by Carl Damen
A moment passed, and then the other helicopters swung into view. The other drop-zone transport opened fire, and Jack hurled himself from the deck even as the helicopter began to disintegrate under a hail of bullets.
Jack found himself falling towards a flat, snowy roof-top, turned himself so he would come down on his right arm. One more injury might make it permanently useless, but it was worth it if his left arm was still usable for the next few minutes.
He hit. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and he lay gasping in a snow bank, the cold wetness digging into his burned palm feeling so good.
From the street below there was a tremendous rending of metal as his helicopter, rotors still flying by at blinding speed, impacted parked cars and the fronts of buildings.
Jack tried to focus, to survive, but this had all... been... too...
He blinked, woke up, found he was still alive, still cold. Now, he could hear fire crackling under the sound of two helicopters passing by overhead.
Inventory, now: Legs, stretched and sore, still functioning; left arm, burned, bruised, good enough; right arm... best not to think about that. Head? Possibly concussed. For the rest? Friction burns, contusions, tears... the looseness of his skin spoke to the sudden weight loss he had experienced over the past... five minutes? So much fat consumed, so few calories left; he couldn't keep this up.
The remaining drop-zone transport had its machine gun readied, reloaded, aimed down at him. Jack saw the gunner, felt the gunner, felt the mind riding piggy back on his nervous system, felt its attachments. Ken was looking through the gunner's eyes, feeling his heart race in anticipation of the kill, was about to jerk the trigger finger... but overall, his mind lay lightly over the gunner's. The gunner felt he had orders, was willing to fulfill them, didn't need constant hand-holding.
So Jack took the open hand and jerked.
Just before Ken pulled the gunner's trigger finger, the gunner swung around, aimed at the passenger helicopter floating some hundred feet away. And before Ken had a chance to realize what was happening, he ordered his own death.
The gunner opened up, ripped through the other helicopter, brought it crashing down towards the roof Jack was on. The tar-paper construct wasn't made to take the kind of weigh the helicopter represented and the great machine broke through, crashing down into hopefully abandoned apartments.
The roof beneath him twisted and sloped down to where the helicopter was rapidly sinking out of sight, and Jack found himself sliding towards the still-whining fantail. He grabbed at a pipe sticking trough the tar-paper and managed to catch himself under the armpit.
Above, the gunner stopped firing, and the still-flying helicopter waited. Below, deep inside the building, something caught fire, and the entirety of the downed helicopter, its tail still visible, burst into flame.
As the edges in the hole in the roof caught fire, Jack scrambled upwards, trying desperately to climb out of the pit the roof had become. He made it a few feet, managed to slide down behind an air-conditioning unit, the metal holding him away from the hell below.
Above, the gunner remained quietly detached.
Jack slowly stood, letting the canted roof support his weight, wincing as his body demanded he sit back down. He looked over the edge of the AC unit, saw the tail of the helicopter slowly sink into the fire... saw an armored hand reach out of the pat, dig into the tar-paper, drag a mangled and oozing E.H.U.D. out of the hell-fire.
Ken dug his other hand in, the armor letting him pull his destroyed body up and to safety.
Jack took a moment to reach out, to take inventory of Ken: crushed pelvis, one leg completely useless, the other almost so, back broken, one lung punctured by the long shard of metal sticking out of the armor. So there were some things the suit couldn't survive...
Something deep inside the building shifted, and the rest of the helicopter disappeared amidst a thunderous noise. Ken held on, even as the roof rebounded slightly, then returned to its slow melt. Jack didn't fare as well; the sudden shift caused the AC unit to tear loose from the roof and slide down into the pit, sending Jack pinwheeling after it. He manged to push against the roof, to direct his fall until he was right on top of Ken, draped over the frill, inches from the pit.
Ken noticed him, didn't care; the survival instinct was too strong. He reached up, ripped through the roof, pulled, got higher.
It was too slow. Jack could feel his skin hardening, splitting, burning in the intense heat. He knew, beyond any doubt, that he would die here.
Ken pulled himself up another few inches.
It wasn't fair. Jack had suffered for years, had fixated on Lauren as his one salvation, had finally made it back to the land of the living, only to see Ken come out ahead after all. It wasn't fair... And he wasn't going to let it happen.
Ken was too terrified, to preoccupied to notice as Jack's awareness pushed into his mind, spread out, began searching through memories. Suddenly, amidst the flames, Ken was five years old, was in his backyard, mud splattered on his overalls, his conical hat askew as a puppy leapt up and knocked him to the ground, licked him. Behind him, he could hear his parents laughing. Then the moist tongue was gone, the dog was pulled away, the next eight years of happy memories slowly faded away until... he was alone, friendless.
Jack smiled. On to the next one.
Ken reached up, flames wrapping around his glove, grabbed onto the breast of the teenage girl straddling him. She rocked forward and back, shaking him, shaking the whole bed. Fourteen year-old Ken grunted, convulsed, shivered in the sudden coldness of his empty room, the girl forever gone, the next three years of their romance disappearing in rapid succession.
