Wind Runner: The Complete Collection

by Edmund Hughes

  But… They’re also taking the time to knock. They could have just set up a trap for me outside, if they’d wanted.

  Malcolm pulled on the hat and sunglasses he still had left for a disguise. He pulled on his torn jacket, wincing as his painful and swollen shoulder slid into it. He walked over to the ladder and took a breath.

  “Who is it?” he asked, gruffly.

  “Someone with a mutual interest.”

  He recognized the voice, even muffled as it was, through the hatch. It was Shield Maiden, a spryte who had been part of the faction belonging to his former foe, Rain Dancer. Rose had told him that her militant rhetoric had lessened since his death, either because of grief, or perhaps from finally being free from the lunatic’s influence.

  Still, he didn’t trust her. It didn’t make sense for him to, not after what had happened. Shield Maiden had been romantically involved with Rain Dancer, though it hadn’t seemed that serious. There was a chance that she had to come to take revenge on him for his death.

  Or was there? She wasn’t there to see Wind Runner, who had been the champion who’d defeated Rain Dancer. She was there to see the Gifted Vigilante, a new arrival to the chaotic Vanderbrook.

  “I’m opening the hatch,” said Malcolm. “I’ll come outside. Wait outside the warehouse, and don’t try anything stupid.”

  “I don’t intend to,” said Shield Maiden.

  Malcolm waited a couple of seconds before awkwardly climbing up the ladder. It was far more difficult than he’d expected, with only one arm. Entering the combination into the lock was even more challenging, but somehow, he managed it.

  Shield Maiden stood in the morning sunlight in the concrete lot outside. She was a pretty spryte, with skin that had the patterning of a tabby cat and the purple and pink colors found on top of an oil spill. Her exotic, attractive body contrasted sharply against the plain blue summer dress she wore, which was patterned with small, yellow flowers.

  If she recognized him at all, she didn’t let it show in her face. Malcolm kept his arms out to the side as he approached her, knowing that if she wanted to, she could put him in a shield bubble before he could attack.

  “Well?” he asked. He put in extra effort to disguise his voice.

  Shield Maiden smiled. There was a genuine, almost flirtatious quality to it. She pushed a few strands of her unnaturally pink hair out of her face and looked him in the eyes.

  “You’re the Gifted Vigilante,” she said. “I’m glad that my information on your location was accurate.”

  Malcolm licked his lips. He wanted to know where that information came from, but felt like he could probably guess.

  Rose. Either she let it slip, which is unlikely, or Shield Maiden is tracking her movements.

  He resisted the urge to ask her about it, opting to leave that bit of intrigue uninspected.

  “And you are?” asked Malcolm. “It would be a shame for us to not be properly introduced.”

  He smiled at her and offered a small bow. It was as much a part of his disguise as the sunglasses and hat. The more he created a persona for the Gifted Vigilante, instead of just acting like himself in another set of clothes, the more convincing he’d be to the world.

  “Flattery,” said Shield Maiden. “That’s not something I expected from someone with your reputation.”

  Malcolm took several slow steps toward her, reducing the space between them to just a couple of feet.

  “Well, you’re more than welcome to come to your own conclusions firsthand,” he said, in a deep, sultry voice.

  In truth, inviting Shield Maiden down into his hideout was something he would never even consider. Malcolm expected her to rebuff him, and in doing so, hopefully reveal more of her true intentions. Instead, Shield Maiden smiled and leaned toward him.

  “Shield Maiden,” she said. “You can call me Shield Maiden.”

  “Do you remember what your name was?” asked Malcolm. “Before you turned?”

  Shield Maiden blinked. She looked caught off guard. Malcolm tried to keep his satisfaction over that to himself.

  “I do,” she said. “But it’s not something I give out to strangers. Especially not strangers in disguise.”

  Malcolm nodded and licked his lips.

  “You might as well get to the point then,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  “Because we have a common enemy. And I’d like to give you some information that will help you fight against them.”

