Chapter 47: Esther X Jerry

It took Esther Okerye an hour to arrive at Storm Lake where Jerry Shankar's presence had been confirmed. In the moonlight she could just barely make out the derelict buildings, the faint signs of a small community that was no more. At the center of the town square, the old courthouse had been completely taken over by weeds. Broken down signs along the street indicated where there was once a barber shop, a pool hall, a soda fountain. On the way to the school, where beams of light unapologetically dared all comers to approach, Esther saw less quaint locations. There was a tavern, a Chinese restaurant, a payday lending office. The few rooms that weren't boarded up were ominous and dark, with indistinct boxes and old machinery piled up on high.

Not quite the school, but the football stadium, was where Jerry Shankar was waiting. Of course, calling it a football stadium was a bit much. There wasn't any real seating, just bleachers, and they were in as bad a shape as the rest of the town. They were tall enough, and had a good enough vantage of the announcer's booth, that an ignorant person could easily be fooled into thinking they offered a superior tactical high ground. But Esther knew better. People on the bleachers were themselves highly visible and highly vulnerable 

Jerry Shankar was not on the field himself, of course, but in the announcer's booth where he could see all the action, typing. Esther saw him there furiously typing away on some ancient old computer system. Jerry saw her approach, yet by the time Esther had parked her motorcycle, gotten inside the building, and finally arrived in the booth herself, Jerry Shankar was still writing. He looked back at her.

"I'm very sorry but...I'm finishing a forums post. I'm almost done and then I'll be right with you. Please, have a seat.

Esther stood dumbly for a minute. A forums post? Was this really how the legendary Jerry Shankar spent his time? Posting on the Internet? Esther looked at the dusty old chairs available to her, and chose to keep standing.

"What are you writing about?" she asked.

"Oh nothing important, just dumb politics stuff," he said. Jerry then gave out an immense sigh of relief as he very dramatically pressed a button, presumably sending the post, although Esther was committed to skepticism in that regard. Jerry then turned around.

"All done! This is why I hang out here you know. Free WiFi signal. There's a very interesting story behind that actually. I imagine you're also wondering how it is that this place has electricity?"

"No," said Esther. "Why did you kill my sister?"

Jerry's expression, which up until then had been pleasant and cheerful, suddenly took on a dark hue. He breathed in and out slowly, looking down at the ground. Esther couldn't believe it at first, but Jerry seemed to be crying, though he was doing his best to suppress it.

"I'm sorry," said Jerry, sniffling. "I mean I knew was inevitable but I just can't believe that Jill Smith is...dead..."

"How did you know her?" asked Esther.

"Everybody knows Jill Smith," said Jerry. "She's a hero. You've seen what happened to this country after the Great Blackout. You saw what happened to this town. Iowa was no different."

Jerry stood up and looked out the window. Esther was struck by just how short and diminutive he was. Was this really the man she'd been hunting for so long? The hateful terror seeking to destroy the world.

"My home was a vast wasteland," said Jerry. "Nothing that could be grown or produced. What little there was always got stolen. I imagine it's in ruins now, just like everywhere else. But Storm Lake is the exception. As I go out across the Free State of Iowa, I see something different from the death and decay that's infected the rest of this country."

Jerry looked down at his feet. Esther could see that his eyes were on the brink of watering again. Esther had considered the possibility that this was all some sort of scheme. But she had dealt with plenty of cutthroats and liars during her time in the Social Justice Army. So far as Esther could tell, Jerry was being sincere.

"I coveted what Jill had, honestly. I wanted to work together with her but, well, she turned me down pretty persuasively," said Jerry with a sad smirk. "Well within her rights to, really. What fellowship could hope have with hatred?"

Esther considered the philosophy of her sworn enemy here. The strange thing about the Social Justice Army was that Esther had been in it for so long now, she wasn't even really sure why. They killed. For Esther it was for fun, but for everybody else, they always needed reasons. Just like Jill. Always headstrong. Always having her reasons. What influence could a man like Jerry Shankar ever have been able to exert on Jill Smith?

"So," said Jerry, to break an extended silence that had become increasingly awkward. "Why haven't you already killed me?"

It was strange that Jerry would be the first to bring this up. Usually Esther was the one who was laser-focused on eliminating the target no matter what. But then it had been a long time since Esther had much reason to think about Jerry Shankar at all. Too many other people to kill lately, all of them far less interesting.

