Shades of Gray (35 page)

It takes a moment for Garth to remember that he’s wearing a black trencher and black ski mask, probably looking more like a criminal than a wannabe hero. Maybe he’ll rethink the costume idea. “Sir, I’m here to help. Do you need an ambulance?”

The man considers his wounds, then shakes his head. “Did you stop him? Elephant Man?”

“He’s outside.”

“Tied up? Unconscious?”

“Well. No. Not exactly. He’s sort of fighting another former hero for your stuff.”

The man lets out a truly impressive curse.

“Sorry,” Garth says. “It’s my first fight.”

“You should reconsider the day job.” The man tries to get up, then groans and lies back down.

“I’ll call the police,” Garth says. “Phone?”

The man weakly motions to the broken counter.

Garth hobbles over, picking his way around the broken glass. Spying the phone, he reaches down for it … and sees the baseball bat half-buried in the debris on the floor.

Oh yeah.

Walking out of the pawnshop, Garth tosses the phone to the battered man and tells him to call nine-one-one. Outside, the two rabids are still trading blows. They’ve drawn a cautious crowd of onlookers, all of whom look ready to bolt in a heartbeat. None of them are trying to step in or look in on the man whose store was being robbed. Garth isn’t really surprised. Elephant Man and the Ram are pretty damn frightening. Each time a punch connects is like a small peal of thunder.

He creeps forward, quiet as the mouse Elephant Man had called him. He brings up the bat. And he actually grins. Maybe he is just an extrahuman wannabe. But he’d been the home-run king for the Middlewood Hornets junior and senior year.

It occurs to him, as he takes the first swing, that a real hero wouldn’t hit someone from behind.

But then, he’s no hero.

Final score: Garth 2, rabids 0.

He doesn’t stick around for the official collar. But when he gets back to the apartment, Terry and the others throw an impromptu party. And when they get the news that finally,
finally,
some of the Latents are coming through and making their way to New Chicago to help, then Garth allows himself to get good and drunk.

No, they have no idea what they’re doing. But hell, doing something is worlds better than doing nothing.

CHAPTER 48

JET

Hypnotic’s power is more insidious than the other Mentalists’. Or perhaps it is not the ability but the skill behind it. Other Mentalists are grade-schoolers with scissors; he is a surgeon—focused, precise, and, at times, surprisingly creative. Aaron and I both are certain his is the power we need to mimic if we’re ever to get the Squadron under control.

—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #57

T
wo big differences from when Jet had approached Hypnotic’s hideout a few days earlier: one, this time there were about a hundred people standing outside of the abandoned building, staring blankly, unmoving. And two: Jet was waiting until she and the others were in place before going in, no matter how worried she was about Iridium.

Jet and Frostbite touched down simultaneously. As she absorbed the Shadow floater, he walked up to the nearest civilian and waved a hand in front of the woman’s eyes. No reaction. He snapped his fingers, but still nothing.

“No one’s home,” he said.

“Look at them all.” Jet stared at a group of entranced normals, some in business suits, some in more relaxed garb, a few in workout clothing. “They couldn’t have all just been walking here when they fell under his power.”

“Think Hypnotic summoned them?”

“Maybe. Snared them with his mental mojo, then directed them here.”

“To do what? Be lawn gnomes?”

Looking at a young girl, frozen hand in hand with a woman in a professional unisuit, Jet sighed. “Hostages.”

“We can get EMTs here to clear them out.”

“And what if his Mental wave or however his power works broadcasts again and they get snared also? More hostages.” She navigated her way through the living statues, but once she was within three meters of the door, the zombies lurched forward.

Jet halted, her arms out, ready to call up a graymatter shield. But there was no need; as soon as she stopped heading toward the entrance, the normals stood still, their arms loose at their sides, their eyes white.

“Creepy,” said Frostbite. “A living motion detector.”

“Better than trip wires.”

“Not really. I can make an ice bridge over trip wires.”

“So make an ice bridge onto the roof,” a man’s voice called out from above. “See if they secretly have ice picks up their sleeves.”

Jet looked up to frown at Taser, seated on his hover. Steele rode behind him, her arms loosely draped around his waist.

“About time,” Jet said.

“Hey, I’m impressed you actually waited, honey. Usually it’s the guy who shoots off too fast, but you superdames are more cocksure than a locker room full of wrestlers. By the way, I love the new look. It’s sexy.”

And damn it all to Darkness if Jet didn’t feel her cheeks heat.

“Are you going to banter all day,” Steele said sharply, “or are you going to park this thing so we can help?”

“Oh look, a spot.” Taser gunned the engine before he parked the hover directly across the street from Hypnotic’s lair.

Frostbite shook his head as Steele and Taser walked over to him and Jet. “You worried the meter maid’s gonna ticket you?”

“I don’t fancy zombies scratching my paint job.”

Jet tuned them out as she tapped Ops on her earpiece and let Meteorite know that the four of them were gathered and would be entering the building. “I’ll keep the channel open so you can hear what’s happening. From what I’ve seen, his power is based on both sight and proximity. You’ll be safe.”

“Good luck,” Meteorite replied, her voice stripped of her usual snark.

“Thanks.” She turned to face the others. “Frostbite, you can clear us a path to the door. Once we’re inside, keep your eyes covered. He likes to use light to capture your attention. We’ll go in, get Iridium and the others, and get out.”

“We have to take him out,” Steele said gruffly, staring past the bespelled citizens, her gaze boring a hole through the door.

“We don’t want a repeat of the Manhattan Siege,” Frostbite said. “I’m with Jet. In and out. Rescue our own, regroup.”

Steele tightened her jaw. “He can’t be allowed to stay free. He’s too dangerous.”

“He let us go last time,” Taser said. “Doubt we’ll be so fortunate the second time.”

