by Russ Linton
We were all close at Killcreek, Spencer. Of course, I knew. When we merged, one family, Sergei was the only one who could see the beauty.
Then why did you help us back at the base?
Eric wanted me to. He's my friend. He says nice things to me.
Friends, family, casual acquaintances, enemies—they all bleed together for her. Granted, she was raised around some gruesome shit, but this isn't the time for me to test out my sophomore psych skills.
I just need to look some things up. I'll be done soon.
I heard.
The floor plan for the theater pops up along with a detailed survey of utilities, street, and sewer access—the works. We've been plotting our attack with an open camera, open mike, all so Eric can keep up with his new friend. I glance at him, ass in the air, the drool puddle thickening. I should probably freak out. Shake the life out of him. Lose my cool.
I massage my temples and take a cleansing breath.
Chapter 40
CHARLOTTE INSISTS ON chatting. She seems intrigued by Shortwave's plans. But she also seems, what's the word...smitten with Eric. Such a sweet little crush. It's a cosmic level cluster fuck. All the possible clusters pulled into a density not seen since the fractions of a microsecond before the Big Bang.
"What's up?" Eric yawns and rolls into a seated position on the bed.
"You," I say, slapping the laptop closed. Casually, I stand and close off the adjoining room then stalk toward him. He's on to me before I've made it to the bedside.
"She talk to you?" he asks, eyes darting to the laptop.
"Who? Oh, you mean Arkham Alexa over there? Yes, she talked to me! And she was oh so helpful," I spit through my teeth.
"Chill!" Eric dramatically wipes his cheek. "I'm telling you, I got this."
"You got what exactly?" I ask.
"The computer side of this Augment operational thing you're suddenly keen on being part of!"
"We've been over this. You dragged me here, jackass!" Our strained whispers are beginning to raise in pitch. I stomp over to the AC unit and crank it full blast.
"Well, maybe that was a dumb idea. I'm sorry. Go home."
"I’m already there, Eric." With Mom and Dad. And my best friend. The rage fades, and my limbs go slack. I plop down on the mattress beside him. "Wherever you are is home. My family. You're part of that, you ass. You genius hacker ass."
He slouches, lopsided, one elbow heavily on a knee and hands hanging. I collapse to stare at the nicotine-stained ceiling.
"What are we doing here?" he asks.
"Shit, I don't know, man. Stopping Augments from destroying civilization, I guess."
"Don't freak out, but you ever think Shortwave might be right? A little?"
I've struggled to avoid entertaining that thought ever since my conversation with the man himself. He paints an interesting picture of the future. A decentralized world revolving around computer negotiated transactions and evenly distributed power, both computing and political. It's precisely something Eric would go for. Or me.
Hell, we've lost most of our team to this Utopian vision. Geography irrelevant, resources shared, the only thing left to fight over is religion, and I think Shortwave might mean to replace that too by more successfully emulating the ideals of loving your neighbor better than anybody else who pays the phrase lip service.
"Whatever his vision means, it has one weakness—him. Whoever controls the machines or the market for Salarium still has way too much sway over everyone. You saw what he did with the compromised miners, turning them into code smashers. The chaos he's wreaking is just beginning. Every hour, stuff gets worse."
Eric studies his hands. "I'm not saying we don't stop him. Just, when does all this fighting stop? Augment powers haven't ended war or made the world a better place." He swivels to check my reaction. "If superheroes can't save us, who can?"
I blot out the world with my palms and groan. He's right. There does need to be an end. Cyrus mentioned wanting one, too. "People have always been this way, Eric. With or without Augments, they find reasons to fuck up."
"I guess," he says. "Do me a favor. Don't tell anyone about Chroma helping out. Not yet. It'll just make them nervous going into this op."
That has me sitting up regarding him intently. "Shouldn't they be?"
"One friend to another, I got this. She can't cause problems. If she did, it would be nothing short of a full-on tech-pocalypse. The one you argued for earlier. Better if she thinks we're her friends, too. For now."
I regret my answer, but it's the only one to give. "Okay."
