by Mark Gardner
Moonrise
by Mark Gardner & Cindy Vaskova
Twitter: @Article_94
http://article94.com
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Cover illustration by Joel Cotejar
Copyright © 2018 Article94
All rights reserved.
Contents
Book Description
Joel Cotejar Inks
Joel Cotejar Pencils
Acknowledgments
1. New Horizons
2. Cast Die
3. Queen of Ash
4. The Patsy
5. Bionic girl
6. The Archive
7. The Vigilante Case
8. Son of a Glitch
9. Motivation
10. Crimson Reverie
11. Fragile Destiny
12. Bizarre Mundanity
13. Badass Orchestra
14. Paper Window
15. Hot Dog Heaven
16. All Flags Fall
Epilogue
Trilogy Titles
Author’s Note
About the Author
About the Author
Also Available
Also Available
Also Available
Also Available
Also Available
MOONRISE
Sixteen Sunsets Saga, Book 2
Anne Henderson, whose super powers granted her immortality millennia ago, is one of the few people aware that the government agency run by Dr. Jacob Globe has been subverted to an evil purpose. Globe is still tracking down super-powered humans, but not to help them. His ambition is to learn the secret behind their powers, and give or take them at will. Anne works alongside several others of her kind, as well as police detective Frank Massey who has been following the emergence of supers, to rescue those that Globe has taken and to expose his activities to the world.
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While Globe consolidates his power, he plans to extend it even further in a bid to become Seattle's next mayor, on an anti-super platform. The resistance is still scattered and faces daily persecution and even arrest as Globe employs skilled hackers to frame an innocent man for an act of terror. But some of the supers he's captured and sedated are kept that way for a reason, leaving Anne and the others fighting Globe an impossible choice: to let one monster flourish, or loose another against him.
JOEL COTEJAR INKS
JOEL COTEJAR PENCILS
Acknowledgments
I would like to specifically thank the following people:
L. Fergus
Kay L. Ling
Julie Hutchings
Meg Mac Donald
Frank "BJ" Massey, III
Joynell Schultz
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In addition to the people listed above, there were so many other people who assisted me in some way or another while writing this story. Attempting to list them and leaving someone out would be unfortunate. You all know who you are! Thanks!
New Horizons
Andy Kitz clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning the laptop screen. He tried to keep his face neutral, but each second that rolled by led to another concentrated frown.
“He put his hand through—”
“…the glass! He put his hand through the glass!”
“…but how can he—”
The voices rambled over and over each other in awe as the super in the video displayed his ability to a live-streaming, shaky phone filming audience.
When the video ended, Andy tilted the lid of his laptop partially closed, popped his ear buds out and focused his attention on a grinning Brad.
Of course “Brad” wasn’t Brad’s real name. To him and everyone in the network Andy was “Sean,” and Sean was the father, mother, and moderator of the Last Regiment. It collected and stored video, photos, audio recordings and text data on super humans spotted around the city from his five informants. Those informants had their own networks of people who “Sean never meets because his five primaries were enough to trust these meetings to without suspicions being raised.” It was the law as far as Last Regiment was concerned, and anyone who wanted to be involved knew that that was the price of admission.
“It’s fucking rad, Brad. It’s...” Andy struggled for the word, “...beautiful,” he concluded.
Brad’s grin couldn’t have gotten any wider, and Andy opened the screen to play the video again, a single ear bud adorning his ear. Without a word or further direction from Andy, the waitress reached for his cup. He waited for her to refill his coffee, then took a large gulp, sucking in air through his teeth in an attempt to relieve the pain of the hot liquid that burned his throat. His eyes never left the screen.
The view was from a high angle, possibly shot from a tenement fire escape with a telephoto lens. A teenage superhuman was phasing through the glass window of a jewelry store. The camera zoomed in on his hand as it slid through the glass like it wasn’t there. Zooming out, Brad’s video showed that there were people around him spitting “holy shit” and “no way” and they also filmed what looked like a Dynamo stunt. Just as the kid’s hand was about to clasp around a necklace, he turned around to wink at his audience.
Then his face contorted in pain while he screeched at the top of his lungs. He stumbled backward and fell, a fountain of blood erupting from his sliced stump.
Andy admired Brad’s quickened breathing as he zoomed in on the severed hand that lay in a pool of blood inside the glass, and then on the teen that twitched in agony as he clasped his arm.
The last image on the video was of police officers coming around the corner, and an askew view of a metal fire escape as Brad switched off the camera.
“He couldn’t do it without looking at the process,” Brad whispered. “Like he had to concentrate on his hand, the glass, and only on that, but he got cocky.” Brad tilted his head to the side. “And it cost him.”
Andy pulled a green flash drive from his laptop port and dropped it in his inner jacket pocket. “What happened to him?” he asked.
Brad grimaced, his eyes losing his trademark sparkle as if the rest of the story was such a bore.
