Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (25 page)

Reggie staggered on behind him, her elephant clutched to her chest and tears running unabated down her dirty face. “Harlan,” she gasped. “I’m so tired. Where’s Momma and Irlene?”

“We’re almost there, Reg.” He pointed down the street. Past a couple burning cars on a block mostly empty of people because the tenements were uninhabited, the junkyard was a shadowy haven. “You’ll be safe there.”

They continued down the street without anyone hassling them. Harlan showed Reggie his secret entrance. He was careful to disengage his security measures; after all Reggie had done for him, it wouldn’t be right for his oversight to allow her to be killed.

After all, he’d promised to protect her.

Darkness bathed the junkyard. Only the stars overhead showed where the piles of crushed cars ended and the sky began. Reggie shrank against him. “It’s scary here.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got a generator stashed here. I can give you some light, but not too much because I don’t want anyone to come bother you.”

He took her to his Volkswagen Bus-turned-workshop. He shook out a blanket thrown onto a haphazard pile of shredded tires that he sometimes used as a cot. “You can lie down here. I have to take care of some things and then I’ll be back for you.”

“Are you going to find Momma?”

“I’ll try.” Harlan fired up the small generator he’d built from a Datsun motor. A pair of headlights hanging from the van’s roof began to glow. For the first time since leaving the house, Harlan could see the hollow look in Reggie’s eyes.

“Want to see what I built?” he asked.

Reggie nodded and yawned. Harlan went to his giant robot and pulled away the tarpaulins covering it. Like some great movie monster of old, the machine hunched down, folded in on itself, a chrysalis.

He unhooked it from the maintenance bank of batteries and bustled around it, sealing panels and ports with the aid of a flashlight from his tools. In spite of her exhaustion, Reggie watched him work with interest. “What is it?”

“My giant robot.” Harlan struggled and sweated over a recalcitrant fuel cutoff valve.

“What’s it called?”

Harlan paused. “Destroyer,” he said at last. It felt like the right name. If he’d had a bottle handy, he’d have smashed it across the suit’s torso in a christening.

“It looks scary.” Reggie popped a thumb into her mouth.

“It looks that way to keep people from messing with me,” said Harlan. “It’s to keep me safe while I’m inside it.”

“Oh. Are you going to use it to look for Momma?”

“Yes.” Harlan finished his exterior checks just in time; his flashlight was dying.

No reason to wait any longer. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now this is really important, Reg. You have to stay inside this van, because I’m going to turn on my security systems when I leave.”

“What’s secur’ty?”

“It’ll make sure nobody bothers you while I’m gone, but you have to stay in the van or else you might get hurt.”

She huddled down onto the blanket inside the workshop and stared wide-eyed at him. “Okay.”

Harlan climbed up the exterior ladder over the lower semi cab that housed the engines and hydraulics to operate the heavy, articulated legs. A turntable salvaged from a crawler crane separated the upper cab, from which dangled the four arms. Harlan’s questing fingers and toes found the familiar handholds even in the darkness. He perched on a narrow ledge and swung open the access door into the cockpit. A few lights blinked slow and regular to inform him the systems were standing by.

He pulled shut the door and dogged it tight with a lever handle from an industrial freezer. Even before he settled into the command chair, he started flipping a row of activation switches. Power systems. Hydraulics. Weapons. Environmental.

Cool, refreshing air from the scrubber system blew in Harlan’s face as he slipped his legs into the suit’s control sleeves and pulled a helmet down over his head. A tiny slide projector sent on-board data onto his visor so he didn’t have to look away from the video screens. The suit had no windows; windows could be breached. Nothing but layer upon layer of armor would be between Harlan and the outside world.

He grasped the joysticks, feeling the suit rumbling to life under his tutelage. All data showed systems nominal. The suit quivered like a racehorse before the bell as it awaited Harlan’s final command to make it operational. He thumbed the starter and two powerful Diesel engines roared to life beneath his feet.

The noise was staggering. He put
soundproofing
at the top of his list of improvements. The belt around his waist and hips supported enough of his weight that he could move his legs within the control sleeves. He engaged the twin clutches and flexed his legs. The suit rewarded him by lurching upward into a standing position, the stacked semi cabs supported by the heavy hydraulic legs.

He took a tentative step and the suit mimicked his movement, shifting forward several feet. Harlan laughed and moved the joysticks. The suit’s arms raised, lowered, and flexed, first as a unit and then each on their own.

The motion-sensitive cameras spotted Reggie and zoomed in on her. She clutched her elephant wide-eyed, but she didn’t look as afraid of the suit as she had the rioting outside.

He raised the suit’s grasping claw and waved at Reggie. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth long enough to wave back. Harlan smiled and thumbed on his external speakers.

“Stay here, Reg. I’ll be back soon.”

#

Sundancer lit up the inside of Shea Stadium like her namesake, twirling in the air like a ballerina. Tommy used gentle puffs of air to encourage fans to work their way out of the seats. When folks tarried too long, maybe to get one more eyeful of Sundancer’s lithe, nude form, John provided less-subtle encouragement by bellowing at them in his stentorian tones.

“Hey, you guys,” called Sundancer toward the Mets players who loitered in the dugout. “You could at least comp my tickets for the free show!”

“Far as I’m concerned, you can have free tickets for life,” shouted Joe Torre from the bench, to much laughter.

Tommy saw Faith and the new girl Irlene arrive at the stadium entrance. John waved at them and bellowed for them to come on inside, as Sundancer couldn’t safely leave without plunging the stadium back into darkness.

The five heroes congregated at the pitcher’s mound.

“How bad is it?” asked John as Faith passed out the radios and handed costumes to Tommy and Sundancer.

