The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  JASPER WADE CROUCHED behind a stack of freight crates, his hand sweating on his gun. The night air prickled. Keeping his tall frame crunched into the shadows was a feat, but at the very least, his black hair and uniform would blend with the night. He hoped. His breath floated out in a cloud, and he shut his mouth, praying that wouldn’t give them away.

  Next to him, Officer McCoy hunkered down, gun also at the ready. He peered through one of the narrow slits in the crates. With quick silent motions, he waved over the rest of the team.

  “What’s the haul look like this time?” Patton hissed. She dropped to one knee behind them. To her right, two more officers crept over.

  “Three loads,” McCoy whispered.

  “Three? That’s bold.”

  “These punks have upped their game.”

  McCoy squinted through the gap. “Fifteen men. Armed. Three AR-15s, six semi-automatics.”

  Patton’s jaw twitched.

  Chest tight, Jasper adjusted his bullet proof vest. McCoy glanced down at him.

  “Take a look, rookie.” He moved back, enough for Jasper to lean in and peer through the gap in the crates. He tried to ignore the prickle of irritation at the nickname. Despite his experience, everyone in the OCPD looked at him that way. The young face, large blue eyes, and messy curls that never tamed. They saw a boy with a badge, not a detective who’d trained for years.

  In the middle of the alley ahead, a truck idled with its engine grumbling. Men loaded crates into the back while taillights glowed through the steam, shadows flickering in and out of the red. Jasper’s gaze lifted to the tall brick building behind them. St. Barnabas. Anger flashed through him. They were making the drugs with hospital supplies, which meant they had someone on the inside smuggling out substances.

  “Right,” McCoy said. Jasper pulled back. “On my count.”

  Adrenaline sparked. Jasper tightened his grip on his gun.

  Before McCoy could give the order, a pavement-cracking thud echoed off the walls. Jasper jerked upright, risking a glance over the crates.

  It took several seconds for his eyes to make sense of the scene.

  A giant—the Giant—had dropped from the adjacent roof. Knees bunched to absorb the impact, he straightened. The hulking shadow loomed over the van.

  Jasper stared at him. For a single frozen second, all the officers around him did too.

  Every ridiculous media story, every shaky video and sensationalist news article... nothing could come close to this. Twelve feet tall. Chest wide as the hood of a car. The thick black mask covered his face from forehead to cheek, unnatural muscles bulging under a black bodysuit. The Orion Giant stood before them, as real as the steam curling up from the pavement.

  “Hey!” a man yelled from the van. Heads turned.

  The colossal vigilante was already moving. In one swift motion, he sprang for the man nearest him—the one with the automatic slung across his back, who had no time to grab for it as the Giant slammed a fist into his side, dropping him cold.

  Crates fell with a smash. Shouts filled the air as a dozen men rushed him. Turning, the Giant snatched up two by the back of their coats and flung them headlong into the hospital wall. As the three near the truck scrambled for their guns, the vigilante bulldozed the unlucky men closest to him, lunging for the armed trio. His huge fist closed around two of the weapons, and he snatched the third as he wheeled around. Someone punched him in the gut—the highest place they could reach. The Giant raised a knee, knocking the offender backward. Lifting the rifles high, he bent all three in half with a hard crack, and tossed them aside.

  The men still standing took a collective step back. In their moment’s hesitation, Jasper sized up the group. Ten men left. Wait—there was one more, back in the shadows, a blond man standing on a crate. He blinked. The man vanished.

  A gunshot split the air.

  The Giant jerked. Half a step back, barely a stumble. Jasper’s eyes snapped around the alley. He spotted the man with the pistol crouched behind a stack of crates. For one unthinking second his hand twitched on his own gun, ready to yank it up and fire at the man who’d shot the Giant. But then McCoy was shouting:

  “OCPD! Put your hands in the air, all of you!”

  The Giant dove, just as the man with the pistol squeezed off another shot. Officers shouted from their hiding places, flattened against crates, guns raised. The truck’s engine revved. Jasper edged toward the shooter’s crate fortress, sticking to his own cover, but the Giant reached it first. Smashing straight through the wooden tower, he grabbed the shooter by the face and shoved him backward. The man shot out his hands to break his fall, and the gun skittered across the concrete.

