by Blou Bryant
“I heard that they came in to raid a couple tents, but were stopped. We don’t mind a couple local cops keeping order, but when a bunch of goons showed up some guys fought back. Shazam called me down here.”
“What are you doing?” asked Ari. “I mean, how’s this going to help?”
“I’m here to help them. I feed these people, I provide them with health care and counselling. How could I stand by when they’re being attacked?”
Arrogant bastard, she thought. “But...” she said, “They’re not being attacked. The police are on the outside. Aren’t you just riling them up?”
His face turned red—passion, thought Ira, not anger—and he replied, “No! I’m waking them up. Wyatt and I talked. There’s a war under way, what side are you on? Are you with the rich, the powerful, the greedy corporations? Or with the people?”
Ira raised an eyebrow. “Wyatt knows about this?”
“He meets me every morning and we’ve already talked about the war. What side are you on, Ari?”
“I’m Ira and she’s Ari.”
He ignored the comment and gazed at them with his fiery eyes. “We’re going to stop letting them push us around.”
“What can we do?” Ira asked even as her sister pathed caution. With a roll of her eyes, she responded with her own version of ‘whatever.’
Joshua pointed behind them. “Stay in the back, and help if anyone gets hurt.”
Shazam had noticed them from his perch. “Josh. They’re the best fighters you got. Send them up front.”
Joshua looked up at his protégée and back to the two girls. “Really?” he said with disbelief.
This, thought Ira, was the flip side of men being overly nice to them. No respect. She crouched down and then jumped straight up, did a flip in the air and landed back down with a chalikar spinning on a finger in each hand. “Really,” she said, “we’re trained fighters, the best you got.”
With that, and without waiting for instructions, she walked away, pushing through the crowd towards the police.
Her sister followed, but pathed disagreement. “What are you doing?” Ari whispered as she caught up.
“Wyatt’s always going on about taking action…”
“You think he’d want us to if he was here?”
“I do, come on, Sis, let’s have fun.”
“He wouldn’t want us…”
Ira was getting frustrated. “… to get in a fight with twenty cops?
“Exactly.”
Enough arguing, it’s time for action. “You’re always backing out of fun stuff.”
“No, I’m the one who stops you from getting kidnapped, beaten up or killed. I’m the reason you didn’t take those pills at the party last week and end up in the hospital like everyone else.”
“Blah, blah. Let’s...”
“… party? No, we should….”
“… wait… but we won’t. Come on, Sis.” Ira stepped through the last line of protesters and found herself only feet away from the police. Her sister was by her side, the argument over.
Shazam was still shouting over his bullhorn, the crowd chanting along with him. The police yelled back, “Disperse now, we are reclaiming this zone.”
What a joke, she thought. Reclamation zone, indeed. A wasteland that the state had given up on. She stepped forward. “Get out of our home,” she yelled at the closest cop.
He, like his compatriots, was in all black body armor with a helmet that covered his face, its shiny black surface reflecting her image back at her.
Ira looked at him—or her—with automatic anger, she’d never had a good interaction with a cop. In her mind, they were bullies who’d made a full-time job of it. She remembered one who’d tried to take advantage of her, thinking she was a druggie he could abuse. With a small grin, she remembered that he had probably not walked right for days after she taught him a lesson.
Despite the situation, her body wasn’t tense, she was loose and ready for action. Her implants made her quicker than anyone other than her sister, and she had been trained to fight. Out of habit, she bounced up and down and from foot to foot.
Two bricks flew over their heads, hitting an officer behind the front line, and the mass of black-clad men and women surged forward. To her left, someone swung a tree branch and connected with the helmet of another officer.
The police stopped beating their shields and rushed forward, their nightsticks rising and falling as they laid into the protesters. Ira found herself pushed back as a row of police surged forward and the street people rushed forward in response. Blood splashed on her face as one middle aged woman was hit in the face with a baton. There was no sense to the violence, she knew that somewhere deep inside, but didn’t care. She wanted to fight.
Ira linked an arm with her sister and used her as a pivot to swing forward into an oncoming officer. With an upward swing of her left foot, she knocked the nightstick out of his hand. Her right foot followed and connected with his helmet.
She continued in the air and rolled over her sister’s lowered back. Before her feet were even on the ground, Ari had let her go, dropped, swung out and took the legs out from under the two police in front of them.
The space in front of them clear, they put their backs to each other. An officer to her right swung at her ineffectively and she leveraged her sister’s body to kick straight up and out, knocking the woman’s helmet off her head.
Cops that had been massed behind the front line stormed in to join their fallen comrades and Ira felt her sister take a baton to the side and another to the leg. She pathed, lift me and Ari dropped down to the ground. Ari stepped up on one of her sister’s knees and leapt high over the heads of the group attacking her. As she dropped back down, each foot knocked out a cop.
They continued to hold the line, only backing up when the protesters on either side of them had fallen. Cops were handcuffing people one by one and dragging them behind the police lines. Bricks continued to fly, and Ira saw a helmetless officer go down with a spray of blood.
