Shades of Gray

by Jackie Kessler; Caitlin Kittredge

  He thinks of all the people already in the hospitals, their minds captured.

  “You still think we should sit around,” Garth says softly, “and wait until we succumb to the zombie plague?”

  All of them agree that they can’t just wait to be ensnared.

  “But what do we do?” Jose asks, sounding like a man going under for the third time.

  Terry shakes his head. “I don’t know. But one thing’s clear.” He eyes Garth, and when he speaks again he doesn’t sound anywhere close to seventy. “We’re calling in the Network.”

  CHAPTER 37

  JET

  Project Sunstroke proceeds. Good news: No rats died in the transformation.

  —From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #295

  Jet hated hospital waiting rooms.

  Meteorite had worked her magic, because when Jet had arrived with Hornblower she was met immediately by the trauma team, who quickly shunted her out of the way and fell on Hornblower like lions on an antelope. When Jet refused to leave, she was ushered to a private room by an ER nurse, who told Jet in no uncertain terms that she was to wait there. “In case we need you,” the nurse said. Jet knew it was to get her far away from the public, whose patience with extrahumans was coming to a crashing end.

  So she’d settled down in an uncomfortable chair. And she waited. She owed Hornblower that much. If she hadn’t frozen—if she would have blanketed the mutants sooner—then Tyler would still have both legs.

  It was very straightforward, all cause and effect. Hornblower was being operated on right now because she hadn’t reacted soon enough. She knew this. She might have felt it, too, except she was numb on the inside. Cold.

  Shadowed.

  She replayed the fight in her mind, again and again. She saw herself freeze instead of blanket the mutants immediately.

  She heard Hornblower’s agonized scream.

  I did that, she told herself. I didn’t act appropriately and I cost him his leg. Maybe his life.

  It was the fourth time she replayed the battle that she realized she’d nearly attacked Taser … and that the Shadow voices had been silent all the while. She’d danced on the edge of madness, and this time there was only herself to blame.

  It should have made her feel angry, or terrified. It should have made her feel something other than this empty chill, this almost clinical detachment.

  She wondered if you knew when you were going crazy.

  As she sat alone in the small spartan room, she tapped into Ops periodically to get status reports: The group had deposited the mutants at Illinois State Prison without a hitch (at least something had gone right, she thought); Taser was rounding up the Runner network (he’d probably want some sort of payment after); Iridium had reported there was a rumor that Squadron: India would be entering the arena (maybe they’d all live to see that day happen). Tail-chasing conversations about how to stop Hypnotic. Iridium storming out instead of turning on Steele.

  Jet leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Something had to go their way. They couldn’t keep on at this pace—even if the Runners did come back to help them, there were only a handful of extrahumans doing the job of hundreds.

  She never thought she’d feel so old at twenty-two.

  “Jet?”

  She opened her eyes, sat forward. Her neck complained hugely, and her teeth had grown fuzzy. Blinking away the dregs of sleep, she looked up at the duty nurse. “Yes?”

  “I wanted to tell you,” the nurse said, a tired smile on her face. “He’s going to pull through.”

  Midnight—the witching hour. Jet allowed herself a tiny smile as she glanced down at her city. Backlit by the full moon, she hovered in the air like some darkling angel, Shadows playing on her face as she beheld her charge.

  From up on high, New Chicago didn’t look like a city under siege. But maybe that was because the pollution layer made it difficult to see the numerous fires still going—the remnants of local battle zones—or smell the telltale stench of ozone. In the sky, the problems of the ground seemed storybookish and faint, whispers of barely remembered dreams.

  She could only just make out the National Guard patrolling the streets and air, riding the currents like khaki fish. At this time, most citizens were safely tucked in their beds, even before Mayor Lee’s curfew had come into effect—but she’d seen some in the streets, unmoving, unblinking, the latest victims of the so-called zombie plague. The few she’d spied had been in Grid 21. Looptown.

  Hypnotic’s grid.