  The Giant crushed it under his heel.

  The doors of the truck slammed closed. Turning, Jasper saw the remaining half dozen men leap onto the back of it, clutching any handhold they could grab. Reverse lights flared. The truck roared backwards with shocking speed, forcing the Giant to stagger out of the way. It skidded to a stop, brakes squealing. Then it charged forward again. Two men fell off.

  The Giant took off after it, thundering over the concrete.

  “After it!” Patton yelled. “You, and you! Follow the van. The rest of you on the Giant! Cut him off at the corner, before he hits Ninth. Go!”

  Footsteps pounded to obey.

  “McCoy, with me. Wade! You’ve got those two!”

  Jasper spun to see the two men who’d fallen off the van sprinting for a side alley. He tore after them, the shouts of his fellow officers dispersing in his wake.

  Laser focus. That’s what he had to have. No thought for the vigilante crashing down the street opposite this building, catching the bad guys they were supposed to bring in.

  He could hear the footsteps of the men ahead of him, sneakers scraping and skidding over the asphalt. He rounded the corner and spotted them twenty yards ahead. They glanced back. Cursing, they dove around the side of the next building. Jasper’s legs pumped faster.

  He swung around the next corner and spun, scanning the empty street. Buildings rose up all around, half a dozen alleys and entrances to back lots, sagging chain link fences and dumpsters. A hundred shadows to hide in.

  No sign of his suspects.

  Swearing, he turned in a circle. He jogged toward the fence. They wouldn’t have had time to hop over and drop to the other side; he’d have heard the rattle of metal. He faced north. That way to the Wall: a dead end. West to the reservoir, not much cover there. He resumed his run up the street and started glancing down the alleys. Plenty of dumpsters to hide behind. Trash, crates, big cardboard boxes.

  He ran the length of the street and turned right. Away from St. Barnabas and the scene of the crime. If I were a drug trader, where would I go? Small apartment complexes and old storefronts rose up all around him, one or two stories at most. About half the streetlamps on this street still burned, casting puddles of orange light every hundred feet or so.

  He hit Ninth and circled back. Only then did his lungs begin to burn.

  He’d lost them.

  Damn. If they had just one, they could interrogate him about the drug ring, find the others involved. There was no honor among thieves in Orion. Anyone they caught would sing like a canary.

  He heard a noise in the dead quiet of the alley and stopped. The scuff of shoes? He slowed to a walk, hugging the wall of a building. A break in the sidewalk ahead marked the alley. A dog barked down the street. He slowed almost to a stop, listening.

  There. A faint thud on brick. He drew his gun.

  Rounding the corner, he found himself faced with the enormous back of the Orion Giant.

  Instinct took over. He pressed himself back around the corner, his cheek digging into the edge of the brick as he peered around the wall.

  The Giant stood hunched with his back to him, one hand grasping the wall. His head was bowed. The back of his suit had been torn open, from shoulder to ribcage, and a dark messy shape of what looked like a handprint glimmered on the massive b
are shoulder. Jasper blinked. He had been shot.

  A dumpster flanked by ratty cardboard boxes stood between him and the Giant. Jasper slunk forward in a crouch, silent as he could manage. He dropped behind it. Over the boxes, he could still get a good look at the Giant twenty feet away.

  Light painted him from a single alley lamp on the two-story building above. The building opposite was shorter, so short his head might’ve cleared it if it hadn’t been bent. His skin looked gray in the dim wash of the bulb, but when he turned Jasper could spot the bullet hole between the dip of his shoulder and pectoral muscle. He flinched.

  The Giant tipped his head back against the building, and Jasper saw his eyes close through the holes in the mask. The vigilante took a deep breath through his nose. His huge chest expanded, then fell.

  The blood pouring from the wound began to slow.

  At first, Jasper thought it was a trick of the light. But then the Giant lifted a hand and wiped away the shiny black streams. A smear of blood followed the motion, but no more gushed from the hole. As he watched, the dark punch of black on the Giant’s pale flesh began to close. Jasper shut his eyes. When he opened them again, the wound was still closing, skin sealing itself together until it was almost gone.

