Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone

by Andrews, Christopher

  Being interrupted, just as he was about to voice pleasantries to the matriarch of the Taalu, by the theme song to the TV show Law & Order counted among Steve’s more surreal life moments. He was thrown for such a loop, he couldn’t grasp what in the world was going on until he absorbed that Powerhouse was fumbling for his phone.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry, that’s Pendler’s ring tone ...” Powerhouse muttered as he withdrew his phone from his back pocket; Steve couldn’t see through Lincoln’s mask, but if he could, he was pretty sure he’d see a lot of blushing.

  “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Steve muttered aloud. “What’s it been, like, five minutes?” Sighing heavily, Steve said to Callin, “Sorry about this.”

  Callin, one loving arm still around his mother’s shoulders, dismissed it. “This is why I left the hatch open. It may be something important.”

  Steve wanted to scoff at that, but instead he bit his tongue and waited.

  Powerhouse held the phone to his ear and whispered a greeting, his abashed eyes on the floor. But a short moment later, he looked up at Vortex. “Pendler is routing a call through from Lieutenant Takayasu.”

  Shit. Intending no personal offense to Pendler, Steve knew this changed things. He had hoped, desperately, that Takayasu and Shockwave were being called away to deal with some bureaucratic PCA nonsense, but Takayasu wouldn’t call them just to say he was on his way back; something serious must be going on. Shit shit shit.

  “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Powerhouse was saying. He covered his other ear, even though no one on the bridge was speaking at that moment. “Lieutenant, please speak up. We’re inside the Arthian ship, so I’ve got a bad connection here ...”

  Callin’s brother repeated, “ ‘Arth-ee-an’ ship?”

  Callin said in a low voice, “It was our designation, a nickname. I’ll explain later.”

  Immediately on the heels of that exchange, Powerhouse surprised Steve by handing him the phone. “The Lieutenant needs to talk to you,” he said. “The connection sucks.”

  “Got it.” Then he said into the phone, “This is Vortex.”

  “Vortex, we’ve had an unexpected development here,” came Takayasu’s scratchy, static-coated voice. Powerhouse wasn’t kidding about the poor connection; Steve pressed the phone harder against his ear, wishing he could take his mask off. “I’m glad Lincoln said ‘Arthian’ before. Our new, very tall, old friend might be right about uninvited guests wanting to crash the party. And you never know when some pest might be tap-tap-tapping away. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Steve swallowed hard. “I think I do.”

  “Good. Because you know that problem the Arthians were going to help us look into? You know, with our own pests that keep getting loose after we catch them in a trap?”

  That stumped Steve for a moment, until he remember that Callin had offered to help them track down the rogue or rogues responsible for busting other paranormals out of jail. “Okay, I think I’m with you so far.”

  “Believe it or not, it looks like we might both be dealing with the same pest.”

  Steve blinked at that. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  Everyone on the bridge, from Powerhouse to Callin’s mother, heard Steve’s tone of voice and grew very still. Steve looked around, then returned his attention to the phone.

  “Tell me what you can.”

  COOPER, TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, AND VORTEX

  Cooper’s nerves had been on edge for so long, he felt like he was walking some bizarre tightrope between awake and asleep — this was how he always imagined crackhead punks must feel, but at his age, he’d be lucky if he didn’t drop dead of a heart attack.

  That might be better, he thought, without really meaning it. He was just so sick of being afraid, waiting for that voice to speak up, right here in the closet with him. Those PCA guys had been gone for a while — he wasn’t sure how long, just that lunch had come and gone since they left.

  Dear God, he prayed, please let this idea of theirs work. I can’t take much—

  Cooper almost squeaked when the knocking sounded from the closet door. He fired up his shield before realizing that it was the proper code he’d worked out with Taka-whatever before they left; they’d made it different from the previous one he’d used with the warden, just in case.

  “Mister Cooper,” he heard the Lieutenant said, “are you ready?”

