The Prospects (Book 2): Nothing Poorer Than Gods (23 page)

Those were her finest moments. This could be one too. Rage and honor engulfed her. She stood as well as could on a cast-encased leg, put her hands together, and with a thought made the air molecules around her heavier.

The air got cold enough to freeze the blood on the floor before a howling gust of wind filled the lobby. Chunks of stone and broken machine guns flew against the invaders as they struggled not to fall on the now-icy floor. Jets of fire flew back onto Icy Fingers' face as tips of icicles cut Backburner’s orange-and-red costume.

Flayer shot his whips out and caught the front desk’s top. All-Beef Patty flew into him. Her broad body caught wind like a sail and pushed him back onto the street.

Flayer pulled himself to the side of the door to dodge the tumbling bodies coming out. The villains, rendered mindlessly obedient by the stimoceiver microchips, tried to run back in.

“Fall back and wait.” Flayer grabbed Junkyard Kat. “Show me your claws.”

She popped her claws out.

Flayer took a Semtex bomb from the truck’s glove compartment and set the timer for one minute. “Go around the corner and climb to the closest window. Hold this against the corner of a metal sheet.”

Her face twitched in frustrated agony. She took the bomb, went around the corner, and climbed.

Puca felt nothing for New York City's tall impersonal skyscrapers and grid of streets. She pretended it was London. It was the only way she could ignore the coughing fits and sick feeling in her stomach.

London. Such a fragile city, an ancient place beneath modern layers. Every bomb she planted there wiped away centuries of history. Each explosion brought her homeland a step closer to freedom. But then the Irish Republic Army signed that stupid ceasefire. The Real IRA had no strategy or plan, but she still had the overwhelming urge to blow things up.

She held the bomb and kept count while enduring another coughing fit. For four years the new body she got from the Hander was perfectly healthy. The sensation of being sick was strange to her.

Her mouth filled with the tang of blood. This really wasn’t good.

The last bomb had four seconds left on it. She counted a beat and pressed the timer’s start button.

The counter read zero-ten.

Something flashed past her.

Deon kicked up a cloud of dust when he stopped. “She has a bomb!”

“Ya soddin’ wog.” Without depositing the bomb she teleported herself up and over to the nearest roof. She coughed again. Her mental count told her the bomb had nine seconds left.

Had Puca looked, she would’ve seen her bomb didn’t have an eight on the timer. It had a one.

It exploded.

Deon held the bomb that he snatched from Puca's hands while she coughed. He took off running before parts of Puca rained over the city.

The timer showed zero-zero-two when he reached the Hudson River. Without stopping he threw it overhand. It made a small splash before it exploded. The burst of cold water drenched Deon.

He was exhausted. He used most of his energy running around in Vijay's brain. Chasing down Puca took all he had left.

He looked back at New York City. Sure, it was loud and filthy and expensive and full of idiots, but it was his home. This is where his family and his friends lived. He had to help them.

He found enough strength to run through the Lincoln Tunnel at a hundred miles-per-hour.

Gary hadn't been to the basement of Griffin Tower before. He had no idea why there was a big empty room with a mirrored wall in front of him or a smooth circular hole through another wall.

A burst of machine gun fire followed by a man’s shout: “That’s the last gun. Charge!”

“Mrs. O’Farrell?” He ran down the hallway opposite of the LED lights. “Where are you?

A deafening howl of wind drowned his words.

Gary opened each door. He only saw unmade beds. The door at the end of the hallways was locked.

He was far enough from the rush of wind to hear Emily say on the other side of the door, “Go away or I’ll shoot.”

“It’s Gary. I want to take you to a safe place.”

“Aren’t you the bug-eyed freak who took me hostage?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

The whistling of wind overhead stopped.

Gary knew enough about guns to recognize the click of a hammer hitting an empty chamber. He dropped to the ground. “Don’t shoot! I’m trying to help you.”

“Go away.” A few more clicks. “Why won’t this stupid thing fire?”

“Is it loaded?”

“I put a clip in it.”

“Is the safety on?”

“I know how to turn that off.”

“What kind of gun is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s one of Alex’s rifles.”

“Maybe it has a bolt release button. Try pressing that.”

“Why are you helping me? If I get this thing to work, I’ll shoot you.”

“And if I were you, I’d want to shoot me too. I’m sorry about what happened upstairs.”

“You are one strange bug-man.”

Gary pulled out his wallet. “I’m going to show you something. Look at it. Please.”

A small faded photo slid under the door. Cautiously, Emily touched it with her foot and brought it closer.

The picture showed a smiling man and woman, both well dressed. Between them was a skinny black-haired boy in a yarmulke and a tallit. It took Emily a second to notice he had the same nose and mouth as Gary.

