Avalanche: Book Five in the Secret World Chronicle

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Red had died. No, that wasn’t right. It was too clinical, too cold. Red had been killed, murdered. And in a very real sense, John had been there. He felt it happen, amidst everything else. He had felt Vickie as she managed to touch Red magically, and as she experienced Red dying just as she reached him. It had torn through him like a hail of icicle spikes, sickeningly cold but still leaving molten and oozing wounds in their wake. John and Sera had been some of the few—if not the only—people that knew how much Vickie cared for Red. Loved him, more than she loved herself. He had been ripped from her, finally and horribly. John could empathize with her; he’d been there himself, what seemed like so long ago but in reality had only been a few years. He had grown since that loss—Jessica, a woman whom he loved and who loved him back, if only for a short time—and feeling that same loss through Vickie…he felt his heart breaking along with hers, for her. At the injustice of it. That anyone would have to feel that twisting, yawning pit in their stomachs, seeing someone that meant everything…be taken.

  He was on the roof of his squat, alone and watching the city with half of a bottle of lukewarm beer in his hands. There were a dozen and a half empties nearby; he hardly felt the alcohol. Drinking was something to do with his hands and his mouth; better that than grinding his teeth, or clenching his fists…or worse. The city was lit up in the night; with the destruction corridors and the height of the building he squatted in, it was easy enough to see the skyline and large swaths of darkness cutting through the city. It seemed so incongruous, the city being bright and humming along—as well as it could, with the war and all—when someone like Red had been taken from it. Intellectually, he knew that that was just the way the world was. People died, people were born, another day, another buck. In his gut, he wanted to spit and scream and rave against the absurdity, the tragedy of it. John and Red had become friends; not the closest, but there was still something there. They had both been outlaws, of different stripes, and were running from their pasts when this entire stupid goddamned war had started. It had made them confront themselves…and change. Plus, the bastard liked the same sort of scotch that John did.

  The entire situation was eating at him. They had lost people before. They—the “good guys”—were going to probably lose a lot more before the war ended. One way or another. And John wasn’t a stranger to loss, especially by violence. Friends when he was enlisted, men under his command on operations, Jessica in the Program, his parents in the Invasion. Then comrades and friends since. But this was different. It was different for him because he had become different. Before, he had done everything that he could, or at least he told himself that. You can’t be everywhere at once, shoot all the bad guys, move every person out of the way of falling buildings. But now, John…could. Or goddamned near it. He wasn’t dying, at least not any more than anyone else. His powers weren’t killing him. In fact…his powers were literally out of this world. He had done things that no one thought could be done…and he was getting better, too. Despite all of that, he felt like there was more, more power, further limits that he could push. If he could reach that, take it…he could maybe stop things like what happened to Red and Vickie from ever happening again. No, no “maybes” about it. He would stop things like that. And he could see it, too, in his imagination. There wouldn’t be threats that he couldn’t handle, catastrophes he couldn’t preempt. Challenges he couldn’t put down.

  If he could wrap his hands around that next level of power, there was no limit to what he could do, the good he could do…

  It wasn’t just his imagination anymore. He felt his gaze unfocus slightly, then snap back into high definition, sharp focus. He wasn’t on the rooftop anymore, he was Beyond. Destroying the Thulians, down to the last. Then anyone involved in the slightest way with the Program. He was perfect and untouchable, and from there, it would only be a matter of time—

  He didn’t know that he had been squeezing his hands so hard that he had shattered the bottle he was holding until Sera put a hand on his right forearm. She had joined him on the roof while he had been lost in that…whatever it was. Reverie? Vision? So deep into it that he hadn’t even noticed her approach; with his senses and especially with his connection to her, that had never happened before. Losing it again, old man?

  “You are right,” she said sadly. “This war…we pay price upon price upon price. That is how war is; it is a great and terrible beast that devours everything in its path. Nothing is safe from it. Not innocence, not love…but that is not your fault, nor mine, nor anyone’s who fights those who bring this war upon us.”