Now Ken was beginning to notice, to sense the alien mind, to see what it had taken. He tried for a moment to push back, felt the tar-paper beneath his fingers sag under his weight, quickly pulled himself further up.
Jack continued to pour through Ken's mind, to take moments of happiness, of victory, and pull them away. Soon, Ken's life was nothing more than a continuing string of disappointments, an empty childhood followed by a lonely adolescence followed by a lackluster military career and a dull retirement.
Still, there was promise in the future. Ken pulled again, felt himself rise higher. The flames still lapped around him, still burned the thing that lay slung over his back, but there was black sky overhead, a chance at survival, at redemption.
Jack began to sift through his own memories, to push them onto Ken, to imbue him with sudden imprisonment, with years of dehumanizing torture, with pain with choices that should never be made... with Suzanne...
And as Ken continued to climb, as Jack continued to push, he suddenly found his actions moving in time with Ken's—a memory for another handhold, a remembered defeat for another inch towards freedom above. And suddenly Jack found all his pain, all his hatred, all of his years as a Defender, inside Ken.
Jack raised his gloved, hand, pulled, gripped again. Yet he still felt the burning, the pain of the shattered right arm...
He expanded his consciousness, tried to find Ken, found him clinging to a few small memories, to the happiness of the last year, to Lauren. Ken was weak, tired, almost completely gone. Another little push, and he'd be dead. But his body...
Jack reeled at his discovery. He had somehow managed to take his... his essence, his soul, and push it out of his own body and into Ken's. It wasn't something the Defenders had been taught, wasn't even something Allen had speculated on in his theoretical musings. Already, the pain from the other body, the burning vestige of the Jack that was, had lessened. All it would take was another small push, and Jack would be in a new body. An injured body, yes, but a body in an E.H.U.D., a body with a chance of survival. All he needed to do was make the final push—
The building trembled, and Jack lost focus. For a moment he swept out of Ken's body, felt the enormity of the cosmos around him, glimpsed into the void of death—and then returned to his own body. He gasped at the pain that had been building while he w
as gone, ignored it, focused back on Ken.
In the instant since Jack had left his body, Ken was reasserting himself, regathering what memories he could, returning to his struggle to make it to the top.
No. It would not end this way.
Jack pushed again, felt himself slip into Ken's resistant mind—
The building trembled again. The roof creaked, thundered, collapsed. The whole construct of tar-paper, metal and plywood sunk inwards, towards the flames. Amidst it all were two barely human forms, silently screaming as they plummeted into hell...
10
Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Amanda sat in a cold grey conference room in the cold grey airport. At least, she assumed the airport was grey. She hadn't seen much beyond the terminal, hadn't been outside at all. It was cold. And now it was getting late, and nothing at all had been decided.
She looked at her allies: a group of six other passengers, each from a different flight, that had been selected to represent all of the stranded passengers. At least three of them were lawyers, but she couldn't remember which ones. They had been in here for over five hours, arguing.
They argued with the people form the airline: One vice president, two customer care specialists, two lawyers. The lawyers she could identify from the suits they wore. The rest... she didn't even care who they were anymore.
One of the lawyers was talking, exhaustion evident in her voice. "Again, we are in no way liable for this situation. This was a government mandated grounding. We sympathize with you, and will of course help to arrange lodging or other forms of transport, but we cannot and will not provide financial recompense for costs incurred during this layover."
One of Amanda's allies answered; probably a lawyer. "As this is a federally mandated grounding, then I am sure the federal government will reimburse you for any costs incurred while assisting us."
God, were politics always this boring? The news made it seem so simple, Mom's rallies made it seem so exciting. Negotiating was just... She didn't know how much more she could take.
Someone else had the same idea she did. "Look, let's just table this tonight, figure it out—"
"We can't! If we stop here, everyone's going to have to find hotels, with no idea of who's going to pay!"
The mobile in Amanda's pocket suddenly buzzed, and Amanda straightened in her chair.
An enemy lawyer noticed the movement. "Yes, Ms. Dolad, do you have any ideas you'd wish to contribute?"
"Little compromise on the last point raised. Fifteen minute break?"
There was a moment of silence, then a babble of assent. They all stood, chairs scraping, and walked stiff-legged out of the room.
Mike passed her on the way out, gave her a thumbs-up. Amanda nodded, then dug into her pocket.
There was a message from Tara: Rach - - check the news!
Amanda rubbed her forehead. She didn't need anymore on her mind right now. Still, if Tara thought it was important enough to message so late... She opened a browser, began flicking through the news feed. Almost at once she saw the name: Jack Dolad. Click, open story. An old photo, Jack looking younger, with hair. The story...
