Day of Reckoning

by Micah B. Edwards

  “So—”

  “So that sounds like permission to me, yeah.”

  “I’m guessing we’re not carpooling,” I say.

  Regina barks another laugh, then gives me the addresses. I fumble around Doc Simmons’s car looking for a pen, and come up with a permanent marker. With nowhere better to write, I scrawl the addresses on the left sleeve of the lab coat I’m wearing. The water makes the writing blur a bit, but it’s still basically readable.

  “Okay, let’s meet at the first one. Give me like five minutes, let me go in first and see if it’s empty? Judging by the area of town, I think this should just be a storage place, but even so I don’t want to catch some janitor or security guard inside.”

  “We’ll see.”

  That’s probably about the best assurance I’m going to get, so I roll with it. I set the phone on speaker, back the car out of the parking space and head for the edge of the lot. Even though it’s mid-afternoon, the sky is dark and the rain haze is making it hard to see. Also, even at parking lot speeds the barrage of hail is almost more than the wipers can keep up with. This is not going to be fun on the roads.

  “What are the chances of getting you to stop the hail?”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Dan! I can’t just turn it on and off. There’s—I don’t know, a build-up. I’m extremely sorry if that’s inconvenient for you.”

  “Sorry! Just asking. I have no idea how it works.”

  “You think I do?”

  “I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d know the basics. Like, all of my powers tend to run off of intensity of emotion, so maybe—”

  “If that sentence finishes with any variation on the idea that I should calm down, it will be the last thing you ever say. I will melt the asphalt under your car and scald you to death in a fiery lake of tar.”

  This seems like a pretty good time to stop talking, so we drive in silence for a while. At least, I stay silent. Regina keeps up a near-constant muttered stream of anger at the roads, the weather and life in general. No more lightning is striking particularly near my car, though, so it’s evidently helping her to keep things under control. I’ll take it.

  After a few minutes of careful driving, I pull up outside of the address Peterson gave us. As I thought, it’s a warehouse, but the lab where we found Ichabot was in what looked like a warehouse, too, so it’s still worth looking inside to make sure it is what it appears.

  “Okay, I’m going inside now. Five minutes, okay? And then—”

  With a resounding crash, a lightning bolt lances down from the sky and spears into the roof of the building. Steam flashes up, sparks spit from the sides and blackened metal skitters off of the roof. I reflexively stomp on the accelerator of the car. The engine roars, but the car goes nowhere since it’s in park.

  “Regina! What about—”

  “New plan. I’m burning this place down now.”

  Another bolt strikes, and another. I slam the car back into drive and speed off down the street, stopping a block away to look back. There’s a weird light behind me, bright enough that I twist the rearview mirror away to stop it from blinding me. When I stop and look back, I see something amazing: a lightning bolt connecting the building to the clouds, twisting and arcing but not letting go. It’s a continuous stream of energy pouring down, and the sight leaves me awestruck.

  - Chapter Nine -

  Inside the car, I scramble into the backseat to stare at the incredible sight. Even with my eyes squinted nearly shut, it’s almost impossible to look at, but I can’t imagine looking away right now. The bolt continues to crackle in place, writhing like a tormented snake, a spark trapped between the globes of an immense Van de Graaff generator.

  Beneath it, the building has burst into flames, but that’s the least of it. The windows shatter explosively, showering the street in broken glass to mix with the hail. Molten metal drips from the roof, forming knife-edged stalactites as it runs from the gutters and spattering to the ground in hissing, steaming piles. Every exposed piece of metal from the doorframe to the roof is edged in glowing, crackling electricity, and the entire structure buzzes like a tremendous swarm of locusts has descended upon it. The noise shakes the car, vibrating it so violently that I can feel the buzz as much as hear it.

  Fiery tendrils abruptly explode forth from the broken windows, reaching up as if to grasp the rain and the lightning itself. They’re gone in an instant, and still the lightning cascades down. Through the blackened holes in the sides of the building where the windows were, a burning light starts to shine as the fires spread inside, joining together to create a true inferno.

