by Peter Darley
“Mrs. McIntyre, you know that’s crazy, don’t you?”
She smiled warmly. “I’m fine, so I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m keeping you from your work, so you’d better get to it, young man.”
B.J. grinned and put his helmet back on. “Take care, Mrs. McIntyre.” He stood back, activated the jet boots, and hovered for a second before shooting into the sky. In a heartbeat, she became a barely-visible speck below him.
He hit the speed controls and pushed it up to Mach-One, reaching downtown Dallas in two seconds. The scene was devastating. Deep fissures in the ground littered the streets. Skyscrapers had collapsed with a few showing only half of their structures still standing. Cars were overturned and some were trapped in the fissures, crushed.
Police, firefighters, and ambulance personnel worked with desperate speed. They brought out the dead and injured from the buildings that remained standing.
He flew in lower and noticed an ambulance crew frantically trying to load five ambulances with the injured on stretchers.
And then he saw the building they were pulling them from was about to collapse. Chunks of glass and mortar broke away from the top of the high-rise. He knew everyone below would be crushed to death in seconds, and an obsessive need to prevent it overwhelmed him. Not again. Katie!
Rage gripped his heart, propelling him forward. With a roar, he flew headlong into the cataclysm.
Nineteen
Redemption
As the debris fell, B.J. shot down desperately to position himself between the falling mortar and the people below. He knew he had mere seconds to act. What features does the armor have that I could use? His mind raced through Tito’s many impassioned, nerd-like words. Despite stress and anxiety numbing his thoughts, one term broke through his clouded memory: sonic force.
The debris’ descent speed was increasing with every fleeting moment, approximately 100 feet from impact.
He descended to 50 feet and hovered beneath the onslaught. After speedily activating the sonic force sensors on the backs of his armored hands, he reached up and aimed his palms at the debris.
A low hum filled the air and the debris stopped falling, held static in mid-air. B.J. glanced down and saw the ambulance personnel working frantically to load the victims into the ambulances.
He gritted his teeth as the pressure of the waves of sonic force holding tons of rock and glass began to transfer to his muscles. In order to increase the power, he knew he would have to adjust the settings on the backs of his hands. If he tried that, the debris would fall. He couldn’t even touch the helmet to activate the built-in bullhorn. Were he able, he could at least make a plea for them to hurry up.
He looked to the left and right. There were people and ambulances either side for a considerable distance. If they would just get out of the way, he could throw the debris clear. Just go. Goddamn it, please just go.
The pressure in his arms became agonizing. He glanced at the LCD display on the back of his hand reading: 0.2 Static. If 0.2 Static meant what he was doing with it, what would 1.0 mean? And were there settings other than ‘Static’?
An ambulance to his left drove away. The pedestrians on that side seemed to be clearing too. Just one more ambulance. Please.
He glanced to his right and saw four ambulances remained, but they were eagerly trying to get away.
The last pedestrian and ambulance to his left were no longer there. The area was clear. He struggled to angle his arm to the right in order to make a swing, his shoulder having virtually locked.
Finally, with a struggle, he threw the tonnage to his left. The debris slid from the invisible force onto the earth, creating a deafening impact. A cloud of dust rose, extending for blocks.
B.J. lowered his arm with an overwhelming sense of relief. Finally, he could scan through the sonic force options. He reached his left hand over to his right and searched through the settings: Static. Resistance. Impact. The sensor switch to the right of the settings increased the intensity via a digital dial. He set it to 1.0 Impact.
Instantly, the debris being held by his right arm shot to the roof of the building, creating a devastating collision.
He turned urgently to the remaining ambulances and switched on his helmet’s bullhorn. “You have to get out of here. There’s no time!”
An ambulance worker looked up and gave him an affectionate salute.
The building began to crumble under the weight of the rubble he’d jettisoned. He prepared to make a repeat of the sonic force Impact setting, should a further collapse occur. Looking down, he saw, to his relief, the ambulances were moving out. Go. Just go.
His mind in a vacuum, he rose higher and launched himself across the city, with the deafening rumble of a collapsing skyscraper behind him.
They were pursuing him. He was under attack from his own people. But the innocent, the helpless, and the powerless were counting on him. Yeah! I. Am. The Interceptor.
He remembered, in Interceptor: Silent Strike, The Interceptor became a vigilante, whom the police pursued, while he saved many innocents. With the world not knowing he was The Interceptor, Silent Strike was what he came to be called in the comic.
I’m doing it, Dad. B.J. flew across the city, and the devastation continued.
Over Downtown Dallas, the earth split asunder. Fumes rose from the fissures and lava beds appeared in the depths.
B.J. landed beside a police squad and he approached the one he assumed was the Chief of Police. “Sir.”
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” the chief said. “It’s a nightmare.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“I’m Chief Barbieri.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
The earth cracked beside them outside a tenement building. A young woman ran outside with a baby in her arms.
“Ma’am, no!” B.J. cried. “Stay inside. The street is coming apart. Get out through the back if you can.”
But it was no use. Her panic had clearly overridden her reason. She ran out into the street frantically, just as another tremor took hold.