  Cooper swallowed. The truth was, he would never be ready for this ... but where would that leave him? So he dropped his shield and answered, “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  A moment later, the door opened, and he forced himself to remain unshielded. He could see the Lieutenant and the Shockwave guy (both with tired, bloodshot eyes), and a few prison guards beyond them. Taka-whatever nodded to him. Chewing on his lower lip to keep it from quivering, Cooper nodded back, and left the utility closet for the first time since making it his personal cubbyhole.

  Eyeing the six PCA guards, all of whom carried their stun rifles at the ready — he only recognized three of them; one bad-ass-wannabe punk was even wearing big sunglasses and an Army combat helmet, probably thinking he looked cool — Cooper asked the Lieutenant in a low voice, “How are we doing this?”

  Speaking at normal volume, the Asian man said, “We’re going directly outside from here, but we’re not heading for the main gate. We’ll lead you around to the west side, where three laundry trucks will be waiting. We’ll load you into the back of the nearest truck, and once you’re inside, you turn on your shield.” Then, in the barest whisper and without moving his lips, he added, “If I tell you to ‘drop,’ you drop. Got it?”

  Cooper started to answer verbally, then settled for a nod. Dear God, now that they were about to do this thing, he was so nervous he could feel his heartbeat in his eyeballs.

  Then the Lieutenant ordered, “Please hold your arms out from your sides and slowly turn around.”

  “Hold my— wait, what now?”

  “Hold your arms out, turn in a circle.”

  This made no sense to Cooper whatsoever. “Why?”

  “We want to make sure your prison uniform isn’t too dirty for travel.”

  Cooper was on the verge of calling bullshit — what the hell was going on here? — but something in the Lieutenant’s eyes urged him to comply without comment. Mindful of his own warnings not to underestimate his invisible slave-driver, Cooper complied.

  He had made it almost all the way around — feeling equal parts freaked out, bewildered, and silly — when the guard with the sunglasses coughed, and something about it sounded fake to Cooper’s ears. He almost stopped turning, but the Lieutenant had that insistent look again, so he scowled and finished his rotation.

  “Lookin’ good,” Shockwave said ...

  ... and at the same time, Cooper just barely heard Taka-whatever mutter the word, “Where?”

  “Ear,” the guard who had coughed whispered back. “Bad ear, right on the burn.” Like the Lieutenant earlier, he barely moved his lips as the spoke.

  Why in the hell were they talking about his ear? On instinct, Cooper started to raise his hand, to touch his mangled feature, but the Lieutenant reached out and stopped him, then morphed the move into a “reassuring pat” on the arm.

  “Let’s head out,” the Lieutenant said, and used that same contact to push Cooper along his way.

  What the hell is going on here? Cooper wanted to demand. What about my ear? What have you people gotten me into, damn it?!

  They all began moving as a unit; like it or not, he had agreed to this, and now he was along for the ride.

  Navigating the hallway back to the front door was easy as pie, but when they hit the real outside, Cooper felt the beginnings of a panic attack. The guards shuffled themselves so that they formed a protective ring around him, but somehow that was less reassuring as it was nerve-wracking. He wanted, really wanted, to turn on his shield, but ...

  Please, God, just get me into the laundry truck without hearing that voice again
.

  Evening was approaching, and to reach the west side of the prison, they had to march into the setting sun. The bright light killed Cooper’s eyes, giving him an instant headache ...

  “Keep moving, Mister Cooper.”

  The insistence in the Asian man’s voice brought the fear thrashing out of the back of his mind, where the setting sun had shoved it for all of three seconds. Just like that, the sunlight didn’t seem so bad anymore, because as long as he was seeing that, he was still alive.

  “Corner,” the Lieutenant said.

  “On it.” The Shockwave guy hustled ahead of the ring of guards, reaching the corner of the building ahead of them. He stood there for a second before stepping out with his fists in front of him.

  The group rounded the corner behind the paranormal agent, who moved a few paces ahead of them toward ...

  Oh, sweet Jesus, there they are — there’s the laundry trucks! Thank you, God. Why can’t we walk faster?!

  Cooper’s perceptions aside, they were moving at a decent pace. They closed half the distance to the trucks in no time, and two more guards appeared beside it. One kept sweeping the area while the other opened the back.

