Paranormals | Book 3 | Darkness Reigns

by Andrews, Christopher

  But Takayasu was already speaking into his phone, reporting that they had a man down and needed immediate medical support. He continued to watch their surroundings, while Callin turned his attention back to Steve.

  Callin was assuaged, to some extent, to know that help was on the way, but he still worried about the sheer extent of Steve’s injuries. Would he survive being transported to a human hospital? Would the lifesaving equipment carried aboard an ambulance be enough to handle such catastrophic damage? If only they’d had more luck adapting Taalu techniques to human physiology. But even if they had, with his internal organs exposed like this ... and losing so much blood! He felt that he should apply pressure to the wound, but how? Where, exactly? Steve’s guts were splayed.

  The lieutenant joined him once more, his weapon lowered but still in his hand. “Good God, that looks bad. How’s his pulse?”

  “I ... I’m sorry, I didn’t think to check.”

  Takayasu nodded. “Pull his mask up high enough to expose his neck.” Callin did so, and Takayasu pressed two fingers against the side of his throat. He held still for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not a medical professional, but I don’t think it’s good. I hope that ambulance gets here soon.” To Steve, he said, “Vortex? Can you hear me?”

  Steve’s eyelids continued to flutter, but otherwise, he gave no response.

  “What can we do in the meantime?”

  “Where’s the trench coat I loaned you?”

  “I had to discard it earlier. Should I retrieve it?”

  Before Takayasu could answer that, he was interrupted by a blurted, “Holy shit!”

  Callin and Takayasu jolted, bringing their respective arm and sidearm to bear, but it was only Shockwave, peering through the broken window at Steve with a stunned look on his face.

  “The hell happened to him?!”

  “We don’t know exactly,” Takayasu answered, “but his intestinal wall has been ruptured.”

  “Shit,” Shockwave said again with a shake of his head. “I’m guessin’ it’s safe to say the rogues knew we were comin’?”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Takayasu muttered, drawing Callin’s scrutiny.

  Shockwave pressed, “He alive?”

  “For now. We’ve called for an ambulance, but we’re figuring out how to keep him alive until it gets here.”

  Shockwave nodded as he clambered through the window, grumbling as he scraped a hand on a jagged remnant of plywood. “Doesn’t he still have that guy workin’ for him? You know, the healer guy?”

  Takayasu looked at Callin, who nodded an affirmation. Takayasu fished into his coat for his phone again as he said to his partner, “Mark, you’re a genius.”

  In Callin’s experience over the past year, such a remark would normally have brought a smile of pride to Shockwave’s face, but although Takayasu missed it, he instead saw the red-clad man give the lieutenant an expression that he was fairly sure Steve would have called “a dirty look.” Under other circumstances, he might have wondered about that; as things stood, he was too focused on Steve’s welfare. Lacking other alternatives, he settled for increasing his aura to generate a little more warmth for his wounded friend.

  Phone to his ear, Takayasu perked up after a few seconds. “Ardette? It’s Michael Takayasu. There’s a situation. I don’t have time for details, but we need Jeremy Walker. Now. Have him wait outside the Davison training center and watch the skies.” A paused, then he added, “I promise I’ll fill you and Alan in as soon as I can. Just have Jeremy ready.”

  Takayasu disconnected before Ardette could ask him anything further.

  “Shining Star,” he continued, “you should retrieve Walker. If you—”

  “I can’t leave Ste— leave Vortex,” Callin interrupted him. “We don’t know who or what did this to him, and I should be here if his attacker returns.”

  “That won’t do any good if Vortex bleeds out in the meantime.”

  “And none of it will matter if it returns and cuts his head off!”

  Takayasu absorbed that. “ ‘It’ ...?”

  Callin waved that off. “I’ll explain later, when Vortex is safe.”

  Takayasu nodded. “Yeah, it sounds like we need to compare notes.” He turned back to this partner. “Mark, how fast can you fly if you really push yourself?”

  Shockwave, who had been staring wide-eyed at Steve’s gaping wound, looked up and gestured at Callin. “Not as fast as him. But I’m pushin’ my top speed higher all the time.”