  “Impressive trick.”

  They both jumped at the voice. Jasper was grateful the Giant’s much larger reaction muffled his own crunch of cardboard. The vigilante tensed. He turned his back to Jasper again, facing the opposite end of the alley.

  Jasper hadn’t even seen the man approach. He stood just out of the streetlight, draped in shadow so only his peroxide blond hair glowed in the light. He looked tall, but that was laughable compared to the Orion Giant. He took a step forward at the same time the vigilante did.

  The Giant’s voice came out in a rumbling gravel. “What’s in the crates?”

  The man’s slow steps put him into the light, and Jasper took quick stock of his appearance. Middle aged, Caucasian. He held himself like a man who knew how to fight. But he didn’t look military. The clothes were civilian and mismatched. Slacks with a Pac Man T-shirt, pointy dress shoes. A long, scruffy looking coat.

  “Haven’t seen a shift like yours in this whole city. My team could use a man with your unique talents.”

  A low growl vibrated the concrete. “I don’t turn into this beast every night to team up with criminals.”

  The man grinned up at him. “Is it every night now? You’ve been busy.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Criminal. Now that’s a funny word, don’t you think? To those cops back there, you’re a criminal.”

  The blond man continued forward. Jasper shifted behind the dumpster, hand on his gun, but something made him hesitate. The light glinting off a flash of silver in the man’s smile, the eerie way he held himself in front of the Giant. No fear. Not a hint of the human instinct to flee from such a monster.

  The stranger stopped just a few paces away from the Giant. He tipped his head back. “My, you are tall.”

  “What kind of drugs are you dealing?” the Giant growled down at him.

  “Let’s skip the boring questions, I’ve got interesting ones.”

  “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t step on you.”

  The man laughed. The sound echoed off the walls, harsh and warm at the same time. Jasper had heard a lot of hair-raising laughs on the streets of Orion City, but this one sent goose bumps searing down his arms. Even the Giant took a step back.

  “You are fun. No question there.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels. “Been tracking your progress for a while now. Another dumb street vigilante who started out with a power he couldn’t control, thought he’d hone his skills by stopping petty crime, saving old ladies from purse snatchers and catching thugs in dark alleys. But now you’re going after the big guns. Think you can go where the police can’t. You can save the city from the monsters that are too scary for everybody else. Am I hitting the mark?”

  A siren wailed, a few streets down. The man cocked his head, reminding Jasper of some kind of animal. One with teeth.

  “I’ll cut to the chase.” Walking toward the other dumpster in the alleyway, the one against the shorter building, he leaped atop it in one fluid motion to stand eye level with the Giant. “Keep the hero act. Mess with every other crime group in the city, petty thieves, gangbangers, the Triads for all I care. But leave my cargo alone. If you get in my way again, I’ll have to end you.”

  Jasper might’ve laughed at a threat like that from a man standing on a four-foot dumpster to look the Giant in the eye. But the vigilante deadpanned. The man smiled, teeth flashing in the darkness, and smacked the Giant’s cheek. He hopped down off the dumpster and strolled away—in Jasper’s direction—with his hands in his pockets.

  The Giant growled. “No.”

  The pointy shoes clacked to a stop.

  “As long as you keep dealing drugs to kids on the streets, I’ll be in your way. Even if you are the Whistler.”

  The man’s grin was blinding as he turned. “You’re brighter than you look.”

  “I’ve been looking for you for months,” the Giant rumbled. “Word on the street is you’ve got fingers in every gang from Eastside to Chinatown. Even the Triads.” With a heavy, cautious tread, he walked forward. “What are you planning?”

  “Well, aren’t you a notch above those other airheaded vigilantes. I see why the media gives you so much credit. The biggest superhero, going after the biggest villain.” The man tilted his head. “I like you. You remind me of myself. Not afraid to walk over the law to get the job done.”

