She didn’t “leave” until I’d turned out the lights, and I felt her virtual fingers in my hair as I drifted off. Comfort-touching.
In the morning I checked the snow globe (still dead) and after feeding me breakfast Henry let me use his office computer to research. The first thing I learned was Jacky was in New Orleans. She wasn’t on the Sentinel’s public roster anymore, but she hadn’t opened Bouchard Investigations in the Big Easy, either—instead Artemis was a huge CAI hero down there. That she was alive (or still undead) was really the only good news; Jacky had gone big because she’d had to.
Because neither Blackstone nor Chakra were anywhere on the roster, either. And they hadn’t been since not long after…
The Pulse.
Omega Night had still happened. Because Shell, Seven and I hadn’t been there to work together, they hadn’t been here to stop it.
I almost heaved up Henry’s excellent scrambled eggs.
Without us there to shoot it down, the Overlord’s Verne-altered Trident II missile had climbed to optimal distance and then detonated. The generated electromagnetic pulse had covered most of North America, dropping planes out of the sky like the day of The Event, burning out power grids and telecommunications systems, crippling industrial and transportation infrastructure across the US, even frying the engine-monitoring chips of most newer car models. The power went away and all hell broke loose.
I forced myself to read on. The death-toll had started in the thousands and then climbed from there as life-saving drugs spoiled without refrigeration and our smashed distribution system stopped bringing food to the supermarket shelves. Sanitation systems went down in too many places, and hunger and disease spread fast. FEMA hadn’t stood a chance of staying ahead of the disaster, even with every Crisis Aid and Intervention cape helping and relief supplies and personnel pouring in from the other League nations and from Heroes Without Borders.
It was too awful to be believed. Starvation, infection, and sickness had kicked off rioting as gangs turned most of the biggest cities into war zones. Seeing their chance, The Ring had hit us over and over again, targeting more critical infrastructure as whole urban centers burned or became just unsustainable. Displacement camps sprang up everywhere, and for months it had looked like it was all going to come apart as we clawed our way back from the edge of total collapse.
We only lost twelve million. Twelve million. That had been wildly optimistic in the Omega briefing I remembered, back before I’d taken my near death-ride to make sure it didn’t happen. Here they’d named it The Pulse, and hadn’t begun to really recover yet.
I read until I couldn’t read any more. All the deadly numbers, the images of looted and burned cities, massive tent and trailer camps, and mass graves of unnamed dead blurred into one long gallery of awfulness and horror. Tears pooled on my cheeks to run between my fingers as I tried to hold my grief inside with shaking hands
“I couldn’t tell you,” Shelly said beside me. I barely jumped. Normally her popping up in my peripheral vision would have sent me halfway to the ceiling, but I was already practically vibrating in my chair with the absolute need to do something or fly apart into a million pieces.
But what? It was like looking at the aftermath of a tidal wave or meteor strike; where would I even begin? And— “Mom? Dad? Mrs. H? Everyone?”
“Everyone’s fine! They’re all fine, I made sure of it.”
I scrubbed my cheeks. “We stopped it. Back home. We stopped it together. You, me, Seven.”
Her mouth dropped. “Us? So I’m— Nope, not talking about any of this, we’ve got to go. Now.”
Shelly’s Business Voice had me up and moving without thinking about it. “What’s going on?”
“Downtown cameras caught you getting down to the street. The police have linked you to the missile last night—no, nobody got a good look and the cameras didn’t catch you till you’d changed!”
“But they can trace me here? Why are they after me?” I stepped into the hall, stopped and turned. Where first?
“From street-cam to car-cam, you bet. I’ve played with it a little so face recognition screening isn’t going to be cluing anyone in that you’re you, but you broke city ordinances and state law with your night flight. Illinois passed the Public Safety and Security Act last year—publicly using superhuman powers without being registered and monitored is against the law, and they’re coming with a warrant to ask you lots of questions any minute now. They’ve got a watcher in a car parked on the street, but I’ve taken care of that and now we need to get you gone.”
