Shadows of Neverland (Second Star Book 3)

by Josh Hayes

  Peter laughed. "Let's kick some Enforcement ass."

  "Wait," Wendy said, taking hold of his arm. "We don't even know who's shooting at them."

  "Does it matter?"

  "Well, it might, I don't know." She felt frustration boiling up inside her, but couldn't explain why. "Do you always have to run into things all half-cocked? I mean, you don't have any idea what's going on down there."

  "For Graft's sake, Wendy," Peter said with a grin, "that's half the fun." He nodded to the rifle in her hands. "Think you can cover us?"

  Wendy glanced down at the weapon. "I—"

  "Great, come on, Carter!" Peter leapt to his feet, moving quickly to the side of the roof.

  She held out the gun. "But I don't know how to use this thing!"

  "Here," Carter said, turning the rifle over in her hands. He pointed to a small switch on the side. "That's the safety, make sure it's off, don't point it at us, and just squeeze here." He indicated the trigger.

  "But…"

  "Carter!" Peter shouted.

  "Okay! Here." He unclipped the small radio from his belt and tossed it to her.

  She snatched it out of the air, almost dropping the rifle in the process. "Damn it, Carter."

  Already moving after the other two, he called back over his shoulder, "Remember, don't shoot us."

  They disappeared over the side of the building, leaving Wendy alone in the night. She cursed and brought the rifle up onto the ledge in front her. After setting the radio down next to her feet, she scanned the street directly below, looking for the trio of misfits.

  She gritted her teeth. Please don't do anything stupid.

  They appeared out of the shadows, moving from the alley, and began making their way up the main street. The three Enforcer squads had now merged into one unit, still fighting the unseen attackers. Gunfire echoed in a constant barrage through the surrounding buildings, making it impossible to determine where any of it was coming from.

  "What the hell do they expect me to do from up here?"

  You can do this, her father's voice told her. Remember.

  She knelt down behind the ledge and brought the rifle into her shoulder. Through the optical scope, the battle raging down the street seemed like it was happening only a few feet away. Faces, rank insignia, blood spraying from bullet impacts, all now clearly visible. A distant storm of gunfire echoed through the buildings around her.

  The radio came to life beside her and Peter's voice came through. It sounded distant and mechanical. "Wendy, are you there?"

  "Of course I'm here," she said, irritated.

  She glanced up from the scope and took a second to find Peter and the other two. They'd moved into the shadowed entry alcove to one of the tenements.

  "Okay," Peter told her, "we're going to—"

  Carter's voice interrupted him. "Hey, hold up, what's that?"

  After a second of silence, Peter said, "Shit, hold on, Wendy. What the hell is that guy doing?"

  Wendy frowned at the radio. "Peter?"

  He didn't answer. Carter was pointing at something and Peter was shaking his head.

  "Damn it, Peter," Wendy said, leaning back into the scope.

  She panned the rifle in the direction they were looking, and for a moment didn't see anything. The evening sun was throwing odd shadows around the street. Then she saw it. Movement across the street from her two friends, and a half a block ahead of them. A lone figure was moving up the street, toward the Enforcers.

  A dark jacket hung open over dark shirt and pants. It looked like there was some kind of patch on the jacket's shoulder and it almost looked like…

  "Oh my God," Wendy said. She snatched the radio. "Peter, Peter, wait! He's got a gun!"

  The radio clicked and Peter's voice came through the speaker. "Yeah—"

  Carter interrupted him, his voice sounding very distant even though he was standing right next to Peter. "Is that a police shield on his shoulder?"

  "No, it's not a—oh, shit, yeah, it is a shield. What the hell?"

  The figure made no effort to hide his approach. Wendy was sure one of the soldiers would turn and see him any second.

  "What is he doing?" Wendy asked aloud to no one. It didn't make any sense, why would someone be moving after the Enforcers? Then she saw his hand come up, and froze as she realized what he was about to do. "Oh, no."

