Unbreakable Storm

by Patrick Dugan

  The alarm sounding for training ended abruptly as a thin lance of lightning fried it, shattering the plastic housing. The smell of ozone hung heavily in its wake. I pulled the pillow over my head, wishing the world would go away.

  Sometime later, I didn’t know how long since I’d destroyed my clock, I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it, knowing how futile a gesture it was. A second, louder knock and then the door opened. Mom flipped on the lights as she entered. I looked from under the pillow as she checked out my handy work with the clock.

  “You know I usually go for the surrealism in Dali’s work, but you’ve done a fine job bringing ‘The Persistence of Memory’ to the modern era. The melted plastic face isn’t as elegant, but it certainly smells worse.”

  I pushed the pillow over my face harder. Mom came over and sat on the bed next to me. “Okay, kiddo. What’s going on? Marcel skipping practice is usual, but you never miss.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  She sighed. “Thomas, remove the pillow and sit up.” I knew the tone and did as she told me. Mom reached over and lifted my chin, her gaze holding me. I noticed her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She’d been crying.

  Something inside of me broke, and the tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. Wendi’s gone, and I miss her so much. I can’t take it.”

  She gathered me in her arms and held me like so many nights since we were sent to Redemption. She rubbed my back as I cried. I don’t know how long it took since I’d destroyed the damn clock, but I felt better having let it all out.

  “Tommy, I miss Wendi too, but she wouldn’t want you to live like this.”

  I nodded. I knew she was right, but I couldn’t pull myself out of the hole I was in.

  “She loved you, and it hurts, but it will get better.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t put into words all the issues I’d been dealing with.

  Mom watched me, assessing her client with practiced ease. “It’s more than Wendi, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I croaked out of my over-dry mouth. “I killed so many people, how do I deal with it? I know they deserved it, and I had to protect my family, but...”

  She gripped my hand hard. “I don’t understand completely, but your Dad went through this after fights when people died. I don’t think it ever goes away, but that’s what keeps you from becoming like the Grim Reaper and the Syndicate. Once you stop caring, you are one of the bad guys, no matter which side you’re on.”

  “Gladiator said something similar about Jon.”

  She smirked. “I’d listen to him; he’s had a lot of time to figure things out.”

  “Is he really thousands of years old?” I blurted out, sounding more fanboy than grieving warrior.

  “As far as I know, he is. Regardless, he’s exceedingly wise when it comes to the world and exceptionally adept at killing.” She stood up and ruffled my hair. “Time for a haircut, you’re getting shaggy.”

  “Nada, it’s my new style.”

  It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Honey, I’m always here if you need me.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  She turned and left, nearly getting run over by a frantic Marcel as he burst into the room.

  He grabbed her arms to steady her. “Sup, Mom.”

  She shot a mock glare at him. “What’s up is you need to slow down. I don’t need you huge guys squashing me.”

  He, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Mom. Big news on the street.” He held up his tablet as if to prove his claim.

  I stood up. “What’s going on?” If this were a new tablet release or some new game, I would have to kill him.

  He rubbed his chin, which, sadly, still didn’t have a goatee, just the lingering patch of stubble. “I poked around a bit and found a signal feed coming out of DC. I thought it might be a Syndicate transmission I could...” Mom gave him her “this better be legal” look. “er...monitor.” His eyebrows shot up, waiting for the impending scolding. Mom didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t say anything, so he went on. “Turns out it belongs to the Underground. I left a message in their virtual drop box, and they have requested a meeting in Atlanta.”

  “Atlanta?” I asked. “Why not in DC?”

  Mom answered. “The Protectorate has upped the troop levels in the area. Your father is guessing they are trying to bring the Syndicate in since they botched capturing you.”

  “We got away, but we ended up on Saturday Night Showdown anyhow. What’s the dif?” I asked, perplexed. How we got there shouldn’t have mattered.

  Mom shook her head. “The Protector isn’t stable. He’s erratic, changing views and policies all over the place. His people are in constant damage control mode. More than likely he views Grim Reaper’s failure as a lack of loyalty to him.”