“They’d arrest me for flying?”
“Arrest?” The way she laughed said it wasn’t funny. “They don’t arrest breakthroughs who haven’t committed crimes. They detain you to ascertain your identity, check for outstanding warrants, hold you for psychiatric evaluation till they’re sure that you’re safe to be let out in public. And since you’re…”
“Right.” I swallowed panic—Shelly wasn’t screaming Fly! Fly like the wind! so I had to have time. Mrs. Lori first. I found her in the breakfast room, Henry only just setting down her morning meal. They stopped talking when I entered the room.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lori—”
“Good morning, Hope. I believe that since you are now hiding in my house, a degree of familiarity is appropriate. You may call me Elizabeth.”
I blinked, laughed in spite of everything. “Oh no, Mrs. Lori. I really, really can’t.”
“I see.” She smiled back in fond understanding. “And what puts you in a rush?”
Tell her, Shelly mouthed beside me.
“The police and maybe the Sentinels are on their way here to ask me questions about last night. And there’s a law? I can get my things and fly—”
“Certainly not. Henry will drive you wherever you need to go.”
Henry nodded. “Of course, ma’am. Miss Hope, if you would quickly pack, I will meet you in the front hall.” He finished laying out Mrs. Lori’s breakfast and then left, walking quickly.
Shell agreed invisibly, and I turned to Mrs. Lori. “I’m sorry, I—”
She sighed, looking old, and smiled softly.
“Do not be, dear. I watched your coming outs—both into society and as a hero—and couldn’t have been more proud if you were mine. I knew your grandmother, you know. Indeed we were old school friends, and despite your family’s initial disapproval of your father I attended your mother’s wedding and helped her launch her philanthropic career after— Well. Come here.”
She reached out and took my hands as I stared in shock. “I have missed you a great deal and hoped that we would have a few more days.”
“Really?” I squeaked, flushed. “I mean—”
“I do know what you mean.” She squeezed, and when she let me go I hugged myself. “Now run along. Certainly dallying now would be folly. I will remain and speak with the authorities.”
“You won’t be in any trouble?”
“Not unless you are still here. Shoo. Off with you. And be safe, dear.”
“I—thank you.” I bent to hug her carefully, and ran.
To the discerning eye (and after three years of in-the-field training, my eye was pretty discerning), Mrs. Lori’s town car was bulletproof. It also hadn’t been washed in a while, which had to be intentional; Henry would never have allowed Mrs. Lori to be seen in anything not flawless and pristine.
Shelly disappeared before I met Henry in the hall, saying she had to take care of some stuff. Henry settled me and my bag in the back seat, opened the garage door, and then listened on his blue-tooth earpiece for a few minutes before driving us out.
The car windows had been tinted, but I still wore my shades. I also sat, bag in my lap and hand on the door latch, ready to get out and fly. Shelly had said she’d “taken care of it,” but if anyone was waiting for us then I was going to put distance between me and anyone who could be collateral damage when I resisted arrest. We passed only a single car parked on the street, about fifty fee
t from the gate. Its two occupants slumped down as we went by, but I could see their body heat and I started scanning the sky; if the CPD had put the car on Grey House to keep watch until the Sentinels got the warrant, then they’d just called it in and I could expect Watchman and Variforce to make this a short ride.
My fingers felt slick on the door handle, and neither of us talked. Still listening on his earpiece, Henry stopped for longer than he needed to at a couple of stop signs, and ran a few more without even slowing down as we kept to the surface streets. Was Shelly spotting for him, somehow? I tried not to feel helpless, a package Shelly and Henry were delivering who knew where.
Henry drove us west, avoiding the freeway and still taking surface streets. We pulled into the parking lot of a boarded up strip mall and parked, but Henry stopped me from getting out. Then we drove again, and I stopped worrying about what might be coming up behind us; what we were driving into looked worse.