  She’d called those cases into Ops, and either Meteorite or Frostbite had taken it the next step and got EMTs on the scene. Jet had hovered in the shadows, holding vigil until the entranced citizens had been safely removed, packed into ambulances like boards.

  Troubled, Jet had taken to the sky, as if she could seek answers in the weak starlight. But if there were portents written in the stars, she couldn’t read them.

  Hal’s voice, thick with promise: I can give you a better world, Joan.

  They had to deal with Hal, with Doctor Hypnotic, and soon. But how? How did they convince a Mind power to stop pulling people out of their everyday lives and into a better place, deep within their minds?

  How did they take him down without hurting the ones in their way—or falling under his power as well? Could they gas him out? That wouldn’t harm any hostages he might have, and it would be a bloodless win—unless someone had an adverse reaction to the gas. And then there was the question of getting close enough to gas him without succumbing to his power, let alone where they’d be able to get the gas. Maybe beg the military …

  She hadn’t intended to linger, but Ops must have registered her position because soon Meteorite was speaking in her ear: “Babe. Where are you?”

  Jet cast one more look at the stars. “Taking in the view before I patrol.”

  “You should get some sleep.”

  “I’ve been sleeping for two days,” she said tersely. “I can go a little longer.”

  “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day,” Meteorite scolded. “Taser’s been working overtime to pull in Runners. He swears tomorrow we’ll have our own elves helping us once more.”

  “I’m sure he’ll bill us appropriately.”

  “Don’t get snarky. You know we need this.”

  Yes, they did. Jet closed her eyes, pictured Bruce’s sensual lips pulled into a bemused smile. Damn him to Darkness.

  “Derek and I are going to have our hands full tomorrow, if Taser’s true to his word. Even if he only manages to bring in a quarter of the bodies he’s promising, the two of us will have to train them on the network, and then we’ll have to assign schedules and administrative duties, and start the PR machine, and …” Her voice trailed off, and Jet pictured Meteorite’s eyes clouding over from all the things she needed to tackle.

  “I can’t think of anyone else better equipped to handle it,” Jet said.

  The other woman chuckled. “You’re so full of shit, Jetster, but thanks. My point is, we’re going to be stretched thin tomorrow, which means we’re going to need you and the others to help us. So make it a fast patrol, then come back to get some sleep.” A pause. “Running yourself to exhaustion won’t help Tyler.”

  “Don’t,” Jet said softly.

  “Whatever. Unless there’s a situation, I’ll expect you here in twenty. Even the rogues and rabids have to sleep sometime.” Ops clicked off.

  Jet flew down until she was streetside, skimming the road on her floater as she glanced up and down the blocks, scanned storefronts, checked alleyways. Even the rats in the sewers were silent tonight. Maybe, after a week of nearly incessant violence, the city was finally catching its breath.

  No—there, around that corner was a man on his hands and knees, shaking his head as if to clear it. Surrounding him in a loose ring were three figures, youths from the size of them, toughened by their leathers and steel. Grendels, based on their clothing. One of them kicked the man in the ribs, the sound of impact
slightly louder than the man’s grunt of pain.

  A week ago, Jet would have announced her intentions, given the gang members a chance to surrender peacefully. Tonight, she wasn’t in the mood to play by the book. Gliding over on her floater, she reached out with her power, wrapping all three teens in Shadow. No more hesitation, not after what had happened with Tyler. By the time she was at the man’s side, all three Grendels had stopped struggling. She released the Shadow, the ghost of their light clinging to her power like a desperate lover. Jet shuddered as the blackness sank into her body.

  Light … it was so good.

  “Citizen,” she said crisply, offering the doubled-over man a hand, “do you need an ambulance?”

  “I’m fine” was the reply, more grunts than actual words.

  “You shouldn’t be out after curfew,” she remarked, making ready to leave. “Sometimes, bad things happen in the dark.”

  “And you would know, eh, Jet?” The man pushed himself up, and Jet was surprised to see it was Commissioner Wagner. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.” She steadied him as he wobbled. Light, he looked horrible—in the moonlight, the Shadows around his eyes stood out like a raccoon’s mask. “What happened?”

