Lafferty, Mur (29 page)

Her voice grew deep and mocking. "'Come on, just nuke their asses!' So I left."

Keepsie watched another duck float by. "So, uh, can you tone that down?

Cause you're not helping the local wildlife."

Light of Mornings threw a rock into the water. "What do I care? I don't give a shit. I don't care about anyone or anything." The light increased, and Keepsie winced. "I mean, how would you like it if the guy you loved woke you up from sleeping, like, a billion years and said, 'go nuke those people!' instead of, 'hey babe, how are you feeling after being asleep for a billion years? Here's what's going on in the world, here's the latest Celtics' score, and by the way the president is Tom Cruise?'"

"The president isn't Tom Cruise, if that helps," Keepsie offered. Light of Mornings snorted.

The light intensified. Keepsie finally looked away, which was a good thing that Light of Mornings couldn't see her face when the girl spoke next.

"And if Clever Jack thinks he's going to have visitation rights on the baby, he can suck my dick."

In a world of superheroes, Keepsie rarely got frightened. For obvious reasons, she wasn't scared of most criminal acts. Until the incidents of a couple of days ago, she didn't fear villains, for she knew the reprehensible heroes would save her. There hadn't been a civilian death at the hands of a villain in eight years; asshole or not, the heroes saved people. That's what they did.

Keepsie nearly wet herself at the thought of Light of Mornings' baby.

She cleared her throat, ignoring the screaming voice inside her head telling her to run, run far, run long, become a hermit in Tibet. She'd always considered shaving her head at least once. Run away from this little girl with the big girl power, run away from her baby. There had been a wave of children of the first people with powers. But there had been no public record of Second Wave with babies. This was new.

With careful prodding, and reassurance that Keepsie wasn't going to "get her into trouble," Light of Mornings revealed how she and Clever Jack had slept together three times before her entrance into stasis. She had exhibited several pregnancy symptoms and had done a web search, but had told no one, not even Clever Jack. She had been too scared.

"She would have taken my baby from me," she whispered. The heat dissipated, and Light of Mornings put her head in her hands and cried.

Keepsie breathed a quiet sigh of relief and leaned in to reassure her.

"She won't take it from you. Don't worry. Timson will not take your child.

I promise.

"Listen, why don't we go somewhere and get you some food? Have you eaten much since waking up?"

Light of Mornings shook her head and sniffled loudly. Keepsie got up and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go."

Three heroes frozen and stacked in the corner. Check. One villain in the men’s bathroom. Check. People with low-grade superpowers stationed at each exit, prepared to fight with a strange concoction of powers and superheated liquids. Check. A nosebleed that wouldn’t stop. Check.

Peter waved off Colette’s concerned arm as he nabbed one of her dishtowels and held it to his face. The bleeding had started soon after Keepsie had left and hadn’t stopped. Her drug must have worn off. He gave a fleeting thought for Alex’s powers and then felt guilty.

Colette had every burner on the stove covered with her largest pots, full of oil, sugar, and other concoctions Peter didn’t want to ask about. Michelle had stacked all of the bar’s trays beside the kitchen door. She stared at the stack, her dark face a few shades lighter than normal.

Peter pinched his nostrils and went back into the bar. Ian, Tomas and Barry clustered around the front door beside the captured heroes. Timson had a bar towel over her head. Peter poked Ian in the back and pointed to her.

“Oh. That. She was creeping me out. And who knows if she can see anything in there.”

“So what about the others? Why didn’t you cover their heads?”

“Well they’re not the brains of the organization, are they? The homicidal, insane leader of superheroes should probably be in the dark.

Toadies, not so much.”

Peter suppressed an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you think Heretic and Tattoo Devil could tell Timson what they saw?”

“Oh. Then I guess it was just because she creeped me out. Does it matter?”

Peter looked out the hole in the door. “I suppose not.”

“Ah, Peter, are you all right?” Tomas asked.