  Marcel agreed. “Ranger wants to see everyone in the conference room to discuss.”

  Mom snatched Marcel’s tablet, reading over the information.

  “Well, can’t keep the man waiting.” I motioned for them to exit the room. I closed the door behind us as we headed up the three floors to the conference room.

  “Bruh, I think this could lead us to Waxenby.”

  “I hope so.” Rescuing him would certainly help to even the score. Besides, we all owed him a huge debt. He’d helped to stop Powell and aided our escape from Redemption and the Syndicate. It had already been over two months with no word of him. “If we do find him, I wonder if Dad will let us help get him back.”

  Mom, who was walking ahead, still reading Marcel’s intel, stopped dead in her tracks, pivoting to face us. “Tommy, when we find Oliver, we will get him back. You don’t leave men behind.”

  Marcel stammered. “I thought Ranger said he would...”

  Her face flushed red. “I know what he said, but we are not leaving Oliver with those psychopaths any longer than absolutely necessary, and it will take more than one person to do it.” She left, stomping down the hall. If storm clouds gathered around her, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Marcel let out a big breath. “That was intense, Bruh.”

  “Yeah, should be an interesting conversation with Dad.” But I knew who’d be winning the fight even if Mom had to go by herself to get Waxenby.

  We slowly followed in the wake of Mom’s anger, stopping to get drinks before heading into the conference room. Dad stood at the head of the long walnut table, talking in a low voice with Blaze. Abby and Mom sat together on the far side of the table. A knife blurred between Abby’s fingers as she flipped it around. She looked over Mom’s shoulder, reading what Mom pointed to on the tablet she held. The ceiling-mounted projector hummed in the background.

  Marcel grabbed a chair close to the door. I dropped into the next chair. Dad glanced over, finished talking to Blaze, and began. “Marcel has found a way to communicate with the Underground. They are requesting a meeting with us in Atlanta at the Millennium Gate. I’m worried it’s a Protectorate trap.”

  The projector whirred to life as the room darkened. Mom tapped the tablet a couple of times, and an image appeared on the wall behind Dad. He moved to the side so we could see the display. Mom rose and stepped to the wall, pointing. “So, this is the proposed meeting place.” A tall stone building stood in the center of overgrown weeds and wrecked cars, one of which had driven up the low stairs before it died. Apartments surrounded the structure; skyscrapers loomed in the distance. “Millennium Gate is north of the center of Atlanta. It’s not too far from the Protectorate area of control surrounding the city so it will be easier to get to.”

  Blaze chuckled. “Crossing a guarded border with armed patrols to enter a dead city infested with giant rats and whatever else has mutated in there. Count me in.”

  Mom shot him a dirty look before continuing. “There are ways into the city. The drug cartels use Atlanta as a distribution center. They pay the Protectorate a cut, and they leave them alone.”

  Dad nodded. “I agree with Susan; it
’s a good spot for a meeting or an ambush. I don’t know if the benefits outweigh the risk.” He paused and glanced around the room. “Marcel, do you think they have any information on Oliver?”

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “They wouldn’t discuss specifics since they don’t know who we are any more than we know who they are.”

  “I’m sure they think we are Protectorate.” I hoped Dad would see the value of this meeting.

  “Cyclone, we need to alli…” Blaze broke off, a wet cough racking his thin frame. Once it subsided, he wiped his mouth on a cloth and sipped from the glass of water. “Sorry, allergies. As I was saying, we need allies on the outside if we are going to be able to move against the Protectorate.”

  Dad leaned on the back of a chair, his face dark. “Blaze, we barely escaped the arena. Most of the Underground are bit players or non-Gifted anti-establishment types. I understand wanting to get Oliver, but I think our best bet is to wait for the storm to pass, then integrate into society and try to live normal lives.”

  Abby growled low in the back of her throat. “So, we just take what they are doing to us?”

  “Yes, you are all old enough to not be checked. We could have real lives, spend our time on what’s important.”

