The Sopaths (7 page)

Abner remembered his military experience. Desperation was the word. Normal people could get caught up in kill or be killed combat and do things that appalled them in retrospect. “And then she felt guilty for killing her sister,” he said.

“Yes. But the other girls reassured her, and the boys reassured the boy and, well, they all melded. They all understand, and all know they understand, and they feel halfway comfortable at last, at least with each other.”

“Then you were able to teach them something.”

“Yes. They are actually eager to learn. It’s exhilarating.”

The semi-formal school started with eight children, including theirs, but in a few days more came in and were similarly integrated. Sopaths were still taking out families. When the number of children passed a dozen, Bunty pleaded for help. Sylvia found another survivor parent who had been a teacher, and she really helped. But children kept coming. They took over a local empty warehouse and converted it into a four room, three teacher school.

Then something quietly amazing happened. A non-Pariah neighbor requested admittance for her young child. It was, she explained, convenient because they lived in the next block, and the word was that it was a really good school that the children liked. She was nervous about their regular school; there were some vicious children there, merciless bullies, and she wanted to take her boy out.

“Sopaths,” Bunty murmured. “They would be bullies.”

They took the boy, and a few others as they came. They had to expand to four teachers, then five. But it was working, in part because they had virtually no disciplinary problems. The Pariah children knew when they were well off, and the non-Pariah children knew they were there by sufferance. But mainly, Abner knew, it was Bunty. She was really good with children.

Bunty was constantly busy, but she radiated satisfaction. She had found her ideal situation.

One Sunday, by mutual agreement, Abner and Bunty dressed formally and took the children to the local church Abner had attended with his original family. He was not a religious man, but he believed in community participation, and felt this would be a stabilizing influence.

The pastor intercepted him at the entrance and drew him aside. The man had literally seen him coming, having evidently been alert. “Mr. Slate, I will be blunt. We don’t want you here.”

“I don’t understand.” But he feared he did. It was like the situation at schools and day-schools. He had been tainted by the sopaths.

“You have taken up an immoral lifestyle we cannot condone here.”

Or was it something else? “Be specific.”

“You are living with a woman who is not your wife, and exposing two innocent children to this sinful lifestyle.”

“My wife was killed by a sopath! So was her husband. And the children’s parents. We are trying to survive.”

“You are not married to each other,” the pastor said.

“We
are
married. Not in a church, true, but we had a ceremony.”

“As illicit convenience.” The man took a breath. “Privately, I understand your position. The situation with the sopaths is an utter horror. But the church does not. I have expressed its position. Please do not make this more difficult.”

Abner saw that there was no recourse here. By the church’s dogma, they were living in sin. “Thank you,” he said curtly, and returned to his family.

Bunty could tell by his bearing what the news was. She took the children’s hands and turned away from the church, physically, emotionally, and socially.

“We understand,” Clark said, fighting back tears. “They don’t want us.”

“We’re pariahs,” Dreda agreed.

How apt the name was! “We’ll form our own church,” Abner said resolutely. “Or at least a small non-denomination Pariah service.”

“We have done it with the school,” Bunty agreed.

They did, using the school premises, and a number of Pariahs and their children attended. They arranged to take turns emulating the type of service: Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, and even Atheist. Always they stressed their unity as Pariahs, supporting each other regardless of their several religions. It worked surprisingly well, because all the Pariahs were discovering similar rejection.

The insurance company tried to balk on paying for the loss of Bunty’s house. Their stated reason: it was arson, which wasn’t covered.

“Corporations are sopaths,” Abner muttered. “They have no souls, by definition.”

“What can we do?”

“We can get a lawyer.”

They did. The lawyer sent a terse legalistic letter pointing out that a five year old child’s action was legally considered an accident. The company yielded, evidently realizing that its bluff had failed.

The money, after paying off the mortgage, was not great, but it was much better than nothing. Bunty put it toward the operating expense of the school, and their personal savings.

Authorization as a charter school came though, and the teachers started getting paid. That completed it for Bunty, as she confessed during almost savage lovemaking that night. She had a profession, she loved it, and was satisfied she was doing good for the world.

Abner was satisfied too, as his grief for his original family faded and was overwritten by the needs and feelings of his new family. His old family could never be restored; none of theirs could. They had a new life, and it was sufficient.

