Tucker stood to his feet. “Well
I
do,” he replied.
“I don’t like the idea of shooting at our friends,” Alex said, as dubious as Lisa.
“Don’t kid yourselves,” Payton spoke with his gravelly, dead intonations. “We’re talking about the fate of the entire world. It may well come down to
us
or
them
.” As if that was the only argument required, he turned to Tucker and said, “There’s a weapons room in the back—help yourself.”
Tucker nodded. The old man motioned for Tucker to follow him; he would show the sergeant to the guns.
“Flesh wounds only,” Ethan quietly reassured Alex.
“Get as much sleep as you can, all of you,” Payton announced. “We leave as soon as everyone’s had a chance to rest.”
Tucker and the old man, who had frozen on their way to the armory, turned and resumed walking. When no one was looking, Lisa snuck away and followed them.
“So. What’s your story?”
“Sorry?” Tucker replied, as he opened the double-door cabinets that revealed a surprising variety of weaponry, from blades and staffs to crossbows, pistols, and shotguns.
“You’re a cut-and-dried military officer,” Lisa explained.
“Enlisted,” he corrected her.
“Whatever. Point is, what’s your part in all this?”
“Ethan,” he replied. “He saved my life.”
“Oh,” Lisa said, nodding. “So it’s like one of those ‘life debt’ things, between you and him?”
Tucker looked confused. “Not really.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m here to fight the bad guys, ma’am,” he replied. “I have a son, Jake. He’s twelve. And the world isn’t safe for him to grow up in. Ethan promised me a chance to change that. Way he tells it, we’re ‘operating outside of time.’ What kind of father would I be if I didn’t do everything I could to ensure that my son gets to have a future?”
“Only in this case, that’s not actually a metaphor,” Lisa mused.
Tucker shrugged. “Ask
you
a question?”
Lisa shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”
“You really think you all can do this? Free the rest of your friends and take on this Oblivion character? Because I’ve seen firsthand what he can do, and I don’t know of a power anywhere in this world that can stop him.”
“We’ve made a habit of defying the odds.”
“I hope so,” Tucker said, his face grim. “I’m career military, ma’am, joined right out of high school. Been doing this a long time. One thing I know about going to battle against vastly superior numbers—it’s that casualties are a given. It’s the first thing they teach you: Whoever has the most soldiers with the biggest guns, wins. And I haven’t seen anything in your arsenal capable of even stubbing this enemy’s toe.”
“We’ll surprise you,” Lisa said.
“Unless you do . . . none of us has a chance of surviving this.”
“S
O
I
HAVE A
temper!” Grant tried to shout, though the sound of his voice still refused to echo through the emptiness. “So do lots of people! And there were good reasons whenever I lost it! What difference does it make now?”
His doppelganger eyed him intently. “It makes a difference when you give in to it and allow it to influence your decisions and actions. Every choice carries weight and consequence, Grant.”
Grant paused, his thoughts racing. He looked around in the darkness, but he wasn’t trying to focus on anything in particular. He was thinking back over the events of his life.
“I don’t disagree,” he said tentatively.
“Good,” replied his duplicate. “Because now we’re coming to what I really brought you here to discuss. Your choices are not the only ones that influence the fate of the world. Every choice made by every person alive has the potential to have positive effects or negative effects on the human race. Would you agree?”
Grant thought a moment. “I suppose.”
“Then would you say that the positive choices outweigh the negative, or vice versa?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
His twin smiled, amused. “It was not a rhetorical question, Grant. Give me your honest opinion.”
Grant frowned and gave in to the loaded question, though he couldn’t figure out where this was going. “Then I suppose there have been more negative effects upon humanity based on people’s choices throughout history.”
Mirror Grant began to walk slowly, circling him like a college professor offering a particularly insightful lecture. “Then here is the question to end all questions, Grant Borrows. This is the reason you are here, with me.