  “Y’know that I know ’bout war, darlin’. Seen my fair share of it, now an’ before.” He wiped the brown bottle glass from his gloves; what little shards he couldn’t safely wipe, he vaporized quickly, igniting his hands and then extinguishing them, leaving not even ash. “Knowin’ it doesn’t make it easier. An’ it doesn’t make the dead any less dead.” He knew that Sera only wanted to help him. The love he felt pouring off of her was almost enough to drive him to his knees weeping, but he fought to stand straight. He didn’t particularly feel like being consoled at the moment. He wanted to own the pain, at least for now. It wouldn’t feel real, otherwise.

  “And you know, better than most, that death is not an ending.” She encircled him with an arm. “But we both know, better than most, that this is no consolation.” Her wing followed the curve of her arm, doubly embracing him. “I lack words,” she finally added. “Perhaps there are none for this.”

  John put his arm around Sera’s waist, the soft feathers of her wing warming him, pulling her closer. She placed her head against his shoulder.

  “Maybe not.” He sighed heavily, still looking at the city. It was well and truly night now. The city should have been lit up a whole lot more, but, well…destruction corridors. Damaged infrastructure. There were ugly gaps in the lights that looked like missing teeth. He still resented everyone going on like nothing had happened, knowing that he shouldn’t. “I still feel like shit. Like I didn’t do enough to help.” He hated that feeling: helplessness. Of all the people in the world, he figured that he was one of the least helpless. So why was it he still felt like a weakling, a failure at that moment?

  “Come walk with me,” she said softly. “It has been long since we walked together. Too many battles call us away too often. I wish to feel the ground beneath my feet and quiet about me.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she gently disengaged herself from him and lofted over the low parapet, landing lightly on the ground below, where she stood, looking up at him and holding out one hand. She’s right. Aw, what the hell. Walk might help. I’ve got her, an’ she’s got me. John placed a hand on the brick ledge in front of him, then swung his legs forward and to the side, vaulting over it. When he was about thirty feet from the ground, he turned on his fire around his legs and feet for a short spurt. It sounded like a flag flapping from a hurricane wind, too loud, for a split second. Then he had landed, fire extinguished. He was starting to get pretty decent at landings. Hell knew he had had enough practice these last few weeks.

  Sera took his hand in the soft dark, knowing exactly where he was without being able to see him in the shadows. John’s eyes were better than hers, enhanced even without Vickie’s Overwatch HUD. He didn’t need to use his mundane senses to tell where she was, however; he felt her presence, like a comforting fire against the cold of night. Together, they walked slowly towards the playground at the end of the block.

  Someone had scrounged up some solar-powered lights and placed them where the kids wouldn’t accidentally run into them or kick them over. It The result was an irregular pattern of globes of dim light, just enough to make out the shadows of the equipment. “I remember watching you weld these objects,” she said, looking at the playground equipment.

  “I remember doin’ it. That was back when I thought you were just another crazy meta.” A lot of public spaces had been razed when the initial Invasion had happened. There were a lot of kids with no
safe kid things to do, for a while. Not that the kids here had ever had a playground before, unless you counted a couple of basketball hoops on a fenced-in stretch of asphalt at their school. After John had started organizing the ’hood, it was one of the things that the community had brought up. A half hour of planning after that meeting, some scrap steel, a grinding wheel, some paint, and John’s fire…and a playground had started to take shape. It looked a lot more impressive now; the neighborhood had been adding to it, expanding it.

  “Random acts of kindness,” she said. “And yours inspired more. This has also taught children that while there are terrible things about them, there are also people who care enough for them to give them such a thing. You have sent out bright threads among the dark.”