The fissure widened, and a cloud of gas emitted from the gaping crevice. The vibration caused a violent rapture through the ground. The young woman was thrown violently onto her back on the sidewalk. Her baby shot from its shawl into the gaping chasm.
“No!” she screamed.
B.J. rocketed up again and launched himself into the gaping wound in the ground. No, no, no!
Chief David Barbieri was alerted to a call on his Z-Watch. Checking it, he saw it was coming from the Dallas police commissioner. “This is Barbieri. Are you all right?”
“Barely. I can’t believe this. The precinct is falling apart. I’ve just had a call from Congress. The Interceptor is now, officially, an illegal option. I repeat, The Interceptor is an unlawful operative. You have to bring him in.”
Barbieri lowered the Z-Watch from his ear and considered what he’d just been told. The Interceptor had just saved countless people, and was now flying into a chasm to save a baby. All his adult life, Barbieri had been committed to the law, dedicating himself to justice and protecting the little guy. Now, Congress was demanding he apprehend an extraordinary man who was in the process of saving an infant.
He brought the Z-Watch back to his ear. “Could you repeat what you just said? We’ve got a really bad signal here.”
“Apprehend The Interceptor,” the commissioner replied with aggressive assertion.
“Right. I think I got it, sir.” Barbieri made his way across the vibrating street to his squad of officers. “The Interceptor should be coming out of that fissure with a baby any minute. When he does . . .” He paused for a moment and then said, “Back him up in any way you can!”
The officers nodded their eager affirmation.
Barbieri backed away with a smug grin, tempered by a sense of tension. Oh, God. I hope you save that kid.
B.J. flew down into the fissure. Magma was visible at the bottom and the toxic fumes were ri
sing. The falling infant was just below him. “Dad, can I do it? If I catch the baby, my speed could tear it in half.”
Slow your pace as you get closer until your speed of descent is identical. Then just let the baby flow into your hands.
He flew deeper into the chasm. The baby was heading closer to the magma with each passing moment, the danger of it inhaling the toxic fumes, ever present.
He adjusted the speed controls as he came closer to the infant and eased himself to just a few inches below. He reached out, and the baby sank into his arms. “Easy, kid. I’ve got you.”
He adjusted his position and looked up. With the touch of a sensor, he launched them upward.
Seconds later, they emerged from the chasm, and landed beside the sidewalk.
The child’s mother ran toward him, hysterical. “Oh, God bless you. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, weeping.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” B.J. said. “What’s the baby’s name? I need to know.”
“It’s Chloe.”
Tears filled his eyes beneath the helmet. “Chloe. That’s a beautiful name. Please, get her to a hospital as soon as possible. There’s no saying what she might’ve inhaled in that chasm.”
As the tremors began to abate, Chief Barbieri and a cadre of officers approached him. The officers crowded around him in jubilant admiration, cheering.
Barbieri whispered to him, “You have to get out of here. I had a call.”
“I understand, sir. Thank you. Just know, I know what you’ve just done.”
“I’ll say this. I’m not a religious man. But if God has seen fit to bless you with this gift, you should use it. What I just saw you do was miraculous.”
B.J. activated the jet boots and hovered above the chief. “It wasn’t God, sir. His name was Tito.”
The jet boots flared. B.J. rocketed into the sky, consumed with a sense of redemption that he’d saved the life of a child. In that moment, he knew, if he died tomorrow, Chloe would be the reason he was born. She had just become the purpose of his existence. He would carry her with him for as long as he lived.
Twenty
Let’s Go
B.J. flew higher and saw a TV news helicopter ahead of him. Oh, shit. This is it. I’m gonna be seen coast to coast. But he knew he had to ensure his family was safe.
He looked at his wrist and brushed his metal-clad finger across the LCD screen until it came to the desired result—Stealth Mode: Active. Now he knew no satellite monitor or detection device would be able to spot him.
However, he knew the TV camera crew would see the direction of his flight. I have to trick them.
A thought came to him. If he flew at Mach-One to the south and then double-backed on a wide curve when he was out of sight, he’d deceive them as to his direction.
But why had that thought caused him such a sharp sense of déjà-vu?
Regardless, he gunned the armor forward, picking up fifty miles within seconds. He came in over what he presumed was Hillsboro, Texas, took a wide curve north, and aimed himself in the direction of Fort Worth.
Flying in low, he gradually descended until he was skimming the vast acreage of his Uncle Charlton’s land. Damn, this feels good. I’m home.
Gradually, he slowed down and stood in the middle of the field. The ranch was just a few hundred yards ahead. He glanced down and noticed the jet boots had scorched several patches of grass. Oops.
He took a few moments to survey the terrain. From his vantage point, the ranch seemed to be intact. He looked across to his left and saw the fence to the enclosure was still standing. He rose again, just a few feet above ground, and gently glided across to the house.
He set down on the asphalt a few yards before the front door and stood for a moment to take a closer look. There wasn’t a visible crack anywhere. He realized his Uncle Charlton’s wisdom in having the main house constructed from bricks and mortar rather than the traditional wood. It was naturally more resistant to trauma.
