Yesterday's Hero

by Jonathan Wood

  “There you are,” I say, as gentle and supportive as it’s possible to address a woman you once believed was a serial killer and who popped your lung one time.

  “Situation?” Shaw ignores the softly, softly approach and cuts straight to the chase.

  Kayla shrugs. “Just got here.” Her Scottish brogue is so thick right now, individual words are barely discernible.

  “You OK?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. Kayla’s not been OK since she was eleven and the aforementioned aliens took over her family and she had to kill them all to survive. I can’t think of anything that could have happened recently to have improved that situation.

  Kayla doesn’t even tell me to feck off, though, which rather underscores the severity of how not OK she is.

  “You need to sit this one out?” I ask.

  Shaw gives me a sharp look. Apparently that is not the plan. For her part, Kayla gives me a lackluster middle finger.

  “That’s the spirit,” Clyde says.

  I can hear roaring and fully automatic fire and explosions, and the clock ticking. And we do not have the time to counsel Kayla now. And I know Shaw thinks we need her. And I know Shaw is probably right. She usually is. But, punctured lung or no, I do not want to see Kayla come to harm because her head is so far out of the game it’s in another building.

  “Kayla?” I say.

  “We need her.” Shaw’s voice has an edge. I think it’s a testament to our budding romance that she doesn’t just directly tell me to shut up.

  Kayla sticks with the sullen silence. She doesn’t even disappear at superhuman speed looking for something to stab. Just shuffles into line behind Tabitha.

  It’s a bad call. I can feel it. If Kayla doesn’t get hurt then someone relying on her will.

  “I think—” I start.

  “We need her.” Shaw’s voice is a rod of iron coming down on the floor. And I get the feeling that’s what it’s like when she pulls rank.

  I consider pushing it, but it seems early in the relationship for open insubordination.

  Shaw turns her back, leads the way. Tabitha saunters past, a little smile on her lips. “Just fuck her,” she says. “Not with her.”

  Minerals Exhibit

  The floor is a glittering death trap. Shards of rock attempt to turn my ankle every step. One slip and I’ll come up studded with more gems than a rapper’s necklace.

  The gunfire has risen from a background crackle to an insistent thunder. Bowel-shuddering roars underscore the soundtrack of violence. We break into a run through the detritus of the battle. Double doors mark the line between us and harm’s way.

  “OK,” I say, trying to think it all through as we accelerate. “Clyde, you’re the only one the T-Rex seems to notice. You focus on that. Tabitha you stay here. Give Clyde the info he needs. Stay out of harm’s way. And Kayla—” I glance over at her. I’m still unconvinced we can rely on her. But I can’t think of anyone else here who can deal with the T-Rex’s full attention. “—you buy Clyde the time he needs to take it out.” Which leaves. “Felicity—” I start.

  “You and I are on the primary. Take out the Russian. Defending the Weekenders is secondary. They got themselves in this mess.”

  She’s the boss. But who are the Weekenders? Then there’s no time to ask. The doors fly wide. Shaw slides through them like a baseball player going for the home plate. I shove my earpiece into place. Clyde barrels after Shaw, his substitute body shifting up to ridiculous speed. I elbow my way through. Sweep my pistol in a large arc.

  Destruction. Pure and simple. The T-Rex stands at its heart, head pressed to the ceiling. It twists, fixes its piggy eyes upon us, scrapes great swaths of plaster free.

  It’s meatier than the last time I saw it. For all the ammunition emptied into it, it’s somehow got more flesh on its bones. Scabs of green skin stretch over the exposed muscles of its barrel chest.

  Lightning lances across the room. A display case disappears in an explosion of steel and splinters.

  I blink in the aftershock, seeking the source. The far end of the room is raised, separated by a few steps and a low stone wall. Bullets chew the wall’s surface, while I scan for signs of life.

  Clyde and Shaw huddle behind the remnants of another display case. The top has been sheared away, glass scattered about them.

  I run. Head down. The T-Rex roars. The glass on the floor jumps and rattles. By the time I crash into the display case I’ve sweat through my jacket. I peer around the corner. The T-Rex is lowering its head. Where’s Kayla? Isn’t she meant to—

  The double doors swing wide and Kayla saunters through. Like John Wayne with a hard-on for gunslinging. Except Kayla is about a hundred and fifty pounds lighter than John Wayne. And has no guns.

