it. She is … excited about this silly space endeavor, but she too wants to fight. Her training, though incomplete, has awoken a part of her she did not know existed and now the beast wants to be fed. I will not let her kill my prey, of course. They are mine, and she still lacks the necessary control to rein in those newly found instincts. She would slaughter everyone in sight if let loose during her fevers.

  I made a promise and I intend to keep it. I only hope I get to hunt soon. Whatever attachment I have for the girl will soon be dwarfed by my violent appetites. I am reasonably confident I can stop myself from hurting her, but if this drags on, I will undoubtedly feel compelled to leave her behind. I pray it doesn’t come to that, for she would not survive very long if left to her own devices.

  32

  Bang

  Whoa. Too much math. I thought rocket science was cool—it sort of is—but it’s all equations and now my brain’s turned to mush.

  —Samael? Can we go to the movies tonight?… I know you don’t like to, but I want to see Donnie Darko or Mulholland Drive and both are rated R, so … I mean, they’ll probably just let me in, but if they don’t I’ll have taken the bus all the way there—

  —Quiet, Aster. I’ve found one.

  —One what?

  —Prey.

  33

  High and Dry

  Samael found one of the giant bad people. Well, he found a newspaper article on AltaVista. A very tall man completely destroyed a police car after beating down the two policemen who tried to arrest him. No pictures, but how many gigantic people with superhuman strength can there be? It seemed like a good bet anyway, so we hopped on a plane and boom! Berlin. I can’t believe we’re here already. Beijing took forever—I couldn’t feel my butt for a week—but Europe is superclose as far as continents go. I watched one movie after we ate. Just one! They had Amélie. Whoa, that was good, and subtitles are great on a plane because you can’t hear a thing with the cheap headphones they give you. There wasn’t enough time for another—they stop the movie like a hundred times when you get close to landing—so I read maybe a hundred pages of Life of Pi. I bought it at the airport because I liked the tiger on the cover. I thought it’d be like Free Willy but with a tiger. Nope.

  Europe is nice, though. It’s different, but not. Every house looks like Dracula could live there, but everything works more or less the same way as home. I don’t feel incompetent like I did in China. I could be European! Guten Tag! Oui! Oui! I thought there’d be snow, though. No snow. It’s just cold. I wish I knew where Grandma grew up. I could visit if I knew, after we’ve done what we came to do. I’m sure it’s changed a lot since then, but it’d be nice to see some of the things she saw. I feel like I know her some already, but this would feel more real.

  Also, it would give me something to think about, ’cause I’m a bit nervous right now.… Okay, I’m shitting bricks. I ain’t over what happened at the hospital and these giant people scare the hell out of me. This is my plan, though, so …

  —Samael?—See, I didn’t say “sir” this time.

  —Consider me impressed.

  —So, I was thinking and … How do we do this? Do we just walk around the city and wait for him to come to us? You said they could detect us somehow.

  —No, we do not. I know precisely where to find him.

  —You do? Where is he?

  —I don’t know what he does during the day, but he sleeps at a homeless shelter in the basement of a church in Friedrichshain.

  —That’s … very precise. How do you know all that?

  —I have been browsing through German chat rooms on Yahoo looking for anything unusual. I found one dedicated to foreign languages. Most people were simply looking for someone to correspond with in another tongue, but there was someone who identified himself as a priest asking if anyone recognized the language of an “abnormally large man” who barely communicates. He was, I assume, looking for an interpreter. He sounded a few words as examples of the man’s speech, which no one recognized.

  —Does he say, “Shyeh-shyeh-shyeh”?

  —Not that I remember.

  —Okay, then. When do we leave? I’ll be honest, I’m scared a little right now, so maybe I should eat something before we go. I think better on a full stomach, but I also get sleepy sometimes, so—

  —There is no need for you to be scared. I will go alone.

  —What? You don’t want me to come with?

  —I do not.

  —But sir, Samael, you said—

  —What did I say?

  —… Okay, so you didn’t say anything, but you watched me pack and, like, we were on the plane together? I mean, that’s why we came here, to fight this guy, right?

  —I came to kill him. You came because I did not feel comfortable leaving you alone.

  —But now you do.

  —For an hour or two. You are the last of your kind, Aster. The very last one. I will not risk your life unless it is necessary.

  —Why? I mean, you’re the last one too!

  —I am stronger and better prepared. And I am not. I have a cousin, or at least I think I still do. My father’s brother had a child he kept hidden from my family. He would be about my age.

  —You never met him?

  —No. He does not know what he is. From what little I’ve learned, he’s lived a fairly normal life. I did not wish to take that from him.

  —I understand. But I don’t have a normal life. I have a super messed-up life, same as you. Besides, what have I been training for this whole time? You spent a whole year teaching me stuff.

  —And if one of these hunters ever finds you, you will have a fighting chance. But you are sitting this one out.

  —I—

  —It is not up for debate.