  Close now, so close. Please let this—

  The guard on Cooper’s left, the one with the sunglasses, suddenly stopped. He was looking behind them and up — adrenaline pounded into Cooper’s bloodstream again, but when he turned to see what the guard was gawking at, he saw nothing ... but then, he never saw anything when that voice was around, did he?

  The guard said, “Michael, four o’clock high.”

  The Lieutenant told Cooper, “Drop.”

  Cooper didn’t have to be told twice! He hit the dirt, then elevated off the ground as he turned his shield on. Feet were scrambling all around him, but no one said a thing ... and then that one guard’s Army helmet landed in front of him.

  Jesus! Did the guy just lose his head?!

  Even though he was inside his shield, he clasped his hands behind his neck and ducked, like the old school preparation for a nuclear bomb. But his attention was drawn to a very high-pitched whine coming from right next to him, and he twisted around just enough to look up at the decidedly not-headless guard with the sunglasses.

  Except the guard wasn’t wearing sunglasses any longer. In their place Cooper saw a sheeny black mask — the guy must’ve been wearing it like a beany under the helmet — and it took Cooper a moment to make the connection.

  It’s ... it’s the superhero guy! Vortex!

  That whine Cooper had heard was from Vortex’s lasers, the same lasers that had sliced off his right ear. But this time those lasers were aimed up at the side of the building, almost all the way at the top.

  “Can’t see anything,” stated the Lieutenant.

  “Don’t worry, I got him.”

  Vortex’s lasers sliced away a chunk of the corner, and a second after that the air right below it rippled like a desert heat wave. Was that Shockwave’s doing? Shouldn’t it tear the building up—? No, a quick glance revealed whatever it was coming from Vortex again.

  “Got him,” Vortex repeated with conviction. “I’m bringing him down.”

  “All guards,” the Lieutenant snapped, “stun guns on the center of that vortex. Be ready to fire if I give the word.”

  “Don’t worry,” Vortex said; it sounded like he was clenching his teeth, but otherwise his voice was pretty relaxed, given the circumstances. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  The “heat wave” distortion angled down toward the ground a few yards away. The area where the distortion ended bulged in a roughly spherical shape, pulsing and writhing nonstop.

  “I can’t see anything at all,” Taka-whatever repeated to Vortex. “Not like our friends’ veil. He’s completely invisible.”

  “Not to me, he isn’t.”

  Shockwave stepped up to join his partner and the superhero. “He sure could do a lotta damage, open a lotta locked doors, bein’ able to turn invisible like that.”

  Taka-whatever nodded. “Completely invisible. Just like the beacon.”

  The PCA guards formed a ring around the bulge, but every one of them made sure not to get between Vortex and his prize.

  “How you wanna do this?” Shockwave asked the other two.

  Vortex, who was unbuttoning his PCA guard’s jacket to reveal his superhero costume underneath, answered, “He’s struggling, but it doesn’t feel especially enhanced — he’s stronger than us, but not by much. I can hold him for a while longer, but not indefinitely, and I doubt he can breathe well — my vortex wave squeezes pretty tight even at its lowest setting.”

  “When you drop your vortex ...” the Lieutenant began.

  “You can bet he’ll make a run for it. He was clinging to the side of the building up there, so I’m guessing he’s pretty squirrely.”

  “Then I’m glad I procured this just for the occasion.”

  The Lieutenant reached inside his trench coat and brought out a weird-looking gun. He aimed at the vortex mass and pulled the trigger.

  Instead of the loud bang! Cooper was expecting, the gun issued a percussive pop! Something shot into the vortex wave, instantly shattering, and for a split-second, the vortex was decorated with a fine, swirling fluorescent orange mist.

  A paint pellet! Cooper realized.

  Then the mist condensed, and just like that, their invisible captive was visible ...

  ... but what the hell was he?

  Even in a world of paranormal freaks, this guy was pretty unique and creepy. He (it?) was crumpled in on himself, so it was kind of difficult to make out too much, but even so, Cooper could tell that he was squat, lumpy, with weird shoulders and hips. His head, which was turned sideways across one puffy forearm, was dumpy and stretched; to Cooper’s eyes, it looked almost toad-like — a toad’s head coated with bright orange paint.