  Abby stood up, her face red with anger. “What about making the Protectorate and the Reclaimers pay for what they’ve done to us? How about all the people locked away? Do they get to lead normal lives?”

  Dad’s brow furrowed. “A lot of those people are criminals, and dying in vain serves no purpose.”

  “Who says it’s in vain? We release all the Gifted and take down the traitor.”

  “Enough!” Mom was on her feet. “First things first, we need to rescue Oliver, which means meeting with the Underground. Any questions?” She glared at each of us in turn. No one uttered a peep.

  Being overly attached to my head, I kept my mouth shut. Who said I wasn’t learning?

  8

  After Mom’s proclamation, Marcel contacted the Underground. The meeting would happen in three days at nine p.m. under the Millennium Gate. I headed down to Marcel’s lair to see what he found out concerning the metal man.

  I knocked on the door and heard a muffled voice say enter, so I went in. The seventh level contained all of the infrastructure for Castle. Banks of servers and cascading Ethernet and fiber optic cables covered the right wall. Marcel slumped in front of the main set of monitors hung on the back wall of the room. Equipment, tools, duct tape and an assortment of various parts lay scattered on the tables in the center of the room. Marcel’s talent didn’t rival Mr. Fix-it for being able to create new devices, but he could modify anything made of electronic components.

  I glanced out the window to the mechanical rooms that ran Castle’s physical needs. The room boggled my mind. It amazed me that engineers could build these machines that took care of every facet of Castle’s inner workings.

  Marcel swiveled to face me. “Bruh, welcome to Casa de Geek. What can I do for you?”

  I smiled. “Just wondering if you’d had any luck with the metal man with the rope?”

  His face twisted into a scowl. “No. I scanned the ruins of Atlanta to see if there were any leads, but no signs of it or Mr. W.” I could tell it bothered him we’d hit a dead end. “Do you have anything else I could search for?”

  “I wish I did, but that’s all I got.” I hadn’t told anyone else about the strange experience I’d had on my way back through the doorbell. Honestly, I’m not sure I believed it was real and not some strange hallucination. The fact Marcel couldn’t find a metal man with a rope made me wonder about the accuracy of the information Eiraf had provided.

  He stroked his chin. “Hmmm. I built the algorithm to prioritize metal structures in and around D.C. and the South Western Region. I applied the parameterized constraints to the search matrix. I can expand the range and see if I get any hits.”

  It couldn’t hurt to keep searching though I had no idea what Marcel meant. “Have you scouted out the meeting site?”

  He snorted. “You think I’m some noob? I’ve pulled every Protectorate feed they have around Atlanta.” He spun around, fingers clacking on the keys. Images popped up on the monitors showing the Millennium Gate from every angle. A stone statue stood near the base of the monument. At one time, it had been beautiful, but after everything, nature worked to reduce the once beautiful area to a wasteland. “I don’t like it; there are too many places people could hide.” He pointed at the surrounding buildings, covered with dead vines. I noticed he wore his suppressor watch. “All these buildings overlook the gate. It would be easy to put a sniper up there.”

  I agreed. I wished Jon had been here; he easily grasped the tactics of an environment. I pushed the thought away, remembering he still blamed me for Wendi’s death. I forced my focus back to what Marcel said, having missed a few words.

  “Fences could be breached, but the guards have towers surrounding the city.” He pulled up a map, red dots showing the guard towers. “They are set up so every stretch of the fence is under surveillance. The good news is the Protectorate has gotten lazy, relying on cameras and motion detectors instead of live guards in most of the towers.”

  Well, that was good news. Anything Marcel could reach could be compromised. After hacking the Megadrome, this would be child’s play. “I’m sure you can handle it.” The fact Marcel had his suppressor on worried me. “So, why the bling?” I indicated the watch he wore.

  He rolled his eyes. “Mom. She’s worried I could epic-fail like Mr. Fix-It.” He shrugged. “I keep it on so I don’t blue screen. I can remove it if I need to go all Neuromancer on anything.”

