I nodded to the people watching. I wouldn’t shoo them back to safety. We, the Reckoners, were their champions—but someday, these people would have to stand on their own against the Epics. I wanted them to watch.
“Cody, do you have a visual?” I asked into my mobile.
“No,” Cody said. “She should be coming any moment.…” The dark shadow of his copter passed overhead. Enforcement—Steelheart’s police force—was ours now. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Enforcement had done its best to kill me on several occasions. You didn’t just get over something like that.
In fact, they had killed Megan. She’d recovered. Mostly. I felt at the gun in my holster. It had been one of hers.
“I’m getting into position with the troops,” Abraham said.
“David? Any sign of Sourcefield?” Tia asked.
“No,” I said, looking down the deserted street. Empty of people, lit by a few lonely lanterns, the city almost felt like it had back in Steelheart’s days. Desolate and dark. Where was Sourcefield?
She can teleport through walls, I thought. What would I do in her case? We had the tensors, which let us tunnel through basically anything we wanted. What would I do now if I had those?
The answer to that was obvious. I’d go down.
She was underneath me.
3
“SHE’S gone into the understreets!” I said, pulling out one of my two remaining water balloons. “She’s going to come up nearby, try to surprise me.”
Even as I said it, lightning moved across the street, and a glowing figure materialized up through the ground.
I hurled my Kool-Aid balloon, then ran.
I heard it burst, then heard Sourcefield swear. For a moment, no energy blasts tried to fry me, so I assumed that I’d hit her.
“I’m going to destroy you, little man!” Sourcefield yelled after me. “I’ll rip you apart like a piece of tissue paper in a hurricane!”
“Wow,” I said, reaching an intersection and taking cover by an old mailbox.
“What?” Tia asked.
“That was a really good metaphor.”
I glanced back at Sourcefield. She strode down the street, alight with electricity. Lines of it flew from her to the ground, to nearby poles, and to the walls of the buildings as she approached. Such power. Was this what Edmund—the kindly Epic who powered Newcago for us—would be like if he weren’t constantly gifting his abilities away?
“I refuse to believe,” the woman shouted, “that you killed Steelheart!”
Mitosis said the same thing, I thought. He’d been another Epic who had come to Newcago recently. They couldn’t accept that one of their most powerful—an Epic that even others like Sourcefield had feared—had been killed by common men.
She looked magnificent, all in black with a fluttering cape, electricity leaping from her in sparks and flashes. Unfortunately, I didn’t need her magnificent. I needed her angry. Some members of Enforcement crept out of a building nearby, carrying assault rifles on their backs and Kool-Aid balloons in their hands. I motioned them toward an alley. They nodded and pulled back to wait.
It was time for me to taunt an Epic.
“I didn’t kill only Steelheart!” I shouted at her. “I’ve killed dozens of Epics. I’ll kill you too!”
An energy blast hit my mailbox. I dove for cover behind a building, and another blast hit the ground only inches from where I crouched. As I brushed the ground with my arm, a shock ran up it, jolting me. I cursed, putting my back to the wall, and shook my hand. Then I peeked around the side of the building. Sourcefield was running for me.
Great! Also, terrifying.
I sprinted for a doorway across the street. Sourcefield tore around the corner just as I entered the building.
Inside, a path had been cleared through what had once been some kind of car showroom. I ran straight across it, and Sourcefield followed, teleporting past the front wall at speed.
I dashed through room after room, following the pattern we’d set out earlier.
Right, duck into that room.
Left down a hallway.
Right again.
We’d used another of Prof’s powers—the one he disguised as technology called the tensors—to drill doorways. Sourcefield followed on my tail, passing through walls in flashes of light. I never stayed in her sight long enough for her to get off a good shot. This was perfect. She …
… she slowed down.
I stopped beside the door out the back of the building. Sourcefield had stopped following. She stood at the end of a long hallway leading to my door, electricity zipping from her to the steel walls.
“Tia, you see this?” I whispered.
“Yeah. Looks like something spooked her.”
I took a deep breath. It was far less than ideal, but … “Abraham,” I whispered, “bring the troops in. Full-out attack.”
“Agreed,” Prof said.
The Enforcement troops who had been lying in wait stormed in the front of the car dealership. Others came down the steps from above; I heard their tromping footfalls. Sourcefield glanced back as a pair of soldiers entered the hallway in full gear, with helms and futuristic armor. The fact that they lobbed bright orange water balloons slightly spoiled the coolness of the effect.
Sourcefield laid a hand on the wall beside her, then transformed into electricity and melded into the steel, disappearing. The balloons broke uselessly on the floor of the corridor.
Sourcefield emerged back into the hallway and released bursts of energy down the corridor. I squeezed my eyes shut as the shots blasted the two soldiers, but I heard their cries.
“This is the best the infamous Reckoners can do?” Sourcefield shouted as more soldiers came in, throwing water balloons from all directions. I forced myself to watch, pulling out my handgun, as Sourcefield dropped through the floor.
She came up behind a group of soldiers in the middle of the corridor. The men screamed as the electricity took them. I gritted my teeth. If they lived, Prof would be able to heal them under the guise of using “Reckoner technology.”
