Just Cause Universe 3: Day of the Destroyer (36 page)

“Motherfucker!” Javelin yelled. He fumbled with his helmet and tore it off.

Simmons stepped forward and smashed Javelin across the jaw with the butt of his gun. The hero dropped like he’d been shot.

“What the fuck did you do?” Stull stared into the window at Harlan.

“I shorted out his armor by turning the engine into a magnetic pulse generator,” said Harlan. “It only worked once, but that ought to be enough.”

“You what?”

“I knocked out his armor. Your car ain’t going to be no good now though.” Harlan shrugged. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Simmons as he approached. “We can always get a replacement. We’re government. Nice work, kid.”

Harlan swelled with pride. “So what do we do with him?”

“He isn’t shit without his armor,” said Simmons. “Strip him, bind him, gag him, lock him in the trunk.” The two agents proceeded to do exactly that after removing the rest of their gear from the trunk. Harlan watched in glee as they dumped Javelin and shut the lid. These agents did things Harlan would love to do, and they had permission because they worked for the government.

“So what do we do now?” Harlan imagined himself in a suit like that. With a gun. Powerful.

“We stick with the plan,” said Simmons. “Joe gets up on the roof. I take cover. You wait here. When the Just Cause types show up, you try to get Gretchen away from them.”

“How do I do that?”

“Fuck, kid, you said you knew her. Think of something. Just get her clear from the others and leave the rest to us.”

“Okay.” Harlan wasn’t worried; he knew he’d think of something.

After all, he was brilliant that way.

#

The sun was still below the ocean horizon, but the eastern sky was beginning to turn creamy orange. John was a gray shadow against the lightening street as Tommy circled and descended beside him.

“Hey,” said John.

“How was it here?” asked Tommy.

“Crazy in the subways. Several were stuck between stations. I had to wrench doors open and lead people through the tunnels. I went through all my flashlight batteries. What’s been going on that’s so terrible up here in the surface world?”

“Bad things. Rioting and fires. Irlene’s little brother is some kind of techno-engineering genius. He built this giant walking tank thing and took it to the streets, burning buildings and tearing things up. He hurt Gloria and seriously damaged the Soldier before we got him.”

“Jesus Christ,” murmured John. “He’s how old?”

“Thirteen. Can you believe that? He kidnapped his youngest sister and may possibly have murdered his mother too.”

“Oh no. Please tell me he’s in custody.”

“He is, but not ours. The Feds chasing Gretchen Gumm claimed custody.”

John shook his head. “NYPD won’t like that.”

“Listen, I’ve been trying all night to go check on someone. That girl whose life I saved earlier was supposed to meet us at the game. Since she didn’t, I really want to go make sure she’s all right.”

John nodded. “Things seem to have calmed down somewhat. I expect people will go crazy again in a couple hours after the sun is up.”

Tommy yawned. “Don’t remind me. It’s been ages since I pulled an all-nighter.” He fumbled through his belt until he found Miranda’s address. “You know Queens better than me. This isn’t far, is it?”

John squinted at the address in the fading glow from Tommy’s flashlight. “Four blocks,” he decided. “It should be an apartment.”

The two men covered the distance at a brisk pace. The streets sat mostly deserted as the looters had retreated ahead of the sun. John’s heavy steps echoed off the brownstone buildings and those few storefronts that hadn’t yet been broken by looters, rioters, or vandals. Tommy blew the feet out from under one enterprising young man who labored under an armful of stereo equipment that he was liberating.

“Tommy.” John’s tone was reproachful.

“I’m just sick of them. All of them. People are assholes, John. They don’t appreciate us or what we do for them. They don’t appreciate our suffering on their behalf.”

“You’ve had a rough day. As soon as we check on your friend, I think you’d better get some real rest.”

Tommy shrugged. The exhaustion seemed to have solidified into his very bones, as if helping to support him. “Yeah, I will,” he said, unsure if he was lying to his best friend or not.

“Here, this is it.” John pointed to a building that looked like all the others on the street.

A hand-lettered sign was taped to the security door: Electric lock not working. Please do not shut. Thanks!

“Some people are far too trusting.” Tommy pushed the door open past the rock someone had set to prop it from closing. He shined his flashlight briefly across the mailboxes in the entryway and spotted
M. Kovnesky
on one.

“I’ll wait here,” said John. “I don’t trust the floors in these older buildings.”

Tommy went up to the third floor, hovering to keep his footsteps from disturbing anyone who might be sleeping. When he got to Miranda’s door, he hesitated. He didn’t want to disturb her if she was asleep, but his concern overrode common sense. He rapped his knuckles on the wooden door. “Miranda?” He couldn’t detect the sound of anyone stirring within, so he checked the doorknob.

It was unlocked.

He turned it and pushed. No chain was latched and the door swung open into the darkened apartment. “Miranda? It’s Tommy. Are you here?”

He moved inside. His dimming flashlight showed the clean apartment of someone obsessed with neatness, loaded with feminine touches: frilly curtains, houseplants, a Raggedy-Ann doll perched jauntily on a rocking chair in one corner. The air was perfumed, and the polished coffee table gleamed even in the dim light. “Miranda?”

He glanced into the bathroom. Spotless. Tommy liked to keep his own place clean, but Miranda took it to an entirely new level. Even her towels hung perfectly, like something in a four star hotel.

He found her in the bedroom. She lay on the bed in a chaste cotton nightgown. A faint acrid smell hung in the room, giving a sour tinge to the omnipresent perfume. Even in the stuffy heat of the air, Tommy felt a chill. “Miranda?” he asked once more, with fading hope. He cautiously touched her wrist. No pulse. Cool skin. On her nightstand, he saw an empty drinking glass beside an empty bottle of sleeping pills. Beneath them sat a folded piece of paper with the word Tommy written across it in flowing cursive.