“Cops took him to the hospital. They spent an hour photographing the...” he held up his fingers for an air quote, “...scene.” He got serious for a moment. “They managed to save his life, but he couldn’t explain how a chunk of his arm ended up on the other side of the glass. He’ll probably get three to five months in juvy for his little stunt.”
“What a shame.”
The café door opened, and three people walked in. They directed themselves toward Andy’s table and took the empty chairs. Someone was missing...
“Where’s Lupi?” Andy asked.
Vicki, an athletic brunette with devilish black eyes who Andy fantasized about from time to time answered first. “He’s sick or something. Sorry, Sean. He passed his drive along to me, though.” She refused to meet Andy’s glare.
Andy clenched his jaw. “You know what we talked about. We need to be careful. Someone else finds these USB drives, and we’re all in deep shit.”
“Yeah, says the guy who makes these meetings in a fucking crowded Polish café,” Liam quipped.
Andy turned to Liam. He didn’t like “Liam” very much, not because he looked like a thug, but because he complained about “Sean’s” leadership consistently. They’d all seen some weird stuff, but no one had ever captured the level of evidence Andy had at the Seventh Street King’s warehouse. Andy was glad his camera had backed up to the cloud before he destroyed it in a low moment of fear.
Vicki answered Liam’s challenge before Andy finished processing the insult. “No one here listens. Barely any of the customers speak much English as it is. To them, we’re a bunch of students having coffee.”
“That�
�s true,” Bryan conceded, nodding.
Liam rolled his eyes and covered his mouth with mock surprise. “Bryan finally says something!”
“Leave him be, Liam!” Vicki hissed across the table.
Bryan took his red flash drive out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Andy. He pulled on his woolen hat—a nervous tick Andy had seen many times before.
Liam sighed and took out his black drive. Vicki produced a pink one and a yellow one.
Andy collected them and hid them in his inner pocket with Brad’s flash drive. He pulled out four pieces of paper and gave each of them one.
“That’s the new pass for the Last Regiment for this week. Be sure to burn the paper when you’re done with it.” He met Vicki’s questioning eyes. “Make sure Lupi knows, but for God’s sake, be discreet.”
Vicki nodded solemnly.
“I’ll contact you in the Last Regiment once I’m done with your videos. Keep looking, keep searching. Keep documenting. You all know what’s riding on this.”
The four nodded as they always did and Andy put his laptop in his backpack, took a shot from his coffee and walked out of the café.
Joaquin stared at himself in Frank Massey’s bathroom mirror. He’d unscrewed the piercing from his eyebrow and placed it on the sink. His short-cropped hair that he’d grown back on Massey’s recommendation glistened, still wet from the shower.
“I hope you’re shaving that goatee in there.”
Joaquin rolled his eyes at Massey’s voice through the door. He liked the goatee. It looked cool, kind of gave him Big AF’s look. It had been awhile since he’d listened to any of his raps but they were still on fleek in his memory.
The bitches be killin’ it for me, Joaquin thought, smiling smugly to himself.
A knock on the door. Joaquin clicked his tongue.
“Hell no old dude, I told you. I did my piercing and all. I ain’t changing the goatee, fuck that.”
Massey opened the door and stood with his hands akimbo.
“We talked about this, kid. My house—my rules.”
Joaquin sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin.
“Your rules ain’t cool.”
“Yeah and living on the streets ain’t much on the cool side either.”
Joaquin crossed his arms over his chest.
Massey raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t get why you’s makin’ me do all this proper dressin’ and shit. I thought we’d be bustin’ some supers, chargin’ at Doctor Globe for a change, jus’ like you said. To make the world better.” But it wasn’t exactly about world peace and salvation in Joaquin’s mind. He said words out loud that would please other people, because the other way round he felt selfish. He wanted to go after Globe because of how vulnerable and scared he made him, of how he took Peter away and nearly burned them all alive. He couldn’t be hurt physically but his background in abandonment and truth be told daddy issues were fucking with his mind.
Massey stepped inside the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bathtub, disrupting Joaquin’s thoughts.
“I've got a duty to find those murdering bastards and prove what they’re doing. Then I’ll put them in jail. You've got an obligation to the people you want to protect. That’s why you've got to look the part and get a job. It could be months before anything turns up on Doctor Globe. He's got deep pockets since he let his commission in the Army go. You ain’t living in my house without providing.”
“No man, you know you cops ain’t good for shit like that. Bree will fuck you right up. You need me.”
Massey shook his head. “All in good time, Joaquin. Now shave that thing off your face. You still look like a thug.”
Joaquin’s face turned red, and he was about to open his mouth when Massey gave him that look. It was the same one he kept on giving every time Joaquin was about to say something stupid or flame up and start throwing shade at stuff.
He looked back into the mirror and waited for Massey to leave the bathroom.