  Malcolm kept his expression steady, although a frown tugged at the edges of his mouth.

  “If you mean the Champion Authority, I have no intention of fighting against them,” he said. “Even weakened as they are, it’s still too dangerous.”

  “I’m talking about Multi.”

  Malcolm tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He folded his arms and glanced away from her for a moment.

  “The last I heard,” he began, “You were allied with him. There’s still footage that plays on the local news every now and then of you, Rain Dancer, and him at a protest rally.”

  “That was then,” said Shield Maiden. “The last few weeks have been chaotic. He’s operating on his own, now.”

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “I’m not sure I believe you,” he lied.

  Rose had told him about how Multi had withdrawn from what remained of Rain Dancer’s faction. From what she said, it seemed as though Multi had been more interested in an alliance with Rain Dancer than with the sprytes who followed him. Shield Maiden, Fantasy, and Rose were all powerful, but none of them held a candle to what the electric demon had been capable of.

  Malcolm knew all of this, but he wanted Shield Maiden to convince him, and in doing so, hopefully reveal more information that might be useful to him. Shield Maiden gave a small shrug and tilted her head in a thoughtful gesture.

  “I think you do believe me,” she said, with a small smile. “But regardless if you do or not, I’ll still give you some info I think you might find useful.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Shield Maiden’s smile broadened. She was pretty when she smiled, and the coloring of her skin swirled around the edge of her lips, creating the illusion of intricate, surrealist face paint.

  “Multi is planning more suicide bombings,” said Shield Maiden.

  “Yeah, obviously,” said Malcolm. “Is that it?”

  “He gets the electronics he needs to make the triggers from Edward’s Tech on Ballroom Avenue.”

  Malcolm knew the store. He nodded slowly, committing the fact to memory.

  “Anything else?”

  “There’s a fertilizer truck that runs a weekly route through the farms northwest of Vanderbrook,” said Shield Maiden. “When he was still working with us closely, he brought up the idea of capturing that truck at the start of its deliveries, and using the fertilizer to make more bombs.”

  “When’s the next time it’s going to be on the road?” asked Malcolm.

  “Tomorrow,” said Shield Maiden. “Early in the afternoon. First stop is the Mackwell Farm.”

  “I’m familiar with it,” said Malcolm. “But why share all of this with me? Even if you aren’t allied with Multi anymore, he’s one of your kind… isn’t he?”

  “One of my kind.” Shield Maiden gave him a look that suggested she’d taken his words as an insult. “Perhaps. But he’s also a threat. To the city and to me. He wants power, and has a ruthless streak.”

  That does sound like Multi. Even as a champion, he was focused on nothing but his job and his goals.

  “So the enemy of your enemy is your friend?” asked Malcolm.

  “Something like that,” said Shield Maiden. She opened her mouth as though to say more and then hesitated.. She looked away from Malcolm and started to turn to leave.

  “I appreciate the info,” said Malcolm.

  Shield Maiden paused. She turned around and faced him again.

  “I don’t trust you,” she said.

  I don’t trust her ei
ther. But she’s pragmatic, and she isn’t evil.

  Malcolm chuckled.

  “That’s good,” he said. “You probably shouldn’t. But you should know that the only thing I care about is keeping Vanderbrook safe.”

  “Keeping Vanderbrook safe?” asked Shield Maiden. “And… what of the people you care about within it?”

  Her tone of voice made Malcolm feel uncomfortable, as did the knowing smile on her face. He stayed silent.

  “You asked me for my real name before,” said Shield Maiden. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “As fair of a trade as that would be, I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline,” he said. “Thanks for the information.”

  Shield Maiden kept her eyes on him, as though her gaze alone held a measure of power. And it did seem to, though not in the way Malcolm suspected she thought it did. Tension was brewing in the air between them, and it only broke when Shield Maiden finally turned, soon disappearing around the corner of the warehouse.

