Assault or Attrition

by Blake Northcott

  Macklin: I know, I know, but I’m just saying – with that kind of snowfall you could really ‘shred some powder’ on the slopes. Is that a saying? Ski slang? I heard my grandson say that at Thanksgiving dinner. He might have been referring to drugs, though. I can never tell with these kids today.

  Marsh: I’m not sure, but if you wait a moment for us to swing around into position we’ll get a better shot of the crowd that’s gathered at the base of the structure.

  There we are...you can see – I know visibility is low because of the snow squalls – there are literally thousands of people gathering. We’re estimating twenty thousand at the moment, and more are arriving by the minute. They’ve broken into the Fortress and as you can see, they’ve opened up a number of the entrances on the main level, including the hangar.

  Macklin: Why aren’t you down there on the ground with them, Dana? Get some one-on-one interviews.

  Marsh: They’re heavily-armed dissidents, Herb. They’re here demanding the public execution of Matthew Moxon for his role in Sergei Taktarov’s death.

  Macklin: Right. Not the friendliest folks, then.

  Marsh: I’d assume not. With our traffic cam, we can see the mastermind of this entire operation, Sergei’s younger sister Valeriya Taktarov. Interesting fact that we just discovered: at just twelve years of age, she has the second-highest IQ on record.

  Macklin: That’s astounding. My grandson is nineteen, and his greatest accomplishment to date is sewing his own Zelda costume. I think it was Zelda...is he that robot that changes into a tiger? Or maybe it was a Pokemon.

  Marsh: Like I was saying, Valeriya Taktarov has not only assembled a group that has been dubbed ‘The Red Army’, but she’s also privately contracted a number of superhumans to pursue Moxon into The Fortress.

  Macklin: Super assassins, huh? So what’s the going rate for a hit man these days?

  Marsh: No financial details have been disclosed, although her Kashstarter campaign continues to generate funds. As of seven o’clock this morning, over a hundred and forty million American dollars has been raised, including one donation in particular of thirty million from an anonymous source.

  Macklin: Anonymous? Can’t these donations be traced?

  Marsh: I’m told that the majority of them were made with Bitgold, a digital currency that is purchased and traded without any online footprint.

  What we do know is that as Valeriya’s war chest continues to swell, so does her army. According to several sources, her paid recruits include Mitsuhara Onita, a well-known superhuman from Tokyo who possesses the ability to shape-shift, and the winner of last month’s Abu Dhabi Superhuman Classic, Grace Weaving.

  Macklin: Is there a police presence, Dana? If they’re threatening to execute Moxon shouldn’t the authorities be there to break things up? Make arrests?

  Marsh: That’s what we’ve been trying to discern. It’s been several days, and not a single public statement has been issued from either the Canadian or American governments.

  Macklin: Why do you think that is?

  Marsh: I’m not going to speculate, Herb.

  Macklin: Come on, give our viewers an opinion.

  Marsh: I’m a news reporter. I report facts. If I just started throwing my thoughts and opinions into every story, it would cease to be ‘news’.

  Macklin: All righty, if you’re not going to play along I’ll throw in my two cents.

  Marsh: Somehow I knew you would.

  Macklin: If I had to guess, I’d say the governments are hoping that this entire thing burns itself out. They’re going to let this Red Army take care of business, get rid of Moxon, and wait for the riots to die down after he’s gone.

  Plus there’s not much they could do, even if they wanted to. The American government doesn’t want to step on Canada’s toes by coming over the border, and Canada doesn’t have the manpower to deal with an armed crowd of this size.

  Marsh: That’s certainly a possibility, but again, this is all purely speculation. Let’s just stick to the facts, here.

  Macklin: Well, you asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you.

  Marsh: I didn’t ask for your opinion.

  Chapter Twenty

  After a short hike to the peak of a rolling hill I spotted a structure in the distance. On an adjacent hill sat a castle. It towered high above its surroundings; with an arching roof, dark wooden shingles and stone base, it had a distinctly Japanese feel to it, like the castles built during the country’s feudal Sengoku period in the 1400s. Not surprising, since this had been an obsession of Cameron Frost’s.

  As an admitted Japanophile, Frost’s love for the culture had gone far beyond most American’s fascination with Dragon Ball Z, Sailor Moon and take-out sushi restaurants. He had participated in Full Contact Swordfighting tournaments with the sole purpose of becoming known as the greatest swordsman who’d ever lived, eclipsing Miyamoto Musashi’s record of sixty victories with a katana. He had even woven the odd Mushasi quote into his speeches, though upon reflection I didn’t think he’d fully understood them.

  From what I could tell the structure was at the center of the level, and it was where I expected the rest of the group would meet. I trekked across the artificial turf as London followed closely behind, and as we travelled I asked for a visual of the Fortress exterior. The friendly orange spheres circled in front of me and displayed a holo-screen, cycling through the various security cams. The east-facing camera displayed at least ten thousand members of the Red Army sprawled throughout the snowy forest clearing, as well as a pair of tanks and several helicopters that circled the perimeter. The group that’d once resembled a large protest now seemed like a permanent occupation, with a reported population that topped twenty thousand. If the Canadian or American governments were to deploy any type of rescue team on our behalf – which at this point seemed like a long shot – the clash that’d ensue would resemble a third world war. I had no delusions at this point: we had exactly one chance for escape, and that was the tunnel on the bottom level of The Spiral.

