The Immortal Coil by J. Armand

how they would break the news of a mutant outbreak. I didn’t hear anything else on the police scanner, so it’s most likely an isolated incident the federal government will come in to clean up.”
    The subway reached its next stop, letting on a pregnant woman and little girl. A few minutes later, Lyle gave me a funny look and subtly motioned to the sleeping man. I checked, but I didn’t notice whatever he was trying to point out.
    We had to get off at the next stop so we could transfer. I looked down at the man as we left the train and instantly saw what was wrong. Black veins were spreading along his hand at an alarming rate. The doors to the subway were just closing when we both heard the familiar death rattle. Lyle put his hand to block the door and grabbed the man, dragging him out of the subway car.
    “This guy is sick, call an ambulance!” Lyle shouted to a couple of cops on the platform to get their attention before disappearing into the crowd. I stood there by myself now with the man at my feet until my phone vibrated in my pocket; it was Lyle calling. “Meet me up on the street. I couldn’t let them see me.”
    Lyle wasn’t wasting any time getting out of the area. He had already hailed a taxi when I caught up to him and was waving me over to hurry up. “This is either spreading really fast, or we’re being targeted,” he whispered to me after telling our driver where to go.
    “You know, if you want to blend in when we get to Boston, you should trade that Yankees hat for the Red Sox. I’m just saying.”
    “I’d rather be thrown in jail for life,” he laughed. “Are you a baseball fan?”
    “In spirit, I guess. I used to go to the games all the time with my dad until recently. I follow mixed martial arts now. I tried going to a match with him, but all he kept talking about was how he couldn’t understand why people would put their bodies through that pain on purpose.”
    “Yeah, I kind of agree with him there. I grew up the same way. My dad practically raised me at Yankee Stadium and I still go every chance I get.”
    There was a pause in the conversation. I wanted to ask how his father died, but wasn’t sure if he would be comfortable talking about it. He did mention it on his own last night so maybe he wouldn’t mind.
    “You said your dad was a cop too?” I asked.
    “Yup. Eighteen years on the force.” There was a strong sense of pride in his voice followed by another pause. I was about to drop the subject when he continued on his own. “He died a hero. I was only eleven, but I remember it like it was yesterday.”
    “How did it happen?” I asked.
    “Some scumbag had held up a liquor store in Hamilton Heights and was fleeing the scene in a stolen car. The officers chasing him said the guy was suspected to be high on something. He was driving against traffic to escape when my dad heard the APB over the radio.
    “My dad prevented the guy from plowing through a playground full of children. He intercepted the car with his own, but was killed when the scumbag T-boned him. He gave his life to save all those kids and their families. They say he died instantly, so at least he didn’t suffer. If I turn out to be even half the man he was, half the hero, I’d consider my life fulfilled.”
    “What happened to the other guy?”
    “He got sentenced to life in prison, but walked away from the wreck with only a few broken ribs, whiplash and a concussion.”
    “Wow. That’s not fair.”
    “Nah, justice was served. I know my dad is up in heaven with an unlimited supply of cold beer and free access to any game he wants to watch.”
    “That’s a good way of putting it. I don’t know, I think I’d hold more animosity if I were in your position.”
    “Trust me, I did for a long time, but killing a person because you’re angry isn’t justice. My dad always told me, ‘treat others how you’d want to be treated.’ That’s the philosophy I still live by today. It took a lot for me to get