I threw myself into a frantic dodge, and saw the contrail start to curve. Thinking fast... heat. Had to be tracking me by heat, since my electronic signature was minimal.
I triggered the flamethrower, and went into a spin. It was a gamble, but it worked. The thing roared by me with perhaps twenty feet to spare. I killed my forcefield and started venting heat. It was slow, but it was that or be cooked alive.
I flew down, let the flamethrower ease up, and hit the ground running as the missile I'd evaded detonated in the distance. I glanced up at my attacker, and a whimper escaped my throat as a flash and a third contrail heralded another damned incoming warhead!
Enough was enough. I activated my universal remote, and text popped up on the screen. Not many options for missiles, but it did have “early detonation” The explosion lit up the sky, revealing the helicopter for the first time. It had two small rotors at weird angles, and what looked like a collection of pointed legs, rather than landing skids at the bottom. The front of it was flared, more like the front of an attack plane than a helicopter's traditional nubby cockpit. Then the missile's light faded, as the lights of the helicopter zig-zagged right, and lined themselves up above me.
Rapid flashes erupted around it, and the sound of an automatic gun reached me a second later. Chips of concrete sprayed around me as I ran. Occasionally a car jerked and spun to the side as it caught heavy-caliber rounds. I itched to put up my forcefield again, but if I got hit now I'd die from my burns. Adrenaline lent me clarity and agility, and I scrambled and dodged to get below the helicopter and out of their line of fire. While I ran I tried the remote, but the text it pulled up flickered, and devolved into nonsense characters and scrambled images.
ECM ACTIVE my mask informed me. Lovely. I cursed under my breath and a car exploded behind me, as a round found its hydrogen tank. I stumbled, almost lost my feet as the force of the explosion rolled over me, but kept going. To fall now was death.
And finally, I reached the point where I could kick the gravitics in again. I was under their arc far enough that they couldn't shoot me, and I spurred skyward at a diagonal angle. They tried to pull up but I pushed for speed until my inner ears throbbed with pain. It seemed like an eternity, as the helicopter fought to get me in its firing vectors, and I raced to close the distance before they could.
And then I was on them, past the missile pods on the sides, ignoring the swiveling minigun slung under as it tried to track me and fire. I grasped for its legs, taking note of the symbol on its side. Crosshatched lines in a loosely spiral pattern.
WEB.
I growled low in my throat, as the helicopter juked and tried to shake me, and I surged forward as they shook in my direction, leaping onto the door and digging my gauntlets into its light frame. They had hounded me from my lair and they had either stumbled across me or followed me to the dealer's house days ago. That had turned into the rolling clusterfuck of heroes that had wasted so much time, and caused me such grief. And now they had dropped in out of nowhere, to try and blow me the hell up. Really, enough was enough! I ripped and tore, and wires sparked and snapped as I scooped out handfuls of metal. I had my hands on my tormentors, and I owed them payment!
A bullet ricocheted from my mask, as I tore the door open. I ignored it, grabbed the pilot's arm and twisted his gun away from him. Bones broke in the process. He had one of those red-eyed masks on so I couldn't see his face, but his anguished wail was music to my ears. Behind him, I saw a flash of red from back in the cargo area of the helicopter. Eyes. More masks, at least four of them. I saw weapons coming up, and the pilot shrieked “No! Don't—” Whatever else he might have said was lost in a hail of gunfire. I threw myself backward as the pilot jerked and splattered, his own men shooting through him to get to me.
Ricochets spanged off of my armor, and I darted under the helicopter as it slewed sideways. I dug my gauntlets into the fuselage, trying to get a grip to slow it as it fell. With no pilot it was going down fast, and I had questions, dammit!
I put the brakes on, reversed the gravitics, and tried to exert pressure. Tried to stop it from crashing... and the fuselage gave way in my fingers. I ended up ripping out double handfuls of it, and lost my grip. I watched in helpless fury as it slewed, spiraled down, and exploded in the middle of a mass of abandoned cars.
