BOOM: A Lovecraftian Urban Fantasy Thriller

by Ben Farthing

  "Who?" As soon as he said it, he felt like an ass. In all the chaos about stopping the booms and sticking it to Inc, Everard had neglected Brian's grief.

  The young hipster, naked without his layers of irony, broke down. "I keep expecting Renae to tell me to switch the song, and then I'll make some jab at her boring music, and laugh when she rolls her eyes."

  Everard shepherded Brian onto the sidewalk. He kept his arm around the kid's shoulders. "I'm sorry" was all he could think to say.

  "Everything's so wrong. Everything I do is missing something, because Renae's not there to tell me I'm an idiot." Brian looked at him through teary eyes. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "I don't know." This was entirely out of Everard's league.

  "If she were still here, she'd help Loretta. She'd do a better job than I've been doing. Or at least, she'd tell me she was doing a better job." Brian pulled away from Everard and forced a short laugh. "Let's get this done."

  Everard followed him to the car, unsure whether he should let it go for now, or push Brian through it.

  Brian popped the trunk. The suit lay crumpled between a toolbox and a 24-pack of bottled water.

  "I'll put it on," Everard forced himself to say. "You'll have an easier time stopping him from running off with my body."

  "No," said Brian, "he showed up to talk to you. We want information fast, right? You talk to him. I'll put it on."

  Before Everard could respond, Brian slipped his arm into the jacket. He wiggled it around. "I thought it happened immediately."

  "Wait," said Everard. "We need to restrain you first."

  Brian picked up the undershirt. His posture went from relaxed to ramrod straight as he slipped the large white shirt over his own indie band t-shirt.

  Everard frantically looked for a way to secure his friend—a rope or something—but then he saw his expression and knew it was too late. Brian's mouth adopted a slight smirk, lips upturned on the right side.

  "It's not always a suit," said Everard. He grabbed Brian's speaker, linked it to his own phone, and brought up a YouTube video of television static. He hoped the white noise would drown out any chance of music from passing cars. He didn't want the rogue CEO using Brian's bent to take control of the situation.

  Brian reached for the suit jacket. Everard drew the flintlock.

  "You're not going to use that," said Brian over the static. It was his voice, but the affectation of a corporate ladder climber. The kind of guy who's been combing a perfect part into his hair since his tenth birthday. "You don't want to hurt your friend."

  "I'd rather hurt him than let you run away with his body. If you can talk, you're dressed enough."

  The rogue CEO looked down at himself. Baggy undershirt over skinny jeans. "I look homeless."

  "Tough. Now here's what's going to happen: you're going to tell me all about your friends' converter and how they're defending it, and then I'm taking you off Brian, and throwing you right back in the trunk."

  "You're a terrible negotiator," said the rogue CEO. "What do I get out of the situation?"

  "I don't throw you in an incinerator," said Everard.

  "No, no, no. You're not negotiating from a position of power. I have your friend. You need to be figuring out what I want that you can offer. Otherwise I'll take him and be on my way."

  "You're not taking him," said Everard.

  Brian's hand reached into the suit jacket and pulled out a lighter. A slight twinge of panic flared and then died in Everard's gut. He should have checked for that, but it was hardly a threat.

  "I'm not letting you light that," said Everard. "I'm a rebellist, remember?"

  The rogue CEO clenched Brian's jaw.

  "Even if I weren't, Brian is a little dude. And do you even have any cash on you?"

  "You're a rebellist?" asked the rogue CEO.

  "Yeah, sort of," said Everard. "You don't talk to the other CEO? CEOs?"

  "I am the CEO," he spat. "No, I haven't spoken with them since their hostile takeover. If you would listen to me for thirty seconds, I'd have told you. If you want to interfere with whatever idiotic scheme they've concocted, I'd be thrilled to help."

  Everard wished he knew enough about Inc to judge whether he was lying. "You'd willingly turn on them?"

  "I built this company," he said. "I turned Inc from a useless faction into a the biggest power in the D.C. Periphery."