  “Can you piggyback Jeremy and keep up your speed?”

  “Most of it, yeah.”

  “Okay. Okay, fly to Vortex’s training center and get Walker back here as soon as you can.”

  For a second, Shockwave’s face shifted in an odd way, and it honestly seemed that he was going to refuse the order. Callin had no idea what was going on between them, but now was not the time.

  Takayasu noticed it, too. “Mark?”

  Mark shrugged, an exaggerated gesture that expressed further displeasure, but then he said, “Sure, sure, I’ll play errand boy, and go fetch the healer. For him.” He flicked a hand toward Steve.

  Takayasu shook his head, just a little, and repeated, “Mark?”

  But Shockwave ignored him, climbing back out through the window without further comment.

  PCA

  “... nerve of that guy ...” Mark grumbled under his breath as he stomped toward the corner of the warehouse with a working streetlight. “... orderin’ me around now, now ... shoulda told him to have his Golden Boy fly this little errand — oh, wait, that’s right, Powerhouse can’t fly! ... suck on that, Mike.”

  Huffing hard, he made himself focus — it wasn’t Vortex’s fault that Mark’s partner turned out to be a royal asshole after all, so he had a job to do. Leaning against the side of the building, he peeled off the circular rubber studs under his sneakers, preparing to haul ass—

  He nearly dropped the studs when someone blurted, “Mark!”

  Spinning around in a defensive posture, Mark was surprised to see Powerhouse stumbling toward him, looking like hell — the trench coat Mike gave him was dirty and torn, he was clutching his busted phone in one hand, and tears were streaming down his unmasked face.

  “Lincoln?”

  Powerhouse lurched forward, reaching out. “Mark! Oh, Mark, thank God, Mark ...”

  Mark only had time for, “Uh ...?” before Powerhouse practically collapsed against him. The big guy wrapped his arms around the bewildered Shockwave and squeezed tight, too tight — Mark’s own arms and ribs screamed, and he struggled to breathe.

  “Lincoln ...!” he wheezed.

  “Mark,” Powerhouse blubbered like a baby, “Mark ... I’m ... I’m so confused!”

  “Lincoln ... can’t breathe ...!”

  Powerhouse finally heard his grunted pleas and let him go, though he only took a single step back, keeping his hands on Mark’s shoulders as his broken phone dropped to the pavement.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Powerhouse managed to say through his sobs.

  “Lincoln, uh, look, I gotta go. Vortex—”

  But Powerhouse wasn’t hearing him, kept going. “I just ... I ... Mark, what year is it?”

  “What?”

  Powerhouse shook him, hard, for emphasis. “What year is it?!”

  More perplexed than ever, Mark told him.

  Powerhouse’s eyes glazed over, but the tears also slowed. “So, it’s ... no time, that means no time has passed ... I don’t ...” He looked around himself, at the empty buildings, at the few working streetlights.

  “Lincoln,” Mark asked, “what the hell happened to you?” But then he shook his head, remembering his mission. “Listen, man, I really need to—”

  “I ... I don’t know,” Powerhouse rambled right over him. “I don’t know what happened ... I got hit in the back of the head, and it ... it knocked me out ...”

  Mark’s eyes widened. “Knocked you out?”

  “... and then I was
... I was in a room? And my ... my brother and sister ... they were getting old, and they ...” He started to cry again.

  Mark shook his head. “Listen, man, seriously. Lincoln, you listenin’?”

  Powerhouse looked up to meet his gaze.

  Trying to be gentle about it, he reached up and removed Powerhouse’s hands from his shoulders. “I don’t mean to be a dick, I really don’t, but I gotta go. Vortex is hurt.”

  “Wh-what?” Powerhouse shook his head. “Vortex is hurt?”

  “Yeah, and it’s bad, real bad. I gotta go get his healer friend.” He pointed back toward the busted-open window. “They’re in there. You okay to go to ‘em?”

  Powerhouse nodded. “Yeah, I ... I don’t feel so good, my head hurts, but ... yeah, I’ll make it.”