Peter looked at him. “No, Tomas, I don’t think I am. But since we’re under siege in a bar with the most powerful beings in the world outside our door, all of whom want us dead or captured, I don’t think any of us are all right.”

Tomas coughed. “I meant your nose.”

“I know what you meant. Now, are we ready?”

“Honestly, no,” Barry said. His red, heavy face sagged and Peter was forcibly reminded that he was much older than the rest of them.

Peter smiled. “I suppose that’s a good thing. Because if you were ready for something like this, I would worry.”

“Where are you going to be through all this, dude?” Ian asked, rolling up his filthy sleeves.

“I’ll be where I am needed, I suppose. Once the fighting starts, I won’t be much help. I’m sure Colette can use a hand. Call me if you need me.”

Ian caught up with him at the door to the kitchen. “Hey, Pete, quick question. What are we working for here? I’m fairly sure we’re not trying to defeat everyone and save the day.”

“Well. We’re trying to confuse them. Split their numbers. But essentially, we’re trying to punch a hole through and get the hell out of here.”

Ian nodded and grinned. “Or just sow chaos?”

“You can do that too.”

Michelle had opened the door and stood in the doorway. She carried a bar tray on her shoulder loaded with empty glass mugs. Colette balanced one more mug on top of the others, pyramid style.

“Now remember, try to get the glass to break as well. It’s tough glass, but you can probably throw it hard enough, right?”

Michelle gulped. “I’ve never tried.”

“Always time to learn new things.”

Peter dropped the gore-soaked towel into the trash can and grabbed a new one. Colette glared at him.

“Pick that up. Vincent can clean it.”

“You’re concerned about that now?”

“We’ve destroyed Keepsie’s front window, now we’re going to be throwing her mugs at the homeless. Don’t make her buy new towels too.”

Keepsie was going to have a lot more to worry about than linen replacement when all of this was over, but Peter didn’t want to argue with her.

He plucked the bloody towel from the trash and put it on the floor. The health inspector was unlikely to visit during the battle, and even if she did, she would be a little more upset at the nine-toed dead body in storage rather than the bloody towel on the floor.

Blood dripped down his chin, and he remembered to put the towel to his nose tighter. How much blood could someone lose through his nose before passing out?

He forced the thought from his mind and stood by Michelle. The hoboes in the alley had not yet noticed her. They sat against the walls, resting.

Peter leaned in close to Michelle. “Can you control it to knock them out instead of kill them?”

Michelle took a deep breath and set her jaw. “I can try. Untested skill here. Going for the one on the right.”

As easily as if she were throwing a discus, Michelle threw the bar tray and it left her hands, spinning. She watched it, her lips pursed and her eyes slit. She relaxed with a sigh as the tray hit the man in the belly. The glasses, free from her will, flew off, slamming into the wall on one side and his companion on the other.

He grunted and fell heavily. His friend fell as well, the mug to the head knocking him out.

“Two down,” she said, hefting another loaded tray to her shoulder.

Response was nearly instantaneous. The other three ran toward them, yelling.

Peter loaded her tray again. He winced as the heavy mugs found their homes, knocking the pathetic men down. All five were knocked out or moaning, and on a whim, Peter dashed outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Michelle said, loading her own tray.

“We forgot about Ghostheart!” Peter yelled back. He knelt beside one man who moaned as he clutched his bleeding head. “Ghostheart lied to you.”

The man’s eyes flew open. “Well fry me up with a dumpling. So she did.

That little whore.”

Peter fought to keep from smiling. “Are you all right?”

The man winced but sat up. “Hell, boy, I’ve had hangovers worse than this.”

“Do you think you can pass the word on? Once you know her secret, she can’t control you.”

The man nodded and staggered to his feet. He and Peter spoke to the remaining felled warriors of the hobo army, and all of them except for the one knocked out were angry and fully ready to spread the word through the rest of the army that the heroes had used them as cannon fodder.

The hoboes walked purposefully toward the street but then stopped as one, their mouths open. They turned around and ran back toward Peter, picking up their friend and heading down into the bar.