Another took a shovel to the back of his head and three of the homeless fell on him, kicking and punching the now defenseless man. Ira pathed her sister a wave of dislike. She liked a fight as much as the next person… well, more, but this wasn’t right.
Distracted, she didn’t see the cop beside her raise his baton, which he slammed into her shoulder. Inches higher and she’d be on the ground and out cold or worse. Still, the pain was intense, and she fell to her knees and rolled away from his next swing.
Ira sensed Ari’s anger and looked up to see her sister twirling a chalikar in each hand. She pathed a hard NO! and then shouted it out loud. With a kick, she knocked her sister off balance and the two rolled away from the officer. “No killing,” she said, shocked at her usually restrained sister.
“But you were…”
“… in trouble, I’m fine, but we…”
“… don’t kill unless we have to.” Two gunshots rang out, and she winced. It was too late to prevent bloodshed and perhaps death, but it might not be too late to stop it from going any farther. “We need…”
“… to end this.”
They got to their feet in unison and ran from the fight towards where Shazam was still exulting the crowd forward. “Stop,” yelled Ari.
“Tell everyone to stop…”
“… and sit down,” finished Ari.
Shazam paused and Joshua stepped forward. “Don’t stop, we need to fight!”
“Look,” said Ari. “They can’t arrest everyone…”
“But they can shoot them.”
“Fight back by not fighting.”
Ira received a path. “You talk…” and her sister put her hands out, her fingers intertwined, making a step.
She stepped up, and let her sister hold her so she was at eye level with Shazam, who was still held in the air by Joshua’s bruisers. “You can win the battle by fighting back with numbers. Tell everyone to sit down and not fight.”
Another shot
rang out and the crippled youth looked down to Joshua for help with the decision. “No, show the world what cops are like. Let them shoot. Our blood will be our testament.”
Ira put her hands out. “Do you want blood on your hands? Trust me, Shaz, you can save the day. Tell them.” She kept her eyes locked on his, willing him to listen to her. Two more shots. Possibly two more bodies.
Shazam had a tortured, conflicted look on his face. Ira nodded to him, it was the right thing to do. With the decision made, he lifted the megaphone to his mouth. “Sit down, everyone. Don’t fight back. Don’t give them an excuse to shoot you.”
Balanced on her sister’s hand, Ira turned to the crowd and saw that a few were fleeing, but many listened and had sat down where they were. There were still fights, still pockets of resistance, but as Shazam repeated his instructions, more and more stopped. Many lay down right where they were, mid-fight.
With a curse, Joshua gave in. “Put him down, we need to leave,” he said to his two men and turned to walk away.
“What about us?” asked Ira after the director.
“Come with me, you can be more help with me than arrested. Shazam too.”
The six walked away from the police who were handcuffing people by the dozens. Ira was pleased to see ambulances arrive and prayed that the people who’d been shot would get attention in time. It would take hours for the police to arrest all the hundreds in the park—if they could, and they likely wouldn’t bother taking them all in. Non-violence at its best, Ira thought to herself.
Ari pathed a mix of happiness—probably at the resolution—and worry at what would happen next. She whispered, “What now?”
“Dunno,” said Ira. “Text Wyatt and Hannah again.”
“Already did. While you were speechifying. No response.”
“Where the hell are they?” asked Ira as they followed Joshua out of the park.
Ari didn’t reply and Ira sensed she didn’t know either.
Chapter 18
Wyatt hired tired of Hannah harping on him. They had already walked five blocks but hadn’t found a cab.
Hannah pulled her phone out when it buzzed. “It’s another 911 from the twins. We should go.”
“And I said no, we need to find Patterson and make sure he’s all right.”
“There isn’t anything you can do, there’s nothin’ we can do.”
Wyatt stopped and stared up and down the street. No cabs visible, but for all he knew, there were twenty cars for rent within blocks. He pulled out the phone Patterson had given him and connected to the internet. Screw security, he thought. “We need a car,” he said, and the phone searched for the closest available rides. Five showed up on a map and he chose the closest, ratings be damned.
“You of all people know that we can do more than anyone. Between your ability to heal people and my ability to transform them, he needs us.”
“If he’s still alive,” she said.
“Don’t. Just don’t,” he said, not wanting to think about that possibility.
A text appeared on his phone from the twins. “With Joshua. Police raiding HUC.”
He cursed again and his chest tightened. There was too much going on, too much to concentrate on, and he had so little power to control the whirlwind that his life had become. “Busy,” he texted back. That was too short, but what could he do? “Sorry,” he added.
The car showed up, and the two got in. “Welcome to Henry’s ride. Where can I take you today?” asked the vehicle with the characteristic happiness of recordings made by people who knew they’d be making money while sitting at home doing nothing.
“Where do you think they took him?” Hannah asked.
“No clue, I don’t know Detroit. Car, take us to the closest hospital.”
The car didn’t move. “This vehicle is not for emergencies. Is this an emergency?”
“No, just go.”
“The closest hospital is Kindred Hospital. Thank you for choosing Henry.”
Wyatt pulled his phone out and texted Seymour. “Need help.” When there wasn’t an immediate reply, he texted, “Patterson shot.”
“Are you texting the twins?” asked Hannah.