“That’s from my bar mitzvah a few years ago,” said Gary. “I've changed a lot since then and every day I change a little more. I don’t know when I’m going to stop mutating, but no matter what I look like I will remember who I am.”

“You’re just a kid,” said Emily.

“When I grow up, I want to be alive. Please, trust me to take you to the bunker. You can bring the gun. We’ll all be safer if you do.”

Emily slowly opened the door. The AR-15’s barrel poked out of the gap.

Gary peeked up. “The bolt release button is right over the magazine. Press that and it’ll load the first round.”

She put the safety back on, slung the rifle over her shoulder, and picked up Calvin. “Where is the bunker?”

“Past the elevators. We’ll follow the LED lights on the ceiling. Can I get that picture back? It means a lot to me.”

Lou sat next to Joey when Gale Force let out a battle cry and created her howling gust of wind.

Ujimushi grabbed a pen next to the notepad on the tray near his bed with his uncuffed hand. He snapped the clip off and shoved it between the cuff’s teeth and locking mechanism. After a click, the clip held the locking mechanism down enough for him to pull his hand free.

Lou growled when Ujimushi rolled out of the bed. He bared his fangs and snapped when Ujimushi got to his feet.

“Bad doggie,” Ujimushi said as he sprang past Lou and spun around. When it was clear Lou wasn’t chasing him, he ran for the elevator.

The doors to the elevator shaft were still open. Ujimushi heard Gale Force say, “I need to catch my breath. That’s the most wind I’ve ever made.”

Bosillos’s teeth chattered. “It’s freakin’ freezing. I can see my breath. That ain’t right.”

“Side effect of my powers. I didn’t count on freezing the spilled blood, but it sure helped. Why aren’t they coming in?”

“You beat ‘em, I guess.”

“But they're just standing outside like zombies.”

“Maybe you ain’t got enough brains to make ‘em hungry.’”

“You’re really annoying, Bosillos.”

“But you’re stuck with me,
gorda
.”

“I told you to stop calling me that. I know what it means.”

“How? You’re Japanese or something.”

“I’m third-generation Taiwanese-American. I took Spanish in high school.”

Ujimushi ran down the stairs. If he could get past the elevator, he could make it back to the emergency exit - which was probably blocked by a wall of steel, like every other door and window. Well, except for the front door, but that was crowded by attackers crazy enough to run into machine gun fire.

He kept going, with no plan of escape in mind.

Junkyard Kat’s hand trembled. She couldn't stop herself from pushing the bomb against the border of a steel slab.  The counter flashed zero-zero-two.

Beads of sweat weighed down her teased mane. Her teeth chattered. She had rebelled against authority her whole life, but she couldn't overcome the stimoceiver. The microcircuitry inside that small square of silicon bombarded her brain with electricity.

The counter read zero-zero-one when her claws slipped out of the mortar. She landed in a dumpster.

The bomb stayed on the top rim of the steel sheet. It exploded right after she fell into an open dumpster.

Flayer ran around the corner. He dug his whips around the ripped top of the top of the steel sheet and coiled them. When the hole was wide enough, he pulled himself through it.

He ran to the second-story elevator doors and ripped them open. Jenny had nowhere to go when he swung a chain at her.

Gale Force’s terrified scream, Bosillos’s Spanish curses, and the zing of metal whipping against metal echoed through the basement.

Over the noise they heard Flayer yell, “Charge,” followed by footsteps.

Gary stopped. “They’ll kill her. I have to help.”

Emily unslung the rifle and handed it to him. “Good luck.”

Gary pressed the bolt release button, turned off the safety, and half-flew up the stairs.

His huge compound eyes collected many images simultaneously. Everything moved in in discrete images from the past to the future. He didn’t need the rifle’s site because he could establish distance without losing clarity. He shot the kneecaps out from the woman with a bone-spike mohawk, and then the woman with metallic dreadlocks' feet, and crippled three more villains before his rifle’s hammer clicked against nothing.

“Only a ten-round clip?”

Flayer wrapped his chain around Gale Force’s arm. Her sleeve ripped as he constricted to keep from flying away. He put the microphone to his mouth. “Kill the shooter.”

Gale Force created a burst of wind strong enough to tear the microphone from his chilled fingers.

Bosillos crouched in a corner. The microphone flew up, hit a beam, and landed on his head.

Ujimushi ran down the stairs. He crept along lobby's wall toward the front entrance.

Gary walked backwards down the stairs. He almost crumpled his wings when he backed into Emily.

“Here.” She handed him a magazine.

Gary loaded the new magazine and kept shooting.

Bosillos grabbed the microphone and shouted, “Fuck off!”

