One in Ten Ch. 08

Over her comm, she could hear wounded officers crying out for assistance. A SWAT unit on the second level was in dire need and running out of ammunition. For once, men had the numbers in this cruel twist of fate, plus, they had and were using guns. An equine unit had snapped under the pressure on the north side of the arena and been overrun.

The water cannons began working over the men. That stopped them - momentarily. It was deceptive because the pressure behind the men was building up, but the police couldn't see it. Seeing the mob recoil, the sergeant acted. She ordered her command forward at a steady pace. They were going to rescue their fellow officers.

Things began to fall apart from the start. As the cannons both swung to the center of the riot squads' entry point, a man slipped around the edge of the water stream. His name was Robert White, African-American and worked at a modeling agency as a manager. He had two attachments and four healthy daughters. He was thirty-two and he was dying.

In the playback, it was clear that he was gut-shot. Had he made it to an emergency room in the next thirty minutes he might have lived. His dress jacket was gone. His dress white shirt was water-soaked and blood stained from his wound. He also had a shotgun and a preference for action movies so he had a clue how one worked.

Robert sprinted around the periphery of the riot line, jumped on the front of the first water cannon and fired the shotgun through the vision port the driver left open. Three shots later, the crew inside was dead or wounded and the cannon shut down. While Robert was becoming a martyr for all man-kind, the riot squad was falling apart.

As the sergeant urged her troops forward, the individual women were coming to the realization that their cork was too small for the hole they were expected to fill. The dimensions of the mass of men coming their way made the power of the stun batons in their hands feel irrelevant. You could see the reasonable fear in their eyes turn to terror. They knew they were about to die.

Even then, not one woman didn't go forward. The problem was some went more forward than others. The Plexiglas shield wall fractured. The sergeant tried to reorganize her people, the water cannon on her right shut off and she committed a totally rational sin. She looked over her shoulder to see what had happened. She wasn't the only woman in her command to do that.

The man charged forward with a hellish howl. The auxiliary policewomen cringed and hunched up, but none of them ran. They held their ground as best they could. Their doom was in their sergeant's decision to advance. The riot squad's flanks were open and the men come pouring around at both ends.

The second water cannon thrashed the area around it, trying to buy time for the women on the outside. Within their armored vehicle, the patrolwomen thought they were safe. Of course, the women inside the first water cannon had thought the same thing. Re-enter the doomed Robert White. He had run around the far side of the first water cannon and to the back of the second.

Something whizzed pasted his thigh and ricocheted off the pavement. Sure enough, the crew had left a back viewport open. They weren't following protocol, but they weren't stupid either. With the ports open, the vehicle was much cooler in this early summer heat. Besides, men didn't have guns, so what was the problem.

Robert White stuck the barrel into the port and fired. As he got a second shot off, something tore off a section of his calf and he fell. Unrelenting, he stood back up, felt something burn across his thigh, but still managed to get off a third shot. He was pumping the next shell in when the sniper finally stopped following fire protocol for men and put a round into Robert White's heart.

It was already too late for the auxiliary policewomen before the second water cannon went still. The initial rush of men pushed in their flanks and a secondary surge shattered their middle. A smaller, right-most faction, tried to form a circle, but fell and were overwhelmed. The left most, with their sergeant, formed a defensive ring only to be taken down by the stun batons of their fallen comrades.

This was the moment when that first sniper and two more who had rushed to join her decided that 'fuck it - they must pay' and opened fire on the mob. That was the last hurrah. The men broke up and scattered, which was pretty much what they had wanted to do all along. The blood lust was dissipating.

As one final, sad footnote, the sniper watched a lone, battered man walking among the bodies. A member of the riot squad, clearly in a bad way, made a weak attempt to touch him. He stopped and knelt by her. They exchanged words. For a second, the sniper felt remorse for opening fire on all those men then the kneeling man pulled out a pistol, pressed it to the policewoman's forehead and blew her brains out.

As the man stood up, the sniper returned the favor. As unaccustomed to true violence as men were, some snapped. Maybe he was a gentle soul who saw too much, too fast. Maybe he dreamed of striking back for years and was overcome with the prospects of achieving his fantasy. Maybe he was a bastard. Whatever he was, he was erased from the human equation like nearly a thousand of his brethren that night.