“I want you to think about the damage that has been done to mankind because of the choices of men and women. Think of the suffering, the anguish, the loss. All of it, throughout human history. Wars waged throughout the ages, using ever-escalating weaponry that is crafted to bring about newer and more efficient ways of killing the enemy. The horrors and atrocities of Hitler’s concentration camps. Barbarism. Pornography and the sex trade. Slavery. Organized crime. Genocide. The list goes on.
“Think about these things, and ask yourself . . . Wouldn’t the world be better off if humanity lacked free will? If people did not have the ability to choose their actions for themselves, but were forced to behave as they should?”
Grant didn’t answer immediately. He retreated inside himself, digging deep for an answer to his twin’s question that would be honest and real, but wouldn’t be pessimistic. He found that he couldn’t come up with one.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” he replied.
“Of course you do,” his double said at once. “You just don’t want to. Let me simplify it for you.
“Make it personal. Think back on your own life. All of the people who claimed to love you, but then abandoned you. Being dealt one hand after another that you neither chose for yourself nor wanted. Facing responsibilities that no one else on earth could possibly understand, as the most powerful man in the world. Losing the people you love the most. It’s not right. It’s not fair. You didn’t ask for any of it, but it’s what happened.
“Think about all that’s happened to you, and all that’s been done to you intentionally . . . And tell me why you fight. Why do you try so hard to help others who are in need? Why do you fight for the rest of the world, when the world has done nothing but bring you pain?”
Grant hated this. He wanted to grab this twisted duplicate of himself—whoever he was— and throttle him for making him think about this.
Truth was, this was not a new question for Grant. It plagued his thoughts often, even as he was fighting to save the world. Did they really deserve to be saved? Was the world even worth fighting for?
He had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that sometimes he wondered if playing the hero was worth it. Because that was all he was doing— pretending. Posing as the figure they needed to believe could save them from themselves. When the truth was that he was just as flawed and lost and fragile as they were.
Had he actually made that much of a difference as the public’s hero, Guardian?
“I guess,” Grant replied at last, “I fight for them because I don’t think anyone should have to suffer. And if I can alleviate anyone’s pain, then I want to.”
Mirror Grant stopped circling him and stopped right in front of him. He placed a hand in the center of Grant’s chest, and Grant felt a prickling sensation that quickly turned to intense, painful heat, which he could not pull away from.
Holding his hand in place there upon Grant’s chest, the double leaned in close to Grant’s ear, and whispered one word.
“Liar.”
Chinatown sat poised on the brink of implosion.
No longer day yet never fully night, fierce billowing clouds had settled dusk permanently over the dingy streets of downtown Los Angeles. Oriental lanterns dipped low over North Broadway where it ran straight through Chinatown. On one side of the street stood an unblinking line of Chinese nationals, perfectly still. On the other waited a gang of terrifying-looking men and women, with wild eyes and flesh smeared with blood.
Between them stood Alex, Payton, Daniel, Lisa, Ethan, Tucker, and their handless friend. They hadn’t asked to be here, and they would gladly leave now if not for the fact that the First National Bank and the precious contents held in its vault were blocked by this violence. Ethan had no idea what had transpired to bring about this confrontation, but he realized they’d stumbled into something dangerous.
At least one skirmish had already broken out, because both sides of the conflict were battered, few without some sort of bruise, scrape, or ripped clothing. Many of them were still breathing hard. All held weapons of one kind or another.
No words were spoken or movements made by the Chinese, their faces both old and young, a mixture of dour and dispassionate. A variety of guns, knives, and bats were held in their hands. Their silent message was louder than any words could transmit.
Get. Out.
The gang on the other side of the street looked like deranged figures of all races from some post-apocalyptic zombie movie. Faces, arms, and hands were smeared with dried blood. The red fluid had been used to draw vulgar symbols and crude line drawings everywhere their skin was visible. The clothes they wore were shredded around the cuffs. But nothing about their appearance was as disturbing as the objects carried in their hands.
