The Burning Men: A Nathaniel Cade Story by Christopher Farnsworth
Authors: Christopher Farnsworth
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his radio already, a steady but insistent buzz of orders.
Zach tried desperately to find Cade again on the monitors.
He saw them. Cade standing too close to Novak. Novak looking past Cade at a TSA agent moving quickly toward them both.
And Novak about to raise his hands, mimicking the position of the first burned man in the theater.
Cade had no time and no choices.
He made his hand into a knife, his fingers straight, his palm flat.
And drove it into Novak’s chest as hard as he could.
There was a pop as his sternum gave way, barely audible in the noise of the airport. There was a flash of light as his skin split, and Cade’s hand was suddenly blistered by fire and heat. It blackened and peeled in a jet of flame that spit from Novak’s chest cavity, like a crack in the door of a blast furnace.
For a second, Cade thought he was already too late.
Then the fire in Novak’s eyes went out, replaced by surprise, and then, by emptiness.
The flame sputtered out, and became smoke. The smell of burned meat was overwhelmed by the grease from a nearby Burger King.
Novak’s body sagged forward onto Cade. He supported the corpse, his burned hand still halfway in the young man’s chest. He pulled it out and quickly scanned the damage. It was black and blistered and peeling; charred flakes of skin shed from his hand as he flexed and dark blood oozed from the cracks. It hurt, but he’d fed recently. It would heal before nightfall.
He remembered the TSA agent behind them, coming up fast.
He quickly hugged Novak’s corpse like he was greeting an old friend.
And then, before the TSA agent reached them, Cade hustled the dead body into the men’s restroom immediately to his left.
The female agent stopped suddenly, unsure of what to do.
Nobody paid much attention as Cade walked the still-cooling body into the restroom. They were nursing their own hangovers, trying to get to their flights on time.
Cade found an empty toilet stall and sat the dead man down. Then he spoke into his throat-mike again.
“Adam Thompson,” he said. “Where?”
Adam passed through the full-body scanner without so much as a blip. He’d heard those things gave you cancer over the long run, but that wasn’t his worry now.
Nobody anywhere near him was going to be dying of cancer.
He felt it building, a pleasant singing at the back of his skull. He picked up his phone from the tray on the belt of the X-Ray machine. He’d been forced to drop the call with Ty when his turn came up in line, but it wasn’t like they needed a phone to coordinate.
He’d see the explosion from here, or Ty would see him.
Either way, they were almost done.
He walked toward the gates, not really in a hurry, just enjoying the sensation as the heat and light grew inside him.
He watched a family, exhausted and sleepless and irritable, pass by. The little girl was holding her mother’s hand, the father was carrying a crying baby while simultaneously pushing a stroller and trying to wipe spit-up from his shirt.
Adam smiled at the little girl, and she smiled back.
It came to him now: this was the right thing to do. It didn’t have to be world leaders, or the banksters, or the high-tech overlords. These people were all just as guilty. They were the demand, the engine behind the economy, the ones driving it all into ruin. There would be no factories in China if these people didn’t buy all that toxic crap that spewed from them. There would be no cows grazing on clear-cut rainforest if these people didn’t gobble their burgers. There would be no islands of plastic in the ocean, no sewers choking on their shit, no diapers being filled and bulldozed into mountains of landfill. They clogged the world, and they needed to be burned out. And it would begin here, with him.
He’d be the trigger. He’d be the catalyst. He’d be the spark that ignited the real fire. People would run and scream and they would be afraid, and
Zach tried desperately to find Cade again on the monitors.
He saw them. Cade standing too close to Novak. Novak looking past Cade at a TSA agent moving quickly toward them both.
And Novak about to raise his hands, mimicking the position of the first burned man in the theater.
Cade had no time and no choices.
He made his hand into a knife, his fingers straight, his palm flat.
And drove it into Novak’s chest as hard as he could.
There was a pop as his sternum gave way, barely audible in the noise of the airport. There was a flash of light as his skin split, and Cade’s hand was suddenly blistered by fire and heat. It blackened and peeled in a jet of flame that spit from Novak’s chest cavity, like a crack in the door of a blast furnace.
For a second, Cade thought he was already too late.
Then the fire in Novak’s eyes went out, replaced by surprise, and then, by emptiness.
The flame sputtered out, and became smoke. The smell of burned meat was overwhelmed by the grease from a nearby Burger King.
Novak’s body sagged forward onto Cade. He supported the corpse, his burned hand still halfway in the young man’s chest. He pulled it out and quickly scanned the damage. It was black and blistered and peeling; charred flakes of skin shed from his hand as he flexed and dark blood oozed from the cracks. It hurt, but he’d fed recently. It would heal before nightfall.
He remembered the TSA agent behind them, coming up fast.
He quickly hugged Novak’s corpse like he was greeting an old friend.
And then, before the TSA agent reached them, Cade hustled the dead body into the men’s restroom immediately to his left.
The female agent stopped suddenly, unsure of what to do.
Nobody paid much attention as Cade walked the still-cooling body into the restroom. They were nursing their own hangovers, trying to get to their flights on time.
Cade found an empty toilet stall and sat the dead man down. Then he spoke into his throat-mike again.
“Adam Thompson,” he said. “Where?”
Adam passed through the full-body scanner without so much as a blip. He’d heard those things gave you cancer over the long run, but that wasn’t his worry now.
Nobody anywhere near him was going to be dying of cancer.
He felt it building, a pleasant singing at the back of his skull. He picked up his phone from the tray on the belt of the X-Ray machine. He’d been forced to drop the call with Ty when his turn came up in line, but it wasn’t like they needed a phone to coordinate.
He’d see the explosion from here, or Ty would see him.
Either way, they were almost done.
He walked toward the gates, not really in a hurry, just enjoying the sensation as the heat and light grew inside him.
He watched a family, exhausted and sleepless and irritable, pass by. The little girl was holding her mother’s hand, the father was carrying a crying baby while simultaneously pushing a stroller and trying to wipe spit-up from his shirt.
Adam smiled at the little girl, and she smiled back.
It came to him now: this was the right thing to do. It didn’t have to be world leaders, or the banksters, or the high-tech overlords. These people were all just as guilty. They were the demand, the engine behind the economy, the ones driving it all into ruin. There would be no factories in China if these people didn’t buy all that toxic crap that spewed from them. There would be no cows grazing on clear-cut rainforest if these people didn’t gobble their burgers. There would be no islands of plastic in the ocean, no sewers choking on their shit, no diapers being filled and bulldozed into mountains of landfill. They clogged the world, and they needed to be burned out. And it would begin here, with him.
He’d be the trigger. He’d be the catalyst. He’d be the spark that ignited the real fire. People would run and scream and they would be afraid, and
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