“Go ahead, Bobby.”
“Listen, uh…”
Tommy blinked at Bobby’s hesitancy. One thing the man had always been was definitive in his decision-making. It made him a strong administrator and coordinator for a team generally filled with self-important hotheads.
“What is it?”
“We’ve had some bad luck. Irlene found her mother murdered in their apartment.”
“Jesus. Do you think that kid did it?”
“We don’t know, but the younger sister is missing to boot. Irlene’s a mess. She needs someone with a cool head to help her out right now, and that’s you.”
Tommy shut his eyes. “You can’t send Faith? I was going to check in on someone.”
“No, I really can’t. We’ve got those Federal agents breathing down our necks after something Javelin said and Faith is the only one who can help me with this.”
“Shit. All right, what’s the address?” Miranda would have to wait once more.
Bobby relayed the address. Tommy realized it wasn’t far from where they’d battled Harlan’s tank. He acknowledged, turned, and headed for Harlem.
Although it galled him to do so, Tommy ignored the looters as he flew past them, making a beeline for the Washingtons’ apartment.
He found Irlene on the roof of the tenement. She stank of smoke, sweat, and vomit, and her face was puffy from crying. He floated down beside her. “Hey,” he said in as soothing a tone as possible.
She looked back at him with eyes far too old for a face so young. It broke Tommy’s heart that she’d lost her innocence her first day on the job. “I got here and the door was open,” she whispered. “I thought Momma was asleep in the chair, but when I lit a candle I saw.” She retched.
Tommy touched her shoulder. She flung herself into his arms and sobbed against his chest, pouring out all the unfairness of the world against him. “God, I’m sorry, so sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
It felt like an eternity passed there on the rooftop until Irlene had cried all the tears she could. Chest hitching, she pushed herself away from Tommy. “Momma’s dead,” she said in a hollow voice. “But I didn’t see Reggie nowhere. I can’t go back there to look. Please, can you see if she’s down there?”
“I’ll look,” said Tommy. “How old is she?”
She sniffled. “S-six. Look for a white stuffed elephant. She don’t go nowhere without it.”
“All right. Wait here for me, okay?”
Irlene nodded, and Tommy went over the side of the building and dropped lightly onto the fire escape outside their window. He pulled his flashlight from his belt and shined it into the room that must have been Harlan’s. The bookshelves were bare, as was the desk. A few scattered tools and forgotten parts gleamed in the yellow beam. It seemed far too empty for the boy who’d built a tank out of spare parts.
“Reggie?” called Tommy. “It’s me, Tornado, of Just Cause. Irlene sent me to come find you. Are you here?” He listened for any noise, but heard only the background sounds of looters. He’d almost come to tune out the cacophony over the past few hours.
He moved into the apartment, careful to keep his cape from snagging on anything. The next bedroom had two twin beds. One side of the room displayed posters of disco bands, while the other had pieces of paper taped up, each bearing a child’s crayon scribbles. He shone the light back and forth, looking for any sign of either Reggie or the white elephant, but found nothing, even when he bent down to look beneath the beds. The closet proved fruitless.
A quick check of the mother’s bedroom revealed nothing either. There was nothing left to do but check the living room and kitchen.
The coppery stench of blood floated thick in the air of the living room, made worse from the stifling heat. Flies buzzed around, brushing their legs against Tommy’s face before dive-bombing back into the feast that had been laid out for them. Tommy gritted his teeth and brought the light up. Mrs. Washington’s corpse wore an apron of drying blood, which started at her neck and ended in a tacky puddle at her feet. Her bulbous eyes gazed at the ceiling in an eternal question of why, and her mouth hung slack at the jaw in an accompanying silent scream.
Bile rose in Tommy’s own throat and he spat into the corner. He was no detective, but he knew enough not to touch anything. The front door still stood open, but Tommy didn’t want to leave that way. He went back through the apartment to Harlan’s room, and left via the fire escape.