Cyd was right. After months of yelling it on the street corners, it seemed the homeless woman had correctly identified a Defender. After displaying his powers, Dolad was invited to join President Latterndale for a summit on international/Defender relations. Then, a force of U.S. soldiers ambushed and ultimately killed the erstwhile Defender. The battle, short and brutal, had claimed the lives of at least ten soldiers, as well as over a hundred civilians who had been caught in a building set alight by a downed chopper.
Amanda gasped and slumped back into her seat. It had to be a joke, it couldn't be real—she clicked a link at the bottom, found a response video, listened as Senator Terstein's voice sprang into life.
"The time for action is now! Even as protection and goodwill were offered to this young man, our military has struck him down! So far, every Defender to pop up has been quickly struck down, and I am forced to ask our president, 'Why, Edarus?' Lanlin, yes, he was attacking. Melana? She was a toothless lion. And now, Jack Dolad? A lamb to the slaughter.
"What aren't you telling us, Mr. President? Maybe you didn't send these men. Maybe, as Eli claims, they were operating without orders. But I am beyond the point of giving you the benefit of the doubt, and so too, I hope, is America. When I see the oppressed silenced, I see a secret that someone is trying to keep. And when I see a secret that people are willing to kill to keep, I see corruption. And where there is corruption, there must be revolution.
"What I say now know to be treason, but still it must be said. What I say now is that it is time to rise up, America. It is time to take back your country!"
Another link, another. Riots in major cities, raids on army bases, more members of the LCR springing up all over southern California.
More links, international responses. Ahmad Mokri, Ambassador from Iran, denouncing America as a rogue state, advising all nuclear states to prepare themselves for possible hostilities.
More links, NORAD readying anti-missile countermeasures, more links—
It was all Amanda could do to keep from crying. Jack was gone... Worse still, her father had been right. There was something Jack didn't want the world knowing; it looked like he was better off with his secrecy.
As the door to the conference room opened, as people returned, Amanda felt tears begin to streak down her face.
Darkness engulfed Philadelphia. Beyond the light of Sky Crest, blackness extended into infinity. There were occasional sparks of gunfire, brief flares of stars exploding into existence, then fading away into nothingness.
Indistinct movement passed over the gunfire, and Amanda Latterndale shifted her focus, took in her own reflection in the glass wall that curved overhead. She could see the penthouse behind her, open wood floor for twenty feet, then continuing under the steel loft of the floor above. Than sat in the small living area in one corner, absently playing with his one legged Gigawatt toy.
Movement again. An aid, running in from the helicopter perched far below and up a flight of stairs to where Mistaren stood in conference with several soldiers. The aid pushed in close, said something to the General, waited for a response, then returned the way he had come. Minutes passed, Mistaren dismissed his entourage, then descended the stairs himself and came to a stop next to Amanda.
"It's kind of beautiful, don't you think?" he asked conversationally.
"In a rather perverse way, yes. Did the messenger bear bad news?"
Mistaren ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. "Just an update on Norgent. It looks like he's going to be okay." He dropped his hands, then fell silent.
Amanda glanced briefly at him. "Something on your mind?"
"Just..." he gestured back at the few soldiers who continued to mill around upstairs. "They're so damn concerned with what's happening outside, they're not seeing the bigger picture."
"Which is?"
"We're on the edge of nuclear war."
Amanda let that sink in, ground her teeth. "They're really that afraid of what the Defenders will do?"
"The Defenders?" Mistaren shook his head. "For once, this isn't all about them. We're a nuclear power, with an absentee president, terrorist groups in control of our biggest airport, rioting in all our major cities, and politicians very publicly calling for armed revolt. Most in the last four hours, I might add. We're the very definition of an unstable state."
Amanda sighed. "And Ed assured me we'd be safe here..."
Mistaren turned his head to look at her appraisingly. "He was absolutely right; this is the safest place on the goddamn planet. It'd survive the end of the world."
She smiled. "You know something I don't?"
He nodded. "Damn right." He returned to staring out the window.
She returned her attention to the reflections. Behind her, Than was gripping the Gigawatt, swinging it repeatedly at a small stand of army men. Th
e innocent play seemed so wrong in light of what was happening just outside their window. The bigger figure would hit, the little men would fall. How many civilians were dying out there, gunned down as they tried to break into police stations, or take over train lines?
"Have you been speaking with Ed?"
Mistaren looked up. "Hm? Not as such. He's not exactly on speaking terms with me at the moment."
"Seems a bit odd for him to name you NSA."
He shrugged. "I think he was mostly trying to get me out of the way."
"Has Ed been speaking with anyone else?"
"Ashheart said he's been a little withdrawn lately..."
"Right." Amanda stood a little straighter, let the room blur as she focused on the eternal night outside. "Then as far as anyone's concerned, you're speaking for him, as security adviser. You'll get a SEAL team, infiltrate LAX, take the damn thing back. If they fly out any planes, you shoot them down as soon as they're clear of the city. This country's been on lockdown long enough."