  Now probably wasn't the time to mention that Everard had spent the day tearing down that power. "I know some old men in older clothes who'd disagree."

  "And they might be right, since those morons tossed me out and into this suit."

  "Why would you want back into a suit with a bunch of other guys?"

  "The Bloat rewards those in charge. And believe me when I say that I don't intend for that 'bunch of other guys' to be in there with me for long."

  "So tell me about Inc's defenses for the converter, and I'll stop their plan and embarrass the current CEO."

  "I don't know their defenses. I don't even know what a converter is. My background is in risk management."

  "Even better. They've got a big machine that they know Loretta Rodriguez is going to try to destroy. How do they prepare for that risk?"

  "What's the machine do?"

  Everard explained as much as he understood, including the multiple machines around the city, and their effect on people who couldn't get away.

  "Why would my usurpers want to kill the Burgesses?"

  "I don't know," said Everard. "Aren't you guys trying to take over the Periphery?"

  "I wasn't," said the rogue CEO. "At least not violently."

  "Right, I'm sure your motives were pure," said Everard. "Tell me how they'll be defending the converter."

  "And then I go back in the trunk. I'm not seeing the benefit to me."

  "The benefit is I don't kill you. You're a parasite. I'm not letting you keep anyone's body."

  "Here's my counteroffer," said the rogue CEO. "I'll tell you how to get through their defenses, and then I'll borrow this body." He rolled Brian's head around his neck. "I love how flexible it is."

  "I already told you," started Everard, and then a mountainous weight fell on his shoulders. He collapsed, some invisible force pushing every inch of his body against the pavement, like gravity had exploded. He struggled to breathe.

  "I tossed aside my body for the Bloat," said the rogue CEO. "After decades of a small army of personal trainers, dietitians, and physicians keeping me in pristine health—much higher than anyone else in my organization. I would have lived to a hundred and ten, but I tossed it aside at forty-eight. That's so much more waste than a few dollars. I don't need to burn cash anymore."

  Everard tried to lift himself up, but it was like doing a pushup with a truck on top of him.

  "But don't worry, I'm a man of my word."

  Everard grabbed at the idea of the increased gravity, tried to deny it. The mental mist returned in full force. He couldn't force his will through.

  The rogue CEO dressed as he spoke. "Now that they're expecting the attack, each machine will have two or three cashburners defending it, along with whomever they've hired. The cashburners will be running the show. So expect their tactics, not those of their lackeys. Also, my inept replacements will have budgeted the same figure for each aspect of the defense. Monitoring is most expensive, which means at best they'll have a single watcher. It should be easy to sneak up on them."

  Fueled by anger over seeing Brian speak like a corporate prick, Everard stabbed at the mental mist. Useless.

  The rogue CEO sat on the car's bumper to put on the black leather shoes. "Now if you wouldn't mind distracting my employees, I'm going to go have a word with my former colleagues about their current vision for the city."

  The extra gravity faded as Brian's body got into the car and drove away. Everard strained to stand up. He tried to deny the car's engine, but couldn't hold the idea clearly in his head. His whole body ached.

  Another boom shook the c
ity.

  Everard lay panting on the sidewalk until he had enough strength to call Loretta to tell her the information he'd learned, and the price he'd paid for it.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Staggering back to the Capitol, Everard held his phone to his ear, waiting for Loretta to answer. The clouds were roiling now, not swirling but crashing into each other, forming a front that stretched off into either horizon.

  Loretta picked up, and Everard stumbled over his words telling her what happened. "We have to go after him. Are you there?"

  "I'm here."

  "Did you hear what I said? The rogue CEO has Brian." Everard went up the Capitol steps and to the hidden door to the side.

  "I heard you."

  "Say something!"

  "Where are you?"

  "Heading back inside."

  "Don't."

  "Don't what?" Everard stepped into the Hall of Burgesses foyer.

  "Don't go inside. Turn around and start walking. I'm on my way to pick you up right now."

  Everard looked around at the refugees in the foyer. A Bluecoat noticed Everard, motioned to his companion, and both men made their way through the refugees toward Everard.

