Hero

by Michael Grant

  It only remained for Markovic to publicly inform the citizens of New York that they were no longer citizens, but subjects. His subjects, to whom he would dole out protection or pain, depending on how willingly they submitted.

  One small problem. If he meant to summon the media to witness his statement, he would need to be able to make a phone call, and he had no fingers. But he solved that problem by finding the Public Affairs office and the woman who presumably ran it. She was in her office, hiding under her desk, as yet untouched by his insect hitmen.

  “If you obey me, I will not harm you,” he said in his reedy voice.

  “Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me! I have two little children!” She actually had the framed photo clutched to her chest and turned it toward him. She wept pitifully as snot ran down her lip.

  “Obey me and live, you and your children.”

  He told her to call the New York Times and CNN. That would be enough to start the ball rolling. She made the calls, and Markovic left her unharmed. He was, after all, a man of his word.

  An hour later Markovic “stood” on the steps of City Hall, facing dozens of cameras and a press corps doing their best not to wet themselves in sheer terror. Everyone by now knew what Vector could do.

  “I have a statement to make. I will not answer questions,” Markovic said. “I am Vector. I was a successful businessman when the asteroid strike came. The government tried to kill me, along with many others similarly affected. That’s not some whimsical exaggeration; they drove us to a field in New Jersey and gunned us down.”

  He let that sink in for a moment, though of course the whole world had seen video of the Pine Barrens by now.

  “I died. But, because of the rock, I was reborn, as you see me. And today, on behalf of all who have been failed or harmed by government forces, I have incapacitated City Hall, One Police Plaza, and the Federal Building. The pain they inflicted on me and on innocent people is now inflicted on them. Justice, I call it. Justice!”

  The reporters did not seem convinced, but no matter, the common people were credulous fools who would believe what they needed to believe. Bizarre as his claim was, there would be many prepared to believe that he had indeed doled out justice. “As of now, the people run this city . . . with me as their sovereign. Regular people minding their own business have nothing to fear from me. But let us be clear: New York City is mine. And if the government in Albany or in Washington, DC, comes after me, no one will be safe from Vector.”

  It was petty, Markovic knew, but he enjoyed the thought of the society toffs and the upstart new money all suddenly realizing that maybe, just maybe, they should have welcomed him into New York society instead of treating him as a joke or a pariah.

  “And one other thing. I know that others have been affected by the rock. Some of you will have developed powers. You are not safe from the government, or their willing tools, the vigilante thugs of the so-called Rockborn Gang. Come to me. Join me! Join me now at Grand Central Terminal, and I will care for you. Your only safety lies in joining me.”

  Rockborn Gang? Meet Vector’s Gang.

  CHAPTER 25

  Of Course It’s a Trap

  “WINDOWS AND DOORS still all shut tight,” Cruz reported, somewhat breathless after having raced around the armory with the janitorial crew, double-checking that every way into the building was sealed.

  “He knows we’ll come after him,” Shade said. “He’s bigger and stronger than before, and he’s crossed his Rubicon.”

  “His what?” Armo and Francis both asked simultaneously.

  Malik started to provide a complete answer but saw that this was not the time and shortened it to, “It means he’s crossed a point of no return.”

  “We have to hit him soon, and we have to kill him.” Shade looked directly at Simone.

  “There has to be some way . . . ,” Simone protested.

  Shade was about to light into her when Dekka raised a hand and said, “You don’t have to be part of this, Simone.”

  Simone said nothing, just sat on the edge of one of the ornate carved chairs they’d assembled into a circle dwarfed by the echoing space around them. She looked overwhelmed, and part of Shade sympathized. Over the last day and a half, she’d come to know Simone a little, and liked her well enough. But Shade dismissed sympathy—this was not the time for weakness or half measures.

  “Edilio has put together a pretty fair cache of weapons,” Shade went on, nodding respect to Edilio, who she had quickly come to like for his modesty, directness, and efficiency. Shade had been obsessed with the FAYZ and had read every book, seen every interview or TV show or movie, but she had not until now realized how important the unassuming young man had been. “We have insecticide. We have flamethrowers. And if we just sit here, waiting for him to come to us, sooner or later he’ll get us all.”