“No, Seymour.”
“Why?”
Good question, thought Wyatt. Because doing something was better than doing nothing? “We need all the help we can get.” To the car, he said, “Henry, go faster.”
“Henry’s car obeys posted speed limits and the rules of the road. We’ll arrive at your destination in four minutes and twenty seconds, based on current traffic.”
Wyatt grunted in frustration. With time to spare and nothing to do, he dialed Ari. The phone rang six times, without answer. He hung up and said, “I hope they’re all right, but we don’t have a choice, they can fend for themselves, Patterson can’t.”
The rest of the ride was spent in silence as Wyatt tried—and failed—to not imagine the worst, to not picture Patterson dead. He tapped nervously on his leg, one, two, three, four and five and repeated the count over and over. Hannah was wise or considerate enough to not comment.
They arrived out front of a squat and depressing building, narrow square windows interspersed across a brown and white facade. The car slowed and then sped up again, passing it. “Henry, where are we going?” Wyatt asked and pulled on the door handle, not surprised to find it locked.
Hannah tried hers, “Locked,” she said.
Wyatt unbuckled his belt, climbed into the front seat and pressed the button to engage manual control, but nothing happened.
“Can’t do that in rental cars. If it was enabled, cars would be stolen all the time.”
Wyatt cursed. “Where are we going?” he said, but in his mind, he already knew. Jessica—or Joe—had found them and taken control. The car still didn’t reply and sped up, now going faster than the posted limit.
“What do we do?” asked Hannah.
Wyatt closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to five. He repeated this three times – everything needed to be done in odd numbers, that was his rule, his habit. It was foolish, it was childish, and he was fine with that. It worked for him. “Jessica has us; we need to find a way to get out.”
He moved to the passenger side of the car and leaned over, under the steering wheel, intent on ripping out whatever he could find. This thought evaporated as he saw there were no exposed wires. Desperate, he slammed a fist into the hard plastic, but there was no give. He repeated this again and again but the only impact was on his knuckles, which were now scratched and bleeding. “Is there something in the back, a tire iron or something?”
“Nothing.”
Henry’s car continued on its way, unconcerned with the frantic efforts of the passengers inside to find a way out. Wyatt sat back in the driver’s seat and tried to kick the window out without any noticeable effect. He kicked again and again, becoming frantic, his body covered in sweat.
Hannah leaned forward. “Stop, you’re not going to get out,” she said softly.
He gave one last kick and fell back into the passenger seat, fighting back the tears that came to his eyes. His breath was coming shallow and fast and his vision blurred.
Hannah grabbed him and pulled him close to her. “Stop,” she said again, loudly this time.
Wyatt took one long, deep breath, filling his chest as much as possible and held it. He closed his eyes and let her hold him for ten seconds, then twenty. Finally, he calmed and opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, his face inches from hers. He stared at her for a moment, pulled himself up, and pointed next to him, “Join me?”
Hannah smiled at him in relief, and climbed from the back into the front of the car. “Another adventure, hey?”
This called to mind Jessica’s comment when she’d kidnapped him, three years earlier, and he only nodded in reply. They wove through traffic and he briefly considered gesturing to other cars. As they passed a police car, he gave up on that idea, positive that any authorities that intervened wouldn’t be on their
side.
“Don’t bother,” said Hannah, echoing his thoughts. “You assume it’s her… him… them, whatever it is now?”
“Who else?” The car was speeding now, at least fifteen over the limit, weaving between other cars and Wyatt decided to sit back and see where this took them. Not like he had a choice.
“Joessica?”
Wyatt grinned despite himself, “That works, Joessica.” It was a long five minutes later when the car arrived at a second hospital. He stared out of the window as it passed the emergency ward, and then passed general admission. A gate swung open and let them through into a back parking lot marked ‘Staff’.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“I might be wrong.”
She raised an eyebrow as he looked at her and back at the lot. The car inched forward now and pulled up at a loading dock. He wasn’t surprised when the doors unlocked. The two got out.
“Where to?”
Wyatt gestured towards the back entrance, “Let’s see.”
Hannah hesitated and gazed across the parking lot towards the small homes in the adjoining neighborhood, perhaps thinking of escape routes.
“No, we’re not running.”
“You don’t think it’s her anymore, do you?”
With a shake of his head, Wyatt walked towards the back door. “No, I don’t, but it doesn’t matter if it is, we’re going straight on in.” She responded with a shrug and followed him.
As they arrived, a man in a chef’s uniform opened the door and gestured for them to come in. “Quickly, quickly,” was all he said. Without another word, he turned and scurried through dirty hallways, the two trailing behind.
The man was nervous and Wyatt avoided asking questions, now positive that it wasn’t Jessica who had rerouted them.
Three turns later, multiple doors avoided, they arrived at a service elevator. With the two on board, the chef pressed the button for the third floor and stepped off. “You never saw me,” he said and ran off.
The doors closed and the elevator moved upward, gears grinding. Wyatt stepped in front of Hannah, between her and the door, in case he was wrong about what’d be on the other side. She laughed in response, stepped forward and elbowed him to give her room. “Are you kidding?”