Irlene huddled on the roof, leaning against a vent chimney, her knees drawn tight up against her chest. Tommy knelt down beside her. “I didn’t find Reggie or a stuffed elephant,” he said. “She may have left before it happened.”
“Why would she leave? And where would she go? She’s six, for God’s sake!”
“We should ask Harlan. He might know. He also might know what happened.” Tommy paused, not really wanting to bring up the next thing, but knew he had to ask. “Irlene, do you think your brother might have killed your mother?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore. He never liked her. Never really liked any of us, although I guess he got on all right with Reggie. But to k-kill her? I don’t know that I can believe that. He was so cheerful this afternoon when I gave him those passes.”
“Passes?”
“For Just Cause. He said it was to impress a girl.”
“Irlene, we need to go question him.”
“I just don’t want to believe that he could have done that to Momma.”
“He built a machine for no other reason than to destroy the city and kill people,” said Tommy. “I don’t think we have any idea what he’s capable of. But if he knows where your sister is, we’ve got to find out before it’s too late.” He held out a hand to her.
Irlene nodded and stood, wiping her eyes. “Okay, let’s go.”
#
A feminine voice came across Gretchen’s radio. “Extinguisher, come in.”
“Hey, isn’t that you?” asked Shane.
Gretchen yawned. “Was it? I didn’t hear it. God, Shane, I’m so tired, I could sleep for a week.”
“Me too,” he said. “I don’t think I could even get it up right now. Well, maybe,” he amended.
Even in the darkness, Shane still found things to make her laugh. She’d already decided to make a concerted effort to get closer to him once things settled down in her life somewhat. She pulled the radio from her pocket and looked at it, not knowing which button to push until Shane showed her. “This is, uh, Extinguisher, uh, over.”
“It’s Pony Girl,” said the voice over the radio. “I don’t have long to talk because we’re very busy here now. There’s a fugitive on the loose and the, um, the Federal agents are coordinating a search for her now.”
Gretchen looked at Shane in confusion. “I don’t understand. Is she talking about me?”
Shane nodded slowly. “I think I know what’s going on. Ask her if the agents have updated information about her recent location.”
Gretchen carefully relayed that question to Pony Girl.
“Affirmative. Their information is recent to within the last hour.”
As she finally understood what Pony Girl was trying to tell her, she gasped in shock.
“Over and out. Tell her over and out,” said Shane.
“Extinguisher, over and out.” Gretchen felt numb. She turned to Shane. “They know. They know I was there. Shane, they’re going to catch me in spite of everything.” Her hands began to shake.
“No, they’re not,” retorted Shane. “You stop that right now. Pony Girl gave you the best warning she could. It’s up to us not to waste it. The Feds might know you were in Just Cause headquarters, but they can’t have any idea where you’ve gone since then. They don’t even know if you’re on foot or in a car. Not that getting out of Manhattan would be easy right now with all the traffic signals down.”
“So what should we do?” Panic thudded into Gretchen’s mind like a bale of hay hitting a barn floor. It made her jump at shadows,
and with shadows everywhere she looked, she thought her heart might just explode.
Shane took her head in his hands and kissed her hard.
Her fluttering hands found resting spots against the back of his head. Her racing pulse changed subtly from fear to excitement as their tongues caressed each other. “God,” she said in between kisses. “How do you do that?”
“It’s all in the wrist,” he said, and she laughed.
“Ain’t that sweet,” said a harsh new voice. “Gimme your dough.”
Gretchen and Shane spun around to see a short black-haired man in the shadows. He had a shiny blue steel pistol pointed at them. Shane’s protective hand tightened around Gretchen’s waist.
“What’re you, deaf? Gimme your fuckin’ dough.”
“Look, buddy,” said Shane.
“I ain’t your buddy. I’m the guy with the gun. Now make with the cash already before I put a fresh hole in your head.”