  Sitting it out … I didn’t do all that so I can sit things out and let him do all the work. That’s not why I threw things every day until my arms went numb. I didn’t do wax-on-wax-off with him for nothing. I didn’t steal cars and … I didn’t kill Freddie Freeman so I could—“You killed me for nothing, Aster.” Shut up, Freddie!—so I could sit in a hotel while he risks his life. Two against one is better. It’s not superfair, but neither is fighting someone half your size. He’s gonna get himself killed, I know it. He’s gonna die, and then I’ll be …

  —What if something happens to you? What am I supposed to do then?

  —Survive, Aster. You’re supposed to survive. I will see you when I return.

  —You’re leaving now?! Wait! Sam—

  …

  It’s the second time he leaves me. Mom left me once and she died. If he doesn’t come back, I—

  How long he been gone? Eight seconds? Hell no, I ain’t staying here. He doesn’t want me to fight, fine. I ain’t sitting on a bed doing nothing while he gets his head ripped off. I … I’m going to see Berlin. Berlin’s cool. It’s old. Like, the restaurants here are older than the United States. When they signed the Declaration of Independence, the place across the street was having a two-for-one on sausages. Plus, I seen tons of people my age—well, close to my age. That’s it. I’m going out. I’m going to get drunk. I never been drunk, not real drunk. Sam won’t let me have more than two beers, but he’ll probably be dead in a couple of hours, dismembered or something. I’ll be alone. Then I’ll probably die. Getting drunk seems like the proper thing to do. I just need to find a bar that’ll let me in. How hard could that be? It’s Tuesday. I have a big pile of D-marks. That money won’t exist a few months from now. I might as well bribe someone with it.

  Berlin, here I come.

  34

  Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

  [Good morning. I have General Groves on the line for Colonel Veilleux.]

  —This is Colonel Veilleux.

  [Thank you. I’ll put you through.]

  —…

  —Hello?

  —Ben? You there?

  —Yes, ma’am. How can I—

  —It’s this damn phone; I never— Hello? Can you hear me?

  —I hear you fine, General. What can I do for you?

  —I just got a request for reserve troops out of Devens. It’s got your name on it.

  —Yes, ma’am.

  —That’s it? “Yes, ma’am”?

  —I …

  —What the fuck do you need fifty HUMINT officers for, Ben?

  —We’re close, General. Real close, but I need more men. There’s too much ground to cover, too many leads. Interrogations alone—

  —Stop right there. Don’t tell me you’re still running around chasing that girl. It’s been over a year, Ben. You need to let it go.

  —I can’t.

  —Yes you can. Let the FBI handle it. I have a meeting with the secretary of defense on Monday. I’m sure he’ll want to discuss your case. Last thing I need is you running AWOL.

  —I thought I’d been cleared.

  —Cleared? You pinned all this on a dead guy, which is … probably the best you could do, but that just means they won’t court-martial. They can still fire your ass. You owe me a report, by the way.

  —You’ve seen my report. You’ve had it for months.

  —Oh, that thing. I threw it out.

  —What? But—

  —Come on, Ben! You and I go way back, but you’ve got to give me something more than a blood anomaly if you want my help keeping your command. Unless that kid can fly and shoot lasers out of her eyes, it doesn’t explain how she broke out of a secure facility under your watch.

  —She killed my men.

  —Yes, she did. That’s the problem, in case you can’t see it. A twelve-year-old girl killed a dozen highly trained soldiers. IN YOUR HOUSE! This is a shit show, Ben, and it’s not going away because you said Private Whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was broke security protocols. You need to cut that Samuel Gerard bullshit, get your ass back home, and right that ship of yours before you sink with it.

  —Did you show them what I gave you?

  —Show who?

  —I don’t know, SecDef, POTUS.

  —NO!

  —Why not?

  —’Cause if I had, you’d be chock-full of Thorazine by now, drooling over a straitjacket. “Nonhuman attributes.” Did you read it out loud, Ben? It sounded a whole lot like you were talking about little green men.

  —What would you call it? I have an eight-foot-tall woman inside a freezer with two hearts and some really messed-up DNA.

  —I’m sure lots of people have two hearts.

  —No they don’t.

  —Ben, I’m telling you, as a friend. You don’t want to go there. Not with the shit you’re in. Besides, you’re not even looking for giant people with two hearts. Find me one of them, preferably alive this time; then maybe we can talk. Right now you’re chasing your tail trying to catch a fucking teenager.

  —She’s not—

  —She was in middle school, Ben, right before you kidnapped her! A regular kid. Sleepovers and whatnot.

  —You saw the footage.

  —I did, but since the interesting part’s from a lab Congress doesn’t know exists, it’s not going to help you much, now will it?

  —Still, I—

  —Hey! I’m talking to you. I’ve given you a lot of leeway and I rarely ask questions because … because I don’t want to know, but I’m telling you now, Ben. Leave the girl alone.

  —No.

  —What’d you just say? It’s that damn phone again. Sounded like you were refusing a direct order, and I know you wouldn’t do that.