The large woman stared at the mercenary, her eyes glittering. Then she went metal, her flesh transforming into living steel. “Fine,” she grunted, turning back to the door. “Let’s do this.”

Jet and Frostbite exchanged a look. He mouthed: I’ve got her back. Jet nodded once.

“Okay,” Frostbite said. “One ice tunnel coming up.”

He squatted down, placing one hand on the sidewalk. Ice spread from his fingers, stretching its way toward the front door, sliding under the humans. Once it touched the door, it slowly expanded outward, gently pushing people out of its way as it formed a covered path. None of the zombies reacted. Jet assumed they’d been programmed to block the door to prevent only uninvited guests from entering.

Jet noticed the sweat beading on Frostbite’s brow, saw the small tremor in his fingers. He’d been out of the field too long; before this week, the most he’d used his power in six years was to make homemade Slushies. The ice path gleamed in the morning light, beautiful and fragile as a rose in winter.

Come on, Derek the Dork. You can do it. Get us in there to save Callie.

Frostbite was sweating freely now, his brow furrowed in concentration. The walls of the covered path thickened, and thickened again. More zombies were nudged aside.

“Just a little more,” Jet said.

He grunted, perhaps agreeing with her or telling her to fuck off.

“Jet.”

She glanced over at Steele. “Yes?”

“Where’s Firebug?”

Jet considered lying, something small and harmless, like she’d overdone the croissants and was doubled over on the can. But Jet was a horrible liar; Iridium had always been the one who could smoothly talk her way out of anything.

Almost anything,
Jet thought, sliding a glance at the nearest zombie. Was Callie like that, standing like a child’s doll, waiting to be used? Jet’s lips pressed together tightly as she imagined Iri reduced to a mindless puppet. Was she unconscious? Hurt?

Worse?

The sound of Hornblower’s agonized scream reverberated in Jet’s mind, his leg pulled off at the knee.

“She’s back at headquarters,” Jet replied coldly.

Confusion in her eyes, Steele asked, “Was she hurt?”

“No.”

Comprehension dawned on her metallic face. Her eyes wounded, she turned away from Jet.

Another minute, then Frostbite was done. He sat down hard on his ass and mopped his blue hair from his eyes with a shaking hand.

“Nice job,” Taser said, whistling. “You make sculptures for weddings?”

“Frostbite, stay here to guard our flank,” Jet said crisply. “Steele, you take the door. Let’s go.”

“Good plan,” Frostbite said, smiling briefly. “Scream if you need me.”

The three of them walked down the ice path, Steele leading the way, Jet behind her, and Taser bringing up the rear. Peripherally, Jet saw the normals launching themselves at the tunnel, then sliding down the walls to the ground. Some of them beat at the ice with their hands and arms, but Frostbite had done his job well: The tunnel stood, and the three of them made it to the door without having to fight any of the innocents.

Steele grabbed the door handle and turned it. When nothing happened, she grunted, took a step back, and then leveled a kick at the door. It slammed open.

The three heroes entered Hypnotic’s lair … and saw dozens of costumed extrahumans standing like discarded toy soldiers, their eyes blank. Jet’s gaze roamed over them, identifying numerous Squadron soldiers and a handful of known villains.

There, off to the right: a tall man, radiating confidence to the point of arrogance, even with his eyes blinded by Hypnotic’s power. Arclight.

And by his side stood his only child, her stance as arrogant as his—her eyes also white on white, lost in Hypnotic’s spell.

Iridium.

Jet took a step toward them, Iri’s name on her lips.

“Why, Joan, how lovely it is to see you again.”

She spun left, and there he was, still in his prison grays: Doctor Hypnotic, smiling benignly.

“And look, you brought guests. Children,” he said loudly, “go play.” He snapped his fingers.

And that was when all the entranced extrahumans attacked.

CHAPTER 49

IRIDIUM

Out of all of the children I’ve created, the only ones who scare me—really terrify me—are the Mental powers. If they realized their abilities … who knows what they could do?

—Matthew Icarus, diary entry, undated

S
he had saved another hostage, beaten another villain. People were cheering and Bruce was waiting with open arms. Bruce was always there, but lately Iridium had felt alone even when he was with her.

Even when she was in a crowd of admirers, lining up to see the Hero of New Chicago.

Iridium knew that she didn’t have any friends besides her husband. Her loving husband. Who’d been talking about kids.

Iridium put him off, though. She couldn’t tell anyone, least of all her perfect husband, about the voices.

How they whispered, anytime she was in the dark.

Dimly, Iridium recalled that she’d had a friend who was afraid of the Dark.

Then the thought slipped away from her, like it always did. The thoughts about her father, about the Darkness, about friends she’d never known.

This was what she wanted, underneath everything. The thing she’d never gotten the chance to be with Corp—a hero. A real one.

Iridium shivered as she stepped away from the crowd. The sun was coming down, but she was freezing. Freezing cold. Her friend had always been cold.

Jet. Her name was Jet.

“Jet,” Iridium whispered.

Bruce cocked his head. “What was that, sweetie?”

Jet and Bruce. Together. Kissing.

“You … you slept with her,” Iridium gasped. Once she’d remembered the name, it was like a dam burst inside her skull, thoughts slipping and tumbling over her all at once.

She was cold. So cold.

“You had a mask,” Iridium whispered. “You had a mask and a different name.”

“Sweetie, you’re not making any sense.” Bruce frowned. “What will the press think? What will your father say?”

Lester behind a mug slate on the front page of every newspaper in New Chicago.

ARCLIGHT CAPTURED, CITY SAFE

“My father isn’t real,” Iridium choked. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Bruce’s face was hard, cold, a shell with nothing behind it. The buildings were flimsy, and everything was going dark as the street faded around her …