Repercussions (Wearing the Cape Book 8)

by Marion G. Harmon

  Hope swallowed and smiled hard. “You’re a terrible dancer.”

  “Yeah, well you look better. How are you doing?”

  Right, Shell had said she and Mal had shared the street until SaFire had flown them both to Northwestern. From Shell’s description she’d looked ready to tag and bag then.

  “I feel like I’m in the right room?” She touched her jaw below her mask, made a show of wincing. It really was a lot better today, already much less swollen and purply, but she still looked like she’d been beat on hard. “Hi, guys.”

  Watchman returned her nod. He still wore the carbon-fiber binding and brace and would for another couple of days. Besides Crash (who after Chakra’s care still showed no obvious symptoms, letting Hope breathe easier), Riptide was the only one of them that didn’t look like he’d lost a fight—and even he had a big bandage on the side of his neck. Shell’d said he’d been clipped by a flying piece of shrapnel. “Hey chica,” the ex-street villain threw back. “Why don’t you have a room of your own?”

  “They needed the beds. Also, I’m halfway to fine and with everything happening Blackstone’s cleared me for field duty.”

  “No.” Watchman protested, going from sitting to standing, suddenly exuding Superior Officer Authority like he’d never left the Army. “You’re walking wounded.” Riptide, Crash, and even Mal looked just as unhappy and Hope refrained from rolling her eyes. Boys. “I’m not even wobbly, now. My head’s still fragile, but look at this.” She reached up with both hands to push her thumbs into the hollows behind her ears, felt the click as the grips released, and pulled her new helmet off and handed it to Watchman. Mask, wig, all of it.

  “Vulcan turned my wig and half mask into a secret skull-hugging helmet. It’s like having a new Vulcan-alloy cranium. Covers everything above my jaw.”

  Watchman turned it over, pushing the longer hair of her wig out of the way to examine it. She’d ditched wearing wigs with her mask after her “outing,” but going back to wigs covered up the fact that the mask was a helmet now. The whole thing was barely thicker than her normal masks had been.

  “No chin strap.” He looked skeptical. “It stays on?”

  “It’s got gripping sections over my frontal, lower temporal, and occipital bones. Feels like someone with big hands is palming my head like a basketball—it’s not going to come off unless my head does.”

  “Ouch, bad visual,” Shell whispered in her ear as Watchman winced.

  He handed it back. “Your brain is still healing.”

  “Chakra gave me a little attention. She couldn’t spare much, but I’m days ahead of where I would have been.”

  Watchman wasn’t stupid; Hope could see him turning two and two into four. “Blackstone’s expecting serious trouble.”

  She waved at the muted screen, where the scrolling red text conveniently read “The anti-superhuman group Humanity First has claimed the virus is an attack intended to ‘bring superhumans under government control while weeding out the human resistance.’”

  “When doesn’t he expect trouble? You’re effectively immobilized, SaFire’s able but she’s B Class and—”

  “She doesn’t have your combat training, I know. Shit. He couldn’t get anyone else to come in?”

  “Rook and every other Atlas-Type available is busy doing disaster relief and shuttling supplies for FEMA. I’m the toughest fast response we’ve got right now.” She performed her practiced flip-tuck to settle her mask and wig—the maneuver worked just as well with the added helmet—and snugged it down until the grips clamped. With it on, almost all her remaining bruising disappeared back beneath her half mask. Nobody saw the micro-tremors in her hands.

  Chakra had assured her they’d go away. She hoped that meant soon.

  Rush shook, waves of heat and cold flashing through him head to toe as Chakra held his head in her hands. His bed had been elevated and pulled away from the wall so she could stand behind him, laying her fingers over his temples without bending.

  He’d teased her about that not being a yoga position, he remembered that much. When had he said that?

  She hummed above him, sounding like she was using three throats, and what he could see of her glowed, wrapped in color as bright as Kindrake’s flying lizards, blue to purple to violet rising from her shoulders to her crown. Her hum deepened, colors brightening, and the waves churning him settled into a warm pulse behind his eyes. Relaxing, he felt his aching body thin and drift until he was as solid as a cloud. Looking down to check, he realized he was shining like a neon sign, too. “Check out the nightlight! I’m Baldur!”