  “Was any of that English?” Dad asked from behind me. I hadn’t heard him come in; he could give ninjas sneaking lessons.

  “Hey, Ranger.” Marcel spun around, pulling up more maps of the area around Atlanta. “I got the intel you wanted. You’ll have to take the Gryphon from the flight point to get there.”

  Dad looked confused. I chimed in. “He’s being funny. He means it’s a straight shot to Atlanta.”

  “Couldn’t you just say that?”

  Marcel grinned at him. “I could, but what fun would it be?” He went back to tapping on the keyboard. More information sprang to life on the screens. “Where do you want the 3D scans sent?”

  “Send them to the combat simulator. I’ll gather the rest so we can strategize,” Dad said as he turned and headed for the door. “See you in fifteen.”

  I guess Dad had changed his mind on keeping the room a secret or, more likely, Marcel had found it on his own. Marcel stood, resembling a shaggy Cheshire cat. “I really do love messin’ with Ranger.”

  I shook my head. “When he zaps you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I crossed the room, Marcel in tow.

  “You don’t think he’d actually do that, do you?”

  I laughed. “You never know, now do you?”

  He laughed half-heartedly as we walked to the simulator. Marcel launched into the benefits of the newest Zevion processor and how he needed to figure out a way to get his hands on one. It’s not like we had postal delivery out here.

  I nodded on occasion as we traversed Castle’s corridors and stairs to our destination. My head buzzed with so much to consider. Where had they stashed Waxenby? Was he even alive? Would the Underground be able, or willing, to help? Could the meet be a Protectorate setup? I had no answers, but every question spawned more and darker thoughts.

  We arrived at the simulator, walking over to join the Mom, Dad, Abby and Blaze as Marcel pressed the button and closed the door. I couldn’t wait to see their faces when the simulator started. Nothing I’d ever seen before had prepared me for its realism.

  Dad glanced over at us. “Okay, let’s get started. Load Millennium Gate simulation.” The room’s lights dimmed as the simulation came to life. The illusion of the gate stood over us as the rest of the room became weeds, concrete, and long abandoned buildings. I leaned against the wall and got sh
ocked looks from everyone but Dad and Marcel. So, Marcel did know how the room worked. I should have guessed as much.

  “How are you doing that?” Abby asked in confusion. “It’s just an image.”

  Marcel stepped up, knocking against the gate’s wall. “The floor is a series of hydro-pneumatic plates. The pistons under the floor lift the sections so it mimics the simulation. It only goes up twenty feet or so. The top of the structure is just an image.” He kicked a raised piece of concrete, his foot stopping where it should. “This makes it possible to train in an immersive environment where the landscape is an accurate representation. The mechanism is a remarkable superstructure being made of a poly—”

  Dad cleared his throat, cutting off the lecture. “Thanks, Marcel. He’s right, of course, the simulation makes training more realistic. What I’d like to do is lay out a plan for how I’m going to get in and out again.”

  Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “How YOU are getting in and out? We are a team. We all go, or no one goes.”

  “No, Susan.” He held up a hand to stop her. I wondered if he’d miss it when she tore it off. “This could be a setup. There is no way I’m risking all of you again. I’ll make contact and report in. Marcel can keep tabs on me in case something goes wrong.”

  Mom folded her arms across her chest. “And what are we supposed to do from five hours away?”

  Blaze stepped between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Both looked from him to the hand and back. “Dudes, let’s start with laying out the trap and work from there.”

  Abby frowned. “Trap? We don’t know there will be a trap.”

  Blaze nodded. “If you prepare for everything you can think of, it makes what you weren’t expecting easier to adapt to.”

  “If I were the Protectorate, I would use snipers in the upper windows,” Marcel said, bringing up his previous concern while examining the layout of the buildings. “With just a few, you could cut off all exits from this area.”

  “Computer, load optimal sniper locations for holding a team at the center.” Dad watched as snipers with rifles appeared on the roof lines around us and counted them. “So, five snipers. Computer, lay down fields of fire.”