With some trepidation, he approached the front door and gently touched his mechanized finger to the doorbell.
Seconds later, his Uncle Tyler opened the door with a look of amazement. “B.J.?”
He released the helmet and pulled it off his head. “Hey. Are you guys OK?”
“Come on in,” Tyler said, ushering him inside. “Yeah, we’re fine. We only got tremors. A few fixtures got screwed over, but nobody was hurt.”
B.J. stepped into the living room and saw bottles and glasses smashed across the bar area. “Nobody was hurt?”
“Nobody, so chill,” Tyler said. “But, I wanna get a look at that thing you’re wearing.”
B.J. turned to him abruptly. “Uncle Ty!”
Tyler jolted back at the sudden outburst.
B.J. raised his hands and took a deep breath. He loved Tyler, but after what he’d just been through, he knew he needed to put Ty in the picture. “Look, this is serious.”
“Serious? Are you OK?”
“No. Congress shut the program down with no explanation. I saw the quakes had hit Dallas, so I appropriated the armor and flew out here. You guys were in danger and I had to help you. As I came in over Dallas, I could see it hadn’t had much of an effect on Fort Worth. But Dallas was falling apart, so I stepped in.”
“What did you do?”
“Oh, um . . . stopped a collapsing high rise from falling on a line of ambulances, and I saved a baby after it fell into a . . . Never mind. Uncle Ty, the reason I did this is because I was afraid for you guys. But in doing so, I am now a wanted man?”
“What? Why?
“Like I told you. Congress shut The Interceptor program down, and I ignored the order so that I could get here. As of this minute, I am a fugitive.” B.J.’s tone rose with the clear tones of anxiety. “Every goddamn government agency will be out to arrest me.”
“Where does Jed fit into all this?” Tyler said.
“He’s in on it, so he’s screwed too.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Yeah, right.”
They were distracted by an entrance. B.J. looked up. “Mom!”
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” Belinda said.
Before he could answer, the door swung open. His Aunt Emily, clad in leather and a bandana, her partner Jake, and David Spicer entered the room.
“We heard voices in here,” Emily said. “We had no idea it was you, B.J. But, oh, my God. That outfit looks awesome.”
“But no contest for yours, Aunt Em. Love the rock look,” B.J. said with a wink.
“Glad you like it, honey. So, what’s going on?”
Tyler looked at them with a somber expression. “Congress closed The Interceptor program down. He took the armor because he thought we were in danger. Because of that, he’s now being hunted by the government.”
Belinda shivered. “Oh, no. It’s happening again. History is repeating itself. I knew. I’ve always known.”
B.J. hugged her as best her could, but the armor was notably restrictive. “You’ve always known what, Mom?”
David Spicer came up behind them and placed his hand on B.J.’s shoulder. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you.”
B.J. looked up at his stepfather hopefully. He was fully aware that the man before him, a fifty-six-year-old professional golfer, had a very different back story. Beyond the thinning gray hair and lines around his eyes was a former warrior, and one who had served beside his father. “Thank you, Dave, but I don’t know what anybody can do. The police are under orders to bring me in because of this, although the Dallas police chief wasn’t willing to comply with the order.”
“Sounds like a good man,” David said.
“He was. But what about the others? They’re not gonna stop with the police. Next, it’ll be the FBI and the National Guard. The guy who’s doing this is a lunatic.”
“Who is this man?” David said.
“His name is Senator Christopher Sloane. He’s got some kind of problem with The Interceptor program, and he’s
been butting heads with Jed.”
David gritted his teeth. “Shit.”
Tyler came toward David with a calculating glint in his eye. “I think we can buy him some time, perhaps even indefinitely.”
B.J. glanced from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“You can’t live in that armor, as fantastic as it is.” Tyler turned to Belinda and Emily. “Help him get some essentials together.”
B.J. looked at him, curiously. “What do you have in mind?”
“This ranch is the first place they’re gonna be coming to find you,” Tyler gripped B.J.’s shoulder plates and smiled gleefully. “I’m getting you out of here.”
There was still enough of B.J.’s clothing that fit him in his room. Between him, Belinda and Emily, they filled a suitcase, along with bathroom and tooth care essentials, within twenty minutes.
B.J. came down the stairs in jeans and a black t-shirt, sneakers, a denim jacket, and a suitcase. He then returned to the top of the landing and grasped a cardboard box containing The Interceptor armor, retracted to compact size. Consequently, he struggled to reach the bottom. Damn, this armor is heavy.
“You need a hand?” Jake said.
“Thanks, Uncle Jake, but I’ll manage.” Once he’d reached the bottom, he put the box down beside the front door.
Belinda and Emily followed down the steps. Emily held a suitcase of her own.
Jake came toward her. “What’s with the suitcase, babe?”
“I’m going with him.”
“You’re going with him?”
She kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart. We can’t leave him there in isolation. He’ll lose his mind.”
Jake lowered his head with clear reluctance. “I’ll miss you, Em.”
“And I’ll miss you, too. It’s just temporary.”
“Despite my missing you, just know I wouldn’t have it any other way. Do for B.J. what you did for me. OK?”
