by LE Barbant
Pete lit a cigarette, taking a long drag, and nodded toward the television. Mayor Dobbs, backdropped by the steps of City Hall, filled the screen. “I’m ready for this circus to end.” Pointing the sticky remote at the screen, he turned up the volume.
“…that’s why my number one priority is to end this monster epidemic. In fact, my team and I have made a decision to press pause on the campaign to enable us to focus 100% on the safety of the city, the welfare of the citizens. Thank you.”
Hands shot in the air as the members of the press fought for first right to query the Mayor.
“Yes, Angela?”
“Mr. Mayor, do we have any more information regarding the identity or even the…um…makeup of these creatures?”
“As I said already, Angela, there are very few details we actually have of these monsters. We know they’re real, and we know they are dangerous. Other than a few grainy security videos and some eyewitness testimony, there is little we do know. But I’ve signed off on a full-scale investigation and I’m confident we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with very soon.”
Again, hands were launched and voices shouted.
“Yes, Rob.”
An oversized man in an undersized polo glanced at his spiral-bound notepad. “Mr. Mayor, I have a source that tells me there were forensics found on-site after the PPG battle. Do you care to fill us in on the nature of the evidence?”
The Mayor laughed. “Naturally, our law enforcement found some things on-site. That’s what they do. However, as you can imagine, we aren’t releasing any information until we can do so with confidence. Yes, um, Jill.”
“It’s Jillian, sir, with the Keystone Voice.”
The Mayor only nodded.
“Isn’t it a little disingenuous to claim that you are putting your campaign on hold to deal with the monsters? In fact, isn’t this the best campaign move you could make? That is, some are saying you’re exacerbating the problem to boost your falling numbers.”
Silence blanketed the crowd.
Eyes widened among her more established colleagues. King could nearly hear Dobbs grind his teeth through the television.
“Well, folks, now you know why we never call on the bloggers at press conferences.” The mayor grinned as the crowd laughed uncomfortably. “Apparently, you’ve been talking to my opponent. It’s a nice move. I’d do the same if I were Kinnard. The finish line is in sight and he’s a rookie. I’ve been in this game long enough to know that the most important thing is to serve the people, serve the city. If people vote for me because they see that my priority is Pittsburgh over keeping my toothbrush in the Mayor’s mansion, so be it. If I lose, and go out caring for this place, these people,” he spread his hands over the crowd, “then I’ll leave office a happy man.”
The camera pulled in close on the face of the reporter, her nose scrunched. She looked ready to rush the stage.
“She’s cute,” Pete said.
“Mmmmm, hmmmm,” King said, absentmindedly. But his thoughts weren’t focused on the reporter.
The news cut to a commercial. Pete muted the volume and flipped to a third-rate reality television show on a fourth-rate cable station.
“Total bullshit.”
“Nope,” King replied.
The bartender poured two more shots. “Come on. You’re buying this monster crap?”
“I don’t have to buy it. ’Cause I’ve seen it.”
Pete’s eyes widened. “Fuck you.”
King couldn’t hold in his laugh. “I know, crazy King, right? It’s the God’s honest truth. On my mother’s grave.”
“King, your mom lives in the bedroom next to yours.”
“I was talking in the future tense.” King threw back the shot and chased it with a long pull on his beer. “First time was right out there. Before anybody had ever reported a thing, before PPG. I saw the metal monster.”
“Come on.”
“Yep. There, and then that night downtown, I was there too. Freaked me the hell out, man. I thought for a bit that I had something to do with it. I can’t say I wasn’t just a little relieved when that Vinton guy got it and I was miles away.”
King’s friend remained silent, likely trying to determine if the regular was messing with him.
“But there’s something they’re not talking about.”
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
“There’s teams,” King said with a gleam in his eye. “Those monsters I saw weren’t just running around destroying the city, they were fighting each other. And there were humans involved as well. We’re in the middle of some Marvel shit right here.”
“And they don’t even know it,” the bartender said, drinking his own shot.
“Oh, they know it. They’re just not talking about it. Politics ain’t that different from working the streets. This is Dobbs’ game and he knows how to play it. Down in the polls now, but watch, by November he’ll be wiping the streets with that Kinnard kid. But for this to work, it has to be us versus them. Not good versus bad.”
“How do you know they’re good and bad?”
“Hot, cold. Yin, yang. Good, bad. That’s the way of the universe, my man. That’s the way it rolls. The good ones, they have some bad in them, but they can overcome it.”
“And the bad?”
“We’ll see.”
King threw a ten on the bar, even though he knew Pete would let him slide for free. “Take it easy, man. And keep your head down out there.”
King pushed open the door and lit a crumpled Lucky as he squinted in the afternoon sun.
CHAPTER THIRTY
What the hell has Paul gotten me into?
Although the basement was far cooler than anywhere else in the house, perspiration still lined his forehead. The speechwriter hated sweat. Years of practice gave him near perfect control over his body—he knew how to hide or fabricate any emotion, and do it with conviction. But his glands betrayed his composure.
And there was good reason to worry.