  The figure let out a guttural yell and his pistol bucked. The gunshot was barely discernible from the barrage of gunfire down the street. The man never broke stride, continuing to fire at the Enforcers as he charged them.

  A solider at the back of the squad took the first rounds, throwing him into his companions. A second looked like someone had punched him in his shoulder, spinning him like a top. A third's leg snapped out from under him, and he bounced off a wrecked car on his way to the ground.

  By the time the third solider hit the ground, the surrounding soldiers realized they were being flanked and turned to address the new threat. Two fired off successive bursts, hitting around the charging figure, sending dust and bits of composite into the air.

  "No," Wendy gasped, without knowing why.

  As two more soldiers turned to engage, the figure dove behind a flight of stairs leading into another tenement building. The stairs exploded, sending chucks of gray composite flying into the air over the man's head. Bullets slammed into the building's facade around him, shredding it like paper.

  He aimed his pistol over the stairs, fired off several rounds blind. Through the scope Wendy saw his face, tight with rage, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was talking to himself while swapping magazines. Reload complete, he lifted the pistol and fired off another barrage.

  She didn't understand what was going on, but even so, felt an almost overwhelming urge to help him. If he stayed down there by himself, he might take out a handful of the Enforcers, but in the end, he'd die too, and for some unexplainable reason, Wendy didn't want him to die.

  She clicked the radio. "Peter, you have to help him."

  "Are you out of your mind?" Peter asked. "He's the jackass that started shooting! Idiot should have kept his head down like everyone else."

  Carter's voice came through in the background. "Where'd he even come from? You think they missed him back there?"

  "It doesn't matter, if—"

  A thunderous roar completely drowned out the rest of Peter's words. Wendy ducked as waves of hot air pummeled her from above. Dust and litter kicked up violently around her. She covered her head and willed herself to become part of the wall next to her. A second later, the roar lessened slightly and the torrent of wind and debris died down.

  She peeked over the edge a second later and watched as a skiff moved down the street, toward the fight. She saw the words NEVARIS ENFORCEMENT 153 painted over a large crescent moon on the fuselage. Twin-barreled cannons mounted under each wing scanned the street below.

  It passed over her three friends and continued on. Wendy let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, wondering if it had missed her friends, or just hadn't cared enough to engage them.

  The skiff's matte black fuselage became an ominous shadow against the glaring setting sun as it banked slightly to cross a large intersection. Soldiers below raised their arms, cheering the arrival of their reinforcements, then ducked down behind what cover they could as the cannons opened up.

  Peter's voice came over the radio. "Wendy, get down here, we're leaving."

  "What about him?"

  "He made his bed, Wendy—"

  "No!" Wendy shouted, shaking her head. The intensity washing over her shocked even her. The lone man was trying to move away from the stairs, but sporadic gunfire was keeping him in place. "No, Peter, you have to help him!"

  "Wendy, there's nothing we can do for him! This place is about to be crawling with Enforcement. Once they get here, these blocks and everything in them will be blown to bits. We have to leave, now!"

  She slapped her palm down on the wall. "He needs our help! We'
re not leaving without him."

  Below, she could see Peter and Carter discussing something, but couldn't hear what was being said. After a moment, Peter shook his head as Carter patted him on the shoulder.

  The man that had saved her life looked up at her and lifted the radio to his mouth. "This is a bad idea."

  Chapter Seven

  Then

  Wendy started to answer, but saw Pan had already slipped the radio into a pocket without waiting for a response. She frowned, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration at his attitude. She didn't understand what he was so upset about. If it were her in the stranger's place, she would want them to help her.

  Wasn't that how people were supposed to act? If someone needed help, you helped them. Wendy didn't see the problem.

  Wendy watched as Peter and Carter moved up the street, staying in the shadows, keeping wary eyes on the Enforcement soldiers down the street. She brought her rifle up again, panning across the scene unfolding in front of her.

  With the arrival of the skiff, most of the rear guards seemed to reconsider their positions and moved to join the fight. Only two of the soldiers remained focused on the new threat, but had stopped showering the area with bullets. Instead, every now and then they'd shoot off a short burst, just enough to keep the stranger pinned down.