"Ignore the question of your sister for a moment," Jerry said, sitting back down and leaning forward. "It is your job to kill me, isn't it? Or maybe take me in alive? How many years have you been chasing me at this point?"

Esther continued to stand in silence. She thought about the way Jerry was leaning in his chair. How she could easily snap his neck before he'd have any chance to so much as react. Jerry knew this. Confident blustery tone notwithstanding, Esther could detect his trembling.

"I've been thinking a lot about you," said Jerry. "Not in a um, sexual way or anything-"

"Even if you did I wouldn't care," said Esther, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand. "I hate meaningless apologies. Get on with it."

"I'm just wondering why you fight," Jerry continued, coming to a sudden stop, clapping his hands. He looked straight in her eyes. "Not just today. Not just the last time we met. From the very beginning. The first time you started fighting. Why?"

At this, Esther had to take a moment to think. Her childhood had been so miserable she didn't like dwelling on it. But spurred on by Jerry's question, Esther realized that in fact, she had always been fighting. Even that first, earliest memory she had was of picking a fight with a local bully. And yet...

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Jerry said. "But I really would give just about anything to know what you're thinking right now. What's your story?"

Logically Esther should have just refused to say anything. But then, Jerry had already pointed out the most obvious contradiction. Esther had not killed Jerry Shankar, nor tried to take him prisoner. Right now, none of that seemed to matter. And maybe actually talking about her memory might help her get to the bottom of that enigma..

"I was very young," said Esther. "Maybe this was thirty years ago? A little more than that? It's hard to say. Most kids can keep track of what they were doing by their birthdays, or what grade of school they were in, but...I didn't have anything like that. I had to work. I was on a drainage crew. The sewage system in the Quad Cities. This was the dirtiest, nastiest job, and it was being done by independent contractors. They needed someone kid-sized. And I was a kid, although they pretended like I wasn't. They were a little nuts. You ever heard of QAnon?"

"All I know," said Jerry. "Is that they thought the elites of this country were trafficking children for sexual purposes. I understand that the elites were doing that, of course, just not in the specific way QAnon claimed."

"Yeah," said Esther. "They took it pretty hard when Trump lost in 2020. They were convinced the world was going to end. Then one of them found my plan."

"Your plan?" asked Jerry.

"It was like a game I played," said Esther. "Just to challenge myself. Coming up with strategies to kill people. There was this one guy, a big drug dealer, a bit out of town. The guy who married my mom, after my dad died. The one I ran away from. He was nuts too, just not quite in the same way. He thought the drugs he was selling was saving people. This man…my stepfather, he built an empire on the bones of my biological father. The useless properties he owned, before he got wiped out in the 2008 financial crash."

"I've heard this story before," said Jerry. "The only man to be punished for his predatory practices. Coincidentally, of course, the only one who was dark-skinned."

"I hate that story," said Esther. "My father wasn't a good person. He didn't care about me. Not like the uncles did.

"The uncles?" said Jerry.

"Yeah," said Esther, shaking her head. "The men on my crew. The uncles. That's what they liked to call themselves, in relation to me. They wanted to know what the plan was for, who the person was I wanted to attack, and I told them. It wasn't anything to do with who he was. I didn't mention anything about trafficked children. They just assumed, of course, that I wanted to attack this man's fortress to save my mother. I wasn't motivated by anything like that. I just wanted to violently destroy something for the fun of it, and my stepfather's castle was the most impregnable structure I could think of. I'd never thought I could summon an army to actually do it, let alone do any of the fighting myself. It was just a thought experiment."

"So what happened?"

"They trained me. They trained themselves," said Esther. "For three months they were obsessed with this plan as a means of avenging Trump. In a way they were better off. Because they were doing this, they didn't go to Washington D.C. on January 6th. Which they further interpreted as a divine sign that they were on the right path, that this was their mission.

"The farce of the Old World," said Jerry, shaking his head in disgust. "It sounds even stupider when someone who was there is telling the story."

"I don't even remember any of their names," said Esther. "They pledged their lives to me. Several of them died for me. One of them even told me, send the bastard to hell. I got unfinished business with him."

Esther closed her eyes, remembering the vividness of that moment. Unconsciously, she smiled. Jerry noticed, raising an eyebrow.

