Halfway Heroes

by Dustin Martin

Lydia finally freed herself from the wreck and helped the others climb out. Other than some bruises, cuts, and temporary dizzy spells, everyone was relatively fine. The rest of the police had caught up to them, and they worked on reorganizing their remaining forces, a couple of SWAT members among them. Those involved in the chase were gathered together, most either limping or mildly injured. They were helped by those policemen whose vehicles hadn’t chased the truck.

  The FBI agents were in their van, trying to contact their office. Officers were helping to right vehicles that appeared mobile, and were assisting anyone injured in the chase. Many of the cars had either been overturned or were run off the road. Two had been penetrated by the truck’s falling canisters. Those cars were approached with caution. After verifying that the canisters had contained the disease and that the bodies in those cars were now corpses, the police had radioed for assistance. Currently, they were having trouble reaching anyone in the city.

  After the commotion, Sylvia dragged Lydia away from the disabled vehicles. They stood off to the side of the roadway. “Are you out of your mind? What were you thinking?” she was asking.

  “I was thinking that they were getting away,” Lydia said.

  “And that this was your chance?” Sylvia clutched her head as if easing an oncoming migraine. “I told you to do what I said. You could’ve been killed!”

  “We might all be dead anyway. Did you see how much SN91 they had?”

  “That’s none of your concern,” Sylvia said, taking out a cell phone. “We’ll handle this.” She turned around, calling someone. Lydia glanced at Aidan and Jando. They were sitting on the ground beside a vehicle. The tire had been shot out, so the driver was busy replacing it.

  “Don’t do this to me,” Sylvia said, growling at her phone. “No signal. Great.” She pointed at Lydia. “Stay here. No, on second thought, come with me. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” They walked over to the van.

  “Gould, you get anyone?” Rogers asked his younger partner. Gould shook his head. “What about you?” he asked Sylvia.

  “Nope. Must be bad reception.”

  “I don’t see why,” Rogers said. “The phones were working awhile ago.” He hopped out of the van. He stared into the distance. The newly risen sun shone over the vast emptiness. “We need to get back to town. No telling when these madmen will strike.”

  “So what are you planning?” Sylvia asked.

  “Arrest Rooke and his little posse,” Rogers said. “As well as anyone who’s helping him. They’ll be no way out for him this time. We’ve got him dead to rights.” He pointed in the factory’s direction. “His factory, several deaths. All the proof we need for a conviction.”

  “Sir! Sir! Agent Rogers! Agent Gould!” A young officer ran up to them. “Come quick! The radio!”

  The four followed the officer to one of the vehicles. He scooted into the driver’s seat and grabbed the radio. “Alright. They’re here.” He handed the radio to Rogers.

  “Yes? This is Agent Rogers. Go ahead,” he said.

  “Ah, Rogers.” It was Rooke. “FBI?”

  “How did you get on this frequency?”

  “Oh, I asked politely. The police department didn’t allow me to at first. But after my people talked to their people, we came to an understanding.”

  Rogers licked his lips. “Meaning?”

  “Well, they said I could have it ‘over their dead bodies.’ I was able to arrange that.” He chuckled. “But that’s neither here nor there. I called to give you a warning. A sporting chance, if you will. You raided my factory, which I’m sending you the bill for by the way, and you experienced my new SN91 firsthand. As you’re no doubt aware, I have copious amounts of it. There are canisters spread all over the city, ready to release the SN91.”

  Rogers covered the radio and whispered to Gould. “Go try the office again.”

  “Experiencing dropped calls? You might need another service provider,” Rooke said. “Or it could be that I’ve taken out the phone lines in the area for a hundred miles. Can’t have anyone interfering.”

  “What do you want?” Rogers asked.

  “Want? I can’t have what I want. No, that is dead and gone.” He sighed and sniffed. He sounded like he was fighting a breakdown. “Sorry about that. Anyway, I know I’m not making it out of this unscathed. So what I want is for all of you to go down in flames with me. I want everyone to know my pain. To know my heartache! I want all the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, sons, daughters, grandparents, and all loved ones unfortunate enough to be left alive to cry out in anguish! That is what I want.”

