Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (14 page)

#

It’s one thing to talk about the sewers, thought Gretchen, and another to actually be under the city streets with flashlights and rats and God-knows-what flowing past in the trough next to the narrow ledge where she stood. Shane had a junction box open and was checking connections as Gretchen held a flashlight over his shoulder. She kept jumping at noises.

“I’m sorry,” she said after the fourth time. “It’s just that I’ve never…”

“It’s okay,” said Shane. “It’s a different world down here.” He grunted as he stretched to check another connection.

“Is it true that there are alligators down here? Or snakes?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Everybody’s heard that, but I never saw anything worse than some big goddamn rats, cockroaches, and spiders.”

“
Spiders
?”

Shane laughed. “Once in awhile.” He shut the junction box. “Not a damn thing in there. Problem must be in the wiring.”

He shone his light upward, following electrical conduits up the wall. Cockroaches skittered away from the beam. Then the yellow beam illuminated a furry body with glowing crimson eyes and sharp teeth. The rat perched high up, screamed at him and jumped for his face. ”Whoa!” he yelled and slipped on the slick stone. His circuit tester plunked into the flowing water.

The power leaped from Gretchen to protect her friend. A muffled thump and a wet sound came from the attacking rat.

“Shit,” said Shane as he stood up. “I lost my tester. Did you see that fucking rat? I was going to be its Meals on Wheels.” With shaking hands, he lit a cigarette. “Are you okay?”

Gretchen wasn’t okay; she was shaking like a leaf in a gale and biting her knuckles in dismay, hyperventilating.

“Gretchen? It’s okay. The rat’s gone. Don’t be upset.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly, as if he didn’t know how to console someone.

“I’m sorry,” she said as tears welled in earnest. “I was so scared and it jumped at you and I didn’t know what else to do because I thought it would kill you down here and then I’d be all alone.” She turned into him, buried her face against his grimy shirt, and sobbed.

His arms encircled her and he held her as she cried, making hushing sounds and stroking her hair until she calmed down. “Hey, uh, it’s okay. It was just a sewer rat. No harm done.”

She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He paused. “What exactly did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you didn’t know what else to do, so you must have done something.”

Wordlessly, she stepped back and swung the flashlight beam down until it centered on a bloody mass of bone, meat, and fur that might have once been a rat.

“Shit,” said Shane slowly, drawling it out like a Southerner. “What happened to it? It looks like it was torn apart.”

“It was me,” whispered Gretchen. “It was going to bite you. I stopped it.”

“How? You didn’t even move.”

“I made all the air inside it disappear.”

“The
air
?”

She shrugged. “Air in its lungs, its intestines, its stomach.”

“And you made it all just go away?”

“Yes. That’s my parapower. I just discovered it.”

“What’s left when you destroy the air?”

“Nothing.”

Shane scratched under the edge of his hard hat. “Nothing? You mean like a vacuum?”

“I think so.”

“And that’s what tore the rat apart.” He hunched down to get a better look. “That’s crazy, man. You could really mess someone up if you did that.”

“Shane, I kind of did.”

He took a step back. “You what?”

“He was hurting me. I just wanted him to stop. That was all. I n-never wanted t-to…” Fresh tears tracked clean lines down the grime on her face.

“Oh, shit. Shit. I’m sorry.”

“And you’ve been so decent to me when you barely even know me,” said Gretchen.

Shane smiled at her. “That’s just how I am. And you’ve been good company today.” He looked down at the rat carcass. “And there was this guy. He might have bit me if not for you. That makes you a hero in my book.”

Gretchen smiled up at him. “Me, a hero?”

“Sure. Hey, shine that light back up there again.”

Gretchen did so and gasped as she saw a gnawed rat carcass beside a broken conduit sprouting frayed wiring like rust-colored weeds. Shane crowed with success. “There’s the bastard. I thought I saw something right before that other fellow jumped at me. There’s something about the wire insulation the rats love. They chewed on it until one of them hit the jackpot.”