Gretchen felt the power swell in her breast. She knew she could stop the man in an instant, the way she’d stopped the rat; the way she’d stopped Donny. “No,” she whispered aloud. “I won’t do that.”
“I’m gonna count to ten,” said the man. “And then I start shootin’. One… nine…”
“Listen,” said Gretchen. “We’re with Just Cause. You don’t want to mess around with us, okay? You could get hurt.”
The man sputtered out a wheezy laugh with a smell that suggested a three pack a day habit. “You ain’t in no Just Cause.”
“Check the coveralls.” Shane turned so the Just Cause patch on the breast would be a little easier to see in the sporadic light.
“Fuck you.” The man raised his gun.
Her power leaped out, but she was ready for it. She focused it around the man’s hand and the gun. A crash of thunder echoed from the walls of surrounding buildings. The man yelped and dropped the gun, wringing a hand that Gretchen could see was swollen and bruised even in the darkness. Even though her ears rang from the booming of her own power, she raised her hands toward the man. “Get lost, punk, or I’ll do it again.”
The man needed no further encouragement. He turned and ran off into the darkness.
Shane bent and picked up the gun. He fussed with it until he popped open the cylinder. “Loaded,” he said, “and look at this.” He showed Gretchen where the pistol’s hammer had crushed the back of one bullet. “This one had your name on it. Or mine. Lucky it misfired.”
“It didn’t misfire,” she said. “I put a bubble around it. The gun couldn’t fire in a vacuum. Gunpowder needs oxygen to explode, doesn’t it?”
He nodded. “I guess so.”
“We’d better go.”
“What about this?” He held up the pistol.
Gretchen shrugged. “I don’t think we should leave it here. Should you just throw it in the trash?”
“No, some crazy bag lady might get hold of it and start shooting commuters or something.”
“Keep it, then.”
Shane dropped it into the pocket of his coveralls.
“Be careful. Don’t accidentally shoot off anything you might need later.” Using her power to protect them had made her feel confident and strong, and she could feel it resonate in her personality.
He laughed. “Sure thing, Extinguisher. Good name, that.”
The crackle of the radio interrupted them once more. “Anyone? Is anyone there?” The unfamiliar voice sounded rough and ragged, as if the speaker was in great pain. “It’s Rick. I’m trapped in a burning building. Heavy beam on my legs. Off Hudson and Franklin.”
“Hey, that’s not far from us,” said Shane. “You think that’s somebody from Just Cause?”
“I don’t know any Rick,” said Gretchen, “but if we’re close, well, I’m pretty good at putting out fires. And he needs help.”
“Gotta be a good mile or more from here. You up for a run? I don’t think we’ll be able to catch a cab under these circumstances.”
Gretchen smiled. “I was in track in high school.”
Shane’s smile was much more wry than hers. “I should have quit smoking.”
They ran.
Chapter Eighteen
July 14, 1977, 2:00 AM
Faith found herself trying to mediate an argument between Agent Simmons and Bobby. Bobby held the position that in things relating to parahumans, Just Cause was the expert agency by default and necessity. The team’s government benefactors would back him in his decision that Gretchen’s abilities would be more useful in quelling the fires than under lock and key. “I’ve got two heroes down for the count,” said Bobby. “I’m short on parahuman resources already. You want to go tell the Mayor of New York that Just Cause had to let his constituency go up in smoke because you assholes are looking to make a name for yourselves?”
“She’s a murderer,” yelled Simmons.
“There’s strong evidence to suggest self-defense came into play.”
“Bullshit. You fucking Carter liberals would rather hold hands and sing Kumbaya around the fire than see justice served.”
“Justice served at gunpoint isn’t justice, it’s fascism,” said Bobby.
Simmons came halfway out of his seat and so did Faith, ready to defend her husband if necessary. Bobby and Simmons glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
Lionheart’s plea for help crackled across the radio. “Bobby,” said Faith. “I can get there quickest.”
“Go,” he said. “I’ll monitor from here.”