  And then, suddenly, the lightning is gone, leaving jagged afterimages in the center of my vision. A man runs out of a nearby building to see what’s happening, and only then do I realize that the entire display of nature’s power has lasted no more than ten seconds from start to finish. The aftereffects are still ongoing, of course; the melted metal is still sending up clouds of steam from the roof and the street, and it’s joined by thick black smoke as the fire begins to really take hold, roaring its defiance against the rain beating down upon it.

  I open the car door and lean out of the backseat. “Hey! Hey, you!” I shout to the man gawping at the burning building. He turns to look.

  “Call the fire department!” I instruct him. He stares for a second longer, then turns and runs back to the building he just emerged from. From inside the car, I hear Regina’s slightly hysterical laughter ringing out over the speakerphone, and she says something I can’t make out over the sound of the rain and hail.

  I close myself inside of the car again.

  “What was that?” I demand.

  “I said, it’s a bit late for the fire department to do anything here, don’t you think?”

  “No, not ‘what did you say.’ ‘What was that,’ meaning ‘what did you just do?’“

  “I trashed Ichabot’s storeroom. Like we planned, more or less.” There’s still humor in Regina’s voice, along with more than a hint of madness, but it’s tinged with malice now, too. On the whole, not really a combination I’m excited about.

  “Yeah, but remember the part where I was going to go inside and check to make sure it was empty? That was sort of a key part of the plan.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to go inside now,” says Regina, unrepentant. “I decided to take some initiative. Sue me. You said this was a partnership.”

  I look at the inferno engulfing the warehouse and take a deep breath. At least she didn’t wait until I was in there to do that. I’ll take the victories where I can get them, I suppose.

  “Fine.” I sincerely hope no one was in there, but despite Regina’s mocking suggestion, it’s not like I can really go check now. “You did trash the place, like in the plan. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” spits Regina. “I pictured you being inside. I want this sensation of you out of my head. Get on to the next stage of your plan and fix this.”

  I glance at the sleeve of my coat. The next stage of my plan had been to go to the next address on the list and trash it, too, but now that I’ve seen the process in action I’m not convinced that’s a safe idea for me or any other bystanders. I think it’s time to improvise again.

  “Okay, next step is that I need you to go back to the hospital,” I say.

  Regina snorts. “So you’re trying to get rid of me after all, because I’m too scary to work with.”

  Yes, absolutely. “No, that’s not why.” I need an excuse. What’s at the hospital? “Doc Simmons wanted you to come by so she could get samples. She thinks she’s close to cracking this. It’s another avenue of attack.”

  I flinch at my own use of the word “attack.” It’s probably best not to use violence-related words with Regina right now. I should choose more calming language.

  “Yeah, very convenient reason for you to want me at the hospital,” Regina says sarcastically. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with Brian?”

&nbs
p; “What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely confused.

  “You’re clueless, Dan, but not that clueless. You’re hoping that when I’ve got Brian in front of me, it’ll give me something else to focus on instead of you.”

  For a split second, I start to argue. Wouldn’t it make just as much sense that when she saw Brian, she’d blame me for him being screwed up and sedated? Fortunately, it occurs to me before my mouth kicks into gear that it isn’t wise to give Regina new reasons to hate me. So instead I simply say, “Okay, maybe,” in a slightly sheepish tone.

  “Whatever,” says Regina. “I’ll go. You might want to stay away from conductive surfaces as much as possible, though. There’s a lot of lightning out today.”

  She hangs up, and I take deep calming breaths, focusing my attention into being as non-conductive as possible. If I still had the full power, I could become lightning-proof in seconds, but since I’m working with the residual it seems like a good idea to go for as much buildup as I can get. Besides, I could really use the calming breaths right now.

  After a minute, I clamber back into the front seat of the car and drive off. I’m not sure where I’m going yet, but there’s an enthusiastically burning building a block away and it seems like pretty much anywhere else is a better place to be.