I hadn’t noticed anything off about downtown Chicago until I’d gotten on the street and seen the people, but now the further west we drove the worse things looked. A lot of homes were boarded up or gutted, and whole streets had been abandoned. Some of them sported rough pavement patches—the kind of first-stage repair job you might slap over the results of a high powered breakthrough fight. A few abandoned homes showed fire damage and a couple of blocks we passed were completely burned out, blackened skeletons of wood frame and brick all that remained. It all reminded me of LA after the Big One.
The streets weren’t completely empty; some cars moved on them. We drove by government food-distribution centers, a couple of them in taken-over grocery stores, more in big trucks and mobile offices arranged in parking lots. Here and there, groups of residents watched us pass and the look in a lot of their eyes was calculating enough that I understood why Henry hadn’t washed the town car; I was willing to bet that the heavy police presence I’d seen downtown didn’t extend out here—at least not beyond the food centers.
A few miles past the last distribution center I had only a second’s warning as the sounds of the car engine and tires on pavement muted almost to nothing—like my ears had been suddenly stuffed with cotton. The bang that lifted the front of the car sounded like a popped balloon. The airbags deployed, the driver’s bag flattening Henry into his seat—saving him from worse as the car slammed back down with barely a sound.
“Henry!” I hardly heard myself and he certainly didn’t hear me, but he didn’t go limp as the airbag deflated. Instead he reached for the gun under his seat. “No!” I shouted uselessly. Ignoring the gun in my face, I pulled gently on his arm and mimed that he should stay. When he nodded I unbuckled, turned in my seat to put my feet up, spot-checked the view outside, and kicked my door out of its bent frame hard enough to rip it away and send it skipping across the road and into the boarded-up window of an abandoned house. I followed it out.
They shot me, pissing me off. Faith had given me that shirt.
Five flankers, guys wearing black ski masks, at angles where our opened doors would provide no cover. Two of them fired AR-15s pop-pop-pop as I charged, drawing all of their fire to my side of the car. One not shooting stepped up to swing at me and I ducked under his wild haymaker to clip him with my shoulder on my way to the shooters.
Shooter One dropped his AR and I stomped on the muzzle before lunging for Shooter Two. He didn’t let go, and screamed silently as my yank broke fingers and I swung the rifle by the barrel, smashing the stock on the still-standing bare knuckle fighter’s raised arm.
The rifle broke instead of his arm, raising his hypothetical rating another notch, but I danced back anyway to bring the other two unarmed guys into view.
Atlas Rule # 9: When you’ve got multiple opponents, don’t spend more than a beat on anyone.
Unknown Two held some kind of gadget—I guessed a sound suppressor. Unknown Three…stumbled back and ran for it. Smart boy. Then my world lit up as Bare Knuckle hard-blocked me and I hit the street. It hurt but I made myself come up, keeping my feet on the ground.
Okay, at least a C Class, possibly B. I hadn’t been braced so I couldn’t be sure, but the others stayed back so now I could focus.
I wiped the gravel off my face, put my fists up.
He laughed silently and charged.
Henry shot him.
Yes, Henry. Mrs. Lori’s butler. Sometime between my kicking the door out and kissing the pavement, he’d exited the car with the biggest short-rifle I’d ever seen and where had that been hidden? I actually heard a dull crack leading the muffled thud when its solid and probably armor-piercing slug hit Bare Knuckle in the back. He went down hard, but no blood confirmed his probable Class and I kicked him in the head without a thought. He stayed down.
I turned around. Shooter One and Two were sprinting away now, but the gadget-holder stood in shock. I pointed to the gadget.
He turned it off and the sound came back.
“Good boy,” I said. “Henry?”
“Fine, ma’am. And the Sentinels are on their way.”
“Yes they are,” Shelly whispered in my ear. “ETA three minutes for Watchman, Variforce, Iron Jack.”
I froze for only a second, didn’t take my eyes off my guy. “Henry, would you please open the trunk?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When I pointed at the ground my guy dropped his little box. I frisked him fast and, grabbing his arm, frog-marched him over and tossed him in the trunk. “Stay.” I shut the trunk on him. “Henry, I’ve got to—”
“Of course, miss.” he nodded. “Go.”