He scanned the room, observing his new companions: half-rate academics who happened to hold the fate of the city in their hands. Despite their undeniable abilities, they were still too green, untested, and uneasy with one another to accomplish what they had set out to do. Rhett had a sinking feeling no one knew their role in the story that was unfolding.
They can’t pull this off.
The chemist was strong and had an easy wit. They all adored him, but Rhett got the sense that they didn’t quite trust him. The tall man leaned against his lab desk. His long fingers ran across the top of the metal drone sitting in the middle of things.
Willa had potential, but she was angry and unpredictable. It had been child’s play for Rhett to manipulate her, and he was far from the most threatening person she would encounter. This world would tear her apart, and Rhett wondered who she’d bring down with her.
His eyes landed on the historian. If there was one person that might be the leader, it was Elijah. He had a sharp mind and a conviction that reminded him of Paul. But, sitting in the dank basement, Rhett wondered if that would be enough. Sometimes, conscience could lead to ruin.
“We need the perfect plan. There can’t be any mistakes,” Elijah said.
Rhett checked his phone. No messages from his brother. Not that he was expecting any. His twin was woefully bad at communicating. Calling him aloof would be like calling hell warm. Rhett always wished his brother was by his side; he provided comfort, even if they were often at each other’s throats. Plus, Paul was a brilliant strategist. They could use him now. And maybe, if he were there, he might grant some insight about the future. But, as usual, Rhett was going to have to journey through this without his brother.
“I don’t really care what your plan is,” Willa said, “I’m going to take out Dobbs. I need to finish what I started…what he started. The man killed my mother, and now he’s pitted the entire city against us.”
Elijah nodded, with just a hint of hesitation. “I hate to sa
y it, but I agree. Dobbs is the problem. We all know it, right?” Elijah didn’t wait for an answer. “We can deal with the mech suit soldiers later, but what about Rita? We can’t just leave her out there. We don’t know where she is or what they’re doing to her. Shouldn’t her safety be a priority?”
Chem pulled his hand from the drone and scratched his cheek. He inhaled deeply. “Screw Rita. She’s not one of us. It sounds terrible, but the freak made her bed.”
Rhett had already known what the chemist would say, but he was surprised by the heat in the man’s voice. Chem was hiding something from the rest of the group. His tone held a hint of authenticity to it that disturbed even the politician.
“Plus, you guys keep forgetting, one of us is still just human,” Chem said. “I can’t go gallivanting around the city fighting mayors and the Pittsburgh police, saving damsels, and dodging the damn National Guard. My serum didn’t help, and if anything, Tim’s getting worse.” The chemist’s chin dropped to his chest. “I need to stay here and look after him.”
Elijah stepped toward his friend and placed an awkward hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Rita’s tough. She’ll find a way out. But, Willa,” Elijah said, turning his attention to poet, “I’m telling you, you can’t face Dobbs alone. Even though I can’t change fully, I can still help. I’m coming with you.”
Willa pursed her lips. “Chem, stay here to keep an eye on Tim. But if he gets much worse, you need to get him to a real hospital. Elijah and I are going after the Mayor.”
Rhett looked up. “What should I do?” He held his breath.
“Quite frankly,” Chem said, “I trust you just as much as any politician I’ve ever met. You’re on the bench.” Chem gave him a quick wink.
Elijah looked around the room, silently confirming the plan with everyone. “Let’s do this,” he said.
He and Willa walked up the steps, heading for trouble.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Every square inch of skin burned as Rita came to. She had been dry for a long time—how long she couldn’t quite tell. Her head swam; her vision was blurry.
Lying prone on cool concrete, her underside wasn’t quite on fire, but everywhere hurt. As she rolled to stand, her knee bumped plastic and sloshing filled the hazy space.
“Water.” Her gurgle was dry. Yanking the plastic cap, she tilted the gallon over her head and let her white scaly skin soak up the nourishment. The effect was instantaneous; she felt better, though far from normal—if normal could be a thing.
After letting the water flow into her eyes and down her chest, her vision started to return. Though it was dim, she could now make out the steel-walled room comprising her prison. The ceiling was high and bars ran all the way up. She was in an eight-by-four cage made for the kind of creature she looked like, not the human who she was on the inside.
“Hello,” a tiny voice squeaked behind her.
Rita spun, ready to attack, though nothing in the trembling voice required such a response. But Rita had seen too much. The past few years had taught her to never trust, never let her guard down.
Adjacent to her cage sat another identical cell. A young girl lay propped up on a pile of pillows—motionless, staring straight at Rita.
“Who are you?” Rita said, scanning the room for details as she waited for the girl to respond. Her predatory sense of smell revealed little and the dim light made it hard to see, but her enhanced nerve endings spoke wonders. The air was moist, which wasn’t uncommon for summer in Pittsburgh. The palpable condensation in the room told her that they sat down by the river. In Pittsburgh, that didn’t offer much specificity.
“I’m Skylar.” The girl’s face was soft. It didn’t mirror the anxiety Rita felt rising in her stomach.
“Where are we, Skylar?”
The girl remained silent. Rita expected at least a shrug, but as in much of life, her expectations went unfulfilled. She was never very good with kids and could tell her track record might remain consistent.