When Massey did, Joaquin took the razor and squeezed it tight in his hand until his knuckles turned white. He would fuck ‘em up real good, and he’d be the hero.
But it had been a month since the showdown in the Canadian wilderness. The only thing that had changed was that Globe’s square face was on every news station all the time. People loved him, and Joaquin witnessed the influx of their banners and t-shirts with his face printed on them. It seemed as if everyone supported his mayoral campaign, his many charities. No one knew where his deep pockets came from, and no one cared as long as he insisted that the people save their money instead of donating to his campaign. It was like he was the hero they all wanted to be. The hero they’d convinced themselves they needed. Hell, even people like Joaquin wanted Globe to be mayor. And it was obvious that Globe had his sights set much higher than the mayor of Seattle. Joaquin knew Globe was a villain, but only a handful of people knew it.
Fuck that shit, Joaquin thought.
The razor took to the skin, near breaking at the impact.
The razor blades kept snapping when he pressed harder into his skin. He’d gone through eight of them before he could get at the goatee. It took longer, but it was far safer than an electric razor that bent against his skin and smoked in his face. He dabbed at his chin with a clean towel and clumsily buttoned up his white shirt.
Massey was waiting for him by the front door. He had his best suit on, and the Detective’s shield clipped to his belt was polished to perfection.
“You goin’ somewhere?”
Massey shrugged. He strode up to Joaquin and fixed his tie, smoothing it with his palm.
“To the precinct. Why?”
“Nah, you look too shiny for that dump. You dressed to impress is all I’m sayin’.”
“Worry less about my tidiness and more about yours. Come on, you’ll be late for your job interview.”
The two rode in silence, with Joaquin mostly staring out the window, occasionally pulling at his tie.
“This dumb shit’s chokin’ me, man. Do I really need it?”
“Just keep it on until the interview is over.”
Massey parked in front of Mr. Jabbar’s store. It was a small family store owned by the old Arab and his son. Massey had chosen it because it was three blocks from his house and didn’t sell alcohol to minors.
“Be honest, don’t talk back and listen. You’ve got a solid recommendation here.”
Joaquin stared at the barred windows with signs promoting cigarettes and lottery tickets. He climbed out of the car, whining at the idea of walking inside and pretending to be polite and proper.
“Here’s some cash if you need to get a cab back home.”
Joaquin reached through the open door and took the money, stuffing it into his pocket.
“Why you doin’ all this? You know what I am. I don’t want you to be doin’ none of this ‘cause you feel guilty for poppin’ me up like that before.”
Massey paused for a second. His eyes drifted over the boy’s shoulder where his bullet had hit him long ago.
“You got potential. Now scram.”
Joaquin started to protest but the car took off with a roar, dulling his words.
“Miss Anne?”
Anne turned from the scene behind the reinforced glass window to see Bree in her pink linen pajamas. Bree held a threadbare kitten that was at one time white, but now, even the industrial lighting in the room couldn’t wash out the dinge.
Anne knelt in front of Bree, and pushed Bree’s blonde hard over one of her ears. “What is it, sweetie?”
Bree hugged her kitty close, and in a small voice asked, “Why are you so sad here?”
Anne glanced back at the window where Peter and Kristof lay on medical beds, tubes running from their arms and wrists into machines whose purpose was known only to Dr. Globe, and the team of scientists constantly going to and fro from the room to their lab past another reinforced glass window.
“Well, honey,”
Anne replied when she returned her attention to the little girl, “I’m not happy here.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Doctor Globe won’t let me leave. He says I have to stay here.” Anne mussed Bree’s hair. “Besides, who’d look after you?”
Bree stuck out her lower lip. “I’m big enough to take care of myself,” she declared with a defiant squint of her eyes.
“I’m sure you can, Bree, but I’m not sure I have anything to go back to.”
Bree frowned. “I shouldn’t’ve led them to the cabin.”
Anne stood and stared into the room behind the glass, then rested her head against it in the same spot she had every day. Each time, her forehead left a smudge against the glass, and each morning the smudge was gone. “Why’s that, sweetie?” she asked the precocious ten-year-old. She wondered if Bree understood the ramifications of the showdown in the woods; if she understood Anne’s forced stay in the secure bunker. Or the lives forever altered because of one man’s lust for power, for control.
“Well,” Bree responded, her attention on the stuffed kitty in her arms, “there was so much mud from when the snow melted. It made my pretty, pretty shoes dirty.”
When Globe had captured Peter, Kristof and Anne with Bree’s help, many people died on the freshly melted snow. Anne was almost glad that there wasn’t a lot of snow. The red soaked into the mud, and mixed. The white ground would’ve shown the world where Justin died.
Not that Globe would allow anyone in the area. The entire portion of the provincial park was quarantined. False documents declared it a biohazard. Bree’s display with the birds had convinced the powers that be that there was a real danger in the cold, dark forest. Little did they know that the real danger left in a helicopter.