“So we can fix it?” asked Gretchen.

“We sure can.” Shane looked down at her and she up at him for a long moment that she was sorry had to end.

Chapter Eight

July 13, 1977, 4:00 PM

The shriek of the Steel Soldier’s afterburners was only partially muffled by the sealed evacuation stretcher tube in which she rode. When the Soldier rescued injured victims, he had two of the aerodynamic units, which he could lock onto his arms. They were better than a helicopter for rapid transport of victims to the hospital.

They made for lousy air travel, though. Faith winced at the pounding in her temples from the roar of the jets. She wished she hadn’t been so eager to pursue the investigation lead, but she’d seen how the Feds were handling the case. They’d already made up their minds on what had happened in Dyersville, and moved onto their manhunt in New York. Faith hoped to gain some insight into Gretchen Gumm’s personality and perhaps learn something to find her before the short-sighted and trigger-happy Feds did.

“How you holding up?” called Faith into her radio.

Sundancer rode in the tube carried in the Soldier’s opposite arm. The two women were the lightest members of Just Cause, which allowed the Soldier to maximize his thrust. “I’m just great,” she complained. “This was a lovely idea.”

“It’s better than babysitting Javier,” Faith said.

”True. God, I can’t stand that man. And I use the term loosely.”

“Did you ever, you know, sleep with him?”

“God, no. There isn’t enough booze in the world for me to give it up to him. Not for lack of effort on his part.”

Faith laughed. “We’d better make sure Irlene stays away from him. He’ll have her out of that costume faster than even I could do it.”

That made Sundancer laugh.

“Did you ever sleep with anyone else on the team?” asked Faith. “There’s not a lot to choose from. Javier’s an asshole. Tommy’s gay. I hope you never slept with Bobby. Steel’s a robot—no offense, buddy.”

“None taken. This is an interesting conversation,” rumbled the Soldier over the speakers.

“Hey, speaking of that,” said Faith, “I don’t mind you listening in, but this is a private conversation, so don’t repeat any of it, all right?”

“Of course.”

“Which leaves John and Rick,” said Sundancer. “John doesn’t seem to have any libido. Not that he’s my type. But Rick… Yeah, we slept together once. How about you?”

Faith spluttered. She hadn’t expected to be asked that. “I’m married,” she said at last.

“That never stopped anyone. I’ve seen how you and Rick look at each other.”

“We don’t… I mean, we haven’t… I mean, what was he like, in bed?”

“Furry,” said Sundancer with a giggle. “That tawny fur covers every inch—and I do mean every inch. It’s very soft. And his tongue is raspy, like a cat’s. If he’s careful, it’s lovely.”

“Oh my.” Faith felt herself blush.

“He’s pretty aggressive, but I don’t mind that.” Sundancer sounded wistful over the speaker.

“How come you didn’t stay together?”

“Oh, Faith, it wouldn’t have worked with us being on the same team, and we both know it. It was fun once, but it’s better in every way that we find our partners elsewhere.”

“Do you think it’s bad that Bobby and I are married?”

“No. You guys were together long before you joined Just Cause. Didn’t you meet at Woodstock or something?”

“Close. We stole his father’s car to go to the concert,” said Faith. “I was fifteen. He was seventeen and the most handsome boy I’d ever seen.”

“He’s still a fox,” said Sundancer. “Not that I’d ever sleep with him. I respect you more than that.”

“I estimate our time of arrival in Dyersville to be ten minutes,” reported the Soldier.

“Thank God,” said Faith. “I need to pee!”

“Urine will not harm the interior of the stretcher pods,” said the Soldier.

“You’re not helping, Steel.”

The Soldier dropped down in altitude, cruising in over fields of wheat, corn, and soybeans. Sparse clumps of trees huddled together, hiding farmhouses and barns. The hiss of the pods’ air conditioning stopped as the Soldier shed speed. Exterior vents opened and Faith could smell the sweet scent of the fields tinged with the tang of fertilizer and silage.

