I find the woman jammed into a bedroom, tryingfrantically to open a window. She must work here. I wonder why shewas in the store so late at night. I hear some screaming from thefirst floor; maybe she was engaged in some dark rendezvous with asecret lover. I try to comfort her as I stagger across the room,my girl following after me. “It’s okay, I don’t care what youwere doing. It doesn’t matter. The petty shit comes to an end rightnow, and your real life begins.”The woman claws at the latch on the window. Shecan’t figure it out. Poor soul.My girl isn’t so understanding. She pulls aheadof me and grabs the woman’s hair, yanking her away. “He’strying to talk to you, ya stupid bitch!”“Don’t be so rough,” I protest, lovinglylatching my teeth onto the woman’s belly. As I pull part of it awayI have to speak up to be heard, as the woman is screaming. “We’retrying to help these people. Don’t you remember what it was like toget hurt?”“You don’t look like you’re bein’ anyeasier on her.” My girl dips down and chews on the woman’sthroat. Her friends join in the fun, and soon the woman’s bodyisn’t worth eating anymore. I playfully punch my girl’s shoulder. “Well,didn’t your mom teach you not to pull on a girl’s hair?”She shrugs. “Meh, she was a bitch too.”Wiping away a crimson handprint, I look out thewindow. The police are out further up the street, their tasty skincovered in riot gear. They appear to be holding the converts backwith their shields – and doing a poor job of it. I’m sure theguns will be out soon, not that they’ll be worth a whole lot. I getthe feeling bullets don’t work that well.
I hope they won’t work, anyway. If they do thismovement’s going to die just as it’s beginning. Hrm.I head back downstairs, nearly tumbling the wholeway, and my girl follows. The woman we’ve converted will find us ina few hours, once she wakes up. She’s not the concern anymore: nowI’m scared for the rest of the converts, the ones taking the fightto the streets. I may love my new philosophy and the form it’screated, but I don’t yet understand its limits. I need to lend somestrategy to my troops if we’re to succeed against the savages.My troops. Hm. Not a great thought. But this is awar, isn’t it? A battle against a wide-scale evil, one that doesn’trecognize how wrong it is? There are few revolutions without wars.Unlike the wars I watched regularly on the news, however, the onesthat barely stirred me to any interest, this is one that must be won.For the good of mankind.“Cut them off!” I bellow, pointing my convertsdown alleyways. I barely register that my girl’s friends havehoisted me onto their shoulders so I can get a better view of thebattle. “Don’t just charge ahead blindly! Get behind them andsplit their ranks!”The front ranks remain solid, pushing at theshields and held back. More than a few converts listen to me,however, streaming down alleyways and behind buildings to get aroundthe solid wall of riot gear. I know the back roads of this town, andI know the police don’t pay them much attention – especially whendanger’s up front.It works. The converts are wise enough to go aheadalmost a block before doubling back, pinning the police between twofronts. The last I see of blue uniforms is a few splashes of red,pulled under a wave of peeling skin and joyous mouths.I fall, the shoulders beneath me almost crumblingunder my weight. I guess I should be thankful that my shamblingcohorts could keep me up for that long.
One of them helps me to my feet. He’s notlooking so good himself, as one of his arms has been badlydislocated. “We’re gonna need to get you somethin’ with a motorto ride around in, boss, if you’re gonna talk to the troops.”Damn. Now even they’re saying it.Chapter 6Okay, so maybe I made a mistake mixing religionwith philosophy.It’s been done before, I think. Philosophy is away of looking at the world around you, and religion explains theunexplainable. I can see how they’d work together in principle, andmaybe even in function. For this following, though... I should’vesteered away from the religious stuff.They have a name for me, now. I’m called TheBalancing Point. That damn Philosophy student gave it to me,proclaiming it to the crowds with a reverent awe that just bugs thehell out of me. Even worse, everybody bowed. Or tried to bow, anyway.Took a good fifteen minutes to get everyone off the ground again.I didn’t start this movement to become a leader,but as soon as our initial assault ended and the cops were converteda huge portion of the crowd hailed me as a hero. Then I got that damnname. It’s so pretentious. Wasn’t I trying to get rid ofhierarchy and make everyone equal?Shoulda just gone to the cottage and stayed there.If I’d just unveiled a philosophy and whisperedit to people within getting too high and mighty, I would have avoidedthe religious path. I would have been a wise man amidst the crowd,someone who was respected for their knowledge – but not seen as agreat leader. Now, as The Balancing Point, I’m heralded as the headof a new wave of thought.