  They stopped behind a small truck, parked haphazardly over the curb, and Peter waved at the stranger. Either he didn't notice, or he was simply ignoring the gesture.

  Something exploded in the distance. They needed to hurry. Wendy felt the urge to help, but wasn't sure how. Sitting atop this building wasn't doing anyone any good. She needed to be down there with Peter, down where she could do something useful.

  Wendy watched as Peter moved around the truck, still trying to get the stranger's attention. Like you could do better, she thought. What exactly did she know how to do? She was more of a tag-a-long than anything else, and she absolutely hated that feeling. She wanted to help.

  A flash down the street brought her eyes up from Peter, and she scanned the facing buildings, frowning. After searching for several moments, Wendy told herself it was nothing, but as she turned back to the street, she saw it.

  Movement, several stories above the Enforcement soldiers. A shadow moved along a metal fire escape, keeping low and out of sight from anyone on the street below. From this distance, it was difficult to see clearly, then Wendy remembered her scope.

  She brought the rifle up, taking a second to settle in behind it, then peered through the optic. After a moment of searching, she found her target.

  Definitely Enforcement. Wendy could see his name and ID number stenciled across his chest armor. He moved up another flight of stairs, appeared to check his position, then hunkered down.

  Wendy cursed as he unslung a long rifle from his back, propping it up on the railing in front of him. A quick glance told her where he was aiming.

  "Peter!" she said, grabbing the radio. "Peter, look out!"

  Down on the street, Peter ignored her warning. It looked like he'd finally gotten the attention of the stranger, but Peter appeared to be having some trouble convincing him to retreat with them.

  "Damn it, Peter! Look out, there's—"

  In her peripheral vision, Wendy saw the flash, and even in the midst of the chaotic gun battle, a split-second later she heard a single terrifying crack. Wendy screamed as sparks erupted from the truck's roof at Peter's back. He ducked and Wendy's stomach turned as she realized he hadn't been hit.

  Several more shots rang out, but now that Peter had pressed himself down onto the street, every one of the bullets missed. Puffs of dust and bits of street sprayed into the air around the trio, pinning them down.

  "Shit, shit, shit," Wendy said, adjusting her position. She had to do something.

  Fingers fumbled with the safety as she peered through the optic again, trying to line the weapon's crosshairs up on the solider. Her sight picture bounced wildly. Her heart pounded, and her muscles tensed as she tried desperately to control it.

  Relax, George Darling's voice said, his tone calm and loving. Breathe, little one. Breathe.

  Wendy shook herself, taking a deep breath, tension fading from her limbs. Her fingers relaxed, and by the third breath, her sight picture had steadied considerably. She watched the sniper, his body jerking slightly with every shot.

  Slow and steady.

  Her finger slid around the trigger, feeling its rough texture. She breathed in through her nose, held it and squeezed.

  Wendy barely registered the report as her rifle fired, recoil slamming it back into her shoulder. She let out a gasp, kicking a foot out behind her, keeping her upright. She peered through the scope, and she cursed.

  The soldier was pushing himself up from the floor of the balcony, head darting, searching for the new threat. He leaned over the rail, looking down at his companions, pointing in Peter's direction.

  He's telling the rest of them where they are, Wendy thought. She forced herself to relax again, lined up the crosshairs and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  "The hell?" Wendy said, frowning, examining the weapon. Then it hit her.

  "So stupid," she said, reaching up and pulling the action back. A silver casing spun from the chamber and clinked across the roof. She slammed the action closed again.

  The soldier had his weapon back up, panning it around the street. He hadn't found her yet, she still had time. Wendy took a breath, lined up her shot, and—

  A bone-jarring explosion ripped through the air, blast wave slapping Wendy, pushing her off-target. She looked up from the optic and saw flames belching from the skiff above the Enforcement soldiers. It spun in the air, smoke and fire trailing out behind, and slammed into the street below. The skiff exploded in a brilliant fireball, sending flaming debris streaming into the air.