  “Okay.” In spite of his emotional shift in dealing with Powerhouse, he couldn’t resist snorting, “Let Mike help ya, get used to his new job description.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothin’. Gotta go.”

  Mark fired shockwaves from both feet and hands, launching into the air as he arced in the direction of Davison Electronics.

  PCA

  Vortex was in truly dire shape.

  Michael didn’t know if Shining Star, who was accustomed to his own people’s anatomy, comprehended just how bad the situation was. Vortex’s grave wound was too bloody for Michael to see whether or not the intestines had been perforated; he was hoping they were not, but Steve was losing so much blood, it might not matter.

  He heard sirens in the distance and hoped they included the approaching ambulance, but even more, he hoped that Mark returned with Jeremy Walker as quickly as possible.

  (He also wondered what the hell was up with Mark, who picked a lousy time for his old, bad attitude to spike.)

  “Shining Star,” he said, “we need to elevate his legs.”

  The Grand Lord, who had increased his silvery aura in a presumptive attempt to keep Vortex warm, looked at him in confusion.

  “His legs,” Michael repeated, looking around for anything that might be used to prop them up. “We should elevate his legs to help his blood to flow back into his heart. But we have to be careful — we don’t want to hurt him any more than he already is.”

  Shining Star looked around as well. “What can we use to support them?”

  “Damn,” Michael grunted as he holstered his sidearm and moved toward Vortex’s booted feet. “I’ll hold them myself.” With great care, Michael lifted Vortex’s feet and knelt so that they would come to rest on his own thighs.

  Shining Star gazed down at Vortex’s ravaged belly. “I wish there were something more we could do for him.”

  “I hear you. We just have to do our best to make him comfortable until the ambulance arrives, or Shockwave returns with Walker. Preferably both.”

  “Hey ... guys ...”

  Michael and Shining Star didn’t react with quite the vehemence they had to Mark’s outburst, but they each flinched as they looked once more to the window.

  Powerhouse stood outside, hunched over with his forearms braced against the windowsill. And he did not look well.

  “Lincoln?” Michael asked. “Are you all right?”

  Powerhouse shook his head, and Michael realized that he had been crying. “Not really, no. Is there another way in?”

  Michael glanced around, but trapped as he was under Vortex’s feet, he couldn’t turn around well. “Not that I know of. There must be a door, but we’ve all—”

  Powerhouse nodded and, with zero effort, shoved downward on the windowsill until it, and a good two feet of wall, cracked and crumbled away from him.

  “Whoa! Lincoln, wait a—”

  He kicked one lazy leg forward, and then all he had to do to walk right inside was duck his head under the upper portion of the window frame. After all that, Michael was surprised he bothered to do so.

  “Powerhouse,” Shining Star said, more concerned by their friend’s tattered appearance than the state of the warehouse wall, “what happened to you?”

  Powerhouse shook his head. “It’s ... hard to explain. It’s gonna take me some time to—” But when he lifted his gaze to Vortex, he stopped walking and speaking. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped ... and then he turned away and vomited onto the floor.

  Michael and Shining Star exchanged understanding glances, and waited for him to finish.

  After it was all over, Powerhouse turned back, held up a hand against the glare of Shining Star’s aura so that he could better see Vortex, then changed his mind.

  “Jesus Christ ...” he whispered. “What ... what happened to him?”

  “We don’t know,” Michael explained. “He was alone when Shining Star reached him, but we both heard him cry out in pain just as the darkness lifted.” He pointed in the general direction of the incoming sirens. “Help’s on the way. We also sent Shockwave to retrieve Vortex’s healing friend.”

  “Yeah ... I saw Mark outside.” He moved over next to the hole he had just created, lowering his butt to the floor and holding his head in his hands. “I got knocked out earlier, and my head hurts.”

  Another look passed between Michael and Shining Star, and Michael drew his V9 once more. “Lincoln, you need to tell us exactly what—”

  Vortex convulsed once, then again with more violence.

  “Callin,” he snapped, “hold him down. Be gentle, but firm.”