“How are your power levels after that flight, Steel?” asked Faith. “You’ve got to be running on fumes.”

“My engines are cadmium-powered ion drives and do not ever run on fumes, but I am utilizing reserve power. I will require time to recharge from the local grid.”

“Then you better set us down here,” said Faith. “We can get into town on our own power and you can plug into one of those transmission lines. We’ll keep our radios on open transmit so you can monitor us in case we need you.”

“That is a sound plan.” The Soldier deployed braking flaps and touched down beside a road as lightly as a bird. He popped open the pods and the two women gladly tumbled out.

“Holy smokes!” cried a voice. Faith looked and saw a middle-aged man in overalls and a straw hat astride a horse. “Martians!” He spat a glob of brown spittle. “Or Russkies, mebbe?”

“No, sir. We’re the good guys.” Faith crossed her knees. “Can we please use your bathroom?”

The farmer scratched his head under his hat. “Well,” he said slowly. “I s’ppose.”

“You are a wonderful man,” said Sundancer with a radiant smile that glowed even in the afternoon sunlight. “Is it okay if we plug in our robot here?”

“Well,” said the farmer again. “I s’ppose.”

#

His pocket full of half a dozen blade-wands, Harlan collected what he’d begun to refer to as his magnetic crossbow and slipped out of the Parts Room. Gonsalvo had his entire torso buried in the Datsun’s engine compartment as he tried to loosen a recalcitrant spark plug. Harlan didn’t disturb him and instead headed out to the vacant lot behind the shop. At various times over the years, the lot had been used as a dump, a vagrants’ campground, a garden, and a burial ground for dead pets. Gonsalvo didn’t own the land, but a lot of larger pieces which he didn’t have space for in the Parts Room sat out in the dry weeds, slowly rusting into oblivion.

Harlan didn’t go into the back lot very often. Most of the parts there were ruined and useless to him compared to the treasure trove of the Parts Room. He wouldn’t touch the twisted, stunted vegetables that grew wild amid the weeds and oil slicks, and the corner with its little pet headstones freaked him out. The back lot bordered a pawnshop on one side and on the other a
taquería
, which Harlan had never felt brave enough to try. The high fence around most of the lot should give him ample privacy for his work.

He scouted around the terrain until he found the best angle to hit the nearby overhead power lines. The magnetic crossbow had a small kick when it fired, so he sought a spot where he could brace himself. A rusting hulk from the front end of a De Soto proved to be a suitable location. He hunched down, laid the barrel across the hood, and took careful aim.

Harlan’s first shot whistled high, arching up and out until he couldn’t see it sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun any longer. He wondered where it would come down and what it might do when it did, but not enough to care who it might hit. He reloaded the weapon and aimed once more, taking into account the blade-wands’ tendency to waver mid-flight. With the next press of the trigger, he was rewarded with a blue flash as the wand severed one of the overhead lines.

Harlan crowed his success. He’d hit the first line with his second shot, which left him four tries to hit the second. Perhaps he’d have a couple left over to rework with vertical stabilizers. He ignored the spitting wire as it twisted among the dirt and weeds of the back lot and took aim once again.

He missed with his third and fourth shots, and began to think he’d had beginner’s luck. The problem with the gun’s effectiveness was that he couldn’t pick up missed shots to reuse them. As aerodynamic as the blade-wands were, they could fly as far as several blocks and he’d have no way to find them again. He considered ways to track down misses as he squinted along the barrel, trying to place the sight right over the power line.

“Harlan, what the hell are you doing?”

Harlan whirled, ready to berate someone for interrupting his work. Gonsalvo stood by the shop door, gaping at him, his mouth moving without voice. He braced himself with one hand against the door frame and with the other felt at the length of copper welding wire, which emerged from his throat.