With shaking hands, he pulled the paper free and shone his light on it.

You were wrong. I’m sorry. I wish you hadn’t saved me.

Tears of impotent rage rushed down his cheeks. He felt like a vise was squeezing his chest. Tommy’s heart pounded. The walls closed in on him. He needed to be free. He drew his power into himself, a tight angry ball of concentration. Then with a primal scream of fury, he flung it outward.

A blast of compressed wind exploded out from him and shattered the wall into dust. He stood for a moment, too wound up to be astonished. Then he flung himself out into the smoky sky with only his rage to propel him onward.

He heard John’s surprised bellow of “Tommy?” waft up after him, but pretended he hadn’t as he flew away.

#

Gretchen staggered and nearly fell. Only Shane’s arm around her waist kept her from tumbling to the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” said Shane.

“Are you all right?” asked Pony Girl. She was escorting the two of them back to the safety of Just Cause headquarters. Despite the difficult events of the day, she’d explained that it was still probably one of the safest places in the city.

Gretchen nodded. “I’m fine. Really done in, though. I’m so tired that even the curb is beginning to look soft and inviting.”

Pony Girl laughed. “Well, I’m sorry we have to walk, at any rate.”

Firefighters and police at the textile factory fire had offered them a ride, but Pony Girl had refused. She wouldn’t hear of one of them acting as a taxi service under such dire circumstances.

Unfortunately, the few real taxis still on the streets wouldn’t stop for them. Gretchen could understand why. The three of them were filthy. Soot had mixed with water and sweat to make a fine layer of black mud that stained their clothes, skin, and hair. Pony Girl’s costume was torn and her skin scratched. Gretchen wouldn’t have stopped for them either.

She’d reached that stage of exhaustion where she had a semblance of fresh energy. Although she trudged and staggered, her mind felt clear and sharp. Instead of yammering at her, the power was blessedly silent. She felt she had mastered it at last.

“Hey, Pony Girl?” she asked.

“Please, call me Faith.”

“Faith, then. I was thinking. You know how Audio, er, Bobby said he was making us part of Just Cause?”

“Yes?”

“Well, did he mean it?”

“I’m sure he did, Gretchen. He doesn’t make decisions lightly.”

“Good. Because I think I’d really like to stay part of it. The team, I mean.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve had so many things happen in the past couple of days. Everything’s moving so fast. I never even imagined myself with parapowers. Now that I have them, it felt really good to use them to help people instead of hurting them.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You guys have been so wonderful to me.” Gretchen squeezed Shane’s hand. “All of you. I want to stay here in New York. I want to return the favor.”

Pony Girl smiled. “It’s not always like this, you know. Most of the time it’s really boring. Occasionally we bust a mugger or drug dealer but besides that, it’s a lot of boring celebrity stuff. Autographs, parties, opening shopping centers.” Her smile grew wistful. “Being a superhero doesn’t mean what it used to.”

“Except days like today. Well, yesterday,” added Gretchen, since the sky was brightening. It felt like she had arrived in New York weeks ago.

They rounded the last corner and strolled onto the large plaza before the Twin Towers. Even though the sun hadn’t yet come up over the horizon, the very top floors glistened in the early morning light.

“What does it look like to see the sun rise from the top floor?” she asked Shane.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been up that high for sunrise.”

“Can we go soon?”

“You bet.”

“It’s amazing,” said Pony Girl. “Worth getting up well before the sun.”

“Or staying up all night,” added Shane with a yawn. “Christ, I could sleep for a day and a half.”

“We’ve got rooms at headquarters. You’re welcome to stay.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll catch a couple hours of sleep, but Con Ed is going to need every hand they can get to bring power back to this city.”

Pony Girl squeezed his arm. “You’re every bit as much a hero as anyone on the team.”

He grinned.

“Gretchen,” said a voice.

They all turned to see Harlan Washington standing by a bench.

Chapter Twenty-One

July 14, 1977, 5:00 AM

“Harlan!” said Faith in shock. She looked around but saw no sign of the Federal agents. She wondered if he had somehow escaped from them. If so, given his recent history of violence, she wouldn’t be surprised if they might already be dead. Regardless, he was a threat not yet contained and she had to do something, despite the weariness making her arms and legs leaden. She started forward.

A bullet cracked off the cement near her feet.

Faith froze. The shot had come from somewhere above her and to the right. A glance confirmed a shooter on a nearby rooftop. She saw the rising sun glint off his scope. It had to be one of the agents. “What is this?”

“We’re just after Gretchen,” said Harlan. “Release her and we’ll let you go.”

“She’s not our prisoner,” said Faith.

“I knew it!” cried Agent Simmons. Faith turned her head to see him flanking the group on the left. His pistol was out and aimed at her. She was fast, but even she couldn’t outrun a bullet. If he fired, she might dodge it, but that was a dicey proposition at best. “You goddamn superheroes and your liberal agendas. You’re going to let her go, aren’t you? She’s a murderer!”

“She’s a victim,” said Faith. “And according to the law, she’s also innocent until proven guilty.” Her voice lowered. “Unless you intend to take that law into your own hands, Agent Simmons.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Gretchen yelled.

“Gretchen, I realize you’re upset, but will you please shut up?” asked Faith. “There’s a sniper up there and he could shoot any of us at any moment.”

“Gretchen,” called Harlan. “Come on, just walk away from them and come here. You know me. I made that carousel for you.”

Faith clenched her teeth. “Simmons, why’s that kid free? What did you promise him?”

Simmons laughed. “Nothing that concerns you. You’re harboring a fugitive, Pony Girl. Far as I’m concerned, that voids your rights. Now you release Gumm into my custody or else we’re going to have a problem.”