  Shade knew she was treading close to challenging Dekka, and she didn’t mean to do that. But Dekka had to act. She had to act now. Vector had publicly announced himself and carried out a Pearl Harbor–style sneak attack on the powers that be. The Rockborn Gang would be Vector’s next target.

  “He won’t get in through windows or doors,” Cruz said. “But honestly there are probably ways. Insects have a way of getting around obstacles.”

  Dekka sighed and hung her head. “Some stories have it that he can move through the ground, so I imagine if he put his mind to it he could eat right through the walls. What are you seeing on social media, Cruz?”

  “People are saying the roads out of the city are still moving slowly, but a lot of the people who could leave, have,” Cruz reported. “9/11 didn’t scare New Yorkers away, the ASO strike didn’t scare them away, but this has done it. There’s all kinds of disgusting, terrible video of the people at City Hall and the other places. People are scared to death. The top trending hashtag is #PrayForNYC.”

  “Yeah, prayer ought to do it,” Shade said.

  “Any word on Markovic’s location? Is he actually at Grand Central?” Dekka wondered.

  Cruz shrugged. “People are thinking every bug they see is him. Also . . .” She stopped herself.

  “Also?” Dekka prompted.

  “Well, also you’ve got lots of people saying the city will have to be nuked. #NukeAllMonsters is number three on Twitter.”

  Every eye turned to stare at Cruz. Then turned to Dekka. Shade watched the consensus form. She looked most closely at Simone, who seemed on the edge of tears, and thought, I do not like potential traitors in our midst.

  Dekka’s cell phone rang and everyone jumped.

  “Yes?” Dekka answered, then fell silent, listening for a long time as Shade grew increasingly impatient. Finally, Dekka said, “Give us twenty-four hours.” Another silence, then an exasperated, “Okay, twelve hours. Come on, General, this is insane.”

  Dekka hung up and just sat, head hanging. Finally she said, “Not a nuke. The Pentagon thinks they have a better way.”

  “Not another bunch of tanks,” Cruz said.

  “No. Nerve gas. They think they can drop nerve gas around Markovic and kill him, kill the bugs. They’ve positioned shells near the city. Sarin gas. They think regular insecticide sprayed from planes or helicopters would be too diluted to be effective.”

  Simone winced like she’d been struck.

  Malik, voice dripping sarcasm, said, “And yet we’ve always claimed we didn’t have nerve gas in this country anymore.”

  Shade waited, impatient but knowing she had to let Dekka reach the decision on her own. When Shade had agreed to let Dekka play boss, she’d imagined that it was an act of generosity. She’d also imagined that she could take back the leadership anytime she wanted. But that was no longer true and maybe never had been. The others trusted Dekka in a way that they did not trust her.

  “Okay,” Dekka said, “We have two choices. Attack or defend. We can sit right here and wait for him to come for us. Shade’s right, he knows sooner or later he has to take us out. The problem with waiting for him is tha
t all Markovic has to do is take a building full of people hostage, start infecting them, and demand we pull back. Anyone left in the city will turn against us out of self-interest, and we’ll have no choice but to walk away. So. Unfortunately, we really have no choice but to attack.” She made deliberate eye contact with Simone. “Again: you don’t have to be a part of this. But if you are, you need to be straight in your head. I can’t be worried about you when the shit hits the fan.”

  “He is at Grand Central!” Cruz interjected. She held up her phone and played shaky video of a dense swarm, now in the form of a man’s head, but ten, twenty times normal size, like a seething, pulsating giant Wizard of Oz.

  “You know it’s a trap, right?” Malik asked Dekka.

  Dekka nodded. “A good one, too. A huge space so our little bug bombs won’t accomplish much; they’re each just good for a room, a normal-sized room. Plus tons of shops and restaurants, and tunnels leading off in all directions.”

  Shade said, “Edilio? Malik? Any of the people you’ve interviewed so far ready to help us?”