  I spotted a figure approaching in the horizon – it was Brynja. Her black body armor and flowing blue hair were like a beacon in the distance. We met and agreed to try and access the castle at the level’s center. As the sole visible structure, it was the most likely location for the pods that led to the third level.

  Brynja had searched the immediate area where she was ejected from her pod, although she hadn’t located a chest. She was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to retrieve anything useful, but seemed uplifted by my discoveries; having London back online and a rocket launcher at our disposal were two small advantages that we desperately required. If the Red Army caught up with us I wasn’t sure how many of them we could take out with three explosive shells, but it was a significant step up from our standard firearms. After emptying virtually our entire arsenal into The Beast up on the first level, we were in need of some serious firepower, and the handful of bullets split between us wasn’t going to stop a charging mob.

  We made the long walk up the steep hillside, crossed a bridge that spanned a moat (although the surrounding ditch was completely dry – just another small detail of this level that had been neglected) and stepped up to the entrance. A pair of enormous wooden doors stretched fifteen feet high, blocking our entrance to the castle courtyard. No keyhole, no doorknob. We inspected the frame, discovering a pair of metal plates that flanked each side of the doorway, each with a handprint etched into their surfaces – the same as on the obelisk from the previous level.

  Brynja and I took turns pressing our hands into the plates. First her, then me. Nothing.

  “So what the hell?” she said casually, shrugging her shoulders. “We wait for Braveheart to show up so he can hack his way in with his light saber?”

  “That would be too easy. For all we know the entire castle is packed with C4 – if we try to force our way in we could explode, just like the caskets.”

  Brynja groaned, let a few expletives fly and buried th
e heel of her boot into the wooden door. “Frost, I hope there’s a hell,” she shouted, “because when I get there I’m going to kick you in your goddamned face!”

  I suggested that threatening Cameron Frost in the afterlife while stomping an immovable door might not be the best way to expend her energy. I also pointed out that for Brynja to theoretically fight Frost on the ethereal plane, she’d have to end up in hell – if that was where he was located. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss theology.

  As Brynja continued her tantrum, I remembered Frost’s introductory speech about competitors putting their faith in others. Surely there was a good reason for the dual hand sensors, and it was so obvious I felt like an idiot for not realizing it immediately.

  “We need to do it together,” I explained. “The prints. We need both our hands simultaneously to unlock the door.”

  When we positioned our hands into the grooves on the metal plates a voice resonated through an overhead speaker system.

  “Trust,” Cameron Frost’s voice boomed like a thunderclap, “is the key to any partnership. The two superhumans who have arrived at this point formed an alliance. An alliance that will – out of necessity – be broken. Before you can enter the castle, state your superpower, and how you would use it against your partner.”

  It was another lie detector test. In order for the door to unlock, the competitors had to basically describe how they’d kill each other, and look each other in the eyes while they did it. Another twist in the game that would, in other circumstances, have resulted in a bloodbath.

  “That’s easy,” I said. “I don’t have any superpowers.” Detecting my truthful response, the metal plate glowed blue beneath my palm. A loud ratcheting sound clanked from above when the first set of bolts fell out of place. One more honest answer and we’d be inside.

  I glanced over at Brynja, who avoided eye contact. She drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, using the wide doorframe for support.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked. “Just say you don’t have powers anymore and let’s go find the next set of pods.”

  “I can’t do that,” she mumbled.

  “What?” I blurted out. “I thought your mind reading ability faded after we left the hospital, and that you were back to normal?”

  “‘Normal’?” She repeated, as if I’d hurled an insult in her direction. Brynja’s hand was pressed firmly on the metal plate, but she turned to face me, brushing a sweep of blue locks from her face.

  “I didn’t mean you weren’t...you know what I mean.”

  “I was normal,” she said emphatically. “I am. It’s just that a week ago I felt this tingling, and suddenly...” Brynja’s head sagged, eyes fixated on the toes of her boots. “Shit, this is really hard to talk about.”

  “It’s me,” I assured her. “We talk about everything.”

  “All right,” she continued, drawing in another deep breath, “so...this tingling happens, and suddenly my psychic abilities come back. A little.”

  “A little?” I shouted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Okay,” she admitted. “A lot.”

  “You’ve been reading my mind?”

  “It’s not like that. Not on purpose, anyway.” She stepped away from the frame and moved towards me, hands extended.

  “Holy shit – and I trusted you!” I turned away and raked my fingers through my short hair. I couldn’t look at her without feeling sick. Brynja had been more than my best friend over the last several months – she’d been my family. At times my only family. And the entire time that we’d lived together she’d been violating my mind; reading my innermost thoughts, and probably using them to manipulate me.

  “You can trust me,” she pleaded, “it’s just—”

  “It’s just what,” I interrupted. “What is it? We’re probably going to die here in this freak show – executed on a simulcast while the world watches from their living room couches. If you’re not going to be up front with me now, then when would be a good time?”