I pointed. “The house, until it’s clear.” With flyers in the air, I wasn’t going to try and do anything but hide.
“Understood. Phone.”
“Right.” I’d wait for his call? Had he packed a cell phone for me? I grabbed my bag and ran.
It was hot and stuffy in the abandoned house, perfect for masking my own body heat from Watchman. Going in through the shattered plywood that had been nailed over the front window, I crouched in shadow as I watched the street—I couldn’t leave Henry completely alone with Bare Knuckle until the guys arrived. If he stirred…
Henry kept his elephant gun on him but he didn’t, not before Watchman touched down with Dad, Variforce right behind them. They exchanged only five words with Henry before Dad clumped over to check Bare Knuckle, who finally started to move. Watchman went back up to scout the area for our runners while Variforce and Dad secured the scene in anticipation of the special police wagons. Mostly he stood there like an iron statue, arms folded and scanning the local environment. And I tried to breathe.
When Shelly popped in beside me I didn’t twitch. “That was…holy shit, Hope. That was amazing.”
I mimed zipping my lips.
“Right. Watchman.”
I really doubted he could hear street-level whispers from up there, but I was happy for the excuse; I had no idea what would come out of my mouth, but Shelly provided a running virtual-monologue while the police did their job.
“It was an IED—there’s so many road patches around here it’s easy to hide them. You just stopped a carjacker kidnap-gang that’s been operating for weeks. I’d bet their strong guy buries the IED in the road overnight—it’s a shaped charge under a steel plate that knocks the car on its ass instead of blowing it up. Then they rob the occupants and kidnap anyone who looks worth anything. Three jobs in three weeks, nobody could catch them because the sound-dampening field let them get it done and get out before anyone could know what was happening. Just awesome chance they picked you.”
I muffled a hysterical giggle behind my hand. Yeah, awesome.
“FYI, the arresting detective just offered gadget-guy immunity from the death penalty if he’d give up the location of their hideout and kidnap victims. He took it.”
And that explained Watchman’s return and their fast departure.
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. Now that the opportunity was past I was shaking, partly from dropping off my fi
ghting adrenalin high but mostly from keeping from running out there, straight to Dad. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever wanted anything so badly in my life as I wanted my father to hug me and make this all better.
But Shelly had said I did not want to talk to my team, and my morning’s research hadn’t told me why.
With the team gone, the police moved fast. They didn’t even bother with the street, beyond taking pictures of everything and collecting the weapons, before pulling out with two special wagons and a convoy of cars to take their prisoners to the hard cells. They took Henry, of course.
And my bag rang.
“Hi!” Shelly chirped when I fished out the cell I hadn’t known was there. “Henry doesn’t know about our neural link thing, but he just texted me to call and tell you that he’d send another car with a shirt for you. Two blocks north in an hour. Bye!” She hung up.
I rolled my eyes at her. “Funny, Casper. Ha ha.” But I was smiling again, sort of. “How did he explain away me happening to the car-jack gang?”
“He told the detectives that you came out of nowhere and Good-Samaritaned him.”
And now I laughed for real. Like anybody’d believe that. “And they’re not looking for the Samaritan?”
“Nope—‘cause if they found him they’d have to ‘detain’ him. Any licensed CAI hero has to hold an unregistered breakthrough for processing when he finds one.”
“And the cops?”
“They came out for the arrest—no way they’re going to go looking for superhuman trouble without backup.”
It made stomach-churning sense; the government was issuing laws and procedures that the capes and cops were ignoring whenever possible. State law? Who cares—if mystery-girl doesn’t drop bodies or destroy real estate, we sure don’t. Something like that, and that was disturbing in a whole new and different way. Old Me wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but after nearly three years of sometimes mind numbing and always bewildering political education from Blackstone, New Me wondered just how bad the breakdown between government and law enforcement was getting.
Wearing the Cape 6: Team-Ups and Crossovers Page 17