Shit.I guess it could be worse, though. Even if I’m aleader, I’m not a tyrant. I recognize the value of setting asidethis earthly crap, and once I’ve led all of the converts to freedom– not to mention brought joy to every corner of the planet – Ican toss this crown away. Then we’ll all be equal, and we’ll allbe happy, and I won’t have a name again. Bye bye Mr. BalancingPoint.Anyway. Things are going well! The converts – Iguess they’re my converts now, just like I have my girl, myphilosophy – have overrun the city. The rest of the police forcedidn’t put up a huge fight, and the savages who couldn’t get awayfrom us in time have seen the light. I’ve ordered a pause for aday, so everybody, new and old, can enjoy what they’re meant toenjoy: the serenity of the world. Can’t work all the time.When I leave my house – which, embarrassingly,has become a weird holy shrine, surrounded constantly by worshippers– I see the joy in the faces around me. As I plod through thestreets I revel in the vacant wonder as my converts stare atsidewalks, or trashcans, or bloodstains, or ants on the march, or atthe assembling armed forces presence in the distant suburbs. They allsway to tuneless music and mumble litanies of gratitude to oneanother, and though the city is quiet and slow it’s never reallysilent. The atmosphere is fantastic.But it’s not enough. This is just one city, andthere’s a long way to go. The itch in my mouth tells me that thereare still billions of sad souls waiting to be converted, even if theyhave to go kicking and screaming into the light. So we only get aday’s rest, and I don’t get to share in the peace – I have tothink. That’s my curse, so long as the savages exist: my mind can’tsit in vacuous repose like everyone else.Being a leader sucks.I will admit, though, that thinking tactically isfun. I used to play war games all the time with my friends. A bitnerdy, yes, but what do you expect? I obsessed over computers. Atleast this knowledge will serve my philosophy well.
One of the most important aspects of this takeoverwas allowing some of the savages to escape. I personally attacked,and allowed to retreat, more than ten savages, and since each onlysuffered a small bite it will take a while before they reallyunderstand what’s happening. They’ll go on to other cities,perhaps even other countries, and they’ll take the message withthem. Then, when they wake up, they can spread the good word to allthe folks who need help.There is one worrying aspect of all this, however:guns. Guns can hurt us. I guess I was cocky earlier, when I thoughtthat guns wouldn’t be a huge worry. They are. Not to the body, butto the head. A bullet to the brain seems to stop us in our tracks forgood. Makes sense – this is a cerebral movement.But that army... that army. Worrying. They have alot of guns, and judging by those grim faces they intend to fire onus. Hell, maybe they’ll do something worse, like bomb the city. Idon’t think my brain can survive napalm.I accounted for that, at least. There are numerousbuildings throughout the city, surrounded by converts, that stillcontain a few dirty savages. Every now and then I order the convertsto execute a poorly-aimed attack that give the savages a chance toescape. Proof to the army that their citizens are still here, stillindoctrinated to their blind, speedy life. But how long can I keepthis up? How long will it be before some crazed general decides toblast the shit out of the city?This is what I’m pondering as I sit on the stepsof city hall, slumped against a pillar and watching the lamplightsflicker. My girl is with me, though I think she’s watching a spiderchew on her skin. I wonder if spiders can see the light.“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask, wrinklingmy nose to adjust my glasses. I can’t afford to lose another eye;maybe the glasses will help keep it in.
“Fuck, ‘course I am. This is heaven.” Shetries to tap the spider. Instead she strikes her skin, leaving alittle furrow. Her fingernail peels off. “What’s next on theagenda, though?”Still impatient, but it’s a fair question. Ipoint beyond the city, my arm creaking. I wonder how much longer itwill take for my limbs to fall off. “That. Them. The army. We can’treally leave without taking out the army.”“Yep.” She kisses my cheek. I don’t feel it.I don’t feel much of anything anymore, which, I suppose, is thecore of serenity. “So how do we do it? You’re the militarygenius.”I scoff at that. I’m no genius. I’m just a manwith an idea. Unfortunately for my argument, I do have an idea, and Ilay it out for her. She just smiles and gives me an ‘I told you so’look with her milky, hollow expression. Her affection amuses me: backwhen I was savage, she probably would’ve been one of thosesnot-nosed college students who annoyed me every day, and not muchelse. Funny how things work out.I give my converts a few more hours of rest, then,around 3 a.m. – I think it’s 3 a.m., though I don’t exactlywear a wristwatch anymore – I gather a group of some of the latestrecruits. They’re still relatively limber, their hands and arms andlegs not yet seized by the full glory of stiffened conversion, butwholly dedicated to the cause. I lead them to my dad’s place, a small apartmentin the heart of the city, not far from city hall. He moved there whenmom died, no longer willing to maintain an entire house without helpand unwilling to move to the cottage. I’m not sure where he is now;I hope he’s been caught by my converts. It’d be sad to think thathe might die without seeing the light, especially considering howhard the last few years have been for him.