  Her hum broke with a laugh. “You aren’t nearly as handsome as Baldur. Nobody is. Also nobody else is seeing what you’re seeing.”

  “How’s he doing?” Quin asked.

  Rush looked right without turning his head. When had she come back?

  “Good. I’ve reduced the inflammation again, and I’m still boosting his immune response.”

  The hallucinatory depth had dropped out of her voice and now the tantric witch sounded like she was going to drop. The light was gone, too. “Dammit, I’m sober.”

  She ruffled his hair fondly. “With us again?”

  “With it enough to think this is a huge waste of a bed. Get in. Quin, there’s room for you too.”

  “Tempting.” When the witch lifted her hand away he wanted it back. “But Blackstone would object. I’m also pretty sure Andrew would have something to say about a romp with Quin, and you should never piss off your couturier. Also, your bodily fluids are undoubtably still infectious.”

  Quin wrinkled her nose. “Yuck, Chakra, that’s disgusting.”

  “But accurate. The virus lurks in his saliva and that takes some of his favorite moves off the table. Or off the bed, anyway.” She patted his shoulder. “It’s a pity, though, you don’t have a current partner. There are safe activities that would be healthful.”

  Rush groaned. “Don’t tease me, woman. I’m still dying.”

  “Perhaps. We’re all corpses eventually. Life is death.”

  “And your bedside manner’s always awesome. How’s the kid?” Jamal had it too, right? He definitely remembered hearing it. Yeah.

  “Jamal is in better shape than you are. He didn’t speed quite as much as you, so the infection isn’t as far along. And he’s younger, more physically resilient.”

  “If you only have enough mojo for one of us—” Rush balled and relaxed his fists. The floating had stopped and he could feel the bite of his nails again. Solid. Solid meant alive. “Save the kid.”

  Her fingers were back, this time pinching his ear. “I have enough mojo for both of you. But I’ll tell him you said that.”

  “S’fair. Just don’t tell Astra. I’ve got a rep to protect.”

  Quin laughed at him. “I’ll tell her just so she can get all sweet about it. But she’s busy out there showing the flag and I’ve got to— Oh, shit.”

  “What’s happening?” Rush craned his head around to see her out of more than the corner of his eye. She held a hand to her ear.

  “Situation at Butler Field. Got to go.” She disappeared from his sight, running.

  “Shit.” He dropped his head back. “Shit’s going down and I’m stuck here dying.”

  Chakra patted his head fondly. “It could be worse. You could be dead. Now hold on, we’re doing this again.”

  Chapter Ten

  Omega Watch Alert/Update: per Asset Power Chick, the following agencies are to be alerted. US Marshals Service, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the Secret Service, The Central Intelligence Agency, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. The asset is implementing Big Sister. All alerted agencies are to give top priority to persons in the lists supplied, these persons being suspected of A) being infected and planning to resist treatment/quarantine, or B) preparing to take advantage of the emergency to advance their own anti-government objectives. All agencies are expected to “get Mark I Eyeballs” on listed persons within their pu
rview and report their locations/conditions.

  DSA Alert 215-87561

  “They’re all gone?” Hope asked as she flew. One circuit around the city—better than a press update to announce that she was fine and on duty—and she could head back to the Dome.

  “We tested and evacuated everyone on the Bugout List before lunch.” Virtual-Shell flew alongside her, face up to cloud-gaze and hands behind her head. Her t-shirt art for the day was a hazmat symbol. “Your mom wasn’t happy about it, but putting her in charge of making sure your brothers and Josh’s family were out safe kept her moving. Not that they were at-risk—only your mom was in an attack zone and she escaped exposure because Kitsune got her out so fast . . . aaand now you’re wondering if he’s okay.”

  “No I’m not. He’s a kami—there’s no way he could have been infected.”