  “What do you want from me?” she screamed, slamming the back of her fist into the wooden door so hard I was surprised she didn’t break her hand.

  “Some goddamned honesty,” I shouted back.

  “I wanted you for myself,” Brynja said, turning away. “I’m a selfish bitch, okay? And I wanted things to suck between you and Peyton so I could catch you on the rebound. Is that honest enough for you?”

  Holy shit. My mind reeled. I suddenly hoped we’d have to fight another homicidal rock monster – that would have been easier to deal with than this painfully awkward moment.

  Brynja turned and pressed her back against the door, sliding down until she sat on the ground. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you’d react like this. You get all defensive and shell up anytime something disrupts your perfect little bubble. And secondly...I guess I gave up.”

  “Gave up?” I joined her on the ground, leaning back against the doors.

  “The minute Peyton walked back into your life I knew it was over. I never stood a chance. That girl’s mind is like this magic fantasy land of hope, and forgiveness, and chocolate-covered gumdrops.” She smiled weakly and laughed under her breath. “Reading her is like being stuck inside a fucking Disney movie.”

  “You read Peyton, too?”

  She nodded, pulling her knees tight against her chest. “Like I said, it just happened. Proximity and stuff...if you’re too close, surface thoughts start to float around. They’re like big neon billboards – can’t avoid them if I try.”

  “So...”

  “So, she’s the Lois Lane to your Superman,” Brynja sighed. “The Mary Jane whatshername to your Spidey. Peyton would follow you to the end of the earth if you asked her. But that’s the rub, Mox: you have to ask her. Like, with actual words and stuff.”

  “I did ask her,” I replied without missing a beat. “I asked her to move in with me and she shot me down. She walked away and we didn’t speak for months – that was her choice, not mine.”

  Brynja raised her eyebrows, and her lips curled slightly at the edges. “So you expected Peyton to leave her family, school, job and friends – and move out to the middle of the Canadian wilderness with you...and stay here forever?”

  I never thought of it that way. “You’re saying that was too much to ask?”

  “She’s a human girl, Mox. She’s not a collectible action figure. You can’t just stick her in a plastic dome and expect her to pose, smile and be happy about it. That’s insane.”

  I shrugged. “You’re happy here.”

  “Because you’re all I have,” she groaned, letting her forehead fall against her knees. “I had nothing to go home to, so I moved in with some dude I met one time for a couple hours last summer...” she trailed off for a moment, furrowing her brow. “And now that I’m saying this out loud it’s sounding really pathetic.”

  “You’re not pathetic.”

  “Look,” she continued, “I like it here...well, not now, with the angry mob and people trying to kill us – but before, yeah, it was fun. But did you expect it to stay that way for the rest of our lives?”

  “If it was going so well why would it have to change?”

  Brynja stood and dusted herself off, extending her hand towards me. “Because life changes. Shit happens – some good, some bad.”

  “Some?” I replied, taking her hand as a stood.

  “Okay,” she conceded, “mostly bad. And you can’t live in a bubble and expect everything to stay the same because you’re changing too, Mox. Some people just wait way too long until they realize it.”

  “So if we make it out of here alive—”

  “When,” she was quick to correct me.

  “Okay, when – then I’m supposed to go and live in the open? Act like no one wants to murder me?”

  “Like I said, things change. It won’t be like that forever. Talk to her. Tell her that the two of you can work in the real world – that’s all she wants to hear. And comprom
ise with her. I know, it’s asking a lot from an eccentric celebrity billionaire, but give it a shot.”

  Most girls assume that guys are mind readers, or at least that’s how Peyton always treated me. If she’d just told me what she needed once in a while I wouldn’t have to hear it from someone with actual psychic abilities. “You read all of that?”

  “Yup,” she said with a small nod. “I put the pieces together. The way she cares about you is kinda romantic...in a barfy sort of way. But I don’t need psychic powers to see that you two assholes belong together.”

  Brynja was the only person who could insult me and make me smile at the same time. It was one of her lesser-known super powers. “So then what?” I asked. “Where will you be when Peyton and I are making it work in this theoretical ‘real world’, wherever the hell that is?”

  “I know how these things end,” she said quietly. “I’ve been the other girl before. Not like, in a sexy way – but as a friend. A guy gets a steady girl in his life, and they do not want me around.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” I reassured her, “because I can’t lose you. Who else am I going to build Lego castles with at two in the morning while we eat Nutella from the jar?”

  She smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’d settle for that, you know. Just us...talking, hanging out, doing nothing. But it never works out that way.” Brynja took a few short paces to the frame of the massive door and pressed her hand into the metal plate. “You want the truth?” she said, tilting her chin towards the sky. “Here it is, Frost: I would never use my psychic powers to hurt Matthew Moxon, because he’s the only person I’ve ever felt real with.”

  The deadbolt dropped, the hinges creaked, and the heavy wooden doors began to swing open. And from the darkness of the castle courtyard a snarling blur of teeth, fangs and claws burst forward. Brynja was buried beneath the creature before I had a chance to move.

  Chapter Twenty-One