A look at the roaring mass of fire and smoldering metal that it had become convinced me that there were no survivors. It had been quick for them, say that at least.
I took stock as best as I could, flying down to a nearby rooftop to flex my arms, and test the pain. Minor, compared to what it had been on the beach. I should have gotten a garment with sleeves the last time this happened, though it still wouldn't have helped my hands. The gauntlets were too sensitive to work well with gloves. If I'd had time, I could have designed a better system. But I didn't have time. When I wasn't fighting WEB, I was fighting the Black Bloods. When it wasn't the Black Bloods, it was WEB.
Were they working together? Couldn't rule it out, though I couldn't see why.
All I knew for certain was that I had lost another chance to get answers. I turned my head away from the flames in grief and frustration, and sighed. I couldn't care about the past, now. Too much to do.
I made my way back to camp, and as I did my certainty grew. That had been no random meeting. My destination had been different than my last trip. Someone had told them where I would be.
I landed, finding the fires going full on, the burn barrels full of wood. The night was the coldest yet, and a lot of enthusiasm had gone out of the newcomers. They were watching the darkness, and huddled together for warmth. I saw a few smiles of relief as I came in for a landing, and a few murmurs of dismay as the new scars on my armor became visible. Abernathy strolled out of the women's tent, and gaped at me. “Holy shit. Uh, hey boss.”
“HELLO YOURSELF. DID YOU GET A GOOD NAP?”
“A bit, yeah. Been trying to dig up more spare parts and supplies.”
“WELL, HOPEFULLY YOU GOT ENOUGH SLEEP TO STAY UP LATE. WE HAVE HOURS TO DAWN AND MUCH TO DO IF WE WANT TO LAUNCH OUR ATTACK TOMORROW NIGHT.”
Murmurs from around me as people heard that, and no one saw me smile under my mask. Abernathy grimaced. “That's gonna be tight. Okay, let me grab the tools. You need some basic repairs, on top of those upgrades you wanted to do.”
I moved the armor into the laundry, and decanted. Abernathy followed. The pile of electronics that I'd salvaged earlier shrank as did the layers of metal I'd stripped from the more robust vehicles. And the armor grew, as we peeled it apart and remade it. I didn't have the wherewithal for more advanced weaponry, and I hesitated at putting guns on the thing. That would bring me more trouble from heroes, if I ran into any more of them before this thing was done. Instead of guns I installed better heat sinks. While it wasn't perfect, I figured I'd improved the force-field's effective safe usage by about two hundred percent, give or take a few points. Bullets would still be a problem, but now it would take more of them. I'd also upped the armor, at the cost of slowing down mobility.
The end result was a lumbering behemoth of a suit, that stood a full foot taller than the old suit. Instead of a pure black shell, it was a mix of black, gray, and silver, now. And instead of that torn, bullet-holed red hoodie that I'd been wearing from pretty much the beginning, I swapped in the shining ruby cape that had been Molly's gift to me. The armor was heavier, looked meaner, and the venting spikes were clustered in patterns that brought to mind deep-sea shellfish.
I smiled, and clapped Abernathy on the back. “Finish up here?” I asked.
“Um. Oh-kay?” Her voice rose plaintively, as she swayed in place. “I... it was all I could do to keep up with the changes you were making at the end, there. You, jeeze, I don't know. That's your power at work? Fast, and no mistakes, or false paths. You don't need blueprints, you just figure out what you want and go for it. I guess I can maybe finish it, but it'll take me a while.”
“Do it,” I commanded. “Dire needs t
o talk strategy with the others.”
“I should be there for that,” she protested. “I, I mean...”
“All due respect, Dire's got this. She'll let you know if anything comes up that needs engineering.”
“Uh. Yeah, thanks.” She rubbed her head, chuckled. “Can't believe how invested I got in this.”
I paused, at the entrance to the laundry, and turned to look at her. “Why did you, Dire wonders? What's your story, Abernathy?”
She smiled. “My friends call me Abes.”
I smiled back. “Abes, then. Who are you? What drove you to join in on this?”