  Lightning strobes past her. A crater appears in the wall behind her. Stone shards fly. She doesn’t even flinch. Her sword blade trails her, bouncing and skittering off the floor.

  The T-Rex unleashes another shuddering howl. Kayla stops walking. My pulse finds a higher gear.

  The T-Rex paws the ground like a bull with ’roid rage. I swear it curls a lip in a sneer. It reveals teeth. Sharp and glistening now. Teeth for slicing, for tearing. Kayla just stands there, unflinching.

  The growl builds like an oncoming train. The T-Rex paws the floor. Its talons tear great chunks of rock free.

  And, seriously is Kayla ever going to look up? It just doesn’t seem safe at this point.

  The T-Rex charges, each footfall an earthquake. Its jaws stretch. And stretch. I open fire. Everyone opens fire. Its flesh ripples as bullets pour into its sides. It doesn’t deviate an inch. Just barrels on. Death and dust billow in its wake.

  It’s not slowing. It’s yards from Kayla. Feet. Inches. She stands so still. The T-Rex brays in victory.

  And then, finally, she moves. The sword flies out, my heart leaps, my stomach drops—

  Kayla bats the T-Rex’s head out of the way. The dinosaur skids past her, slams into the wall. It sways dizzy. Kayla looks like she never moved. Standing, sword loose at her side. Barely watching.

  The T-Rex recovers fast. It spins. Its tail races toward her. She ducks. But… well, it’s too fast to call it lazy exactly, but by Kayla’s standards it’s barely moving at all.

  The T-Rex spins again, lunges. The flat of Kayla’s blade drives its head up. The ceiling plaster crunches under the impact, hemorrhages wires and air conditioning. But there is no follow-up. There is no death-defying leap, no stabbing, or slicing, or dicing. Just these halfhearted dismissals.

  The T-Rex comes at her again. Again. Again. She slaps at it, twitches aside. Again. Again. Again.

  “You know,” says Clyde, crouched beside me, “I’m not sure that is the spirit after all.”

  Dammit. I should have said more to Shaw. I should have stood my ground. Except… Where is the line now? Which side of the bed?

  “Kayla!” Shaw yells, trying to break through, trying to snap her out of the funk.

  Another lightning bolt. The three well-armed civilians on the other side of the hall dive for cover. Chunks of ceiling rain down on them.

  “Plus side,” I say. “The T-Rex is distracted.” Lead with optimism, I figure.

  Shaw nods. “We move on the primary. Clyde, prepare whatever you’ve got. Arthur, get close. I’ll cover you.”

  Ah, point man, my favorite. Still, I need to put in more time at the range if I want to be a good enough shot to hang back and snipe at things.

  A couple of deep breaths, then I go for it. Head down. Ass out. Break cover. Scramble forwards.

  Bullets fill the air. Knowing they’re not aimed at me doesn’t make it any better.

  I make it to one display case, spot a pile of rubble that looks like cover, dive for it. Behind me, the T-Rex bellows. I want to turn, to look, to make sure it’s not closing, not chewing on Kayla while she stares at its teeth, a look of boredom on her face. But I can’t because here comes the lightning storm.

  I’m half running, half dancin
g. And screw cover, it’s down the middle of the hall now. I fire blindly. The room explodes around me in strobe flares of light. Stone and wood and glass score my cheeks. I scream obscenities, and then just scream. I’m barely on my feet now, skittering forward. I can’t see. I can’t—

  The blast lifts me off my feet. It feels like being the center of the world. A great, tearing change in perspective, slamming me into the very heart of creation. Suddenly all there is, is white, is pain—a great hollow sphere of it surrounding me.

  And then back to reality, to flying across the room. A sprawl of limbs as graceless as balled paper tossed at a trashcan.

  FOUR

  I land. The impact jars my bones, blurs my vision. My teeth chomp on the inside of my mouth, draw blood. I roll like a rag doll. My limbs are distant memories.