  Nodding, Shining Star dropped his aura to its lowest levels and pressed his hands on each of Vortex’s shoulders; at the same time, Michael did his best to brace Vortex’s legs against his own.

  Blessedly, Vortex’s convulsions slowed, then stopped. His eyelids were no longer fluttering, but remained closed; Michael wasn’t sure if he should take that as a good sign.

  Shining Star shook his head. “We can’t wait any longer. What if ... what if I pick him up and—”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I’ll be very careful—”

  “Callin, his internal organs are exposed.” That prompted a retch from Powerhouse, but Michael ignored it. “You’ll kill him.”

  “He’s going to die anyway, damn it!”

  “May I help?”

  For the third time, Michael and Shining Star were startled by the interjection of a new voice. But unlike the first two times, they did not recognize this one.

  Michael did his best to pivot around under Vortex’s raised feet and level his V9, while Shining Star stood and aimed both hands at the newcomer.

  The stranger — who approached with a slow, cautious stride with his hands held out and open before him — emerged from the depths of the warehouse behind them; that was Strike One. Strike Two came from his being armed with two swords, one on either hip, which at least remained in their scabbards. Strike Three would have been the fact that he was dressed head-to-toe in all black, including a full-head mask that covered everything but his eyes ... but given the company he kept these days, Michael strove not to hold that against him, yet.

  “Halt!” he ordered, though his awkward position stole some of the usual authority from his voice.

  “Who are you?!” Shining Star demanded, with every ounce of the force Michael’s command had been lacking.

  The stranger stopped in his tracks, and said, “My name is ... is The Gladius.”

  But by then Michael’s mind had formed a connection, a very important one. “I honestly don’t care what you call yourself, mister. I’m far more concerned about the fact that our friend here had his guts sliced open ... and you’re carrying two swords.”

  “I give you my word, I just got here—”

  “Not good enough,” Shining Star snapped.

  “—but I’m sorry to say, I’m not surprised that something like this has happened. I’m here, now, because I had reason to believe someone I care about was in danger, grave danger, somewhere in this vicinity. I haven’t found him, but if your friend has been ‘sliced open,’ I believe I know what did it. And I can help him, if you’l
l let me.”

  Shining Star challenged, “What can you do?”

  “I have power over ... certain forces ...”

  “You’re a paranormal,” Michael concluded. “Explains your wardrobe, but it doesn’t explain your swords and our friend’s wound.”

  “As I said, I had nothing to do with that. I just arrived. But I can help your friend.” He craned his neck to better see past Michael. “The wound looks bad, but I can stabilize him, maybe more. I have experience in dealing with this type of trauma.”

  “How?” asked Shining Star.

  “I’ll have to get closer to him, so that I can use my— my paranormal power.”

  Powerhouse, who had gotten back to his feet, spoke up. “How’re we supposed to trust you? We don’t know you.”

  But Shining Star interjected, “You said about ‘what’ attacked him, not who.”

  “Yes.”

  Michael watched the exchange, and recalled that Shining Star had suggested he possessed some knowledge about the nature of Vortex’s attacker. Were the two of them talking about the person who impersonated Christine White? Was it a “person” at all?

  But he forced himself back on track. “That’s not important right now. What matters is getting Vortex medical aid.” He listened to the sirens, closer than before but hardly right outside, and they would be lucky if Mark had reached Davison Electronics yet. If this new guy, “the Gladius,” could help, now was the time.

  But as Powerhouse put it, how could they trust him?

  Did they have a choice?

  Everyone was starting to stand down, a little — Shining Star lowered his hands a bit; Gladius relaxed his open hands in the same manner — when Vortex spoke.

  “J-John ...?”

  Shining Star glanced back at his friend, and in doing so, he missed something interesting: The Gladius jolted, and even took a tiny step backward, as though hearing Vortex speak surprised him, a lot.

  “Vortex?” Powerhouse said as he shuffled over and knelt near the downed hero’s head. “Don’t move, okay?”

  Vortex kept his body still, but he shifted his gaze around, as though he were having trouble focusing — which said something, given his cybernetic implants.

  And then his eyes settled on the Gladius ... and widened in terror.