“What the hell?” asked Michelle, who had joined Peter. They ventured out into the street and stared.

Peter swallowed. “I honestly thought I couldn’t be surprised any more.”

Michelle’s voice was level. “I guess that’s another one of Doodad’s enhanced machines.”

“Guess so.”

Jack stood atop the stairs of the ruins of the Academy, holding a metallic hoop. The air inside the hoop swirled and shimmered, and a leathery winged creature emerged from it, twisted rabbit-from-the-hat trick.

Michelle cleared her throat. “Dimensional portal?”

“Looks like it.”

“Back inside?”

“Definitely.”

Peter and Michelle dashed down the stairs and into the kitchen just in time to save the five hoboes from Colette’s wrath.

Peter panted. “OK, Colette, we can use your napalm now.”

Colette frowned at him. “Why?”

“Doodad made another machine when he was enhanced by Zupra-Ex. A sort of dimensional portal.”

“What does that mean?”

Michelle peered back outside. “I think it means he’s building a demon army.”

Colette threw her hands into the air. “Demon army! Hobo army! Can this day get any weirder?”

Ian ran into the kitchen. “Hey guys, the heroes and homeless ran off, the coast is clear, let’s get out of here!”

Peter shook his head and explained why that would be bad. The color drained from Ian’s face.

The first man Peter had freed from Ghostheart’s influence stepped forward. “Our friends are still out there.”

Peter wiped at his nose again. “Fine. Ian, you’re with me. Michelle and Tomas, you hold the fort. Everyone else, do what Colette tells you.”

He sighed and ran back into the alley, Ian following him.

“Cover me while I spread the word,” Peter said, running into the street at trying to ignore the screeching above their heads.

“Cover what?” Ian said. “There’s monsters above us and a zombie hobo army below!”

Peter dodged a stick thrown by a dirty older woman. “They’re not zombies. Or hobos. They’re just tricked.” He got closer to the woman who looked for something else to throw. “Ghostheart lies. She’s controlling you.”

The woman snapped out of her fury immediately.

“Please tell others. The more we have telling, the faster we can get people to safety.”

She nodded and turned to a man next to her. Peter sighed as he backed down and turned to others.

That immediate threat stifled for the moment, he ventured a look upward.

Three - monsters? Demons? What were they? - flew on wide, black wings above them, attacking the heroes, who fought in confused terror.

“They’re pretty much focusing on the heroes now,” Ian said. He paused to hit an attacking man in the face with a finely-focused stream of filth, and Peter gingerly approached the man to deliver the information.

“I feel like a missionary,” he said.

Ian pointed to where Ghostheart was watching them, her face contorted with fury. “Uh oh, dude, we need to head back.”

Ghostheart’s army was turning for sure, now, some of the people melting back into the shadows from where they had come, but others advancing angrily on Ghostheart. Her fury turned to fear, and she looked up at where White Lightning fought the circling demons.

“He can’t help her now,” Peter said. “Should we?”

For once there was no sense of irony or humor in Ian’s voice.

“No.”

Clever Jack’s portal continued to give birth to more monstrous creatures. Peter and Ian watched them with a wary eye as they ran back to the alley.

Peter was heading down the stairs first, relieved at everything going right for once, when Ian gave a garbled cry of pain behind him.

A creature had swooped down and grabbed Ian’s shoulders, sinking in its claws. He screamed, and Peter reached out and grabbed his arms as the creature began flapping its wings, trying to carry Ian off. Tomas ran from the kitchen and grabbed Peter. He heaved and they all fell backwards, Ian tumbling in over everyone, bringing the creature with him. It froze the moment it passed through the doorway.

The creature’s sharp claws were deep into his arms. He groaned and closed his eyes as Tomas managed to pry its claws apart. He flung it aside and Michelle pressed towels on the bleeding gouges.

“How was it going out front?” Colette asked.

Peter watched Ian, worried. “I think we’re clear, Ghostheart’s army is broken up. But Clever Jack keeps pulling out those… things.” The homeless men sighed with relief.