  Instead of the wall ending my passage with a crunch, it’s a person with an “oomph.” They collapse on top of me. My eyes focus for at least a second. It’s the pretty Asian woman with the automatic pistol. She sits up, shakes plaster from her hair. My head is in her lap. She smiles down at me, curiously calm in the middle of the madness.

  “Hello,” she says, “I’m Aiko. Nice to meet you.”

  I go with the more casual, “Gnnnfgg nnn.”

  I try to roll off her. There’s a blinding pain in my left shoulder and my left foot. That whole side of my body feels loose—skin and bone turned to so much jelly.

  “Arthur! Arthur!” Someone’s calling my name. I go to turn my head but decide to spasm helplessly instead.

  Shaw skids across the floor. Clyde flails his way through lightning strikes behind her. Shaw grabs me off Aiko’s lap. Claims me.

  “You’re alive?” Shaw says. She runs a hand over my forehead.

  I’m blinking a lot and twitching so that seems to confirm it for her. She does the thoughtful thing, turning away and emptying a magazine in the direction of the lightning-slinger. It’s rather sweet.Another lightning bolt blasts past. Clyde yells. Shaw curses, tugs another magazine from an inside pocket. I struggle to bring my limbs online, managing to use my right elbow to get upright.

  The Asian woman, Aiko, leans forward, puts a hand on my shoulder.

  “You should probably—” she starts.

  “Get off him,” Shaw snaps. “And get out of here. We don’t need casualties.”

  Aiko bristles visibly. She removes the hand from my shoulder. That’s good—bearing the extra weight was a little much for me right now. “Where were you while we staved off the body count?”

  Shaw fires in the direction of the lightning-slinger without taking her eyes off Aiko. “I am more than happy to arrest you for illegal weapon possession.” She wears a tight smile.

  Another different decision from the one I’d have gone with. And I’m going to have to call on one of these, but right now I’m playing the twitching injured guy, so I let her have it.

  The T-Rex interrupts the nascent feud. Its tail sweeps overhead. Display cases detonate. Glass shards and mineral missiles fill the air.

  “Will somebody make that fucking dinosaur extinct already?” Shaw yells. She looks distinctly less cool than when we arrived here. For people who saved the world yesterday, we’re looking spectacularly outclassed.

  “Clyde,” I manage, “what have you got? Anything that can evict an animating force?” The words are strained.

  Clyde touches his earpiece “Tabby,” he says. “Trying to think of a way to remove an animating force. Anti-magic doo-dad. Wondering, if you have a moment that is, if you could check the database.”

  If she has a moment? What the hell does he think she’s doing out there? Crocheting mittens for any reanimated triceratops she happens across?

  Kayla still bats at the T-Rex’s head as if disciplining a troublesome dog. Shaw mutters her name along with some select curse words.

  “Animating force,” Tabitha’s voice comes back. “Invested in skeleton.” Though the T-Rex is hardly a skeleton now. Skin covers most of it, exposed muscle and gristle the rest. “Rather than removing force, remove skeleton. Nothing for force to cling to.”

  Filet a T-Rex. Well that should be easy.

  “Explosive kinetic force, located centrally?” Clyde says.

  I like the bit where he uses the word “explosive.”

  Tabitha grunts.

  Clyde nods. Then he looks to Shaw. “Excuse me,” he says. “Don’t mean to interrupt—”

  “Spit it out.”

  “I don’t suppose you happen to have a grenade on you, do you?”

  Which is a slightly more mundane solution than I was thinking we’d go for. I could have thought of blowing it up with a grenade.

  Shaw reaches into another inner suit pocket and removes a thin steel canister. I am beginning to think I should never go through Shaw’s pocket book.

  “Excellent,” Clyde says lightly as more of the room disintegrates around us. “Just need to get it inside the T-Rex now.”

  And, I admit, I would not have thought of that bit.

  Shaw blinks. “Alright then,” she says, and goes to stand up.

  I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I have tender feelings for Shaw, or because of a sense of duty, or because of the blows to the head, but I reach out a hand to stop her.

  “No,” I say. “You’re still a better shot than me.” I manage to get my face muscles to stop spasming long enough to smile. “Primary objective and all that. You stay here, shoot the evil cow with the lightning, protect Clyde. I’ll go.”

  “Arthur—” she starts.