  The Lieutenant tucked the paint gun back into his coat. “Mister Cooper, can you please drop your shield?”

  Cooper balked. “Do I have to?”

  “If you would, please,” Taka-whatever said, and Cooper noted that the Lieutenant did not order him to do so. “I would like to illustrate a point to our friend here.”

  “... okay.” Swallowing hard, Cooper turned off his shield.

  Keeping his eyes on the orange-painted suspect, the Lieutenant helped Cooper to his feet, then asked Vortex, “On the right ear, you said?”

  “Yeah,” Vortex answered, and his voice betrayed some strain. “Right on the burn.”

  Taka-whatever nodded and reached up to the side of Cooper’s head.

  Cooper pulled away. “What’re you doing?

  “Making sure this punk stops harassing you.”

  For the first time in God knew how long, Cooper smiled; a second later, he chuckled, and it felt mighty good. “Now you’re talkin’ my language, Lieutenant. Go ahead.”

  The Lieutenant probed around his damaged ear, but he didn’t probe very long before he locked in on something and tugged. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it certainly didn’t feel good.

  As soon as the Lieutenant pulled his hand back, Cooper turned to see what it was ... except that it wasn’t anything. The Lieutenant was holding his forefinger and thumb about a quarter-inch apart, like someone saying, “I missed it by that much.” Then he twisted his hand to a different angle, and just like that, Cooper could see a smear of red in the gap between his fingers.

  What the hell?

  Cooper reached up and touched what was left of his ear. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Not a lot of blood, but it was still damned disconcerting.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  The Lieutenant answered, “That’s a little hard to explain, but I believe this is how our friend here was able to keep finding you over and over.”

  “I’ll check it as soon as I can look away,” Vortex said, his voice tighter than the last time he spoke.

  Cooper got it. “My burn,” he said, touching the bloody area again. “That part of m
y ear’s been mostly numb since Vortex lasered it off. He put it on my burn.”

  The Lieutenant nodded. “We can only guess where he’s placed them on the other rogues he’s been hounding.”

  For the first time since his ordeal began, Cooper stopped feeling bewildered and frightened by his benefactor-turned-slave-driver — now he felt violated and angry. He looked over at the orange-splattered weirdo. “You son of a bitch!”

  “Easy, Mister Cooper. You can go now.”

  “Not yet,” Cooper said. “I still want to hear him talk. I have to know it’s him.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Michael,” Vortex grunted, “hurry it up, please.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Michael took one step forward, staying very clear of Vortex’s line of sight. He held up the whatever-it-was between his fingers so that the red smear, Cooper’s blood, was facing their captive. The guy didn’t move, but Cooper thought he might’ve blinked — it was hard to tell with those flat, slimy-looking eyes.

  “We know you’re using a translator,” the Lieutenant said in a raised voice, “so I know you can understand me. I don’t suppose you’d care to explain yourself?”

  The thing in the vortex wave sneered.

  “It doesn’t really make a difference to me,” Taka-whatever continued. “But it probably will to our new friends. Are you sure you don’t want to plead your case to us first?”

  In a strained voice that sounded completely human, “I do not need to request to primitives. It is you has to make the request, very soon.”

  “That’s him,” Cooper blurted. “That’s him!”

  “Fine,” the Lieutenant said to the creature, “have it your way. Vortex, stand down.”

  With a sigh of relief and a slump of shoulders, Vortex dropped the wave.

  The creature didn’t move at first. Then—

  “He’s runnin’ for it!” Cooper cried as he turned on his shield.

  “Fire!” the Lieutenant snapped at the same time.

  The creature did indeed try to run for it — or rather, jump for it, toward the side of the prison building — but having been crushed in Vortex’s wave took its toll, and he’d barely cleared the ground when he was struck by a half-dozen ECD rounds. Shockwave also had his fists primed and ready, but he wasn’t needed. The creature’s momentum carried it few yards further before it dropped like a rock.