"I still remember killing my stepfather. It was a hell of a fight. He was just as fanatical as the uncles were. His last words still haunt me. You can still save her."

Jerry raised an eyebrow. Esther noticed, but since Jerry didn't try to interrupt, she kept speaking.

"Jill was in the bathroom, tied to the sink. Like an animal. What did he think he was doing? Protecting her? When I found Jill, I didn't know what to think. I didn't even know I had a sister. Of course she was bawling her eyes out. When the uncles caught up with me, they naturally came up with the most charitable explanation possible. They thought I was too embarrassed or ashamed to tell them that all along I had just wanted to rescue my sister."

Esther opened her eyes. By then, Jerry had made sure to bring his eyebrows back down.

"You know the rest of my story, I imagine, of how I joined the Social Justice Army."

"The story I heard," Jerry said, "was that you fought for justice."

"Some days I believe that too," said Esther. "It's been a long time since I took a good look at that memory. But no, if I look at the person I was back then, and the one I am right now, the real reason isn't so noble. I chose to kill my stepfather for the fun of it. I chose a life of violence. Fate gave me the means to become what I am today. The uncles taught me everything they knew about killing. I didn't even much care where they learned it. But beyond what they taught me, I needed their recommendations, their willingness to lie about my age, to get me work as a mercenary. As an assassin. The stronger I became, the better my plans, the harder it got to get a job. I intimidated people."

"Racism, sexism…" said Jerry. "There's your story again. Your bitterness at that injustice. It led you to a higher cause."

"Not a higher cause," said Esther. "A cause that would hire me. And I didn't even want to join them at first. The Social Justice Army was little more than a tech startup. But then-"

Esther made a sudden panicked movement. They weren't alone.

"We need to leave," said Esther. "Now."

"There's no need to run," said Jerry, "this booth is protected by an energy shield."

Esther stood still as piercing silent lightning spread from the bleachers and hit the booth. The energy shield contained the blast easily.

"Might I ask how you knew they were there?" said Jerry, cowering with his arms over his head. The gesture was pointless, given the shield, but Jerry was only human after all. It was a reflex reaction.

"The sudden silence," said Esther, standing tall, scoping out the position of their attackers. "The twelfth division has the ability to modify sound fields. They used it to hide their approach."

"And yet, you knew they were there?" asked Jerry.

"The silence created by the field is unnatural," said Esther. "It blocks out ambient noise."

Another blast of lightning fell. Once again, it was easily absorbed by the shield.

"I have to admit it's rather unnerving," said Jerry, "to be attacked by silent lightning bolts."

"But you were expecting an attack," said Esther.

"Oh absolutely," said Jerry, slowly coming to his feet, steadying himself. Acting as if he needed to start running.

"How long is this shield going to hold out?" asked Esther.

"It can take maybe five or six more hits?" said Jerry, as they endured another one. "But that's plenty, since the real plan was for me to just do this."

Jerry touched something in his coat. Esther couldn't see it. The lights powered down. Esther was unimpressed. Of course the Social Justice Army had night vision. But then she felt the shockwave. The shockwave didn't hurt, although her immediate impression was naturally-

"What did you just do?"

"That was an electromagnetic pulse. All electrically based equipment and weaponry nearby is now worthless. They're stranded out here now. Tell me, as their commander, how long do you think it will take the Social Justice Army to locate help?"

"A day at least," said Esther, unflinching. "An electromagnetic weapon like that won't affect their cybernetic systems, but none of them have anything practical that will help them make it back to base without proper support."

"That much huh?" said Jerry, beaming. "I figured the ones who can run really fast would be able to get somewhere in maybe half that time."

"No," said Esther, shaking her head. "Their abilities are designed around combat functions. Running more than a few kilometers at that speed would completely destroy their bodies. But then they're idiots, so that wouldn't stop them from trying."

Esther wryly smiled at how satisfying it was to talk about the Social Justice Army so bluntly. Jerry noticed.

"You have an awfully low opinion of your own soldiers."

"They're not soldiers," Esther said, suddenly emboldened. "They're imbeciles. They use cybernetics like toys. They'd be useless in an actual army facing any kind of serious organized threat. Their technological edge is the only one they have, and it only goes so far. I mean look at them. Here we are just babbling on, and they still don't have a plan of attack to just rush us."

"Yeah, about that," said Jerry. "I really should be going. I brought some bicycles. You're welcome to come with me."