In fact he harbored a dark suspicion that his new family was better than his old one, and not just because of their common bond in the horror of the sopaths. It had been assembled mostly by chance, but Bunty was one beautiful and fine woman, and the children were wonderful. Maybe the sopath experience had significantly matured all of them, making them better people. There was surely an element of desperation; they truly needed each other. But he thought it was mainly luck: they were right for each other.

One evening Bunty had a question for him. “My pill prescription is running out. Should I stop taking them?”

She was asking whether they should have a baby together. Abner realized that he would like that. They were careful about speaking of love, as each remained in grief for the lost spouse, but their rebound continued and it felt a lot like a permanent commitment. But he had one ugly thought. “It could be a sopath.”

“I’ll renew the prescription,” she said, shuddering.

So they were at peace with the new order, and life was reasonably good, considering.

Yet the sopath menace would not fade, and it was growing. That meant that their paradise was bound to be temporary.

CHAPTER 4

Bunty called him at work, near quitting time. “Abner, there’s a sopath with a gun in the neighborhood. He took a shot at one of the school children. He missed, and the child made it to the house. But the sopath is still out there, I think laying siege to the house, hoping to steal candy or money from the children. I don’t dare release school until I know it’s safe.”

“I’ll try to flush him out,” Abner said.

“Honey, be careful. I know he’s a child, but that gun--”

“I have one too,” he reminded her. He had gotten a license, and now carried it at all times, along with a combat knife. Bunty had similar weapons, and they were training the children. It was a matter of survival. So far they hadn’t had to use them, but they knew the time would come. With the sopath threat, they had to be ready to fight instantly. That was another thing normal folk tended not to understand. Not until they encountered their own sopaths.

“Don’t hesitate.”

There was the problem. He would have to go gunning for a child. Could he actually pull the trigger, even if the sopath was firing at him? He thought he could, but had not yet done it. “I’ll handle it,” he said, hoping that was true.

He phoned the police station. “This is Abner Slate. There’s a sopath in my home neighborhood. I’m going to try to take him out.”

“We’ll send a cruiser.” No questions; they knew him, knew of the charter school, and understood the situation. The police could not go gunning for children, but they were becoming supportive of those who went after sopaths.

Abner stopped to buy a huge candy cane that would be visible for a block, a wicked temptation for any child. That was the thing about the sopaths: they were children, the great majority under age six, with the impulses of children. Candy was their chief obsession, and they could and did kill for it, having no scruples.

He parked a block from his house, drew his loaded pistol with his right hand, and held the candy cane aloft with his left. He knew better than to park close to the house and be distracted and exposed when emerging from the car. He walked slowly toward his yard, keeping his head straight so that the sopath would not realize that he was looking around. He saw the police car pausing on a side street.

Where was the most likely hiding place? The bushy hedge that marked the boundary between his front yard and the neighbor’s yard. Did he see a bit of color there?

Something moved. Now he saw the glint of the barrel of a pistol as it oriented on him. He jumped to the side as the gun fired, then fired back, aiming carefully.

The sopath’s bullet missed him. The child did not know how to aim well or to brace properly for the recoil. Abner’s bullet scored. There was a cry from the bush.

Abner sheathed his pistol and stood where he was as the police cruiser approached. They had of course seen the action, heard the shots, and knew that the child had fired first. It was technically self-defense.

The sopath was dead. Abner had scored on the head.

The police took away the small body without comment. Abner had done the job they could not legitimately do, killing an armed and dangerous person. There would be no report.

The door opened and Bunty hurried out. She flung herself into his arms. She had been watching too.

They walked together to the house. The children were at the door. “Daddy killed the sopath,” Bunty announced. “Now it is safe outside.”

The schoolchildren exited and walked toward their homes, which were not far distant. They understood all too well. They would tell their adoptive families, who would also understand.

Only when they were safely inside with their own two did Abner collapse. “I killed a child!” he moaned, overwhelmed. He had remained silent in significant part because of horror. A sopath had tried to kill him, and he had killed the sopath. He was a killer, again. He had done what he had to do, but now that it was done and he could relax, he was appalled.

Clark took his right hand, and Dreda his left hand. Bunty kissed him. “You had no choice,” Bunty said. “We knew that from the start.”

He hoped they were right, but he needed convincing. “Maybe I could have disarmed him.”

“Then what?” Clark asked. “Let him go to kill someone else?”

“Leave him to rape someone?” Dreda asked.