  Gould returned from the van, shaking his head. “Still can’t reach them.”

  Rogers held up his hand to the radio as if Rooke were there and he was trying to calm the man down. “Listen, we—”

  “No,” Rooke said. “I have made my decision. In a little over three hours, at the stroke of eleven, the canisters will go off, one by one, killing everyone. Our fair Golden Springs will be transformed into the River Styx. Unless you can stop me, which I doubt. But I invite you to try.” Lydia looked at Rogers’s wristwatch. A few minutes until eight. “The clock is ticking. Tick-tock.” Then there was silence.

  Rogers dropped the radio and turned to the officers who had grouped around the car. “Alright, everyone! We’re on our own for this. Anyone who can stand, load up! Take what you can from the wrecks and let’s go!” He turned to a pair of Somerset officers. “You two! Gather up anyone who needs immediate medical help. Take one of the cars and get back to Somerset.” He took out a pen and jotted down a phone number on the back of one of the officer’s hands. “Call this number. Tell them I sent you and explain the situation. Try to get any backup you can. Your town’s force, National Guard, and anywhere and anything else. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir!” The officers ran off.

  Rogers faced Gould. “Let’s go to the police station first. See if there’s anyone still there. Someone may be alive. We’ll need all the help we can get.” His partner nodded and started up the van while Rogers corralled all the straggling officers to their cars.

  During the commotion, Aidan and Jando had joined the group. Sylvia was weighing her options, wondering aloud if she could unload them on Dilbert. “Not sure I would have enough time,” she said, biting her lip. “We can’t afford to waste a moment, but bringing you along. ..” She talked more to Lydia than the other two.

  “Maybe I can make a suggestion?” Gould said. “Why not bring them along? We could use extra manpower.” Sylvia and Rogers gawked at him, as if he had proposed an outrageous, offensive idea. “What? You just said ‘we need all the help we can get.’ ”

  “They’re not even adults!” Sylvia said.

  “And we don’t need any more BEPs!” Rogers added. “We’re capable of handling this on our own.”

  Gould held up his hands like he was dealing with a childish spat. “This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve employed underage BEPs. Desperate times do call for desperate measures, after all. Also, suppose the station really has been hijacked and everyone killed? What then?” Rogers gave no answer. “I would like as many hands helping as possible. We can’t be picky.”

  “But they haven’t been trained for this,” Sylvia said. “They aren’t qualified to handle it.”

  “So?” Gould tilted his head. He pointed his finger at Lydia and the others. “Are these not the same three from the Evergreen Bank? Am I blind or was she going toe-to-toe with Heather “Toxic” Campbell, noted criminal with a laundry list of crimes? I think they meet our qualifications for this assignment.” He turned to them, leaning out of the van. “You.” He pointed at Lydia. “What are your abilities?”

  “Strength,” Lydia said.

  “And you?” At Jando.

  “Invisibility,” Jando said.

  “Your own?”

  “No, other things.” He quickly deflected Gould’s disappointment to Aidan. “Flyboy here can fly, but he’s too scared to.”

/>   “Oh, well, we have all the help we can ever need now,” Rogers said sarcastically.

  “I’ll take it,” Gould said. “Even if they’re running supplies to people, I’ll take it. So how about it? Will you guys help out?”

  Lydia couldn’t accept enthusiastically enough. Jando joined her. They rounded on Aidan, expecting him to take some convincing. But he agreed readily.

  “You sure?” Lydia asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s just hurry up before I change my mind.”

  Everyone clambered into the van, which led the remaining police to the city in the distance. Gould, in the back, passed out Kevlar vests to the teenagers. As he drove, Rogers spoke of his plan, talking it through with Sylvia, who sat in the passenger seat, holding the map of the city.

