Exodus

David Policar 1990

When I came home that night, Danny was slouched at his computer, still undressed, and Tasha was sitting lotus, chewing mechanically on a sandwich, her eyes glazed over. I should have worried when neither of them noticed me, but I just congratulated myself on my stealth -- ever since the Change, I'd depended on it to survive. I snuck up behind Danny and hugged him briefly, and was reaching up to tousle his hair, a gesture that always both pleased and annoyed him, when the look on his face stopped me.

I didn't need to speak to ask him what was wrong. He just looked at me, the way he did when he was seeing things he didn't want to see, and gestured at the screen.

_Security Clearance Check: Alpha Alpha CONFIRMED_ , it blinked. (I was impressed -- I knew Danny was good, but hadn't known he was that good!) _Message intercept from b1704pcs!po73.urc_ .

When I saw that address, I heard the low growl begin in the back of my throat, and I felt the first touch of true fear. The United Renaissance Churches had been causing problems practically since the first days of the Change, but when the local police started working with them things had really gotten bad. Anything from their mainframe with that kind of security code couldn't be good news.

Most of the message was garbled, but parts were highlighted, computer-reconstructed as most probable text: _...due deliberation...have agreed...your proposal ... the Purification... October 12. God Bless._

The signature was lost, but I knew it was the Honorable Bishop Anders -- America's answer to the Pope, or maybe to Hitler. And while back then I didn't know just what "the Purification" would be, I knew enough to be afraid.

I felt my claws digging into the heels of my palms as my hands clenched, and I smelled the blood, but I didn't care. I don't know how long I stood there, until Tasha's hand on my shoulder snapped me out of it.

"We've packed most of our gear already, David" she whispered, "and I've spread the word out some. And I think Diana's forgotten about us, but I can't be sure, so we'll have to move fast. Get upstairs and pack."

It was then I realized how many things were missing in the room, how other items had been rearranged and moved to cover the holes. To a stranger, it looked like we were out for a while but would be back any day -- but I knew we would never come back.

I wanted to refuse. Gods, how I wanted to! I was tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of the fear and the pity and the loathing I faced every day. I wanted to just lie down, give up, die. But Tasha wouldn't let me. By acting against our Blockwatcher, she had played her hidden ace; by tomorrow Diana would know her mind had been tampered with and would start hunting for the esper responsible. Tasha was on the run, now; whether I lived or died - and I knew and she knew I would never let her do it alone.

I went upstairs and packed.

The three of us spent the night with a friend of Tasha's, a norm named Grant. It was obvious to all of us when we got there why he wouldn't turn us in -- I could smell it, Danny could see it, and Tasha just knew -- and just as obvious that he intended to do so in the morning. Of course, by morning he'd have forgotten all about us.

Danny and I slept on the living room couch, but neither of us could sleep much. We fooled around a little, but we weren't really up for that, either, and eventually Danny opened the window and looked out over Boston. I could smell his tears, and I knew that to him, the shroud of hatred and death that lay over the city was more than just a metaphor. I wanted to hold him, but I knew I had to stay away from the window -- the last thing we needed was a peeper spotting me and calling security.

"Thanks," he said over his shoulder. I grinned. Danny seems so normal, so sweet, that even I forget sometimes what he can see.

"I see people," he once said to me, "but not just what they look like. Not even just what they are like. I see what they might be like, how they see themselves. How other people see them. Sometimes, if they're close enough, I can see what they want to do but won't, what they'd like to be but aren't. The problem, of course, is telling all that apart."

When I met him, he had just broken up with his lover of two years. He knew they were going to break up, that she wanted him out of her life. Unfortunately, she didn't figure it out until months later, and hated him for dumping her and blaming her for it.

I wonder just what he saw in the city lights that night. Looking back, it seems Boston really wanted to tear itself apart, even though we didn't know it for sure back then. Did he see that? Did he see the burning buildings, the Purifiers in the streets, his friends turning their backs on him or worse, hunting him down?

I've never asked, but he stared out the window that night and cried for nearly an hour.