ONCE HOUND GETS BACK from his recon, Dad goes over the plan. The tiny laptop screen is the best we can do for an ops center, so everyone clusters close where it's propped on the dresser. Hound squats, neck craned forward, squinting. Ember lounges on the bed but her scrunched expression is like she's ignited week-old roadkill. Mom balances on the edge of the mattress, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Every word gets her attention.
I can't focus.
Eric sits in a chair near the window. It isn't the briefing he's concerned about. He's already caught me staring once. Keeping things quiet about this Chroma thing is harder than I thought.
"Got it, Spencer?"
"Huh?"
Dad shows little surprise as he repeats what he'd said. "You and Eric are here at the comcen. Monitor communications, try to intercept any calls to the authorities. If this gets ugly, we want to buy time and keep from dragging a bunch of emergency responders into the crossfire."
"Got it. Keep 911 from doing their job," I sorta repeat. "Eric can handle that. I kind of feel I should be on the ground with you guys."
Hound arcs one fuzzy eyebrow.
"Sorry, Spencer. I made that mistake once, I won't make it again."
"Wait a minute. My first time, I had to drive you through the desert, bleeding. Sure, we ended up getting caught, but it isn't my fault the bad guys picked a spot where you could see fifty miles in any direction."
"That isn't it. This is going to be risky."
"Mom's going," I say, pointing and partly assuming because several of the specifics escaped my attention. The slightly guilty look on her face confirms the fact.
"We may need her to deal with Time Slip," Dad counters.
"And which one of you is going to deal with Shortwave?"
Hound snorts. "We got him covered, kid."
"Really? Because if you plan to go in and scrap his computers, he's thought way ahead of that. With a two-year head start, he might even have a hardened connection we haven't discovered. Something isolated. His mysterious office building at Jonestown for instance. Another way to get his orders out or a failsafe planned for this exact eventuality. What then?"
"We come get you," insists Dad.
"Before the cops, the fire department, finally respond to the raging inferno or after?" I ask.
Everyone looks at Ember.
"What? I won't start anything, Augment's honor. But if Vulkan wants to dance." She ends with a pouty lip, all innocence and destruction.
Hound's turn to wear the stink face, and he scrutinizes Dad, waiting for his final orders. Clearly, Ember enjoys the little drama while Mom has her mouth tight, eyes upturned, doing her best to not say whatever is on her mind. None of this has broken Eric's focus on the laptop. Dreading a surprise visit from his unpredictable friend perhaps?
Crimson Mask has an answer. Dad does too. A thumb taps on his tricep, flexing, his arms crossed. With a final release of pressure, he says, "Fine, you go. You have to follow orders. No freelancing. Never get out of sight of one of the team without damn good reason. Got it?"
"Aye aye." I offer another lazy salute to perturb Hound.
Hound doesn't look happy. In true military fashion, he doesn't question the decision. His baleful glare, though, isn't reserved for me. It's on Eric.
Sure, Eric needs someone to keep an eye on him, but I've got to trust him on this. He's got it. In fact, he's the only person on the team per
fectly suited to handle Chroma's unique threat.
"Everyone else clear on their orders?" asks Dad. "Eric?"
"Yeah, boss. Cop block. Got it. And I’ll get you a comms channel Shortwave won’t suspect, too. Piggyback off the ambient traffic."
"Sounds good. Let's get moving."
We make for the door, surprisingly gear light. From what I understand, there's a small arsenal packed in the SUV. Body armor, weapons, knives, grenades. No need to ask what I’ll be packing. I pat the multitool in my back pocket just to make sure it's there. Last one out, Eric stops me.
"Good luck," he says.
I stop, one foot over the threshold. "Stay focused."
He spreads his arms though his smile is guarded. "We got this."
We. That's what I'm worried about.
THE SUV ROLLS TO A stop inside our designated staging area. This old warehouse might be part of the several-block-long factory we passed on the way into town. No, wait, that's on the other side of the freeway. There must be hundreds of these rusted out, jagged mausoleums filling block after block. We hop out and huddle around the open back of the SUV in a puddle of light from the tailgate. Hound and Dad sort through the stowed equipment.