  “Oh,” I smile, “I can’t have been that good in bed.”

  That line clearly sounded cooler in my head. Even Clyde’s blank mask looks shocked.

  I rather hope the T-Rex does get me now.

  To cover the moment, I grab the silver grenade and run towards imminent death.

  FIVE

  Running is harder than I’d hoped. My left side still feels numb and weak. My feet skid on discarded rubble. I fear I look like I’m creating my own Olympic event—half hopping, half limping.

  I hug the left-hand wall, desperate to avoid the T-Rex’s gaze. It thrashes back and forth, dominating the central aisle. Kayla thumps it desultorily on its head. It roars, spraying her with prehistoric phlegm. The grenade is a solid weight in my hand.

  “Its mouth! Open its mouth!” I scream at Kayla. I don’t know how else to phrase the absurd request.

  Kayla turns slowly, arches an eyebrow. The T-Rex lunges, jaws snapping. She sidesteps casually.

  “Its mouth,” I yell. “Open!”

  Kayla gives a heavy shrug.

  “Please!” I’m close enough that I don’t want to get any closer. I can smell its breath, foul as a charnel house.

  The T-Rex lunges again. Kayla sidesteps again. The gaping mouth of the T-Rex whistles by her. Towards me. Knife blade teeth lancing at my head.

  I try not to close my eyes. I hurl the grenade at the beast’s tonsils. It bounces off one tooth, drops into the wide red maw.

  Without much seeming care, Kayla slams an elbow into the T-Rex’s jaw. The mouth shuts very suddenly and very fast. Instead of the T-Rex’s teeth scouring my flesh from my bone, its nose thuds into my chest, sitting me down on my arse. The roar turns to a choking cough.

  For a moment I think the grenade is going to come out the other way, coughed back at me in a fiery ball of death. And then, as the T-Rex rears backwards, I see a tiny flash of silver disappear down its throat.

  It worked.

  It actually bloody worked.

  I’m so stunned I actually sit there and stare before remembering to scramble for cover.

  The explosion rips through the room. Through the guts of the dinosaur. The rib cage distends, bursts through the rotten skin. Vertebrae, claws, bone shards embed themselves in the walls, a mess of reptilian shrapnel. The creature’s head barrels over the pile of splinters I’m pretending is cover. Its teeth slash the air one final time.

  I stay there, waiting to be ce
rtain. Waiting to make sure the Grim Reaper has left the building. Eventually I uncurl, my ears ringing. The back of my jacket has been flayed, but I’m remarkably whole, just a few grazes along my back. Smoke billows through the room.

  “Oh! My! God!” It’s the young girl with two pistols and enormous headphones. She paws them down around her neck, still holding the guns. Two platinum-blonde pigtails bounce as she skips forward, almost prancing through the massive pool of blood that’s spreading across the room.

  “You guys!” She stares at me, at Shaw, at Clyde, at Kayla. “You are so freaking awesome!”

  To be honest, I am not entirely upset with that response. Modesty be damned. That looked pretty cool.

  The job’s not done though. Shaw walks past the girl, heading towards the stairs. Clyde and I head after her, drawn warily into her wake, pistol out. Kayla stands watching us walk.

  The blond girl dances after us. “I mean, did you guys see that?” she says. “With the grenade! And its head! I mean holy Jesus, I have never seen anything close to being half that cool. Not even on TV.” She pauses, thinks. “You guys should totally be on TV.” She nods to herself. “You would be massive.”

  I wonder if I can get this girl to be a character witness at my next performance review.

  We’re at the foot of the stairs. Shaw signals with her gun for me to go wide. I start edging along the wall and Shaw starts edging up the stairs. Clyde stands and watches us.

  “Batteries?” Shaw says to him.

  He gives an embarrassed shrug—proving that such a thing is possible—and slips two double As under the lip of his mask.

  She pauses at the top of the stairs, in line with the wall, not yet visible to anyone crouched behind it. I see her take two quick breaths.

  I realize I really do not want to see her get shot. That I would be very upset. More than if it was Clyde, and despite the brevity of our association I’d already count Clyde among my best friends. And I realize that maybe I’m not so sorry about the joke about being decent in bed. Not as sorry as I ought to be anyway.