Every villain who could still walk did an about-face and ran. The crippled ones crawled as fast as they could.

Ujimushi dashed for the front entrance, where the villains formed a writhing mob as they wrestled to be the first out. All-Beef Patty threw everyone aside with no trouble. Ujimushi jump-kicked her in the spine and dove for an opening. He would’ve made it if All-Beef Patty didn’t grab his ankle and fling him back into the lobby.

Flayer shot his second chain at Bosillos. Gale Force rubbed her free arm on the elevator cable and then rubbed the grease on the chain around her other arm. She slid her arm out and use her power to turn the elevator into a wind tunnel.

Flayer rose several stories before he passed the open door to the medical ward. He caught the open door with his chain and pulled himself in.

Billy Two rammed into his lower back. He turned in time to see Lou charging at him with his claws and fangs bared.

Lou was in mid-air when Griffin Tower shook hard enough to knock Flayer off his feet.

Outside, Magna landed with enough force to leave a crater in front of the lobby.

Blisters covered Pinwheel’s hands. They hurt too much to hold any more energy for another flash. Marigold buried her face in his leg.

Kayleigh’s gloves stopped crackling. The capsaicin capsules in her bracers were empty and there were none left in her belt. Cantrip shivered at her feet.

The villains moved in for the kill.

“This is our final scene,” said Pinwheel.

“No one’s going to kill me and live,” said Knockout Rose.

The villains rushed forward. Knockout Rose punched furiously. Pinwheel kicked but lost his balance and fell next to Marigold, who clung to him.

Then came the dry cracks of pistols and the loud bang of a shotgun. The villains between them and the hospital scattered. Behind them were the four MAB agents who were guarding Noah.

“The cavalry has arrived,” said Pinwheel.

One agent fired Alex’s shotgun. “Get down!”

Pinwheel and Knockout Rose ducked as the agents opened fire.

“Over here,” shouted the second agent.

The villains scattered. Pinwheel helped Marigold to her feet. Knockout Rose carried Cantrip.

“Back to the hospital,” said the third agent.

The forth agent looked up. “Is that Stormhead?”

Streaks of lightning rained down on the remaining villains.

The Handler wiped blood from his nose and watched the news. He ignored the pain and focused on where each truck was and how much longer it would be until the superheroes started storming his shell companies.

That took so much time he didn’t keep up on the incoming reports from his spyware network. It was too much for one man to coordinate at once. He needed an assistant. He wished Portia had accepted his offer. Or maybe he should’ve kept Flayer for his problem-solving skills to be useful. But the first casualty of any war is always the plan. As long as he stayed true to his strategy, he’d win.  

One monitor showed Magna standing in a crater outside of Griffin Tower. Another showed Stormhead throwing lightning at the scattering villains.

“But they were supposed to come here.” He tapped his keyboard. No new information came in from Griffin Industries. No desperate phone calls. No incoming messages. Not even any internet browsing.  

He grabbed his phone and sent a message to everyone in the second wave: MOVE.

His monitors showed Malone standing in front of his men outside of Boston. He didn’t check his phone. The ones near Philadelphia bickered. The ones in Baltimore fought among themselves.

“Why aren’t you going?” The Handler studied the New York hideout’s image. No one moved even slightly. The picture was frozen. He didn’t see the joint-strike team of MAB and FBI agents that arrested everyone.

The lights went out in Boston. There were a few flashes of gunfire that showed the outline of a long coat. 

The lights came back on. Midnight Rider stood in a cloud of smoke. All around him were defeated mercenaries. Malone himself stood with his back to the camera and his hands held in surrender.

“But how?” The Handler checked the Boston news. Wayne Penobscot was still trapped at the charity banquet at the Langham Hotel. A reporter said, Midnight Rider has not appeared in Boston, but Liberty Boy, Minute-Girl, and other associates of his have the situation under control.”

The Handler looked at the monitor for the mercenaries’ hideout. He read Midnight Rider’s lips: “Your employer won’t pay you another cent. Work for me, you will be compensated.”

Malone nodded.

The Handler punched the keyboard. “Machiavelli was right about mercenaries. They really are useless and dangerous.”

A screen showed the Lords of Baltimore land in the Inner Harbor. The next screen showed the Philly Freedom Fighters sweep through Broad Street. The next screen showed the DC Defenders standing on the National Mall, apparently disappointed because they had nothing to do.

“It’s over,” said familiar voice behind him.

The Handler froze. “Deputy Director Knapp. You recognized me.”

“I had to find the only person I couldn’t.”

“How long has it been?”

“Since I told you to shut down Project Cold Warrior.”

“I promised to preempt threats to this nation. Everything I’ve done is to that end.”