  CHAPTER 11

  Malcolm spent most of the morning recovering. He ate handfuls of dry cereal, washing it down with warm water from a jug he kept in a corner of his lair, wishing he had something with more substance.

  He took a closer look at his shoulder, cleaning the wound again, and trying to bandage it better. It had stopped bleeding, but he could feel that almost any arm movement that involved stretching or reaching would cause it to bleed again. He wished he had thought to try supergluing the wound closed the night before, but self-pity and exhaustion had clouded his thoughts and he’d forgotten to take that precaution.

  It’s too late now. I at least need to get real bandages for it. A hole in my shoulder isn’t something I can just leave alone.

  Under different circumstances, he would have gone to the hospital. Unfortunately, it would have brought the police straight to him, given that they knew he had been shot. So instead, Malcolm dressed in clothing he hoped wouldn’t chafe too much and readied himself to leave.

  A short while later he carefully extracted himself from his hideout and walked to the nearest bus stop. He’d gotten a late start and it was already almost noon as he climbed aboard the bus. It wasn’t too crowded. Malcolm had a seat to himself, and he let his thoughts wander as the bus slowly wound its way through the streets of Vanderbrook.

  Malcom’s attention was brought back to the present when the bus stopped and a single passenger got on. He wore a sweatshirt with the hood up, and stared at his feet as he made his way down the aisle. Malcom watched as he took a seat next to Malcolm.

  That’s weird… Half the bus is empty.

  Malcolm looked at the man, frowning a little. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before the man started to pull his hood down. Malcolm saw his face, and went numb with shock.

  Multi was sitting next to him, looking very pleased with himself. The demon was almost certainly a copy of the original, but he still looked like Multi had the last time Malcolm had seen him. His head had the odd crown of half inch high skull bumps that deformed the features of all demons, with loose tufts of balding red hair adding a comical quality to his otherwise disturbing appearance.

  He didn’t say anything for several seconds, instead just watching Malcolm and gauging his reaction. Several other people on the bus behind them had also taken notice, and even the ones who didn’t recognize Multi from images in the news and police descriptions could clearly see that he was a demon. And that, on its own, was more than enough to kindle terror in the confining space of a city bus.

  “You…” Malcolm finally said.

  “Me,” said Multi. “It’s been a while, Wind Runner.”

  Malcolm wasn’t sure what to say, or how to react. He stared at Multi, eyeing the bulge around his chest underneath the sweatshirt.

  He’s wearing a bomb. He has me at his mercy.

  “What do you want?” asked Malcolm.

  By this point, most of the passengers on the bus had given Multi their attention. A man with a scraggly was beard was whispering something to the bus driver and pointing in Multi’s direction. Malcolm watched the bus driver’s face pale in the reflection of his rear view mirror.

  “I just want to talk with you,” said Multi. “Think of it like giving me a report. You used to do that, remember? Back when we were both champions.”

  Malcolm wondered about his phrasing. Was he implying that he knew that Malcolm wasn’t a champion? If so, that meant that he knew about Second Wind. Malcolm tried to consider the implications of that, but knowing that he was sitting next to a potential suicide bomber made it hard for him to focus on anything but the bomb strapped to the demon’s mid-section.

  “Don’t do this,” he said. “Please. Multi, none of these people deserve to die.”

  A woman who he’d noticed had been checking her makeup earlier was sobbing, trying and failing to keep quiet. Multi’s expression had no mercy in it, but also no malice. He was cold, calculating, and his gaze was fixed on Malcolm.

  “You managed to make a copy of yourself.” Multi spoke in a low voice, one that only Malcolm could hear. “Tell me. Does your copy have the same powers that you do?”

  Malcolm hesitated, and then slowly nodded.

  If I stall for long enough, I might be able to think of something. Answering his questions will at least buy me some time.

  “Interesting…” said Multi. “Then, perhaps it’s just the power of personal multiplication that can’t pass on through duplication.”