  Her BF snorted. “If I wasn’t virtual right now I’d idiot-slap you. You’re not wondering if he’s safe, you’re wondering if he’s okay. Because you luuuuv him.”

  “I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

  “What? Like it’s not your MO? All those quiet crushes in school—including Dane of Danabeth—then Atlas, then kinda-sorta Seven and Grendel. Then along comes Kitsune the Asian Adonis, smoking hot and smooth enough to make a nun reconsider. . . .”

  “Shell!”

  “Just saying, you see the best in people and fall easy. Throw in all that weird vow stuff that tied him to you and getting you till-death-do-us-parted and it makes sense you’d love him back just to be fair.”

  “Right,” Hope ground out as they flew past the Sears Tower. “And to be fair I kicked him to the curb.”

  Shell laughed. “And now you’re worried about him. Because you luuuuv him.”

  “I’m going to find a way to hurt you. Do you know anything?”

  “I’m filtering for all his aliases I know of and nothing’s pinged. Doesn’t mean anything, he could be back in Japan by now. Or not, but—crap.”

  “What?”

  “Butler Field, get there now.”

  She vanished as Hope turned hard enough she’d have given the occupants of Chase Tower a mid-day thrill if it hadn’t been in the evacuated zone, and accelerated down Monroe.

  “What’s happening?” The CDC had made Butler Field its field headquarters and no alert from there could possibly be good.

  “Stupidity’s what’s happening. A flash-mob. Hundreds closing on the field.”

  “How many police?”

  “Are you kidding? They’re scattered all over helping maintain the CDC quarantine zones until we can clean them. There’s barely enough uniforms at the Field for traffic control. Blackstone says you need to keep it calm until backup arrives.”

  “Got it.” Hope cleared the buildings and shot across Michigan Avenue, pulling into an arc that took her up and over the park where Butler Field’s tree line opened onto Jackson.

  The crowd hadn’t advanced past the sidewalk; only three nervous uniforms stood behind the crowd-control barrier between them and the block of tents the CDC had pitched in the open field west of the Petrillo Music Shell, but even the angriest citizens needed a critical mass of numbers and fury to push past a line drawn and manned by armed police. They were getting those numbers—at least a couple of hundred were coming up fast. No posters were being waved anywhere; they weren’t coming to stand around and protest. Not good.

  She stuck her three-point landing. Rising, she twitched her short cape back with the hand not gripping Malleus. “Hi.” Everyone’d seen her drop, and she addressed the dense front pushing up against the barriers. “So, is everyone here for testing?” She focused on the man nearest her and the barrier opening. If this was even semi-organized, the leaders would be right in front of her. “Riptide and The Harlequin are coming from the hospital, Jack Frost from across town, Artemis is closest,” Shell whispered in her ear.

  The man stepped forward. “We’re here to get vaccinated! You can’t keep the cure for yourselves!” “Bradley Meagers,” Shell identified him. “Local Humanity First chapter president, also a Paladin.”

  “No, we can’t,” Hope agreed, speaking loud enough that at least a good bit of the crowd could hear her. “However, we are prioritizing breakthroughs, first-responders, and then others testing positive for infection. More vaccine is being produced and we’ll vaccinate everyone eventually.”

  Shouts of “Not good enough!” “Humans first!” and “You’re trying to kill us!” rose from the crowd. “They’re working themselves into a mob, Shell,” Hope muttered needlessly. If they decided to, they could easily push over the waist-high barrier fencing, and then they’d be among the tents.

  She looked at the three uniforms behind her. They’d spaced themselves along the barriers, keeping their hands away from their guns—CPD policy in this kind of situation wouldn’t clear its officers to engage the crowd with live fire unless its men and women were faced with direct force against them. They’d restrain the first individuals who came over the barriers, all that they could, but wouldn’t even try to stop a rush by the crowd.