Back inside, I was in a battle for survival of a different kind. I pulled myself off Passey after the explosion. Men were scattering in all directions. A few cops pulled themselves from a floor littered with bodies - male and female. I went over to Passey's partner. I knew jack-all about first aid, but she was clearly not doing well.

I looked up to see a cop pointing a gun at my head.

"She needs help," I told the barrel of the gun. "I don't think we should move her." The gun moved up and away. She spent a few seconds trying to contact various people unsuccessfully. "I'm going to move my friend, Officer Passey, to the EMTs and I can send back help when I do," I offered.

The cop studied me.

"Where do you know Passey from?" she asked.

"We met at City Hall. She told me about her son," I replied.

"Take her that way," the cop pointed. "Stick around. People will want to talk with you, Mr. Jensen."

"I can't promise you that," I responded. She glared then nodded. She began moving off in a hurry. War was being waged against my gender. I scooped up Passey and headed off in the direction the policewoman had indicated. I began to hear gunfire. I hurried along. I was around the stage and running down a tunnel when I saw three parked ambulances, half a dozen cops and an even more EMTs.

The cops regarded me with a great deal of suspicion.

"Officers down - several around row 23," I explained. Then the echoes of automatic weapons fire reached us. I wouldn't normally be privileged to hear police chatter but the EMTs had turned their radios to it to keep pace with events.

Whole units were going down. A SWAT unit had been jumped in mid-deployment and opened fire after taking fire from men using captured police weapons. A riot squad had used tear gas to break up a knot of men only to have the fire suppression system cut on, reducing visibility to less than a meter.

What I didn't know about the group dynamic around me was that the VIPs had already raced down here and fled the scene in the limos and SUVs. The VIPs they could do without, but the twenty members of the Executive Protection Detail that they'd taken with them were urgently needed here, at the arena. The cops were pissed, but not with me - with their own gender.

The five cops looked at their Section Leader. She bit her lip.

"Shotguns and gas masks," she barked her orders. "We are going in." The cops raced to obey while the SL called her superior to inform her of their team's intentions. I wasn't sure if she got permission. I handed off Passey gingerly to the first team of EMTs to come at me.

"You might want to assign an officer to the EMTs," I suggested obsequiously to the SL. She looked like she wanted to rip my limbs off. "A good number of men were worked over with stun batons and things could go badly if the EMTs don't have a minder. The girl across from my condo is an EMT," I offered up as an explanation.

"Polanski, stick with the paramedics. There may be some pissed of males on the ground," the Section Leader called out. "Don't go anywhere," she told me.

"Yes ma'am," I replied. She led her troops off toward the arena floor. The second she was out of sight, I jogged the other way.

I broke out into the fresh air, the wail of sirens, the clap of gunfire and the screams of men. Some men were trying to get to their cars and drive away - those privileged few. The cops were already closing of the arena parking exits, so I wasn't sure what they were thinking, if they were thinking at all.

My path cut across the greenway and toward the metro. I wasn't taking the subway, I was walking along the tracks in an effort to make my getaway. I decided to get rid of my phone then realized I hadn't activated it yet. My phone didn't know it was working for me and neither did anyone else.

As a phone it was worthless but as a media device, it serviced me just fine. Once I made it to the subway tunnels, I took stock of my situation. Where was I going to go? Home? Most likely bad for me and bad for everyone I cared about. My arm still throbbed where the cop hit me with her stun baton but was functional.

My bracelet looked none the worse for wear despite taking the brunt of the impact and shock. I didn't want to sit uselessly by while the Vanishers or Dimples' people picked me up. I had to do something, but I didn't know what. The sane, rational decision was to hunker down somewhere and let someone I liked find me. Insanity sucks.

I went through some convolution to get a pre-paid phone card. Two college girls and not 'actual' sex. A half-dozen calls later, Capri knew I was still alive, she told me Angel was okay and worried about me, and I was headed into what may have been the worst decision of my life. I was drawn to it because I need to do more than live, I wanted to scream at the Void that I was alive.