They were right. The sopath could indeed have killed someone else, and even as a child, as Dreda knew so well, he could have molested a terrorized girl. The sopath had had to be killed. But Abner still hated the necessity. “There has to be a better way.”

“Let’s figure that out now,” Bunty said. “Clark, didn’t you have an idea?”

“Sure. Dump them in a cellar.”

“They would just climb out,” Abner said, intrigued by the boy’s participation. Actually it was hardly surprising, because the children had had thorough experience with sopaths.

“A deep cellar,” Clark said. “Locked.”

“Then we’d have to feed them.”

“Why?”

“Because they may be sopaths, but we aren’t. We can’t simply imprison children and let them starve. We have to treat them decently. Otherwise we’re no better than they are.”

The two children exchanged a glance. This was a new concept to them. Slowly they nodded, assimilating it. Souled folk did not act like unsouled folk.

“Feed them candy,” Dreda said. “Enough for one.”

“They’d kill each other for it,” Abner protested.

Dreda just looked at him.

Bunty whistled appreciatively. “Girl, you have a deadly little mind!”

“I learned from our sopath.” The one who had destroyed her family.

Abner considered it. Two sopaths confined together. Candy enough for one. There would be only one survivor in short order. Especially if the two had knives.

“We wouldn’t have to kill them ourselves,” Abner said.

“But we would be setting them up for it,” Bunty said. “Unless--” She broke off thoughtfully.

“Unless we gave them enough food for both,” Abner said. “So they could share, as normal children would.”

“Sopaths don’t share,” Clark said.

“Exactly,” Bunty agreed. “We set them up for peaceful coexistence. But they fight anyway, because greed has no limits. We could put any number in that cellar, with a mountain of food for them all, and only one would remain. Our hands would be relatively clean.”

Abner shook his head. “The line between ethics and cynicism becomes obscure.”

The children looked blank. “He means it’s hard to tell right from wrong,” Bunty translated.

“Awful hard,” Dreda agreed. “But we’re learning.”

“What about the bodies?” Abner asked.

“Put them in the sewer,” Clark said.

“That leads to the fertilizer processing plant,” Bunty agreed. “No mess.”

“The police would know,” Abner said.

“And pretend not to,” Dreda said. She was a sharp study on pretense.

They worked it out, and soon had a plan to present to Pariah. Abner’s horror receded. Faced with an implacable foe, they were doing what was necessary, ugly as it was. He doubted he would ever be entirely at ease with it, but it did seem to be the most viable of nasty alternatives.

It came to pass. There was a deserted house in the neighborhood with a large deep cellar with barred windows. It even had a toilet and shower stall. They set it up with bunks, cushions, and blankets. It would do as a detention chamber. Now all they had to do was use it.

They set up a neighborhood watch, with special attention at the times the charter school children were coming and going. They checked any strange children, verifying identification with survivor children, who had extremely sharp senses with respect to sopaths. They set up honey traps baited with candy that the regular children knew to stay away from.

And the sopaths came. They cruised the streets, looking for things to steal, trying to avoid adults. Experience had shown them that adults tended to interfere, and it was easier simply to sneak in when they weren’t looking, snatch the candy, and run. But now more sopaths were armed, mostly with knives, some with guns, and they were getting better at using them. They had to be handled carefully.

“It would be easier simply to shoot them,” Abner said morosely.

“We go to extraordinary lengths to salvage a portion of our conscience,” Bunty said. “Is it worth it?”

“Maybe not. But for me, at this point, this is the way it has to be.”

An alarm went off. A nearby trap had been sprung. Abner hurried to the site in time to see the child running from it, carrying the bucket of candy. The sopath could have escaped, had he dropped the bucket, but he was emotionally incapable of doing that. Abner caught him, using thickly padded gloves. “Fight me, and I’ll bash you into a tree,” he warned.

The sopath decided not to fight. He was a black-haired urchin about six. Abner carried him to the cellar and locked him in, not bothering to check for weapons. He felt a twinge of guilt for that; he was enabling the inevitable. “I will bring food,” he said.

“Fuck you,” the sopath said.

When he returned, another Pariah, Gomez, had brought in a second boy, a towhead, and was holding him outside the cellar. They needed two people to work it: one to back off the first sopath and open the gate, on guard, the other to shove the second sopath in.

Abner set down the meal, then drew his pistol. “You know what this is,” he told the black-haired sopath.