  Edilio shook his head, face grim. “None that I would trust to be a real plus. But I’ve got a couple people who might be helpful in defending this place in case Markovic strikes back at us here while you’re going after him. Also, I have these.” He fished seven smartphones out of a canvas bag and handed them around. “They’re new, so no one has the numbers but me. I’ve installed an encrypted text app and input all the numbers, including mine.”

  “Of course you have,” Dekka said, nodding at Edilio.

  “In terms of weapons, mostly it’s guns, which are useless against Markovic. But I have something else, if you all will follow me.”

  He led them across the drill hall to a table loaded with gear.

  “Okay, so these big steel tanks that look like scuba tanks? They are, basically, scuba tanks, but full of jellied gasoline. Napalm. Just like the bad guy of the same name. And see the smaller tank here? That’s CO2. The CO2 pressurizes the napalm.” Three steel tanks had been fitted with harnesses so they could be worn as backpacks, and Edilio hefted one onto his own back, groaning under the weight. “I had some help with this from a veteran who came by to offer support. Basically, the first thing you do is light the pilot.”

  Edilio unlimbered a three-foot-long black hose ending in a nozzle. Beneath the nozzle was a much smaller nipple that ended just beneath the nozzle’s outflow. He snapped a lighter, and the pilot light burned a small blue flame.

  “You point, and you squeeze. Step back.”

  “Are you going to . . . ?” Cruz asked, but her question was answered when Edilio pointed the nozzle down the length of the drill room and squeezed.

  A jet of orange flame flew thirty feet. Most burned off in the air, but a smear on the floor burned on. Shade felt the wave of heat and smelled the familiar stink of gasoline.

  “We have just these three, and they’re heavy. Too heavy for Francis, and probably too heavy for Simone to fly with.”

  “Oh, I got one of those,” Armo said, almost drooling.

  “I can handle one,” Dekka said.

  “Me too,” Shade said.

  “Well, Shade, there are special considerations for you. You move much faster than the flamethrower sprays. Be careful not to run into your own flame. And remember that a flame blowing past at Mach 1 isn’t going to burn anything. For the rest of you, something less dramatic.” He held up a spray can with only a white label. “I reached out to an exterminator. They mixed up these cans for us, which contain a blend of the nastiest insecticides. They won’t kill a human, but at the same time, do try to avoid breathing them. They spray about ten feet.”

  Shade caught Dekka’s eye and nodded, impressed. She’d at first thought Dekka was silly for bringing Edilio into things.

  Not silly at all.

  “I’m seeing people joining with Vector. Markovic, I mean,” Cruz said, frowning at her phone. “Some people are probably just scared and going to him for protection. But some look like bad guys, a lot of skinheads, some gangbangers, and some of them are armed. And there are people saying he’s got other mutants with him, too.”

  Simone spoke for the first time during the grim meeting. “I will fight skinheads. I’ll fight other mutants. But I . . . Look, I understand what you have to do. But not me. I’m not going to kill my own father.”

  Dekka said, “You have to follow your own conscience, Simone.”

  Now Edilio was handing out printouts of the floor plan of Grand Central Terminal. He also had a laptop open to a site that showed pictures of the interior of the station. “You should all study these.”

  “You have suggestions?” Shade asked Edilio.

  Edilio shrugged. “Well, you could get down to the subway at Lexington.” He tapped the map. “You’d have to walk down the tunnel for, like, ten blocks. You’d come in through the lower-level subway terminal of Grand Central.”

  Dekka nodded. “Vector’s smart to go for a big space with lots of escape routes, but not as smart as he thinks he is: every escape route out is a way in as well. Markovic has a lot to cover—the subway tunnels, the doors and windows . . . We know he seems to be able to detach bits of himself, so he may have a lot of openings covered, but hopefully not all of them.”

  They all stood around Edilio looking at the pictures, the maps, committing as much as possible to memory.

  “Okay,” Dekka said finally. “Armo, Simone, and me go through the subway tunnel. Shade? I want you on Forty-Second Street until it’s time. Cruz: stall and distract. Malik and Francis, you pop in somewhere . . .” She looked at the map again. “This bathroom here. If you can pop in without being spotted, you can give us a heads-up on the phone. And Malik?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your power doesn’t seem to affect Rockborn in morph, so it won’t bother Markovic, but we need to keep any possible civilians or hostages from getting in the way. I’d say a ten-second blast as soon as H-Hour hits. H-Hour is in three hours, five p.m. Everyone be in place by then. As soon as your phone clock rolls over from 4:59 to 5:00, Malik hits the humans not in morph to remove them from the equation. Shade comes in through the front door, and Armo, Simone, and me, we come up from the tunnel below.”