  “Okay,” Rogers said. “Rooke said the canisters will go off one by one. That could mean they’re in a series. If so, maybe we can break the series. That way we could stop the attack.” He glanced down at the map. “Only problem is deciding where he’ll start from in that case. I would say the edge, since he’s trying to catch as many people as possible. Anywhere else risks people escaping.”

  “What about the hospital?” Sylvia said, tracing her finger to the building. “Hunter Memorial? That’s where his father died, isn’t it? Could be significant to him.”

  Rogers nodded. “True, but he could very well hit a school.” He watched the road and waved his finger at the map. “Isn’t there an elementary school on the city limits?” She found it and nodded. “Either way, he’s sure to hit those areas at some point. Very public. Likely to have a canister in the vicinity. We can break the series if we find the first one.”

  “We’ll have to spread ourselves thin to check all possibilities,” Sylvia said.

  “Hold on.” Lydia said, leaning forward in her seat to study the map. “Rooke’s father is dead?”

  “Yes,” Gould said from the back. “That may be what set him off. Haven’t you been watching the news?”

  “Been training too much,” she said.

  They continued to study the map. Sylvia marked any possible areas where Rooke could’ve planted a canister. By the time she’d finished, the map was covered in red circles, indicating the last known number of canisters from the FBI’s reports, estimated radii of SN91 coverage, and who would be affected. Only sparse, outlying areas were left untouched. Debra’s law firm was scribbled out in blood red.

  Snap. At the sound Lydia’s gaze broke away from the map. Sylvia snapped her fingers again. “You hear me?” Lydia hadn’t. She blinked, trying to focus. “Don’t go running off. We need you if we want to save everyone.”

  “Alright,” Lydia said. She could help everyone. She would help find the canisters. That was the fastest way to make sure everyone stayed safe. If she found Finster while helping, well that was icing on the cake. If not, she would search for him later.

  Rogers continued to go over the plan with Sylvia, while she drew routes and his suggestions for team separations. When he reached the part about name designations for Rooke, the terrorists, and the police teams, Jando spoke up. “Do we get names, too?”

  “What?” Rogers asked.

  “Names. Do we get them, too?” He leaned forward and ran his finger down the names written on the map. “Like Heather is Toxic, Mark is Shorty, Rooke is Doctor. Do we get names like that?”

  “Sure, fine, whatever,” Rogers said. When Jando hovered closer, waiting for his moniker, Rogers grunted. “Bear, Chameleon, and Seagull,” he said to Lydia, Jando, and then Aidan. “Happy?”

  Aidan raised his hand. “Why am I Seagull?”

  “Because you fly as awkwardly as one,” Jando said, laughing. “Could be worse. You could be Penguin. A flightless bird would be more appropriate.” Aidan raised a threatening fist.

  “What about Bear?” Lydia piped up. “That sounds like I’m about to lash out at someone. Like I’m always crabby.”

  “Yeah, but yours is intimidating. Seagull isn’t threatening at all,” Aidan said. “How about if I’m Eagle? That’s better, fearless and threatening like an eagle. I’ll be Eagle.”

  Rogers’s lips were twisting steadily into a frown. If there was an ounce left in him that didn’t regret conceding to Gould’s idea to bring the three of them along, it was gone from him now. “You’re not Eagle. I’m Eagle and this is the Nest.” He swept his arm around the van.

  “So what does that make Sylvia?” Lydia asked.

  “I don’t know. The Ear,” he said.

  “The Ear? That’s pretty rude. And kind of lame,” Jando said.

  “Not as bad as this ‘nest,’ ” Aidan said, musing. “Pretty small nest, too.”

  “Look, I’m Eagle, you’re Seagull,” Rogers said, stabbing his finger. “Got that?”

  “Hey, that rhymed,” Jando said. He clamped his mouth when Rogers glared at him.

  “Any other comments?” Rogers asked. Lydia’s remark about Rogers’s not resembling an eagle in the slightest died on her lips. She shook her head. “Good.” He resumed his planning with Sylvia.