“How long have you been here?” Rita asked. She tried to soften her tone but her raspy voice precluded gentle whispers.
“I’m not sure. I can see the light come and go through the cracks. Tried to keep count for a while, but then I just gave up. More than a month, less than six, as far as I can tell.”
There was something odd about the girl. It wasn’t that she seemed to sit completely motionless or that she spoke so articulately for a young teenager. The strange thing was her composure in the face of a monster. Rita avoided people and for good reason. But this girl addressed her as if she were another human captive.
“You aren’t afraid of me?” Rita asked.
The girl laughed. “Why would I be afraid? If you haven’t noticed, there’s not one, but two sets of bars between us. You couldn’t do anything even if you wanted to.”
Rita walked to the bars and wrapped her clawed, webbed hands around them. It was as close as she could get to the girl. Rita’s black eyes stared, trying to untangle the mystery. “Most people find me…unsettling.”
“Being different doesn’t make you a monster.” A corner of Skylar’s mouth curled up. “But why do you look like that?”
The question was strangely comforting. She had never had anyone ask in such a disarmingly honest way. The few who she had spoken with over the years—Chem, Tim, and Elijah being the majority—danced around these questions or avoided them entirely. The frankness was humanizing. Rita glanced around the cell. “It looks like we will have plenty of time to talk about that. But first, I need some answers. Why are you here?”
“For a while I didn’t know. When they first took me, I thought they were going to make me do…um…you know…stuff.” The girl’s face flushed with embarrassment. “But then I just lay here. Finally, after what must have been weeks of me begging, the nicest one—the one who bathes me—told me it was because of my mother. They are trying to make her do something.”
A chill swept over Rita’s dried scales. “Bathe you?”
“Oh, right. Details. I can’t move anything below my neck.”
Horror found its home in Rita’s stomach.
“See,” the girl said, “I’m different too. Although I don’t have your cool claws. I bet you don’t take crap from anyone.”
You have no idea, Rita thought, even as her heart, for the first time in a long time, broke for someone other than herself.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no. I’m used to it. As used to it as somebody can become, I guess. Happened ten years ago. Kids in my class are getting their driver’s licenses, I was hoping for a new chair. You know, one I can control by blowing into a straw. My mom has been building one that will be better than anything you can buy out there.”
A smile crept across the girl’s face. Guilt and admiration collided inside Rita.
“What are they trying to make your mum do?”
Before the girl could answer a steel door creaked open; natural light invaded the dim room. Rita shielded her eyes with her hand. As her sight adjusted, she made out the silhouette of a man in the doorway.
“Is that the nice one?” Rita asked in a hushed tone.
The girl shook her head.
“Ah, look at this. The fish is up.” The man laughed as he approached the cages.
Overweight and wearing gray pants with a matching shirt, he appeared as though he might have been in great shape before beer and fast food became his primary sustenance.
He stood inches from Rita’s cage.
“Cat got your tongue, Flipper?”
Rita’s black eyes captured the man’s without blinking. The walk to the cage had induced heavy breathing. She moved back into the corner of her cell and sat on her heels. She didn’t say a word.
“You better play nice, you could be here awhile. We’ve had that vegetable in this place for months.” He nodded to the girl. “You think someone is coming for you? Come on. We both know you’ve got no one.”
An image of Chem and Elijah flashed through he
r mind. The relationship between her and the chemist was tenuous, but she had helped them. While she knew Chem wasn’t a man of principles, the new one—Elijah—certainly was. He wouldn’t abandon her to this place.
As though the man could read her mind, he sneered. “You think those other sideshow performers are coming for you? We knew you were ugly—but we didn’t know you were stupid too. They don’t give a shit, honey.”
Rita tensed as he reached into his pocket, waiting for a tool to give weight to his cruelty. Instead he produced a handheld digital recorder and clicked it on. The sound was distorted but she could still recognize the voices.
“Screw Rita. She’s made it abundantly clear that she’s not one of us. It sounds terrible, but the freak made her bed.”
Nicotine-stained teeth flashed as the man turned off the recorder and slid it into his pocket. He laughed as the weight of Chem’s words washed over his prisoner. “Like I said. I’m the only friend you’ve got.” An evil look passed across his face. “Fuck with me, and you’ll be sorry.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Traffic blocked the road for several miles east of the Squirrel Hill tunnels. It was no surprise. Elijah had gotten used to this commute, although tonight’s circumstances were less than usual. His thumbs drummed the steering wheel to music playing in his head. He rehearsed the speech one last time. It needed to be perfect.
Rhett might be able to pull it off, but years of teaching didn’t provide the historian with the necessary oratorical skills. He closed his eyes, then jumped in head first.
The die is cast.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said.
Willa didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked on an imaginary line outside the gridlock.
“Did you hear me?”
“You’re predictable, Elijah.” She pivoted her head. Her eyes were cold. There was little left of the smart, gutsy woman he got to know over only a few months in the spring. “I know you have to try to talk me out of this, but it won’t work. Dobbs killed my mother. I can’t just let that go. And it’s not outside of the realm of possibility that he had something to do with what happened to Sean…and Brooke.”