Instead of knives or guns, they carried bones. Human arms, legs, jaws, even skulls—anything sharp or big enough to do damage to a living body. The bones they carried were as bloody as they were, some of them stripped clean of muscle and tissue, others still dripping with ligaments, nerves, and meat. Their eyes were set deep within their flesh; their mouths recalled those of rabid wolves.
“English?” Ethan called out, facing the Chinatown residents.
A moment passed in silence as the Chinese men and women stared at him with disdain, unmoving and unspeaking. But the line parted, and a woman stepped out into the street to approach Ethan.
“I speak English. Yen Xue is my name.”
“I’m Ethan. It’s nice to meet you, Xue.”
Tired creases formed around the corners of her lips as she eyed Ethan thoughtfully. He understood; she likely hadn’t met many Westerners who knew that Chinese names placed the family name ahead of the given name.
An older man with a self-important presence and authority in his every inflection said something to the female in Cantonese, rapid-fire. His meaning was clear, even to the outsiders.
The woman named Xue was in her late thirties and dressed head to toe in brightly colored traditional Chinese attire. Her dark hair was tied in a large, tight bun. Sandals peeked out from beneath her dress, sheltering her feet.
She didn’t face the elder gentleman as she replied to him with something equally severe that Ethan could not understand. A hint of distaste tainted her lovely features when she replied to him. And when she spoke to Ethan again, she became more cordial, her voice carrying virtually no accent. “You are friends of Guardian. I saw you on the news with him,” she said, shooting a knowing look at Alex. “But where is he now?”
Alex couldn’t hold Xue’s piercing gaze. Ethan spoke instead. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”
She turned downcast. “Then I fear the madness that has come to our streets will destroy more than Chinatown.”
“Why are those people here?” Ethan gestured at the gang on the other side of the street.
“They sacrifice the innocent,” Xue explained in an undertone, “believing they may appease the gods who have brought the darkness and fire and destroyed the soil. They ingest their victims so the blood of the innocent may cleanse them, inside and out. I do not know what specific purpose has brought these dangerous men here, but they appear to be . . . hungry.”
The older man behind her said something else, which Xue ignored.
“
He’s
not glad to see us,” Payton interjected.
Xue took a step back and gestured dutifully to the older man. “This is Yen Wei, my uncle. He is a venture capitalist by trade, though he owns much more in this city than buildings, if you follow my meaning.” A slight frown played at her lips, yet the grace and dignity with which she carried herself remained intact. “He is a powerful man; cross him at your peril. He has strong opinions about what is happening to the world. He knows who you are, and he believes that you are servants of the evil one.”
This instigated a rallying cry by the cultists, who let out unholy yells and screams that sounded like a pack of wild animals preparing to attack.
“You have not come to help us,” Xue inferred. There was no question in her voice, nor was there judgment or disappointment. “So what
has
brought you here?”
Ethan’s mind spun fast. “Guardian died trying to prevent all this from happening to the world. We’re trying to finish what he started. But to do that, we need to reach a safe-deposit box in the bank up ahead.”
“I know this building,” Xue replied. “My uncle owns it. I could get you inside.”
“We’ll get inside, love,” said Payton, “one way or another.”
“But we can’t leave you to this,” Ethan finished.
“My uncle will never accept your help,” she said. Nonetheless, she spoke to her uncle in Cantonese. He replied to her and an argument ensued, with each successive statement growing in volume.
Xue turned to face Ethan once more.
“What did he say?” Ethan asked, noting with anxiety that two dozen men near her uncle had just taken an imposing step forward.
“He is a fool. He said that death smiles on you.”
And as a cry arose that seemed to erupt from everywhere at once, North Broadway exploded.
When he roused, Daniel heard only ringing. He was in the middle of the street, Lisa facedown on top of him. He tried to sit up to check her, but found his equilibrium too unstable to move.
“LISA!!” he screamed.
He was sure his mouth had formed the word, certain his throat had vocalized it. But he’d heard nothing. Nothing but the ringing.
Daniel raised a hand, wiped the sweat from his brow. Blood dripped from his hand, thanks to a gash above his wrist.