  There seemed to be a brief pause in the battle as the squad watched flames dance from the downed craft. There was no sign of the crew. After a moment, the soldiers seemed to collect themselves, regrouped and continued the fight.

  Wendy looked back through the scope. She found the spot where the sniper had been perched and her heart almost stopped. He wasn't there.

  "Shit," Wendy said, panning the rifle around, searching. Two flights up, she caught sight of him, moving along the walkway toward another set of stairs, rifle slung across his back.

  Can't let him get into a better position.

  She waited until he started up the stairs, then fired. The rifle bucked, but this time she was ready for it. As she reacquired her target, Wendy saw the soldier's body bounce off the wall, then fall limply to the metal walkway.

  "Yes!" she cried, pumping a fist in the air, almost dropping the rifle in the process. "Take that, you—"

  Something roared above her. Waves of hot air pounded against her and she hit the floor, curling into a ball. A second later the onslaught of hot exhaust moved on. Wendy saw the tail-end of a skiff pass over her. She sat up and watched as it moved down the street, replacing the skiff that had been shot down. Its auto-cannons roared.

  A muted voice crackled somewhere near her. Wendy frowned, looking around, confused, then spotted the radio.

  "…here now!" Peter's urgent voice was saying.

  "Peter? Peter, what was that? I didn't hear you."

  Peter's voice popped through the small device. "—down to the street! We're getting the hell out of here."

  As the sounds of gunfire faded into the distance, the five haggard renegades slowed, turning down the hundredth side street as they put as much distance as they could between themselves and the Enforcers. Three more combat skiffs had flown into the area as they retreated, engines roaring, guns searching for anything and everything to shoot at.

  "Here," Carter said, nodding to a recessed door in the middle of the street. It looked like it hadn't been used in years. He gave it a hard kick and it snapped open with a crack, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

  The space inside was small. Wendy
moved along the wall, looking at what might have been a bakery at one time. Now it was just a decaying store front. The windows had been boarded up, fading sunlight cutting streams of light through the dust-filled air.

  "Going to be dark soon," Carter said, peering out through a crack in the old boards.

  Wendy sneezed. "It's filthy in here. We're not going to stay here, are we?"

  "For shit's sake," Peter said, moving around one of the display counters. He kicked at something and a hollow clang echoed through the store. He glared at the stranger. "What kind of shit you trying to pull, man? I've seen some dumb crap in my life, but I think what you just did takes the cake."

  The stranger had taken a seat along the back wall, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Dirt and grime matted his brown hair, which was still glistening with sweat. The worn jacket bore the local police force's batch and rank stripes along each sleeve. A sharp crease still ran along the front of his black pants, despite their obvious wear.

  When he didn't answer, Peter took a step toward him, hands on his hips. "Hey, I'm talking to you. You almost got us all killed back there."

  "I'm no hero," the man said without looking up.

  Carter hopped up on a counter, legs dangling over the edge. "What are you then, some kind of adrenaline junkie?"

  The stranger looked up, his face tired, eyes bloodshot. He looked slightly older than the rest of them, but still only in his twenties.

  Wendy flinched at several distant gunshots. No one else seemed to notice, and she was glad for the darkness of the room; they couldn't see her blush.

  She'd felt a mix of emotions during their retreat, but had resolved herself not to cry. Wendy Darling didn't feel strong, she didn't feel accomplished. Wendy wanted to curl up in a corner and cry herself to sleep and forget about what she'd just done.

  I won't cry, she told herself. She wouldn't show any weakness in front of the boys. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve like her sister…

  "Maggie!" She shot Peter a wide-eyed glance. "They don't know what's going on. We need to get them."

  Peter looked at her for a moment, seeming almost confused, then said, "They'll be fine for now, as long as they don't make a ruckus. Moving around right now probably isn't the safest idea." He pointed toward the ceiling as the sounds of skiff engines passed by overhead.