  He smiled. Malcolm shifted his arm slightly. Multi’s hand slipped into his pocket, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “No sudden moves,” he said. “I’m not done with you yet. So… your power mimicry? That transferred to the copy as well?”

  Malcolm was curious why Multi was so interested in Second Wind, but he didn’t want to betray that by asking questions. He gave another slow nod. Multi nodded back, as though his suspicions had been confirmed. He looked away from Malcolm for an instant. Malcolm tensed, part of him wanting to seize the opportunity, while also recognizing that if he did, it would probably get him killed.

  The bus driver was still coasting the bus through the city, no longer stopping to pick people up or drop them off, but too terrified to break from the rest of his routine. All around Malcolm, people wept, or let out anxious moans, or whispered nervously to each other. He felt a small pit of cold, hard rage forming in his stomach.

  “What is about being a demon that makes so many of you into complete, uncaring sociopaths?” he asked, slowly.

  Multi chuckled.

  “Well,” he said. “I can’t speak for all monsters, but I am most assuredly not a sociopath.”

  “Really? Then why are we here right now? Why are you holding these people hostage?”

  Multi’s smile almost made Malcolm wish that he hadn’t asked the question. He still had an intensity to him that Malcolm remembered in his old boss, but it was rough and raw now, like an old table with the polish sanded off.

  “It’s just a feature of power,” said Multi. “To be honest, I think it’s impossible for a normal human to understand. Perhaps you could understand some of it, gifted as you are. The only thing becoming a demon did was confirm a sense of entitlement that had already been there.”

  “So you feel entitled,” said Malcolm. “What are you, a child?”

  “No, no more than Cortez, or Columbus, or any of the other explorers who conquered the new world were. I’m just somebody with the power to make things happen. All of my actions will make sense, when viewed in a historical context.”

  “You’re insane,” said Malcolm.

  Multi chuckled and took the insult as an invitation to continue.

  “I think democracy, equal rights, the whole dream of western civilization is fundamentally incompatible with the modern world we live in. There’s too much of a power gap between a normal human, and someone like me. Or someone like you, even.”

  “There have always
been the strong and the weak,” said Malcolm. “Our gifts change nothing.”

  “You can say that, but it doesn’t make it true,” said Multi. “This isn’t like the difference between someone healthy and someone sick. This is more like the difference between man and the lesser apes.”

  Malcolm was shaking without realizing it. He didn’t want to hear any more of what Multi had to say. He felt sick to his stomach as much from the monster’s words as he did from the fear he was striking into the hearts of the passengers. Multi was watching him carefully, his expression cold and unreadable.

  “How many copies did you really make of yourself, Wind Runner?” he asked. “Tell me the real number. I know it wasn’t just one.”

  Malcolm hesitated for a split second. He hoped Multi hadn’t noticed.

  “Four,” he said. “One of them is trailing me right now. He’ll attack if I give the symbol.”

  Multi burst out laughing.

  “Well, I suppose a bad lie is better than no lie, in a desperate situation,” he said. “I’m better at this game than you are, Wind Runner. You think you know how to play… but you don’t.”

  Multi reached an arm out. Malcolm flinched back, only barely managing to subdue his instinct to attack. Multi reached over Malcolm’s head and pulled the line to signal the bus driver to stop.

  The bus driver sank into the steering wheel as he stopped the bus, despair obvious in his body language. Multi cleared his throat, stood up, and started walking down the aisle without a word.

  He got off the bus, walked to a nearby car, and climbed into the passenger seat. Dazed as he was, Malcolm had just enough sense to commit the model and license number to memory. All around him, the few who’d managed to keep their cool through the hostage situation were now openly crying, finally giving in to their terror.

  CHAPTER 12

  Malcolm slipped away before the police showed up. Despite his concern for his shoulder, he decided to walk. He passed through Vanderbrook aimlessly for a while, thinking over their conversation and trying to guess at Multi’s intentions.