She swallowed, and looked at the ground, her eyes distant behind her glasses. She really was short, I noticed. It made her look like a child, especially standing next to the hulking mass of steel and plastic that was the suit.
“It's a depressing story,” she said. “With debts, bullies, and not enough choices. Too long and I'm too wiped to tell you now. Can we talk about this later, if we survive?” She raised her eyes to catch mine, looking hopeful, and somehow wistful.
I nodded, and smiled. “Of course. After we've won.”
“Of course,” she said, and got back to work.
I walked through the camp, with the fur coat thrown over my shoulders and a proper sleeved shirt itching against my lightly-scorched arms. No putting this off, and I felt the smile slipping from my face. The next part would be crucial, and if it didn't work, then this entire venture could fail.
Finally, I stood in front of Martin's tent. From the light and sound escaping from it, he'd found a new television somewhere. I scratched at it, and called softly. “Martin? Tooms?”
The flap folded aside, and Tooms looked me over, nodded. I crouched and entered, finding Martin sitting on a crate, staring morosely at an animated film. A cartoon rabbit chased a cartoon fox with an oversized hammer, and violence occasionally happened. I didn't see the appeal but sat next to Martin, watching it with him without saying a word. After a minute, he turned to me. “I found the shit for Khalid.”
I nodded. “Didn't have a doubt on that front.”
He glanced over to Tooms, nodded. Tooms slipped out of the tent, closing the flap behind him with a soft whisper. I looked back to find Martin staring at me, and couldn't read the look in his eyes.
“Things go okay with the Steampunks?”
“Bargained them to four bars total. Bringing two worked out, like you said it would.”
He smiled, but his face was nervous. Why? “Knew you could,” he whispered. And then he wrapped his arms around me.
I looked at them. “What are you doin— Mff!”
He'd leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Now he was trying to lick my teeth? I glared at him, and when he opened his eyes and saw my annoyance, he let go and backed up immediately, releasing my mouth with a wet 'pop!' “Oh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, sorry. I thought... shit. Sorry.”
I mopped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What was all that about?”
“I just... y'know, evening before the big battle. Thought you was here lookin' for something else. Real fuckin' smooth of me. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head. “To be honest you been givin' me mixed signals for days now.”
“You know that Dire has no idea what you were going on about, right?” He was acting embarrassed, and the awkwardness was making me embarrassed.
“It uh, yeah, forget I did that.”
“Done.” I puffed my lips out, and blew a breath in exasperation. “No, Dire didn't come here for... uh, whatever that was. Remember that bad idea we discussed a few days back?”
He closed his eyes, as his face fell.
Five minutes later, our yelling could be heard across camp.
“No! Fuck no! No way in hell am I doing that!”
“Calm down! Listen, the Black Bloods—”
“The Black Bloods are gonna kill your ass, woman! And then we're next. No, fuck it, I'm a businessman. Joan's dead, I got no more ties here. I'm gone! I'm fucking gone. And I'm taking my resources with me so good luck with that!”
He stomped out of the tent, with what he called a “bug-out bag” over his shoulder. I followed, yelling. “Don't you dare walk out on Dire! Don't you do it!”
“Don't you fucking try to stop me, Dire. You are on your own, woman. You and the rest of these idiots.” His gesture incorporated the camp, and I saw people crawling out of tents at the yelling, the few faces still awake watching us from the barrel fires.
“Martin!” I yelled at his back, but to no avail. He walked west, flipping me off as he went, before vanishing into the darkness of the night.
People tried to stop me, as I stomped through the camp. My anger was plain on my face. I ignored them all, ignored the flat-eyed gaze of Minna, and the incredulous stare from Abes. I swept into the showerhouse, and only when Khalid looked up from his alembics, did I let my rage fade from my face. He was clad in his laboratory gear again, and I could see the concern in his eyes clearly behind his glasses. He started to speak and I held up a finger. “Give her a second.”
He did, and I covered my face with both hands, sagging against the wall. It took two or three minutes before I could stop my shoulders from shaking, and soothe my emotions. But I did, and I looked up to find him studying my face.