  “You and I are nothing alike.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  Jasper didn’t see the punch coming. One minute, the man stood six feet shorter than the Giant; the next, he was a blur. The Giant’s head snapped back. He stumbled backwards as the smaller man dropped away, dancing out of the vigilante’s reach. Jasper blinked. The blond had driven a foot into the Giant’s leg, using it as a springboard to snap up and strike. A sharp uppercut to the throat targeting the dip between chin and jugular—a soft place even a twelve-foot behemoth couldn’t fortify.

  The Giant wheezed, shaking his head to recover from his shock. As he spun to retaliate, the man slipped behind him.

  “We both wear masks.” The smooth voice was hardly winded.

  A strike to the back of the Giant’s knee. It buckled. One huge fist swung wild, and the man glided beneath it. His own fists moved with casual fluidity. The hits were precise, wicked—pressure points maybe, weak spots in the Giant’s monstrous hulk Jasper would’ve never seen. The vigilante stumbled again. The man leaped onto his back, darting up his spine to catch hold of his shoulder while the Giant righted himself with a roar.

  “We both think we’re the lesser of two evils.”

  The Giant yelled, pitching his body forward to try and toss him off. His opponent ducked under a swing of his massive fist, somehow fixed to the Giant’s back as he twisted and flung. The huge man stumbled into the wall, and the building shuddered. Then Jasper saw it—the blond man’s fist, digging into the bullet wound on the vigilante’s shoulder, not yet fully healed. Ripping it back open.

  The Giant dropped to one knee. A strangled sound, like air leaking from a tire, hissed past his teeth.

  “I hope I’ve made my point.” The man on his back crouched low, lips beside his ear, though his voice rang clear enough to carry on the light breeze. “Leave my cargo alone.”

  With a sharp, almost affectionate pat to the Giant’s cheek, the man straightened. Then he vaulted upwards. Using the Giant’s mass again as a springboard, he caught the low edge of the roof above them, swung up onto it and was gone. No pounding footsteps. No clatter of roof tiles. A shadow vanishing into the night.

  Jasper stared at the Giant. It was hard to tell under the mask, but the lower half of the vigilante’s face looked as stunned as he himself felt. The huge mouth hung slack. Ragged pants scraped out as he struggled off his k
nee. Spitting curses in what sounded like another language, he swayed on his feet. One huge hand pressed against his bleeding shoulder.

  Jasper unfroze. This was it. The vigilante was off balance, injured—and Jasper had a job to do.

  Surging up from behind the dumpster, he snapped the gun forward and pinned the vigilante in his sights.

  “OCPD,” he declared. His voice wobbled only a little. “Put your hands in the air.”

  The Giant’s chin slowly turned toward him. He was truly enormous this close, face to face, and Jasper felt like a bug under that jet-black stare. But then something flickered behind those eyes. The mask hid it, but the Giant’s face registered something other than surprise. Recognition. And something almost like... sadness.

  “Put your hands up,” Jasper ordered again. He splayed his feet.

  For such a colossal human, the vigilante moved like a cat. Bunching his legs beneath him, he leapt. Jasper jerked back. His finger tensed over the trigger, but didn’t squeeze. The Giant cleared the air above Jasper’s head in a single bound, landing on the low rooftop behind him. Shingles crunched as he jogged away.

  Jasper spun. For a half second, the Giant’s huge silhouette blotted out the moon. And then it disappeared.

  “Dammit!”

  Wheeling, Jasper ran for the dumpster the blond man had jumped onto. It took him far longer to scramble up onto it, and by the time he stretched up to see over the rooftop, all signs of the vigilante had evaporated.

  He could run out to the street and try to head him off. Or maybe the Giant was jumping on rooftops all the way back to his hideout. Jasper had already outrun all his fellow patrolmen. Grinding his teeth, he hopped down off the dumpster.

  He should rejoin his group. Maybe they’d caught the van, at least.

  Dejected, he clenched the grip of his gun and headed back into the street.

  “I wondered if you were going to show your face.”

  The voice froze him in place. Jasper checked the impulse to jump and with a slow, controlled movement, turned his head. The blond man leaned against the wall outside the alley, hair glowing white in the streetlamps. He stood only twenty feet away, cleaning his fingernails with a switchblade.