Getting in was stunningly easy - there were bodies everywhere, cops and males. I was given a few quick looks, but the staff were busy and the cops were still stunned. A male nurse came into my perception.

"Hey, I'm looking for an Officer Passey," I grabbed his arm. "Can you tell me where she is?"

He looked up angrily. I was about to be told where I could shove it when the realization of who I was crossed his face.

"I brought her out of the arena and I need to tell her something," I added. He was weighing all kinds of factors before he decided in my favor.

"Bay 2-E," he told me then hurried off to the job that needed him. There were cops and guys stacked up all over the place. Doctors and nurses were doing triage. I could sense the low level hostility the police were showing the male nurses and doctor (just one so far). As I pulled the curtain aside at 2-E, Passey was putting her shirt back on.

"Excuse me?" a female nurse challenged me.

"Israel?" Passey muttered. Her head and ribs were bandaged and she looked a little off.

"Israel Jensen?" the nurse confirmed. "Listen up asshole, this is all..."

"Wait," Passey patted the nurse. "He saved my life tonight. He jumped on top of me so that the other men didn't kick me to death."

The nurse went back to studying me. That was most likely the last thing she expected a cop to say about me. She didn't understand that it was the culture and not the people I hated.

"What do you want, Israel?" Passey asked. "If they find you here, they are going to take you away." By that she meant her fellow cops.

"I have three questions I need to ask you," I began. Yes, it was a need, not a want. Passey nodded.

"Do you still breast feed?" I inquired. Passey nodded. The nurse looked angry.

"Do you want me to save your Son?" was my second question.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you willing to have sex with me?" was the final one.

"Yes," she whispered again.

"Is she healthy enough for sex?" I turned to the nurse.

"She has some bruised ribs and a concussion," the nurse said. "Are you serious about this? You are just going to come in and screw her - in her state?"

"I don't know how much time I'll be around," I answered. "Once I'm gone, nothing and no one will save her little boy."

Passey removed her shirt. I tossed my jacket on some medical device and quickly worked off mine. Passey was struggling with her shoes so I bent down and took them off for her.

"I must look a mess," she worried. I looked up at her.

"You are beautiful. You are a Mother and there are few things more wonderful," I said.

I stood and took off my shirt. The nurse softened slightly. She knew the pain I had to be in. The thing was, I was feeling better.

"Aren't we the pair, Raggedy Man?" Passey whispered. We both had heavily bruised torsos. I had no clue why she was calling me Raggedy Man.

Our pants and underwear piled up on the floor. The nurse had slipped out somewhere along the line.

"I wish I could give you more time," I sighed as I pulled Passey to me until our bodies were tightly pressed.

"You are giving us what precious time you can, Israel," she responded. I cupped her butt cheeks and placed her on the edge of the gurney. Slipping into her was like teardrops on my soul - honest and purifying. Passey gave a little gasp then tenderly wrapped me up in her arms. We gently rocked back and forth, her sitting on the gurney, I standing in front of her, her legs supported my arms at hip level.

It was painful sex for both of us. I was helped by the fact that the normally gorgeous Officer Passey was so battered. It was the whole beautiful = entitlement thing rearing its ugly head.

"What's your name?" I mused, not really thinking about our circumstance. Passey giggled then winced.

"Freya," she panted in my ear. "My name is Freya."

"That's beautiful," I murmured. "That was a Goddess, right?"

"Was? Is," she nuzzled me. "My family are Pantheists - pagans."

"Would that make me Frey?" I stumbled along verbally.

"No," she snickered then began kissing my neck. "Frey is Freya's brother. That would be a little weird. You are more like...Baldur, the Golden One." Our banter had a purpose. We were dispelling the desperation of the moment. We were foolishly shredding the tyranny of time. We could take as long as we wanted because we lied and said everything was going to work out.

For some indeterminate time, we simply rocked back and forth. I could feel her fire rising toward the point of combustion. What I had to do next went against my nature. It went against the dark, gnawing fear that lurked behind the reflection of every woman whose gaze I met and stalked the edges of my erotic nightmares.

"Tell me you love me," I breathed into her. "Tell me we are going to have many strong male babies together." I wanted to die. Freya Passey hesitated a moment as if she knew she was about to cause me great pain.