  Edilio cleared his throat, deferentially, almost as if he thought he should raise his hand.

  “Yes?” Dekka asked.

  “I overheard someone talking earlier,” Edilio said. “Am I right that Malik was trapped in this Over There place when he lost his grip on Francis’s hand?”

  Malik said, “Yes. She can move between dimensions. She can carry someone with her, but only so long as there’s physical contact.” He cocked his head quizzically. “So?”

  “So,” Edilio said, sighing, clearly not liking what he was saying. “Has it occurred to you that this represents a powerful weapon? Anyone she touches . . . She can strand them.”

  From the blank looks, that had not occurred to any of them. Shade certainly hadn’t thought of it. Eyes turned in near-perfect synchrony toward Francis.

  “Could you do that?” Dekka asked. “And would you?” Shade heard a quiver in her voice.

  She’s asking a child if she’ll drag people to limbo.

  Francis didn’t answer glibly. She seemed to be running it through her head, watching it happen.

  Francis started nodding, just a little, then a quick up and down. “Yes. This is war, right? Yes.”

  Shade happened to meet Dekka’s gaze, and there was a strange, frozen moment of a shared emotion. Shame.

  This is war, right? The facile, all-purpose excuse for any horror committed in the name of victory.

  She thought then of what Dekka had done to Detective Williams. What he had begged her to do, what everyone agreed was an act of mercy. It was. But Shade could sense it twisting and twisting inside Dekka.

  Shade reached for Malik; his back was to her. She just wanted to put her hand on his shoulder, wanted to make some kind of contact. She saw in her imagination, in her memory, th
e real Malik, the ruined boy who’d have been safely back at Northwestern if not for his foolish taste in women.

  And Cruz . . .

  And now Francis.

  Not the time. Not the time.

  This is war, right?

  Then she met Dekka’s gaze again. The shame was gone. The doubt was gone. There was a feral snarl on Dekka’s lips, and Shade felt something like a bolt of electricity pass between them. Dekka winked.

  Then Dekka took in a deep breath, lowered her face, and shook her head just enough to send her dreads flying. And when she looked up, every eye was on her.

  “Everyone scared? Good. Scared is good, but hesitation is not.” She looked each person in the eye, and Shade would have sworn that each of them stood taller.

  “This is important, what we’re doing. This is the future of the world. And that’s not bullshit. We’ve all by now been in one kind of fight or another, and this may be the worst. But it’s also the most important. If we all do what we’re supposed to, we’ll be all right.”

  A lie, Shade thought. Every single one of them knew it was a lie. But it was a reassuring one. And having seen what Markovic could do, they all needed reassuring.

  CHAPTER 26

  Hello There, Drake

  THE FIRST THING Drake noticed was that the doorknob to Astrid and Sam’s apartment was misshapen. It looked crushed, like someone had put the aluminum knob into a vise. It troubled him at some obscure level. It was wrong. Out of place.

  But whatever. So their apartment building was poorly maintained, so what? She was in there, Astrid, just beyond the door. He could hear a female voice humming.

  He had a crowbar and stuffed the sharp edge between door and jamb, just above the knob and below a bolt lock. He leaned against it, testing.

  “Knock, knock,” Brittany said, and began laughing.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Drake snapped.

  He steadied himself and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He had stopped at a hardware store, and in addition to the crowbar had taken a good hammer, some five-inch nails, nylon rope, duct tape, two small rubber balls, and a butane torch. Good enough for a start. His plan was to incapacitate Astrid and Sam as well, if he was home. If not, he would have some fun with Astrid while waiting for Sam. Then he would tie them up, ball-gag them, stuff them in the trunk of the car, and drive them to someplace more private. Someplace where he wouldn’t be interrupted for days.