  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, counterpointing the hail. What I need right now is for Ichabot to know what I’ve done. If I had my phone, I could just call him up and tell him; I have his number from when Dupont gave it to me. Unfortunately, my phone’s at the police station, and since I’m still an escaped—prisoner? Suspect? Whatever I am, they’re not likely to let me pop in and pick it up.

  I frown in concentration. I was super-smart once, and the nanos always leave residual effects. Surely I can remember seven numbers. I picture the scene with Jules Dupont: me outside his house, looking menacing. Him inside, looking scared. Holding some kind of a dog by the collar. Was it a husky? Maybe a Labrador? Wrong details, brain! Focus up!

  Okay, so he tells me a number. I can picture him saying it. He’s saying the phone number. It’s 867—

  “Nice, brain,” I say out loud in disgust. It’s coughing up Jenny’s number from the Tommy Tutone song. I try again, but now I’m dealing with a background of “I got it! Got your number on a wall,” and it’s clearly hopeless.

  Suddenly, it occurs to me that there’s a much easier way to get his number. I pull over and look up the website for the building we were in this morning, Mangiafuoco Medical Transcription. Sure enough, they list their address and phone number right there. Good work, brain; you’ve redeemed yourself. By remembering how to use the internet. I apparently have low standards for my machine-enhanced brain.

  I dial, and a voice answers brightly. “MMT, this is Zane, how can I help you?”

  I drop my voice to a lower register in case Zane recognizes me from this morning. “Yes, this is Officer Austin, looking to reach—” I panic for a second, trying to remember which name he was using here, but my brain comes through for me this time “—Dr. Argute. It’s a matter of some urgency. I’m afraid there’s been a fire at one of his properties.”

  “Oh, no!” exclaims Zane, sounding legitimately distraught. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, but the property damage is extensive. Is he available?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. Let me put you through to him.”

  The phone cuts into hold music for only a few seconds before it’s picked up.

  “Hello, what’s this?” says Ichabot, sounding more harried than I’ve ever heard him.

  “There’s been a terrible fire,” I say, reverting to my normal voice. “Lightning strike. What a strange and unpredictable thing weather is.”

  “Well, Dan,” says Ichabot nastily. “I’m frankly startled to find that you’re still alive. You’re a remarkably resilient bacterium.”

  “More resilient than your buildings,” I retort. Not my finest comeback, I admit. “Speaking of which, I know of four others you own, including the one you’re currently at. Let’s play a game called ‘Which One Burns Down Next?’”

  “I’m going to kill you myself,” says Ichabot. His voice is calm and controlled, making it sound not like a threat but like a statement of fact. It’s an eerily effective technique, judging by the goose bumps it raises on my arms.

  “Well,” I say with false cheeriness, “come on by Rossum Medical and give it a shot! I’ll be there in, let’s say fifteen minutes, and it’ll be burning down in twenty if I don’t see you. Hope that gives you enough time to make it there!

  “Oh, and I’ve got Regina with me, so you might want to wear your galoshes. Seeya!”

  I hang up without waiting for a reply. My hands are shaking with adrenaline as I put the car back into drive and start back onto the road. If he goes for this bluff, I’m about to have a clear shot at his lab. This whole thing could be over within the hour. Everything I’ve gone through for the last couple of years, all of the pain and suspicion and suffering—it could end with a few keystrokes, in just a few minutes.

  As I drive, I’m focused on what I’m going to do when I get there. I’ll dissolve a hole in the wall to sneak in. Assuming there’s not a big Dr. Frankenstein-style off-switch, I’ll call up Doc Simmons and see if she has any bright ideas about how to stop the nanos. If she doesn’t, I’ll get her to call Peterson while I poke around at it, maybe.

  I’m several layers deep in the planning when a car rams into me from behind, slamming my head back against the headrest and sending my vehicle into a terrifying spin on the rain-slicked roads.