  —SHE KILLED MY MEN!

  —Watch your tone, Colonel.

  —You weren’t there! She killed them all. She shot them like it was nothing, like … like she was popping balloons at the fair.

  —…

  —I’m sorry, ma’am, I—

  —Two.

  —What?

  —I’ll give you two intel guys. Off the books. Say they’re doing patient surveys or something.

  —Two isn’t—

  —The words you’re looking for right now are “thank you” and “General.”

  —Thank you.

  —And you get your butt back to Walter Reed. You got to at least make it look like you’re doing your job.

  —I will.

  —Today.

  —… Yes, ma’am. Right away.

  35

  Dissolved Girl

  I think I’m drunk a little. I had three beers. I never had three beers and they’re BIG, supertall beers. They’re like a flower vase. Maybe they are vases. “Boss, we’re out of glasses!” “Just throw the lilies in the garbage and give her the vase. She’s American; she won’t know the difference.” I had no trouble getting in. I didn’t even need to bribe the guy with a giant Mohawk. Maybe I look older. No, I don’t. I think they were happy to have a third customer.

  “You did this to me, Aster. You killed me for nothing.”

  He won’t stop talking. The worst part is I grown used to Freddie Freeman. He ain’t much of a conversationalist—conversationist? He says the same thing over and over again—but he keeps me company. The barman here doesn’t speak English. This is all wrong, I know. A year ago, I was scared of everything. Now I’m talking to a dead man and I’m angry ’cause Samael won’t let me fight giant aliens. What is wrong with me? I— My head is spinning a little. I like this … I think. That’s crazy, ain’t it? I don’t like being chased by Bruce Willis, and people trying to kill me. I don’t like that. That’s … bad. But I gotten used to the—what’s the word? Bigness. Ha-ha! I am tipsy. Intensity? It’s like I’m in a movie. A year ago, I was just a kid with no friends getting suspended from school. Now I have a family of maybe-alien spies, and I’m a fugitive and I have tons of money and I can steal cars and throw things and it’s hard to go back to normal after all that. Part of me wants to. All of me feels superbad about it. Pa gave up a lot to give me that life I don’t really want anymore. My mother died so I can have that life. Ingrate! Yeah. That’s how I feel. Pa got me a bicycle for my birthday one year. Mine was too small and beat up from throwing it down everywhere as if Pa could just buy a new one whenever he wanted to. It was a nice bike. Pa had the shop build it for me. Used, but with good parts. Way better than a cheap new bike he could have gotten at Walmart, but I didn’t like the color. All I saw was the burnt orange and the tiny scratches, and then Pa’s face when he realized he gone through all that trouble and I didn’t like it. All he wanted was to make me happy and I wasn’t happy. Like that. That’s how I feel, only a thousand times worse.

  But I’m in Berlin. It’s okay to enjoy that, right? Pa’d be thrilled if he knew. Not about the beer, but he never been outside the country either. I wish I’d known I had all this money. We could have gone places together. I could have bought him a house, like Ritchie Valens with his mom. We could have gone to the Rib Room in Norleans. I ain’t even sure he ever ate there, but that was his definition of fancy, the thing you compare every other thing to. Things we couldn’t afford were “like a night at the Rib Room”; the best meals were “as good as the Rib Room.”

  It’s almost ten. I bet Samael’s at the church now, waiting for giant bad guy to show up. Maybe he has already. Maybe Samael doesn’t have a head anymore. Nooo! Don’t think like that. He’ll be fine. Where will they fight, though? You can’t fight in a church; that’s just wrong. Sean Connery said so: “You are safe only on Holy Ground. None of us will violate that rule. It’s tradition.” They can’t fight on Main Street either—Main Straße or whatever it’s called. They’d need a dark alley where no one’s watching. There could be one right there, I guess. Otherwise they’ll have to walk around together looking for a spot. That’s awkward. I don’t even understand why Samael wants to fight. He could just … BAM! In the face. He could use one of those sniper rifles and shoot him all the way from the other Straße.

  I should have gone with him. I could help; I could be bait even. I’m still mad he left me beh—

  Oh, the door’s opening. A fourth customer. HOLY MOLY! It’s one of them! It’s … Cold sweat pouring from everywhere. I feel the blood rushing to my head. Hot sweat pouring from everywhere. I’m heating up like a donut in a microwave. Big, giant lady standing in the doorway. I can’t quite see her face, this place is emo dark, but she’s a lot younger, this one. Leather jacket. Leather pants. Kind of like Arnold in Terminator 2 after he takes the clothes of a big guy at a biker bar. How’d she find me? Who cares? I gotta run. I wanted to fight them, but that was before. Now I’m too drunk to fight, and sober enough to know it was a dumb idea to begin with. Run, Aster, run. My mom didn’t and she got herself killed. There’s nowhere to run to, though. There’s no door, except for the one I came in, and it’s right behind her. Fire code, anyo— Whoa. I’m dizzy.

 

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