SWAT Sergeant Hall considered telling me to leave, or perhaps something more emphatic. I could see it in his eyes. If he could see my face, I am sure he would have nodded and ignored everything I said, even though I had saved his life on two separate occasions. The mask over my face is a relief. It covers my eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips. It hides my curse and makes discussions such as this one easier.
I have become known as Stealth, although it is not a name of my choosing. I believe some people consider it a “sexy” name appropriate for a female hero. I am, in fact, a beautiful woman and have been all my life. It has never made a difference to me, and I have made no special efforts or arrangements to either preserve or enhance my looks, but I have been reminded of this fact by every man I have ever met and several women as well. In that sense, beauty has become like a rash I cannot rid myself of, but is not worth the effort of removing by some drastic measure.
“You cannot reason with them,” I told Hall again. “They cannot be intimidated by displays of force or numbers. Your men must begin aggressive measures if you hope to hold them back.”
“And by aggressive you mean killing them?” He glanced back at the wall of riot vehicles waiting to move out. In the distance we could hear the loudspeaker warnings and faint cries. “I can’t order my men to fire on sick civilians.”
“If it helps you and your men, by any possible definition the infected are already dead. As the President said in his address, they are ex-humans, no longer alive.” I gave a slow nod from my position on the wall. A quick-release carabineer on a drainpipe created the illusion I was clinging to the bricks above him, yet another sleight of hand to give me power and authority. “Do not attempt shots to cripple or immobilize. They will have no effect. Only decapitation or destruction of the brain.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need to hear more of this zombie-movie bullshit.”
“It is the most effective method.”
“Great. Maybe next we can try fighting them with the Force.”
One of the other SWAT officers shouted above the din. “Snipers have movement three blocks south. A group of infected coming this way.” They looked to Hall for a decision.
I understood bad decisions. As a junior in high school I participated in three successive beauty pageants: Teen California, Teen USA, and Teen Universe. The Teen Universe was the one I was interested in because it came with a full scholarship to the college of my choice. Winning the other two were merely requirements in reaching that goal. In retrospect, this chain of decisions may have been the worst mistake of my life.
My eyes met his again. “I understand your frustration, Sergeant Hall, but we are running out of time. The chances of containing this outbreak are already low.”
“Do you know what’ll happen if we start shooting at civilians?”
“I have an excellent idea of what will happen if you do not.”
He shook his head. “The CDC will be here in--”
“They will not come,” I told him. “There have been major outbreaks on the east coast around Washington. All resources are being focused there. It is up to you and your men to contain this here. I will give you all the help I can.”
Another call came from the vehicles. As Hall turned, I reached back, released the carabineer, and swung to the left. The trick to moving swiftly while climbing is using your arms and minimizing your legs. I slid around the corner and up.
Sergeant Hall was right-handed, which meant he favored his right side overall. I had chosen my “crouching” position on the wall before hand, and it allowed me a quick exit to his left. When he turned back from the armored barricades, his eyes first passed through all the space I had occupied. When something vanishes from sight, human nature is to look side to side first, then up. Since his head was already moving left, he would turn his eyes back to the right, giving me a few seconds to complete my “disappearance” and add to the illusion.
Not all my power is sleight of hand. I graduated class valedictorian with eight new school records in track and field. I had also broken most of the weightlifting records, but this was overlooked because my school did not have a women’s weightlifting team. Despite the fact both MIT and Yale offered me full scholarships, my guidance counselor, Mr. Passili, suggested I might want to use my pageant prizes to attend one of the “easier” colleges “better suited to a young woman like yourself.”