Even if the signs were hidden, Steve could just look at a person and know their caste.
Those marked with the triangles were hatchling hosts, walking incubators who were soon to give up their lives for the glory of God’s very first creation.
Then there were the mothers- and fathers-to-be, people already swelling with God’s love. Soon they would be moved away from the city center to areas where humans huddled in offices and stores and apartment buildings. When these parents blossomed, the winter wind would carry spores to places that the Chosen could not reach.
The triangle-tongues made up the main body of Steve’s growing army. Stable and reliable, but also vicious, hungry and smart. Not as intelligent as he was, of course, but capable of thinking for themselves, able to follow orders to the letter or problem-solve when those orders no longer made any sense.
A scant few of the faces below belonged to leaders, people closer to Steve’s own intelligence. Like him, these individuals showed no outward sign of any kind. Yet, they had something inside of them, something that called to the other castes, made the hatchling hosts and triangle-tongues and parents-to-be want to follow, made them need to please and obey.
And God’s final creation: the bulls. Steve didn’t know who had first used that nickname, but it fit perfectly. Something to do with local sports teams, apparently. There were very few bulls so far; many had perished during the conversion process, either in their cocoons or shortly after hatching. Whole-scale restructuring of the human body carried a high risk of failure.
Steve had ordered his few “finished” bulls to stay out of sight for now. Bulls were harder to control. They were more violent than even the triangle-tongues. The last thing Steve needed was fighting among the people.
Soon, however, he’d let his bulls run.
All of these castes would do anything he said. They would obey. They would kill. If he asked them to, they would die.
He raised his hands; they fell silent.
“My friends,” he said. “This is the start of something wonderful.”
His words echoed slightly off the stone walls, making him feel far more grand, far more powerful. His speech carried the will of God.
“You have been chosen,” he said. “Every one of you feels this in your heart, just as I do. You used to be workers and bosses, teachers or policemen. You used to be shopkeepers and soldiers. You served in a hundred other roles. What you were before no longer matters, because now we are one.”
The smiles, the nods, the wide-eyed stares of bliss. They knew. They believed.
“Everyone here understands that humans are the enemy, that they must be destroyed,” Steve said. “We will accomplish that, but we can’t act like animals. The American military will strike back, and soon. They will start with the cities where the violence is out of control, where it is clear our people have taken over. We can’t help those other cities. We can only help ourselves. Therefore, as we accomplish our goals, we have to draw as little attention as possible.”
Heads nodded. Some put hands over hearts. Some even cried. The power of God flowed through Steve Stanton.
He had seen the news coverage of Paris. He had to make sure his followers didn’t do anything stupid like that. Cities mattered.
“Spread the word — do not destroy power facilities. Leave all power lines and transformers alone. Do not destroy any communication. Telephone lines, utility poles, cell-phone towers, leave them all be. And no more fires. If any of you see a Chosen One setting a fire, kill that person and make an example of them. Am I understood?”
A thousand heads nodded.
“We will use their own communication systems against them,” he said. He pointed to his ear. “The humans are listening. Only the heads of individual groups may have a cell phone. Do not talk about being Chosen on phones, on the Internet, or in emails. I will distribute code words that you will pass on to others by face-to-face meetings only. If I need to make everyone act at once, we’ll broadcast those code words. We must be careful so that the outside world doesn’t suspect our numbers.”
The heads nodded faster, more intently. They understood.
“As you spread through the city, find others of our kind. Tell them about me, tell them I am in charge. If you find humans who are not converting, kill them. Who here has served in the military?”
Along the descending stairs and down on the main floor, forty-odd hands rose.
“Excellent,” Steve said. “All of you, come up and meet with me when I dismiss the rest. Everyone else, when you leave here, find me more soldiers. Ask for military experience, and ask specifically for anyone who served in a reserve unit in this area. If there are weapons in or around Chicago, we need them.”
Steve again put his hands on the cool, stone railing. He leaned forward, letting the motions come naturally, letting the intensity build. His past, the shy, awkward thing he’d once been, it all seemed a bad dream. Power coursed through him. He could control the Chosen Ones as easily as he’d controlled the Platypus.
“The world is about to change, forever,” he said. “We will make this city ours. Soon after that, the entire country.” He stood straight. He raised his arms, spread them wide. “When the Chosen in other cities are tearing themselves apart, tearing their cities apart, Chicago will stand tall. From here, we will rule. The time of humanity is over, Chosen Ones — your time has come!”
Their roaring cheer filled the open space, echoed off the marble walls, made Steve’s skin ripple with goose bumps.
This thousand would spread through the streets, gathering others of their kind, killing any who were not. In a day, this city would be under his control.
Chicago was only the beginning.
THE TRUMP TOWER
The fire stairs had seen him safely down. Cooper prayed they would see him safely up. It was smarter than taking the elevator, anyway: who knew what those doors might open up to?
Sofia couldn’t climb the steps on her own. That burst of strength she’d used to kill Chavo was already a distant memory. Cooper kept his left arm around her waist, helping her along. His right hand stayed locked on the cool, comforting feel of the pistol.
Two switchback flights led from the subbasement to the basement level. Another pair would lead to the ground floor. He’d helped her up six steps to the first landing, halfway to the basement level, and his legs were already burning.
“Cooper… I’m not doing so great.”
“You have a fever,” he said. “Maybe your wound is infected.”
“That fast?”
He shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I think we have to find a drugstore or a hospital, get you antibiotics.”
There had to be drugstores close by. He could find her some medicine, then maybe they could make their way to the Mary Ellen. Jeff was nowhere to be found, and — Cooper hated to admit it — after seeing that empty cocoon membrane, he was no longer sure he wanted to find Jeff.
He helped Sofia up another step.
“Just a little more,” Cooper said. “Make it to the ground floor, then we’ll peek into the lobby and see if the coast is clear.”