"I think not," said Esther, firmly grabbing Jerry by the arm. "You're my ticket out of here alive."

Jerry stared, initially in blank incomprehension. Then, his face slowly contorted into a vicious snarl. Esther found herself taken aback, yet oddly comforted. This was the Jerry Shankar she was used to, the one who appeared in those videos on the Internet.

"Are you daft, woman!?" he said, futilely but ferociously struggling against her. "You can't possibly be stupid enough to think they'd take you back. They saw you talking to me. You're garbage just like me as far as they're concerned!"

"Not necessarily," said Esther blankly. "I doubt they did any kind of proper reconnaissance and actually saw or heard anything we talked about. They probably don't even know it's me yet."

"And what if they did?" Jerry snorted. "Have any of these imbeciles, as you called them, ever expressed the slightest bit of appreciation for what you've done? I know all about you Esther Okerye. I know that every time there's ever been an engagement between the Social Justice Army and anyone else, you're around somewhere. And if you're not, the battles goes disastrously. These people need your orders. But do any of them even like you?"

"That's besides the point," said Esther. "The mission-"

"Is meaningless!" Jerry screamed. "What have you ever accomplished working with these buffoons? I have a pirate Internet broadcast and I've changed the entire fate of this country! The people here all hate you! They're terrified of you! All you've ever done is make your own mission objectives impossible! Look at your sister! Killed pointlessly because she harbored this stupid delusion that we could all just get along!"

Esther calmly but surely let go of Jerry Shankar's arm. She started to crack her knuckles. Now this was a man who she could enjoy hurting. Then, in a bout of abrupt mania, Jerry started laughing.

"Oh, I get it! Don't think I don't!" he cackled. "But before you do anything you might regret, ask yourself something. Am I really the person here you want to hurt the most?"

Esther stopped.

"I respect you, Esther Okerye. I know exactly what you're capable of and I don't underestimate you. I've seen the way you fight, and I've seen the way the rest of the Social Justice Army fights. And I bet you could murder every last one of them with your bare hands."

Esther looked out to the bleachers. Even now, did they have any kind of plan for a counterattack? If they did know she was there, did they realize how much they needed one?

"You wanted a challenge?" Jerry hissed, with a deliberate snakelike rasp, right in Esther's ear. "This is a challenge."

Esther took a breath. There was no going back. But then, that decision had already been made without her input.

"Are the lights still operational?" she asked. "Is that why you turned them off before using the weapon?"

"Huh?" said Jerry, lapsing back into his calmer self with the tonal change. "Well, yes, why? Do you want me to turn them on? They'll see us."

"They can already see us," Esther said. "They have night vision. What they don't have is protection from extreme light. Blare them as strong as possible to give me cover, and shut them off again after ten seconds."

"All right," Jerry nodded as he crouched down behind the desk. "On the count of three. One, two-"

Of course, Esther didn't have protection from extreme light either. But she knew what she needed to do- and they didn't. On the way out of the announcer's booth, Esther grabbed a long thick metal pipe and started smashing the support for the bleachers, moving around the stadium's full oval. Not all of the bleachers crashed- Esther surmised that she only knocked down a third of them. This was plenty. The unexpected fall crippled all the Rainbow Shirts unlucky enough to be caught up in it. The others, seeing the crashes and feeling the shaking on their own bleachers, attempted a quick escape- and many of them seriously hurt themselves in the process.

The lights had been returned to normal brightness. Though annoyed at Jerry Shankar for failing to follow instructions, Esther had to admit the bewildered looks on the faces of the various Social Justice Ary sldiers were worth the tactical loss. The best looks came from the ones who jumped down from bleachers that remained standing. Besides, all the dust that flared up from the collapse was almost as good as the bright light. Esther had kept her eyes closed to prevent them from adjusting anyway.

Using the dust storm as cover, Esther started pummeling any standing soldier she could find in the back with quick lethal blows. Eventually they got a track on her location. Esther sussed out which survivors had gimmicky ranged weapons, and immediately ran forward to counter.

As expected, a boomerang popped up. Esther grabbed the weapon and hurled it back. Her timing needed to be perfect, and it was. The explosion produced further confusion. Esther guessed that any other soldiers with explosive weapons would now hesitate to use them. This was fortunate, since the goofy boomerang gimmick was the only explosive weapon she could realistically counter.