She didn’t kiss him before she left. Under other circumstances she would have, but she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Simmons. Instead of waiting on the slow, temperamental elevator, she spun her way down the stairs at a hundred miles per hour, blowing past floors as if they were frames in a motion picture and startling one couple making out on the landing of the 40th floor. She staggered a little as she hit the plaza; her eyes still spun from her spiraling downward race.
Pouring on the speed, she raced north toward the intersection Rick had identified. She vaulted over cars in the jammed intersections, outracing the angry shouts that followed in her wake. She saw the glow of the fire a moment before she skidded to a halt on the pavement. It was the first time since the power had gone out that she could see anything clearly in the darkness.
It was a medium-sized textile factory, according to the aluminum sign over the front doors. Two fire crews were already on the scene, spraying water down onto the building’s roof from their extension ladders. Hoses crisscrossed the road and Faith had to take careful steps to avoid tripping over any of them.
“Pony Girl, thank God,” said a breathless voice. She spun to see that lanky boy who’d been with Gretchen. Shane, she recalled. He looked odd in the same Just Cause-issue coveralls that Bobby wore on duty. Soot and exhaustion covered his face.
“Shane? Where’s Gretchen?”
A deep booming implosion answered her question. A globular area of flames vanished from one corner of the factory, only to reignite a moment later. A small figure backlit by the fire slumped in defeat. “It’s no good,” Gretchen cried. “Every time I take some out, it just catches again.”
“This place is full of chemicals,” he said. “Dyes and stuff. Lubricants for the machines. It’s a goddamn tinderbox. Firemen said they’ll be lucky to keep it from spreading to adjacent buildings.”
“Lionheart’s trapped in there,” said Faith.
“Look at it, for God’s sake!” Shane said. “It’s an inferno in there. Unless you’re fireproof, you’re not going to get through a wall of flames to go look for him.”
Faith whipped out her radio. “Lionheart, it’s Pony Girl. We’re here and we’re coming in to get you.”
She strained to hear Rick’s faint “Hurry,” over the radio.
“He’s still alive. I’ve got to get inside that building. I can find him faster than anybody else.” An idea occurred to her. “Gretchen, how good can you control your power?”
Gretchen shrugged
. “Okay, I guess.”
“Can you make your vacuum in a tube shape?”
“I think so. Why?”
“I’m going to run through it.”
Despite protests from Shane, Gretchen, and the fire commander, Faith insisted that it was the only way for her to get into the building to find her trapped teammate. Nobody knew for sure what would happen to her in the second or so she’d be exposed to Gretchen’s vacuum, but Faith knew they had to try.
Once more, Gretchen struggled with her power until she’d forced a tube of nothingness into the fire, letting Faith see all the way through the collapsing wall to the building interior. With lots of open space inside, there wasn’t as much fire and she thought she’d be all right. She patted Gretchen. “Hold it just like that for a few seconds.”
Before she dared think it over, she dashed through the empty space.
Air blew from her lungs and out her ass in the second it took to pass through the vacuum. She had the oddest sensation of her saliva boiling in her mouth without burning. Passing back into the scalding air made her gasp, but with no air in her lungs, it felt like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She staggered and fell to her knees, trying to draw breath with a confused diaphragm. The tangible heat washed over her like a physical assault. As air started to find its way back into her lungs, she looked around.
The walls and some of the ceiling were burning. Vats of chemical dyes and bolts of fabric made bright, hot flames in fuming pinks, blues, and greens. Paint peeled and blackened off the machinery as grease and dust made billows of black smoke. Faith coughed, remembered her radio, and held it to her lips. “I’m in,” she said. “Lionheart, where are you?”
She raced through the building, dodging around burning support beams and the chemical hot spots, which made the fire dance like a living creature from the air currents. After what felt like hours but probably only took a few seconds, she found him. An interior building, perhaps an elevated supervisor’s office, had collapsed and trapped both his legs under a heavy wooden beam.
Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer Page 23