  John shrugged, still looking at all of the play equipment. The area had been wrecked, initially: rubble, jagged rebar, and worse. Now, it was even, the borders lined with reused telephone poles and the ground covered with chewed-up car tires. Good old Chug. Once you convinced him not to eat the things, he was happy to be their no-cost tire mulcher. There were plants and actual grass areas, laid down in odd-shaped plots wherever they could be fit. It looked like an entire ’nother world, sprung up in the middle of Atlanta like a colorful sprout.

  “I figure it would’ve happened, one way or another. The folks in this ’hood don’t always get enough credit for what they can do when they really pull together. Just took a spark. Or a kick in the ass, dependin’ on how you look at it.”

  “But none of them had that spark,” she reminded him. “Only you. Not even Jonas looked at this lot and thought of the children.”

  “It didn’t look like it would be a good place for a beer cooler, is probably why. Speakin’ of, we probably oughta get some lunch with that old goat sometime soon. ’Fore he thinks we’ve forgotten ’bout him, or the beer that I owe him.” Besides, he sent to her through their connection, if it wasn’t me, then someone would have stepped up, in time.

  She shook her head but did not argue with him, instead, taking him further along, to the garden. It was spring now, and people had begun setting out the seedlings they’d been sprouting in old paper egg cartons, in their windowsills. Everyone with a window that got some sun had been doing a share. “You did this, too. I watched you. And this, you did alone, until you had a space fit to plant in, and then you brought the Hog Farmers here.”

  John threw a lopsided grin Sera’s way. “Alone? I don’t think that’s entirely true, darlin’.” He had always known, somehow, that Sera had helped the garden thrive when it was struggling, in the first few weeks and months. Their new connection, their shared memories and feelings, confirmed it.

  She waved a hand, dismissing his comment. “I only improved what you made. Really, walking the ground does not qualify as helping.”

  He leaned over, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “Does if you’re the one doin’ the walkin’, love.” He looked over the garden. Once it had really started and got on its feet, it had been producing steadily. Combined with the tiny plots that some people had in closet-sized backyards, on windowsills, porches, and balconies, it all had added up to a none-too-small harvest. Everyone shared, since everyone needed something. Barter had come back in a strong way in the ’hood, as had friendly loans. You never knew when the person that needed some potatoes would be able to throw a couple of containers of strawberries your way, or some rosemary. Every other day, there was a farmer’s market somewhere in the ’hood; different blocks on different days, with a big multiblock one on Sundays. It all helped to shore up the food that was trucked into this part of the city, which always seemed to be a little less than what was needed, what with the war on.

  Sera paused, seemingly in thought for a moment, then continued on, bringing John along with a light pull on his arm. They continued walking through the ’hood, turning to stay on the cleared streets and avoiding the destruction corridors. There were a few people on the streets, going on with their lives or wrapping up business that they couldn’t finish before the sun went down. It almost felt normal. This neighborhood had been its own sort of special hell before the Invasion: poverty, drugs, crime. The residents had lacked any sense of real community; each apartment was an island, sometimes aligned with friends and neighbors, more often shored up against the same. A constant siege mentality, partially through police neglect—or sometimes targeted, depending on if someone was running for reelection or wanted a promotion or just hadn’t made their arrest quota that week—and criminals who carved out little fiefdoms in the squalor. The Invasion had changed that; they couldn’t fight amongst themselves anymore. It didn’t matter if you were poor or rich, black, white, brown or yellow; the Kriegers wanted to kill everyone that wasn’t Thulian.

  So…they had banded together. There were false starts and miscommunication in the beginning, and plenty of the bolder gangs had tried to expand; after having to deal with energy blasts and thermite, after the First Invasion wave, the residents were back to ducking bullets—a familiar struggle waged with new vigor by normal gangs as well as those bolstered by metahuman members. When John arrived, it wasn’t long before he intervened. It still puzzled him why he had done that, back then. He had been a different man, still on the run technically. He had done a lot of things that seemed nonsensical or even crazy. It was probably the kid back in New York City that had changed things for John, however miniscule the change had seemed at the time.