“Bad,” she said. “The entire city’s gone dark. Nobody knows anything. Phones are sporadic and we can’t get through to Con Ed. What we do know is we’ve got people looting and rioting all over town.”

“And starting fires too,” said Irlene.

“Christ,” said Tommy. “Why would people do that?”

“People are assholes,” said Sundancer. She pulled on her white and yellow fireproof leotard without modesty. After spending a good half hour floating naked over the crowd at Shea Stadium, she had nothing to hide.

“It’s getting worse,” said Faith. “Somebody took a shot at me while I was running. Obviously, he missed, but it’s chaos out there. Cops can’t get around because of traffic jams.”

“Which leaves us where?” Tommy shucked out of his shorts and gratefully pulled on his costume. He felt weird using his powers without the cape billowing around him.

“Under-staffed,” said Faith. “Tommy, you and John stay here in Queens. Gloria, head to Brooklyn. Do what you can. Check in with Bobby.”

“Wait, that’s it? We’ve got Queens? What the hell are the two of us supposed to do with a whole borough?” Tommy gaped at her.

Faith shrugged. “Your job. Be a hero.” She looked worried. “And we’ll see you later.”

“Where are you going?” From the sound of John’s voice, he’d also picked up on Faith’s concern.

“Harlem.” She sped out of the stadium with Irlene following close behind.

“Jesus Christ,” said Sundancer. Over the smell of stale popcorn and the grass of the outfield, all of them could smell the greasy soot of burning structures in the air. She flared up to brilliance. “Good luck, you guys.” Tommy felt heat wash across his face as she went incandescent and hurtled into the night sky like a living meteor.

John watched her fly away, and then turned to Tommy. “I’ll probably have to stay in the immediate vicinity. I’m just not quick enough to cover a lot of territory.”

Tommy snapped his fingers. “Subways. There will be people trapped in them. You’d be best at getting them out.”

“Good idea,” said John. “But I’ll be out of radio contact underground.”

“Well, just be sure to pop your head up once in awhile to check in,” said Tommy. He darted in like a hummingbird and brushed his lips against John’s cold stone cheek. In the darkness, nobody would see. “Be careful, my friend.”

John spluttered, surprised. “What was that for?”

“For luck,” said Tommy. His cape inflated like a parachute and the winds lifted him up and out of the stadium.

He circled once, looking for spots indicative of trouble. A few fires stood out in the darkness, but none looked very large and fire crews were already battling two. Tommy’s powers weren’t very effective at controlling or stopping fires. Wind tended to worsen a conflagration.

Looters, on the other hand, he could handle. He descended upon a block rife with broken storefronts. Shadowy figures rushed into the buildings and emerged with whatever treasures they found within.

Tommy floated over the intersection, high enough not to be struck by any passing vehicles, raised his hands, and concentrated.

Air pressure built in a column around him. Breezes swirled around his wrists and ankles. He forced the wind up the street. It gathered speed as it pushed outward from him, picking up accumulated grit and soot from weeks without rain. He increased the wind speed by gradual steps until a veritable gale tore up the street, sandblasting parked cars and people alike.

Looters shrieked and ran for cover. Tommy drifted along the street, pushing the wind before him like a snowplow. When he saw potential looters running into a shop, he used a concentrated air burst to knock them off their feet.

“Go home,” he shouted at people. “Stop destroying your neighborhood!”

Anyone who yelled back at him received a blast of air to the face, often sending them head over heels. Tommy had a lot of frustrations to work out and it felt good to cut loose with his powers. He swept the entire street clean of dust and debris, drifting back and forth to target any diehard looters. He knew the anarchy would start up again as soon as he flew away, but for a few minutes he felt he was doing some good by protecting this one stretch of street.

Since saving the whole city was beyond his abilities, he thought perhaps he could save one store, one life. That made him think of Miranda. She was the only person he knew who lived in Queens. He’d already made a difference in her life.

Maybe he could again.

#

Shane held Gretchen as she sniffled. The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up with her and her emotions were running wild.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not usually so weepy.”

“It’s all right,” said Shane. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“You’re so sweet.” She tilted her head back to kiss him. As their lips parted, she felt the day’s stresses melt away.

“I’d tell you to get a room, but it looks like you already did,” said an accented voice.

Gretchen jumped and spun around to see a leering Javelin leaning up against the doorjamb with his helmet tucked under one arm. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said. “I like to watch.”

Disgusted at Javelin’s lewd behavior, Gretchen leaned away from Shane. If she’d been back home, working the Diner, she’d have told him off like any other rude customer. But she didn’t feel like she could do that here, so she stayed quiet.

Javelin laughed. “I’m just playing with you.” He strode into the room. Despite his bravado and attitude, Gretchen could see he wasn’t feeling well at all. His skin had the pallor of sickness beneath the natural tan and his eyes were bloodshot . As he passed by Gretchen and Shane, she could smell the stink of alcohol on him even though he didn’t act at all like he’d been drinking. She knew people like that back in Dyersville, who’d spent so many years drinking that they seemed to sweat alcohol like they really had pickled their insides.

He flopped into a chair and threw his booted feet up onto the tabletop, marring the surface with his armor plating. “So,” he said. “You’re the big bad parahuman killer Bobby told me about.” He sniffed in disdain. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” began Shane.

“What are you going to do, pretty boy?” asked Javelin.

Gretchen put a hand on Shane’s chest. “Leave it. He’s just an asshole.”

Javelin smiled and held out his hands. “Guilty as charged. I guess I’m stuck watching you while the rest of the team is out saving the city. I’m Javier.”

“Gretchen. He’s Shane.”

“They tell me you killed some guy back in Iowa.” Javier inspected one of his armored gauntlets.