  - Chapter Ten -

  The world twirls sickeningly around me as I fight to regain control of the car. Buildings, parked cars and street lights whip past from right to left, a sped-up panoramic view. I’m momentarily blinded by the headlight of the car that hit me before that’s gone too, the skid continuing while I frantically twist the wheel to no avail. I know you’re supposed to turn into a skid, but this seems a little more extreme than that. Do I hit the brakes? Should I stomp the gas and hope it sorts itself out? Does the doc’s car have rear-wheel drive, and is that even a thing I’d want right now?

  All of these thoughts clamor for attention in the second that it takes the car to do a complete 360 degree spin, jump the curb and slam broadside into a building. I’m thrown violently toward the passenger’s side of the car, my seatbelt catching me with bruising force even as the airbag pummels me backward into my seat. Glass shatters as the world slams to a halt.

  Shocked and dazed, my first thought as the airbag subsides is, “Did the rain get hot?” Almost immediately, I realize that no, that’s steam rising from the front of the car. The hood is bent into a mountainous fold on the far side, both windows over there are smashed in, and the side view mirror is lying on the seat next to me, having been somehow driven through the window in the crash. The frame bends ominously inward, and it’s clear that those doors won’t open, but fortunately we impacted on the passenger’s side and my side’s pretty much fine.

  In fact, I’ve come through this pretty much okay entirely, for once. I’m probably going to have a nice diagonal bruise across my chest and my brain’s a bit rattled, but I’m physically doing well. At least, until Doc Simmons kills me for wrecking her car.

  This thought kicks my survival instinct back into gear, and I immediately begin fumbling for my seatbelt release. I’d be an idiot to believe that this was unintentional, which means I need to get out of the car before I get trapped in there by whoever did this. My initial thought is that my bluff has not worked and Ichabot has rammed me, but even as I’m opening the door this idea is falling apart. I’m still something like a mile away from his lab, so how would he know how to find me? Also, he doesn’t seem like the sort to take things into his own hands when he doesn’t have to, so ramming another car doesn’t seem like his style.

  The hail has mercifully stopped, but it’s still sheeting rain. When I open the door, I’m instantly re-soaked, negating any warmth I’d
managed to gather while in the car. I stumble onto the pavement and look up to see a familiar figure advancing on me, hunched over against the rain.

  “Peterson?!” I exclaim, backing up rapidly. It’s hard to see him clearly through the rain, but he looks pretty angry. Also, he just hit me with his car, so that’s a fairly good hint. I scurry behind the open door of the doc’s car, holding it as a flimsy shield against him.

  “Everton!” Peterson’s usually even voice is a growl, and his hands are balled into fists. “You vermin. Wrecker! Can’t you go one single day without burning something down or blowing something up?”

  As he approaches, I start to get a sinking feeling in my stomach. He’s hunched over, yes, but not just against the rain: his back looks slightly curved. His brow is rather more prominent than when I last saw him, too, and his jacket is split at both shoulders. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in days, which I know isn’t the case because I saw him this morning. Also, he’s got some significant hair growth on the backs of his hands.

  I’ve seen this before. Back when this all started, when I was just manning the night desk at the museum and didn’t have a care in the world. Then some ape-man tore the huge metal door off of its hinges and hurled it at me, giving me my violent and unpleasant introduction to the world of superpowers and the life of a superhero.

  That guy, Aaron Lovell, was clearly much farther along than Peterson is. Peterson still looks human, whereas that guy just looked like Bigfoot, not a trace of humanity left. Also, he either couldn’t or didn’t talk anymore. Peterson may be about to kill me, but he’s still able to tell me why. And in a weird way, this is a relief, because the transformation that the nanobots put Aaron Lovell through killed him. They twisted his body too hard, too fast, and his internal systems just couldn’t keep up.

  Peterson’s not nearly that far along yet, which hopefully means there’s still time to reverse this. Just one more timer on the desperate countdown to stop Ichabot.