Esther started pounding at the bleachers again. On one end this allowed her to make sure there were no survivors, for whichever bleachers fell next. Also any remaining stragglers would probably jump off of them by now, losing yet another critical advantage. But the sound distraction also worked to provoke soldiers into attacking Esther's after-image, as they ineffectively went after the sounds she was making, and were chronically left one step behind. Finally, Esther faced the remaining soldiers, being sure to take them on one at a time while they were still spread out and disoriented enough to not try overwhelming her with sheer numbers.

The ones who specialized in strength were easy enough to subdue. Esther simply grabbed whatever large, thick object she could and goaded them into punching it. For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. Punching a wall might make for some cool selfies, but the Social Justice Army didn't generally make a habit of punching centimeters thick steel for the fun of it. Once their hands were broken, strength augmentations were a lot less useful.

Speed augmentations required more gimmicky counter-attacks. Esther hastily constructed apparatuses at the mid-knee level- just barely enough that they couldn't be seen. Before being able to launch a good hit, the soldiers with speed augmentations would be crippled from hitting a hard object at high speeds, and a broken leg vastly limited the usefulness of speed augmentations.

Skill-focused opponents were actually the easiest to deal with at all. The problem with most martial arts or hand-to-hand sword styles is that, cool as they look, such attacks are always intended to be used in the context of games with implied rules. Your typical fascist in the middle of nowhere may not know much judo, but Esther did. And while throwing an opponent off to the side may not look all that cool, it got the job done with what few soldiers were confident enough to think they could take Esther on one-on-one.

Those with weapons, rather than just their fists, were little better. Most of the time, Esther could simply break an attack head-on by mutilating their exposed weapon right before impact. More elaborate weapons could be dispatched via similarly crude means. Indestructible armor could not protect its wearer from internal shock impact. Disorienting manipulation moves were useless provided Esther attacked with as wide a girth as possible. The projectile weapons were so low accuracy they were barely worth bothering with. Esther disabled her own hearing to avoid being hit by sound based attacks or misdirection, while leaving a recorder on to detect minor noises that signaled movement and warned her accordingly via vibration. Noxious gases could be anticipated by Esther's heightened sense of smell- and they also inevitably gave away the location of whoever launched them.

Esther thrilled in the battle. She loved playing self-defense. It wasn't that she thought it was honorable to fight in such a way, or ethical. Rather, it was just efficient. Esther had counters to every possible move- and the weak spots that were exposed in the aftermath.

At long last, when all the blood had spilled and every member of the Social Justice Army's twelfth division was neutralized, either through death or debilitating injury, Esther slowed down. She licked the sweat off of her lips and approached Jerry Shankar in his booth. So entranced was Jerry by Esther's performance that it hadn't even occurred to him to flee for his own safety. Jerry was clapping and smiling when Esther pulled a traditional firearm out and pointed it at his head. Jerry Shankar slowly stopped clapping and took a demure tone.

"If you had that this entire time," he said, "why didn't you use it on the Rainbow Shirts?"

"Well," Esther said, with a shrug and a grin. "I liked what you said about murdering them all with my bare hands."

"Felt good didn't it?"

"Yes it did," said Esther. "And I bet killing you will feel good too."

"Hold on," Jerry said. "Are we really so different? Ask yourself what life holds for you after this. Sure, you can destroy the Social Justice Army, kill what stragglers are left. But my ambitions are far greater than that. I mean look, honestly, I barely even care about the Social Justice Army. To me, they're just the main visible arm of the real monsters, the ones who have us all fighting each other for pocket change while they destroy what little of the world we have left. That's what hatred can offer you Esther. It's the condiment for your screams. Think about how much pleasure killing will give you, when you know exactly how much each and every person you silence deserves it."

"I like you Jerry Shankar," said Esther. "It amazes me to say it, but I rather genuinely like you. I just have one question. Once you've shown me everyone who deserves to die, what if I turn on you next?"

"Oh, believe me," Jerry said, smiling. "I would love it if you had the guts. When people want to kill me, they just want to kill my ideas. They pull their punches when it comes to me directly. They don't get it. I hate myself the most of all. Aiming that hatred at other people? That's just my idea of being constructive."

Esther put down her gun. She put her arms around Jerry's shoulders. They laughed and laughed and laughed.