  Sera paused fractionally, and waved. John looked where she was looking, and saw one of the neighborhood patrols keeping a watchful eye in the shadows—where no one but a meta would be likely to spot them. It was a great lookout spot; they had a fine view of a five-point street intersection as well as into the park, without being easily spotted themselves. He saw a couple of them waving back, and sensed the grins. “You taught them well,” she said softly. She was right; John had put a stop to the intergang fighting in the ’hood. He had called out the heads of all the gangs, along with some of the more prominent leaders among the civilians—Jonas among them—and showed everyone what he could do. Namely, he had melted a wrecked car like a chocolate bar put under a blowtorch. Probably not the smartest move, considering the heat it had brought down on him from Blacksnake and ECHO, but it had been effective. He had told everyone that they were going to work together, or they’d have to deal with him. He didn’t want to play sheriff; not his style, for starters. Instead, he had trained anyone that wanted to, how to keep themselves protected, keep themselves and the ’hood as a whole safe. Combined with the street savvy that the gangs had, and the oversight from the rest of the neighborhood…and, miraculously, things had worked out.

  Miraculously? Sera allowed him, in that moment, a rare flash out of her own memories of that time. How she had literally displayed the Wrath of a Seraphym to one of the more…recalcitrant among the leaders. In his mind’s eye, he saw the gang-banger practically melting with terror before her. Ironically, it was one of the fellows who had just waved back.

  John chuckled as they walked. “See? I have had an angel on my shoulder this entire time. Well, lookin’ over it, at the very least.”

  “Some,” she said, and squeezed his hand. “Mostly, it was your own doing.”

  “How do you mean, darlin’?” They had left most of the populated streets behind; they were on their own now, back on the darker streets. The sounds of life and those living it still drifted after them.

  “How you treated them. What you showed them. You surely know that even if it all turns against us, this will be a place where resistance will not die. You showed them…” she paused. “You showed them that perfectly ordinary people are capable of making a great difference.”

  “Well, neither of us are exactly all that ordinary, y’gotta admit. Especially now.” The thoughts of what he could do with Sera’s power came back to him. She was able to cow the worst that humanity had to offer, get them in line and quit killing each other, start working together. He may have planted the seeds with his
little fire tricks…but she was awesome with that level of power. Enough power to turn a person’s knees to water without having to do more than utter a word. If a simple display of her true form could have that effect, how much more could he do without the constraints of being a Sibling of the Infinite? He had Free Will, after all…and he could use it to make things better. Couldn’t he? Shouldn’t he?

  “It was not your power they respected. It was that you had power and gave them power. That was you. Not your enhancements, not your meta-ability.” She stopped and turned, causing him to turn to face her fully. “You could have done that with nothing but your character and the skills you had…the man that you are. I know this. And I know…another thing.”

  “What?” he asked, puzzled as to where this was going.

  “You could have all my power, the full strength of a Seraphym, at any time. All that is needed is for me to die.”

  John felt ice flood his veins, and he recoiled as if he had been burned. Revulsion and horror filled him in that instant, in a way he hadn’t thought possible. Sera dead? He would rather die himself, a thousand times over, than to lose her again. The horror and revulsion were all quickly washed away in a wave of shame; he hadn’t actually considered what he might have to do for that power, what he might have to sacrifice. He knew that he would never be able to betray her like that, greater good be thrice damned. She was his world now, and he was hers. He knew, deep down, that if she died, he would be right there with her; he wouldn’t leave her alone, even in death.

  She let out her breath in a long sigh, and took his other hand. And in that moment, he was taken to that…place…where he could see some of the Futures. The ones he saw were all ones where he was the person that would let his beloved die to have her power. The ones where he smashed the Kriegers, and a grateful—or fearful—world made him the pinnacle of power.

  They were terrible Futures, terrible and glorious at the same time. And now, they were dying. Snuffing out, one by one, until it was as if they had never been a possibility at all. Then there was just—them. Together. Facing uncertainty.