  “My fault,” he answered gruffly, shaking off her help. “Too busy thinking, not busy watching my back. It’s been a long week. Didn’t even get my gun out,” he said with a bitter laugh. “Maybe I’m getting too old.”

  “You just need some rest,” she said, fully aware that if Meteorite was listening, she’d be getting an earful when she returned to Squadron HQ.

  “Don’t we all.” He lowered his head, perhaps to regain his composure. Just as she was about to inquire if he needed help, he said quietly, “I like you, Jet. I have only respect for you. You should know that.”

  Her cheeks flushed. Embarrassed, she said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t. Because unless something changes in the next two days, Lee’s going to officially declare all extrahumans terrorists.” He looked up at her then, meeting her gaze. “All of them. No exceptions.”

  She tried to school her face to impassivity. Meteorite hadn’t been exaggerating. Damn it. “Thank you for the warning, Commissioner.”

  “You won’t thank me if I’m the one leading the chase to throw you into Blackbird.” He let out a tired sigh, then grimaced as he rubbed his side. “If you can stop this madness, you better do it soon.”

  “Understood,” she said softly. “May I drop you off at home, sir?”

  A smile flitted across his lips, there and then gone. “I can manage.” He motioned to the unconscious thugs. “I’ll call this in, stay until they’re carted off to a holding cell. And then I’ll catch a ride. You should go.”

  Translation: Others in New Chicago’s Finest wouldn’t appreciate Jet’s company. “Understood,” she said again, but this time the word tasted bitter on her tongue. No matter what she did, it would never be enough.

  Miserable, Jet soared away. If the commissioner said anything else to her, it was left far behind on the dark, dark street.

  CHAPTER 38

  IRIDIUM

  I thought about leaving once. Corporate put me in a room with a child who can see thoughts, lies. They made it clear I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t really going to do it, but now I know how important my work is to them. Miranda, I’m so sorry.

  —Matthew Icarus, diary entry dated 1993

  Hypnotic’s lair was as Iridium remembered it, except for the people gathered around it in twos and threes, staring at nothing, not even blinking.

  They were mostly the homeless kids who huddled in the lost corners of Looptown, or prostitutes and panhandlers. The people who had no one to take them away to a hospital, to help them when Hypnotic stole their consciousness. Her people.

  Protean waved his hand in front of one of the bum’s faces. “You have to wonder what he’s seeing.”

  “Something a sight better than this city, I hope,” Kindle muttered.

  “Quiet,” Arclight hissed. “Unless you want the madman turning this city into zombies to know we’re coming.”

  “Check comms,” Iridium said, trying not to let her father’s tension spill over to her own feelings. “That’s the only thing that might save you if you get too close to Hypnotic. Listen to your comms, not his voice. If anyone starts to feel funny, get out. Don’t wait, just go.”

  “Arclight,” her father said into his mouthpiece. Iridium deliberately kept a distance between them.

  “Protean on comms,” said Protean. Then he added to Arclight, “Do you think Radar is really in there?”

  “Hard to say,” said Lester. “But I can’t think of anywhere else he’d go running to.”

  “Lionheart on comms.” The big shapeshifter hunched and slid into his namesake, a male lion at least twice the size of the actual beast.

  “Kindle here,” Kindle said, snapping flame to life on his palms.

  Well, if she had to go into battle against Hypnotic, Iridium supposed she could have a worse team behind her. Even if they were criminals. After all, so was she.

  The front door of the building rolled back of its own accord. Iridium smirked. Parlor tricks. In a way they made her feel better—if Hypnotic was trying to scare them, his hold on the city might not be as disastrous as she’d thought.

  “Looks like the madman knows we’re here,” Lionheart growled, the human words sounding bestial from his lion’s throat. He made as if to leap through the open door.

  “Wait.” Lester glanced up. “Nevermore, what’s the status from up above? Are we clear?”

  He clicked his earpiece when only static answered. “Nevermore? Where are you, girl?”