"I love you, Israel," she murmured. "We are going to have many strong male babies together."

My whole body shook violently. I felt my testes contract. I was terrified, but I had to live.

"Say it again," I sobbed.

"Israel?" Freya whimpered.

"Please," I gulped.

"I love you, Israel," she sniffled. "We are going to have many strong male babies together."

The fear tore my heart and reason apart. My cum fountained deep within Freya. Again and again, it shot forth. Freya tensed then climaxed, which was doubly painful for both of us.

'Take that, Aurora, you bitch,' my mind spasmed and whirled manically.

'I stole one life back. I made something good from the madness you gifted me with. You haven't won, not yet.' I'd been climbing out of that basement for nearly five years. I was almost free until Bethany kicked my back down into that pit again. Maybe this was why I had lived? Maybe I hadn't been stupid or weak for surviving when I should have died.

Maybe - please God, maybe - my life had purpose.

"After the death of my first child," Freya hiccupped. Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me. "I didn't know if I could stand to lose another." She didn't say 'son' and the fact that she didn't make that distinction confirmed in my soul I'd taken a worthwhile risk.

"I can't imagine what it has been like for you," I told Passey. "I was never informed of the birth of my children. I never knew the fear that they might not make it."

"Yet you saved me from that feeling of hopelessness," Freya breathed into my chest.

"I did it for me," I replied softly. "I don't know the world, so I can let it go, but I knew you and I don't want to be the kind of human who sees a fellow human in need and does nothing."

"You were that man before you came here," she said.

"I have been rendered worthless, Freya," I struggled for my own understanding. "Because of that I will probably never be comfortable believing I'm worthwhile. I'll have to prove it to myself again and again. I doubt I'll ever accept that I'm the man I should be, or can be. Consider it a flaw in my lenses of perfection."

"You have a way with words," she smiled. "You need to go." We dressed quickly. I wiped up some escaping semen with a piece of gauze which I then pocketed.

"Don't share that if you can get away with it," I requested.

"Which reminds me," Passey pulled out her phone and scanned me...and scanned me again. "Your bracelet isn't acknowledging my scan."

"Maybe you're special," I hoped.

"I think it is broken," she clarified.

"Perfect," I sighed. "Just perfect." That explained why the Vanishers and the FBI weren't all over my ass right now. I had no phone and my bracelet wasn't betraying my location.

The foul little stooge that had haunted my life since I was sixteen was dead. Had it actually broken and fallen off, I would have danced on its grave. To be fair, its diehard little capacitors must have soaked up the brunt of the stun baton's power before the beast croaked. We finished getting dressed, I kissed Passey good-bye and pulled open the screen.

There was a wall of cops staring at us. On the periphery were those jokers in white coats over scrubs with all kinds of collection gear. Oh hell no. I wasn't going to pee in a cup. I certainly wasn't going to jack off into one. I stifled the urge to scream. I followed that minor victory by not shutting the curtain, crawling into a corner and hoping the world would go away.

"Mr. Jensen, you are coming with us," the lead officer, a lieutenant named Metzer said.

"Lieutenant, I'm begging you, give me two minutes of your time. If you still want to drag me in, I'll go quietly and without complaint," I pleaded. "Please, I'm begging you."

"He came here of his own free will," Freya spoke up, "knowing what might happen to him."

There was no reason tell them what I had done here. Neither Freya nor I were terribly quiet. The officer blinked. She was clearly stressed and unhappy.

"Speak."

"The cure I have in my system will not help anyone here, besides Passey," I started off quickly.

"That isn't how it works. Only my body produces the antivirals. None of my twenty three children, boys and girls, produce it. It is only me and as you might guess, there simply isn't enough of me to go around. You can imprison me unjustly and milk me like a cow and you'll get a few thousand doses a year."

"Sadly, each dose will be less effective than the last. Stress breaks down the antivirals. Even then, at best the antiviral will only last two years before you need another dose. If they take me, where do the rest of you stack up with the 100 million women in the Federation? When do you think you will be getting your dose?"

"What I have will not save you," I repeated. "Given any free will, I will not help any of you."