Everyone's soon immersed in the rattle of straps, sharp snap of bullets into clips, and magazines into guns. Bulletproof vests go to everyone but Ember who declines. Mom turns down the gun she's offered, too. Hound and Dad ready compact machine guns, flicking back the bolts before the old soldier presses a pistol into my palm.
"Point and shoot, eh?"
Dad watches the exchange. "Only if you need to," he says.
The gun still feels awkward. This has never been my thing. Before I can stuff it in my waistband, Hound interferes and slips it into a holster on the vest.
"So you don't shoot yer dick off."
"Right," I say. "Might need that one day."
Hound doesn't step off right away. Instead, he sets about adjusting straps at the sides and shoulders, tugging at the ends with sharp pulls causing me to jerk unsteadily. It's beyond embarrassing. Luckily Dad's focused on Mom, involved in their own prep work.
"Gotta fit it right, or it's worthless." Hound jabs a finger near my armpit. "Bullet'll find a gap. Make yer day a bad one."
"Thanks." Hound fussing over me, his Lucky Strike cologne re-igniting inside my nostrils, shit's getting real. "Sorry about earlier."
Another solid yank and he moves to arm's length, a tailor's examination made not for appearances but to ward off death. "Don't worry about it." He finishes the inspection and half smiles. "You jus' stay outta trouble until we need you, got it?" A thoughtful grimace and he adds, "Think yer friend can do that?"
It nearly catches me off-guard. "Eric? Yeah, he'll be fine." A change of subject right now would be damn helpful. "What about Danger?"
"What about 'em? He's over there now, son. Him, Cyrus, Polybius. We deal with 'em however we need to."
"Shoot them?"
"Shit, kid, you listen to a thing we said? Danger's low on the priority list. You let me worry about him. Polybius has been strengthened by all that Robby the Robot shit, but he ain't used to a scuffle. If either engage, we do whatever we gotta do."
"Cyrus?"
"Ember hangs back until Cyrus is neutralized. Hopefully, we can make sure that happens before Vulkan gets into the fight."
“What good are guns against Vulkan?”
“We were all shootin’ center mass last time. Too much body armor in that tactical getup. You have to put one...” Hound takes a finger and taps it between his eyes.
Neutralized. Guns. These away missions were a hell of a lot more interesting when we were headed to the desert on a scavenger hunt with a bulletproof man to hide behind.
Hound's nostrils flick, and he narrows his eyes. "I seen that look many times. Can't say I seen it on you often. Scared?"
"Maybe."
"Good. That's why you got orders. Keep your head down and follow 'em." Solid advice from the only other near mortal about to charge through the gates of Olympus.
"Yes sir."
I've seen the movies. This is supposed to happen slow-mo as we emerge from the darkened shadows of the warehouse and pass into the gray light before dawn, cutting a perfect wedge from the cracked pavement. Crimson Mask on point, Ember at his right and a grizzled Hound at his left, straight and tall against the ravages of time. A scrawny psychic girl of unimaginable and largely unknown power rounding out the badassery.
Then there's me. Head on a swivel, cringing at a bird call. I'm the cut-up meant to trip over his own feet or bobble his gun for a few laughs.
Mom's hand finds mine. Coolness factor already in a tailspin, I accept it.
"Ready?" she whispers.
"Nope."
En route, we've got little to worry about as far as being seen goes. Streets clear, we stick to tight alleys and overgrown spaces. Still, it's a tense walk, Hound moving ahead with his nose to the wind, pausing to avoid unseen threats. We're approaching from the north, according to our briefing. A cluster of abandoned houses and a regular urban forest choked with willows and knee-high grass offers a secluded landing beach for our invasion.
We duck into a two-story red brick home with a sagging roof. Once in, it's easy to see the roof isn't the only problem. The wood floor feels squishy and the upper story is exposed through catastrophic voids. Twilight bleeds in between gaps in the brickwork where sheetrock and insulation have been ripped from the walls.
"Careful where ya step," Hound whispers, leading us on a narrow path to the front room.
Air seeps through the busted windows of a nook, rattling a mangy set of blinds. Dad approaches a corner and peers across the street before bringing his walkie-talkie up.
"Crimson to base."
We strain to hear in the dilapidated void of groaning floorboards and grating Venetian blinds. There's a smell. Something dead. Behind us is a kitchen with an old fridge, the door propped open. I only hope that's the source.