  Iridium darted her eyes skyward, no inkblot shape soared above. “Dad. She’s gone.”

  Lester cursed and ripped his earpiece out, storming ahead into the building. “Hal, damn you! Give me back my people!”

  Before she could stop him, calm him down, Lester abandoned his stance, face white, nostrils flaring. “Not again,” he muttered. “Not this time.”

  “Dad, wait!” Iridium shouted, lunging for him.

  Lester shook her off and rushed into Hypnotic’s lair.

  Iridium turned back to the three villains peering nervously into the building. “What are you waiting for, Santa Claus and his merry elves?” she shouted. “Get moving! Find Radar and Nevermore!”

  She didn’t wait to see if they listened to her—she had to catch up to her father. “Dad. Dad. Get back here!”

  The layout was nothing like she remembered it from finding Jet sprawled unconscious on the floor. Now there were corridors, walls, endless labyrinthine passages that twisted back on themselves like a snake …

  Iridium grabbed her forehead and shut her eyes. A trick. Just a trick. A trick of the light. Hypnotic was trying to confuse her, frighten her. Iridium fixed the real building layout in her mind, kept the orderly blueprint as a floodgate against her terror and opened her eyes again. “Dad!”

  From behind her, Lionheart groaned. He’d lain down, massive head on his paws, and his eyes fluttered closed.

  “Oh, bollocks,” Kindle whispered. His face was sheet-white as he stared at the massive lion slumbering on the ground.

  “We have to retreat,” Protean said sharply. He extended his hand to Iridium. “Come on, girl.”

  Iridium shook her head. “I’m not leaving!”

  “You can’t save your father if you’re captured.”

  From deeper within the warehouse came an anguished scream. Lester’s scream. Iridium jerked free of Protean’s grip.

  “Run,” he whispered.

  “Come on, girlie,” Kindle shouted. “You haven’t a Mental power. You can’t resist him!”

  “He’s got my dad!” She headed down the corridor, determined to find Arclight.

  Behind her, she heard Kindle’s scathing curse. “Don’t you fade on me, you big lug! Protean! Greg?” Kindle’s voice was small. “Ah, bollocks, man.
What’s he making you see? Don’t cry …”

  Gritting her teeth, Iridium kept moving.

  “Girlie,” Kindle shouted. “Save yourself …” And then he started to scream.

  Iridium turned to see blue fire blossoming all around, a wall of heat far worse than her own strobes.

  “Get away,” Kindle screamed, thrashing his arms. “Get away from me!”

  Iridium didn’t need any more encouragement. She ran deeper into Hypnotic’s lair. Everything faded but the single thought: She had to save her father.

  Bruce looked up when she came through the door. His sleeves were rolled up and he had a dish towel slung over his shoulder. “You’re out of breath, darlin’. Where’s the fire?”

  Iridium froze against the door, her heart thudding against her ribs. “What in Christo’s name?”

  “Sweetie, are you okay?” Bruce waved his hand at the sensor to shut off the water and turned to look at her. Frowning, he approached.

  Iridium summoned a strobe. She had a vertiginous, nauseous churning in her guts, like she was on a hover in free fall. It wasn’t right, wasn’t safe … “Stay the fuck away from me, Taser.”

  “Callie, you can’t be freaking out,” Bruce said gently. “You know that reporter from the Tribune is in the living room.”

  “You’re not real.” Iridium batted at him when he tried to reach out and stroke her face. “None of this is real!”

  “Callie,” Bruce sighed. “I know you’re under a lot of stress with your dad being sick, but it’s going to be okay. I’m here for you.”

  “My dad’s fine,” Iridium whispered. She ducked Taser’s arm and grabbed a butcher knife from the sink. “You’re not real. You’re Hypnotic.”

  Bruce’s face flickered with concern. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  Iridium shoved the butcher knife against his neck. “I’m not one of those brainwashed superheroes, Hal. I didn’t get Corp programming in my head to make me nice and malleable. I know you’re just showing me what you think I want to see, but you’re a bad guesser.”