  "Ah shit," said Everard. "The rogue CEO wasn't in the suit. He was in the undershirt."

  "Are you sure?" asked Loretta.

  The Bluecoats picked up the pace. Everard calmly went back through the door. As soon as it closed behind him, he sprinted down the stairs and around the side of the Capitol.

  "Positive. I think Minnie's been taken over."

  "I think you're right. I was wrong about Inc's suits. You're breathing heavy, where are you now?"

  "Running away from Bluecoats who are probably following Minnie's orders. What happened at the lure?"

  "They're dead," said Loretta.

  "Who?" Everard.

  "The Regulars. The ones Mr. President sent to build the lure."

  "What was it? Inc? Another gang?" Everard looked over his shoulder. "Why am I running from Bluecoats over here?"

  "I don't know who killed them. Someone lined them up and executed them with a round to the back of the head."

  "Why would they let that happen?"

  "They wouldn't. General Logan's son was there. He's as belligerent as you."

  "Someone held them there," realized Everard.

  "Probably the CEO himself," said Loretta. "They knew exactly where to find Mr. President's lure. I can't believe I missed that Minnie was taken."

  "I'll gloat about it later. Did you find Bill Bill?"

  "No. I'm coming your way now. We have to take out the converter as fast as possible. Bermuda's trying to get the lure working, but the whole thing's been hijacked. Keep walking down Constitution, and I'll find you."

  She ended the call.

  Everard kept his head down and his hand on the flintlock's grip. As the clouds roiled overhead, Everard thought of the rogue CEO holding him down, and of Bill Bill and Mr. President stopping the Lynch Mobbers from standing up. Plenty of ways to hold someone still while you shot them in the back of the head. He didn't know if Minnie was the only one he couldn't trust.

  Ten minutes later, Loretta pulled up next to him in a Range Rover. Everard jumped in.

  Loretta floored it. "The converter is at Hains Point in East Potomac Park. That's open ground. No buildings or alleyways to ambush us from. What did you learn about their defenses?"

  "I learned that parasite took Brian!"

  "One disaster at a time," said Loretta. "We'll get him back after we destroy the converter."

  "Fine." Everard told her what he'd found out.

  "It'll be tough to sneak up on a flat island. But the cashburners being in charge is good. Their tactics show a stupid devotion to the Bloat. Charge straight ahead, attack with more force than necessary, and waste your resources while doing so. They'll throw their lackeys at us full force. We carve through the grunts, then take out the cashburners."

  "If you say so."

  "Is that how we're going to do this? Whatever I say goes?"

  "I don't know." He'd tried going against what she said at the Ailuromancer's and almost gotten himself killed. "I'm armed. I'll focus on shooting them instead of denying anything."

  "If we're going to stop this disaster, you'll need more than that flintlock."

  "I guess we'll jump off that bridge when we come to it," said Everard. "Or would you rather give me orders on how to cast off your authority? Because that's a little paradox you're cooking up."

  "Don't give up is all I'm saying."

  "Well now I have to give up," said Everard.

  "Doesn't work like that."

  "I know, I was kidding."

  "Levity is an odd reaction to the situation."

  "Better than spending your whole life feeling sorry for yourself."

  "Stop talking," said Loretta.

  "You know that's not happening."

  They turned down 14th, then cut over to Ohio Drive, which crossed over onto the artificial island made for East Potomac Park. The low, grassy island was dominated by a fenced off golf course. A one-way road circled the island, around a six-foot chain link fence which kept undesirables away from golfers.

  Hains Point was at the southern tip of the island. Loretta parked by the Jefferson Memorial on the northern end. She opened the trunk and pulled out a metal case. From inside, she pulled out a short barreled automatic rifle and hooked a strap over her shoulder. She slid several clips into her belt.

  "The plan is to hit them head on, and hit them hard. You head straight down this road. Keep their attention focused on you. Then I'll flank them from the east."

  "I'm not doing that again," said Everard, but Loretta had already vanished.