“Do you doubt Dire as well?” I asked him.
He merely shook his head. “If I did, I would not be here in the first place. I think the proper words for this situation are Respice post te; hominem te memento.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Dire doesn't understand your dialect.”
“Latin. It means 'look behind you; remember you too are a man.' Or woman in this case, but the sentiment remains the same. You are no god, and be thankful for that. You cannot succeed in everything, and there will always be people who disagree with you. This is what it means to be human.”
“Beats the alternative, then?”
“Some may say differently, but I say yes,” he nodded, looking at his hands. “Being far older than most gives a purer perspective, if you can avoid madness. The true eternal beings... the demons, the angels, the ghuls like the Locust, the fair folk... all of them are bound in ways we cannot imagine. So much more powerful than the highest human in some cases, but incapable of so much that we take for granted.” He smiled. “And that is the way of things, I think. God is great and good, and kind to his children.”
I nodded. “Then let us apply the fruits of human labor to the problem at hand. Lower your voice and let's talk alchemy. Dire's thought on the items you can make, and come to several decisions...”
We talked for perhaps half an hour, and at the end of it I was yawning. It had been a long day. I had gotten into two fights, and stayed up late working on top of it. I borrowed Khalid's last jar of burn ointment, with promises to be more careful in the future. My bed was waiting, and I frowned as I saw that someone had put the sheets into a rough semblance of order. Paranoia flared, and I checked it before I lay down, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps someone had thought to do me a kindness. Lathering the burn ointment on took only a minute, and it felt so good to lie down.
I closed my eyes, and exhaustion claimed me in seconds.
When I opened my eyes, light beat into them. Daylight had come in an instant. I had been so exhausted that time had passed without any space between the shutting and opening of my eyelids. I groaned and lay back in the pile of sheets, but as tempting as it was, I just had too much to do. Today was the day that made or broke us, and after the business with Martin last night I needed to make sure my people were behind me.
My people. Seemed strange to think that. When had they become so? When they first extended me kindness? When dear sweet Joan had given me stew that first night I'd woken up knowing nothing? When Roy had stood up for me, even knowing that he was bringing potential trouble down on his friends? When we'd fought and bled and nearly died in the church? So much had happened, in less than a week. I'd turned their lives upside down and they'd done the
same to me. It was a world gone mad, where the forces of civilization were literally powerless, hamstrung by their dependence on a source that had never failed before. But the unthinkable had happened, and more unthinkably it had persisted. We had survived it only by banding together, leaning on each other, and going beyond mere survival.
In a way, we were thriving. We just had to keep at it and win, and we would become more than we were. We would ascend above this cold and frightened world, this dark and chaotic city. We would die, or we would rise.
And that gave me the strength to get out of the sheets, to clamber up and pull on my fur coat. We would rise. I would rise. And our foes would weep in lamentation, as we trampled them under our feet!
First things first, before the joy of lamentations. I sought out Guzman, found him walking up and down a line of beached boats. He had his captain's hat on while he inspected them. Most of them were touched up in multiple places with a silvery tar-like substance, and I gauged that to be the CL Tight I'd retrieved. We had perhaps twenty big boats, and quite a few smaller ones. One barrel had gone a long way. When I remarked upon that to Guzman, his crooked smile showed pride. “Y'mix it with water, y'see. Got to do it in batches or it sets, but if you've got the knack for it, y'get about four times the contents of the barrel. We used every bit you got us.”
“Good. Ready them for evac. Also, break into the stores, get as many tarps as you can. Cut up old tents if you have to. Dire wants every boat covered.”
He raised one of his enormous eyebrows, squinted at me with eyes I could barely see. “Seems strange. Why do that?”
“We've got more boats than people,” I said. “Some of them will be decoys. With tarps on top and people below, no way for the Black Bloods to tell which ones are occupied. Could mean the difference between life and death, if our people can't get far enough from the shore fast enough.”
He nodded. “Guess I can see the logic in that. All right, I'll see what we can rig up. I take it I ain't going on the assault?”
DIRE : BORN Page 29