  She turned back to the leader. “Not good enough? Do you want berserking infected superhumans tearing into the city? Or armed infected officers deciding the best response to the next incident is to just shoot everyone? We’re testing and treating as fast as we—”

  “Not good enough!” The man repeated, advancing almost into her personal space and looking down at her. “We’re here for us! And our families! You can’t stop us from getting what we need to survive!” Behind him the crowd made ominous noises.

  “They’re getting denser, pushing in,” Shell told her as she kept her expression open and friendly. “If they rush it’s going to get ugly.” Hope held her hand up, keeping Malleus down at her side.

  “I understand your concerns, but you’re going to have to let the CDC do their job for us—” and nobody was buying it, shouts drowning her out. “Please, the CDC has—” No good. Mr. Meagers shook a fist in her face. Then Jacky misted into solidity on her right, black-hooded and both fists filled with her favorite guns, and his rant stuttered to silence.

  “The cavalry’s arrived,” Shell whispered in Hope’s ear.

  “Hello boys and girls,” Artemis spoke over the sudden hush. Voices rose from the back of the crowd, but not from the people who could see her. Good start. She stretched her lips in a smile she knew wouldn’t reassure anybody. “It’s good to see you all here today,” she sang out using what Watchman called parade-field voice. Thumbing the dials on her guns, she hitched them up to rest the barrels against her shoulders as their hum climbed in pitch.

  “And let me tell you why it’s good. You see, normally the police handle this kind of incipient violence situation. They put up barriers, come with shields, form blue walls and generally respond in what we all hope will be a measured fashion to pacify the situation without killing anybody. Unfortunately for all of you, they can’t be here today.”

  “Artemis, what are you doing?” Hope asked softly, not turning her head.

  “Nos Praestolor. Saving everyone’s ass.” She took a step forward, forcing Big and Stupid to back up from where he was trying to loom over Hope. “So!” she said brightly. “We’ve got no blue line, no shields, no pepper-spray, no batons, none of the usual mob-control stuff here today. Which means if you come any further then you all get to deal with what I brought.”

  She held her darlings up for everyone to see, drawing on her will and pushing her intent out at Big and Stupid and the crowd behind him. She also put on her game face. Nobody liked her game face or being so close to it; the deep hood and black half-mask didn’t hide her intentions, physical confirmation of what her will whispered to their hindbrains. Big and Stupid saw it, felt it, and went paler than she was. Good start.

  “These are Vulcans! As in made by Vulcan, our resident mad scientist. They’re variable-projectile electromagnetic guns. The rounds they fire can do anything from knock a target on its ass to put a hole through it the size o
f an elephant. Since there’s just so many of you, I’ve got them dialed for full autofire and Ruin Your Year impact. The best news is these guys come with nearly bottomless magazines—I might need to reload once or twice but I’ve got more than enough ammo to get to all of you.” She took another step, pushing Big and Stupid back almost to the street and letting everyone feel the power of her intent.

  “Astra’s nice. She can only deal with a couple of you at a time, and she doesn’t want to hurt anybody. I don’t mind! In fact, if you decide to play with me then you’ll be therapy!”

  Dead silence.

  “You will now all peaceably disperse!”

  They started to; she could feel them breaking. Capes, police, soldiers—anyone trained to stand up in the face of danger wouldn’t have retreated, they’d have focused on her as the primary threat in front of them. Civilians, even the angry and worked up ones in front of her, weren’t used to suddenly feeling so very, very mortal in the face of a predator. When Hope rose a body-length into the air behind her, Malleus in her fist, the shuffling became a slow retreat.

  “I hate it when you make people scared of you like that,” Hope said below the crowd noise.

  “Better scared of me than you.”

  “Damn right,” Shell put in through Jacky’s earbud.

  “That’s not what I—” Whatever Hope had been about to say got lost in the staccato cracks behind them.

  Dr. Leo Marin was done with Chicago. His face ached, radiating stabs that spread from his bandaged nose to his sinuses whenever he talked. More than one staffer had looked at his face and gaped at the purpling that spread to black his eyes. The story making the rounds, that he’d been punched out by Rush, was the victim of patient zero, didn’t help at all.