Monster Chapter Five
Transmission 4.250.226
Translation by Colton Norr
Sadie,
You wanted me to report any deviation. I did want to make you aware of one small oddity.
Nick is acting in line with every other operation (translator’s note: I don’t know if “operation” is the best term here. Maybe “case” is better? What the word is trying to convey is not as formal as an operation, but more formal than just an instance. I’m unsure.). But the parameters—particularly the consequences—of this operation are so disparate from previous tests that one would expect his actions would likewise be vastly different. And yet he moves and acts as if this was simply another operation.
The other agents and I have discussed this at great length. Some feel Nick might be in denial. He cannot comprehend the magnitude of this event and so he reverts to instinct. He just does what he has always done.
Others, however, believe that Nick has not yet realized the full scope of this operation. He has not reacted to the elevated consequences because he’s not yet aware of them. Plainly stated, he has no idea what is going on.
I make you aware of this just in case you want to change any of the parameters to give him more time.
- Simon
9:14 a.m. – 16:04 to Termination
Then black despair,
The shadow of a starless night, was thrown
Over the world in which I moved alone. —Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nick stopped at a red light six blocks from the grocery store on Main. The car was warm from sitting in the morning sun. He rolled down the window and pulled back his hood. He massaged his scalp through his tangle of hair and waited for the light to change.
He had a lot he wanted to do before Celeste got off work, but first, a shower.
The sound of thumping bass grew louder as a car rolled to a stop next to him on the left. Loud music and laughter.
“Hey there, buddy.”
Nick looked over. A clean-shaven college student sat in the passenger seat of a rusting Pontiac sedan. He wore a stocking cap and a smug smile.
A smartass.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” The boy gave him an exaggerated grin and two thumbs up. The cheesy smile made him look like a Howdy Doody puppet. The back windows had a dark tint, but Nick heard laughter from inside the car.
He didn’t have the time or inclination for smartasses.
But his eyes wandered. The boy’s timer was visible. Six inches up and just a little to the right. Three columns. Eleven rows. Two symbols—repeated.
ФФД
ДДД
ДФФ
ФДФ
ДДД
ФДД
ДДД
ДДД
ДДД
ДДД
ДДД
Nick stared. He looked at his watch, then back at the timer. Just over seventeen hours. The boy would die at 1:18 a.m.
The same time as Celeste.
Nick leaned forward to peer around the guy with the stocking cap. The driver was scrawny and looked closer to fourteen than sixteen. He wore bottle-cap glasses and had thick black hair.
But Howdy Doody blocked his view of the other guy’s timer. Nick shoved his car into park, opened the door, and got out of the vehicle.
Howdy Doody’s smile vanished, and the boy leaned further back into the car. “Hey, man, I was only—”
Nick leaned down, reached through the open window, and swatted the kid’s hand away from the window’s controls. Nick pushed him back against his seat. He heard gasps from the back but ignored them. The driver had his back against the far side of the car as if Nick was going to strike him. Nick looked at the space above the driver’s head.
1:18 a.m.
Howdy Doody pulled away from the window. He turned to the driver. “Go, man. Just go.”
“I can’t.” The driver’s voice was high-pitched and shaking. “The light . . . it’s still red.”
Nick stepped over to the rear window and knocked on the glass. He checked the door handle, but it was locked. He moved back to the passenger side window, pushing Howdy Doody against the dashboard.
He leaned into the car. The scent of cologne, perfume, and body odor filled his nose.
Two girls stared at him from the back seat. One of them looked frightened, but the other glared at him as if daring him to try something.
Both girls would be dead at 1:18 a.m.
“Green, it’s green! Go, go!”
The four-cylinder engine revved to life. The door frame jammed into Nick’s shoulder as it lurched forward, and he spun out of the car.
“Hold on,” Nick yelled. He slammed his palm on the top of the car as it sped up. “Are you going to the game tonight? Are you going to the game!”
He shouted the last words at the back of the retreating car. Frightened laughter and a whoop spilled out of the open window, but no answer came.
He zeroed in on the license plate.
695 RVV
A horn honked behind him. First a short blast, and then a second—longer and rude.
695 RVV
He turned to get back in his vehicle. A man dressed in bib overalls sat in a pickup truck behind Nick’s car. He spread out his arms in a what-the-hell gesture.
Nick made a fist and held it up, extending his middle finger. He shoved his fist further into the air, got in his car, and drove through the intersection.
695 RVV
Five students. Five deaths. A single time.
He gripped the steering wheel with trembling hands.
Son of a bitch.