"Crimson to base."
"Go ahead." Eric sounds rushed. Distracted.
"How does it look?"
"Ummm...I went proactive on the law enforcement. Swatted a pain in the ass Twitch gamer, so they're responding to the far side of town."
Not exactly the plan. Dad doesn't turn enough to gauge whether he's upset, but there is a pause before he continues.
"And the theater?"
"I'm in. They contracted with a local security company, amateurs. Probably for when they were out of the country. Looks like Danger's racked out, second floor, north side. Wait, he's staring at the camera, the creepy fucker." Hound and Dad exchange a glance while Eric continues. "No sign of Shortwave, Aurora. Vulkan, let's see, he's in the main room, the theater they've transformed into the miner farm. Exercising? Pushups? These cameras suck."
"Time Slip? The others?"
"Cyrus and Polybius are near Danger. There used to be offices on the upper floors. Nothing on Aurora or Shortwave. Oh, wait... Found Time Slip."
"Where?"
"Err...Exercising with Vulkan."
Mom's the only one who appears remotely shocked. The news doesn't faze Dad. He's adding this little variable to his plan. Cold, a bit ruthless, but I get it, we aren't playing games here. Their big guns together with their pants down, maybe literally. You can't pass that up.
"How fast can you get the security down?"
"In five. You sure you want to go now? I..."
"Do it." Dad checks his watch before facing the group. "Change of plans. We go in. No need to sweep, we head straight for the theater. East entrance brings us right to the stage where Hound and I will provide a distraction. Once that's done, Hound, I need you to secure the north side where the offices join the theater. Keep an eye out for Cyrus. Ember, go in through the roof. Burn in and ash Vulkan and Time Slip if you can. Spencer, you and Connie stay close."
Not sure when it happened, but Mom and I are holding hands once more.
We'll stay close. No doubt about that.
Chapter 41
WE PLUNGE INTO A TANGLE of unkempt trees. Wild branches jut out at all heights, thick with leaves and talon-like branches scoring exposed skin. Traffic from the highway hums, but without that, we're in another world. Waist-high fans of brittle grass grow intermittently through cracked concrete slabs. This place came apart long before Shortwave's worldwide crisis. I wonder if that's why he chose it?
We're huffing across the open ground, Dad in the lead. A dog somewhere in the neighborhood barks. Hound twitches an ear and sneers but doesn't stop. Mom and I fall further back, and Dad and Hound break the next line of trees where the aging theater looms, an edifice to a former life once lived by this city.
On his way through the final thicket, Dad's donned his mask. Shadow and blood, that's all I can see of him as he and Hound flank the door. Those fancy tights, the press, the misguided fans, did their best to turn Augments into something they never were. He's a soldier, a living weapon.
I stop. Mom yanks my arm to its full reach before turning. Fear, uncertainty, she knows better than I that we can't stop. Time feels frozen. I'm almost worried we've been discovered, that Time Slip has clamped her hands on that spinning disc and made it skip. A seek error in the universe.
The feeling doesn't last. Beyond Mom, Hound makes hurried gestures. Crimson Mask busts the door open with a palm strike then slams it closed. I draw Mom close and cover her head. The resounding whump of the flashbang quivers through us.
Ember streaks across the sky, a meteor casting a diminishing trail of quivering light. An omen of fire and death, she disappears behind the roof line and releases a flare so brilliant it brings day early to Harper Avenue. Mom and I swim in heat and a cushion of air permeated by molten tar.
Mom drags me onward. At the open door, Hound waves a frantic invitation with Crimson Mask already disappearing into the smoke. From an apocalyptic landscape to the Ethereal Plane, we're inside, the door slamming shut behind us. A hazy void where a ghostly orange heat is our only beacon.
Shouts. A jet of flame roars loud enough to ring my ears, and I'm sure my skin will ignite from the proximity. Mom slows, but she pushes forward, trying to keep in front. The disastrous smell of burning wire insulation and silicone submerge us as banks of cooling fans fail, forcing horrific levels of heat across their components. We're amid the tall racks, status lights blinking like airplanes lost in a fog.