“It’s a gun, shithead,” the boy said disdainfully. “I want it.”

“Stay on the far side of the cell,” Abner said. “If you move, I will shoot you.”

The boy stayed on the far side, not calling his bluff, which was just as well. Abner unlocked the gate and opened the door with his left hand, never letting the pistol wander from its target. Gomez shoved the towhead in, then lifted the tray of food and set it in too, on the floor.

Abner closed and locked the gate. He holstered the pistol. “Now you may eat,” he told the boys. “There is enough for both of you, so you can share.”

Both started toward the food, then paused, eying each other. “Mine,” the black-haired boy said. He was the larger of the two.

“Yeah?” the towhead asked disdainfully. He drew a small knife.

But the towhead had misjudged the proximity of the black-haired boy. The first boy lunged into him, grabbing for the knife. He dislodged it, and it went skittering across the floor.

The black haired boy had similarly misjudged the tenacity of the tow. The smaller boy, evidently an experienced fighter, rammed into him with a head-butt that knocked the wind out of him. He fell back, gasping, with the tow on top. There was no hesitation; the tow reached for his face and poked a stiffened finger into his right eye, hooking it gruesomely out.

The black hair screamed in pain and shock, but did not give up the fight. He reached up, caught the tow by the hair, and hauled his face roughly down to his own. The black hair opened his mouth and bit the tow’s nose. It was no token effort; blood spurted as the black hair wrenched his face from side to side, ripping off the nose. It was the tow’s turn to scream in pain.

In the moment the tow’s concentration faltered, the black hair heaved him over and rolled on top of him. He grabbed the tow by the hair on both sides and lifted his head, then smashed it down against the floor. He lifted and smashed again, and again, as hard as he could, until finally the tow stopped struggling. He was unconscious or dead.

The black hair got off him, his right eyeball dangling by the nerve cord. He found the lost knife. He picked it up, returned to the tow, and stabbed him repeatedly in the face and neck. Now there was no question: he was dead.

Only then did the black hair seem to feel the full impact of his pain. He fell down against the wall and screamed.

Abner looked at Gomez. The other turned his face aside and vomited. It had been such an absolutely vicious fight, completely unnecessary. Because sopaths didn’t share.

Abner drew his pistol again, aimed carefully, and shot the surviving boy through the head. This was not an execution so much as a mercy killing.

“I thought I could handle it, but I can’t,” Gomez said. “I’ll finish my shift tonight, but you’ll need someone else tomorrow.”

“I understand,” Abner said. “I don’t like it much myself.” Bile was rising in his throat.

They made sure both boys were dead, then hauled them to the sewer pipe and shoved them in.

The second night a solid red-haired Pariah woman joined Abner. She was Maxine, Gomez’s ad hoc wife, evidently the tougher of the pair. She accompanied him as they checked the honey traps. They were of different types; some pits, some closed cages, some merely candy that was securely anchored so that a child would have to let it go in order to flee. Like monkeys, sopaths had difficulty ever letting go.

The signal brought them to one with a sopath girl who glared menacingly at them from the closed metal cage. She was unkempt and dirty, with wild brown hair, like a feral cat. “Leave me alone!” she said.

“Are you hungry, honey?” Maxine inquired. “We’re going to take you to a prison cell with a good meal.”

“Don’t touch me, bitch!”

“Or you can stay here,” Maxine concluded. She and Abner made ready to leave.

“I’ll go,” the girl said quickly.

“Then we’ll have to cuff you for the trip. Put out your hands.”

The sopath hesitated, then slowly put them out. Maxine applied the soft plastic handcuffs. Then Abner opened the cage and released the girl.

She tried to bolt for freedom, but Maxine still had hold of the cuffs and restrained her. Maxine had evidently thought this process through, and was doing an excellent job.

They drove the girl to the Heller Cellar, as a Pariah wag had put it, and locked her in, alone. “We’ll fetch the food,” Maxine said. “Meanwhile catch yourself a nap.”

They checked the other traps, and found another girl, this one a filthy blonde. They took her in, pausing along the way at Maxine’s house, where she fetched a package of sandwiches and chocolate milk. The sopath eyed them, drooling.

“The gamines tend to be hungry,” Maxine remarked. “Homeless because they’re runaways, having to scour garbage cans and try to steal from stores.” She glanced at the girl. “You’d be better off reforming and going home, honey.”