  He'd trusted her on the highway and it'd almost killed him. His bent hadn't worked any better, either. Blindly following authority—even an authority he trusted—didn't work. But neither did doing things his own way. At the Ailuromancer's house, he'd been able to deny larger things, but still inconsistently.

  Everard drew the flintlock and started jogging toward Hains Point, down the southwest edge of the island. He liked Loretta's plan of her attacking when their backs were turned, so he'd still make sure that idea got realized. But he'd get there in his own way.

  The road was empty, and the footpath equally so. Low, thin cherry trees, already blossomed and harvested, obstructed his view of his target. But there weren't enough of them to stay hidden as he drew close.

  On a sunny day, the island was pretty, if often littered with garbage. But with the thick clouds overhead, and the heavy wind lifting that garbage into the air, it wasn't exactly welcoming.

  Which made what Everard had to do even less appealing.

  Before Hains Point came into view, Everard hopped over the railing, into the Potomac. His ankles sunk into the silt, and muddy water splashed up his chest, staining his shirt. Everyone knew the river was disgusting, and no empty promises of improved water quality would change that.

  Keeping the pistol above water and his head below the walkway, Everard pushed as quickly as he could through the murk. As he neared Hains Point, the air buzzed with power. It rolled off the island in slow pulses, like waves breaking over a sandbar at low tide.

  Everard peeked over the walkway to see the strangest satellite dish he'd ever seen. A dish of arms reached out from a single point, like a skeletal hand with fingers all around. They looked to be made of bone, but from something much larger than a person, as it was thirty feet across. Instead of a solid plating between each finger, there was gray string woven in circles all around.

  Next to the string-and-bone satellite dish was a machine like like the one that'd killed Santa Muerte, only three times the size. Two metal drums were stacked on each other, each much larger than the fifty-gallon drums he'd seen earlier. A tangled mess of wires and tubes ran in and out of the barrels, with several connecting it to the satellite dish.

  At least twenty reskinned were holed up behind a makeshift, u-sha
ped bulwark of SUVs, benches, trash cans, and dirt.

  Three cashburners stood back from the reskinned, looking disgusted by the menagerie of skins before them. One yelled at the other two.

  "No time like the present," Everard mumbled to himself.

  He took careful aim and fired at the yelling cashburner. The pistol bucked with the muffled roar. The beam of sonic force missed, but it caught everyone's attention.

  Gunfire exploded from behind the bulwark as the cashburners leapt for cover. Everard followed their lead and ducked back down. He dashed ten feet to the side, popped back up, and hit a reskinned in the chest.

  He denied their weapons were loaded. The mental mist parted like the Red Sea. Everard felt a consistent power thrumming inside him. "Whoa."

  With the same senses that let him feel the mist, he felt another force nearby, lurking outside the thick fog that pushed against his bent. That was new.

  The gunfire stopped. Everard pulled himself up and over the railing.

  Another burst of gunfire and Everard dropped to his chest.

  Loretta walked from the opposite side toward the bulwark, assault rifle at her shoulder, muzzle flashing with the roar of each shot. The cashburners barked orders.

  The reskinned brought up crossbows and knives. Everard denied the tension in the crossbow strings, but a flurry of thrown knives darted toward Loretta. She effortlessly dodged them and returned fire.

  This time, the muzzle didn't flash. Instead, a quick yellow flash of fire burst from a slat of a park bench to rip through a reskinned's chest. She pulled the trigger again, and the round exploded out of a tree trunk to hit another reskinned behind cover.

  Everard jumped to his feet and fired the pistol, approaching while Loretta had their attention.

  Two of the cashburners broke off to come after him, while the reskinned tossed aside their guns and charged Loretta.

  Everard fired at the approaching suits, the faraway sound of the sonic blast almost drowned out by Loretta's gunfire. The first suit burned a bill and an eight foot wall of earth burst up between them, stopping Everard's attack.

  Everard denied the integrity of the wall, and it crumbled into a low dirt pile. Only one suit waited behind it. He pointed with a sneer, and a hundred knife blades appeared on a gust of wind, headed for Everard's chest.