“The balloons aren’t working,” Tia said.
“They are,” I hissed, watching as one hit Sourcefield. Her powers wavered. I took a shot, as did three Enforcement gunmen who had set up opposite me on the far end of the corridor.
All four bullets hit; all four were caught in her energy field and destroyed. The balloons were working, just not well enough.
“All units on the southern side of the corridor,” Abraham’s voice said, “pull back. Immediately.”
I ducked out the door as a sudden barrage of bullets shook the building. Abraham, who had set up behind the Enforcement sharpshooters at the far end of the corridor, was unloading with his XM380 gravatonic minigun.
I grabbed my mobile and patched into Abraham’s video feed. I could see it from his perspective, gun flashing in the dark, bullet after bullet ricocheting down the steel corridor, throwing sparks. Any that reached Sourcefield still got trapped or deflected by her electric field. A group of men and women behind Abraham lobbed balloon after balloon. Above, soldiers pulled back a trapdoor in the ceiling and dumped a bucket of Kool-Aid.
Sourcefield jumped away, dodging it. Step by step, she retreated from that splashing liquid. She was afraid of the stuff, but it wasn’t working completely. An Epic’s weakness was supposed to negate their powers totally, and this wasn’t doing so.
I was pretty sure I knew why.
Sourcefield unleashed a barrage of energy blasts toward Abraham and the others. Abraham cursed and went down, but his protective field—gifted to him by Prof under the guise of a jacket with a technological forcefield—protected him and sheltered the people behind him. I heard groans through the feed, though I couldn’t see anything. I flipped it off.
“You are nothing!” Sourcefield shouted.
I strapped the mobile to my arm and stepped back into the hallway in time to see her send a wave of electricity up through the ceiling toward tho
se above. Screams.
I hefted my last water balloon, then threw it. It exploded across her back.
Sourcefield spun on me. Sparks! A High Epic in her glory, energy flaring … Was it any wonder that these things presumed to rule?
I spat at her feet, then turned and ran out the back door.
She shouted after me, following.
“Upper units, Haven Street,” Tia said in my ear, “get ready to lob.”
People appeared on the roof of the building I’d just left, and they hurled water balloons down as Sourcefield broke out after me. She ignored them, following me. If anything, the falling balloons just made her madder.
When they splashed near her, however, she stopped shouting.
Right, I thought, sweating, slamming my way into the building across the street. It was a small apartment complex. I ran through the entryway and into the first apartment.
Sourcefield followed in a storm of energy and anger. She didn’t stop for walls; she passed through them in flashes of light.
Just a little farther! I urged silently as I shut a door. This complex was populated, and we’d replaced many of the frozen steel doors with wooden ones that worked.
Sourcefield came through the wall as I leaped over a steel couch and entered the next room—which was pitch-black inside. I slammed the door.
The light of Sourcefield entering blinded me. Her aura hit, and suddenly that little shock I’d taken earlier seemed miniscule. Electricity shot through me, causing my muscles to go weak and spasm. I reached to press the large button on the wall, but my arms weren’t working right.
I slammed my face into it instead.
I collapsed, succumbing to the shock of her energy. Above, the ceiling of the small darkened room—which had once been a bathroom—opened up, dumping several hundred gallons of Kool-Aid down on us. Above that, showerheads turned on, spraying red liquid.
Sourcefield’s energy dampened dramatically. Electricity ran up her arms in little ribbons, but kept shorting out. She reached for the door, but it had locked after me. Cursing, she held up a fist, trying to summon the energy to teleport, but the constant rain of liquid disrupted her powers.
I struggled to my knees.
She turned on me and growled, then seized me by the shoulders.
I reached up, grabbing her mask by the front, then yanking it off like a ski mask. It had a plastic piece on the front that obviously fit over the nose and mouth. A filter of some sort?
Beneath the mask she was a middle-aged woman with curly brown hair. The liquid continued to rain down, and it ran in streams along her cheeks, across her lips. Getting into her mouth.
Her light went out completely.
I groaned, climbing to my feet as Sourcefield shouted in panic, scrambling at the door, rattling it, trying to get it open. I tapped my mobile, bathing the room in a soft white light.
“I’m sorry,” I said, raising Megan’s handgun to her head.
Sourcefield looked to me, eyes widening.
I squeezed the trigger. This time, the bullet didn’t bounce off. She fell to the ground, and a deeper red liquid began to pool around her, mixing with what was raining down. I lowered the gun.
My name is David Charleston.
I kill people with super powers.
4
I unlocked the door and pushed out of the bathroom, dripping wet with imitation fruit juice. A group of soldiers stood in the room, weapons out. They lowered them as they saw me. I gestured over my shoulder, and Roy—captain of the Enforcement team—sent two officers to check the body.
I was drained and shaky, and it took me two tries to get Megan’s gun holstered. I didn’t say anything as several soldiers saluted me on my way out. They regarded me with a mixture of awe and reverence, and one whispered, “Steelslayer.” In less than a year with the Reckoners, I’d personally killed almost a dozen Epics.
What would these men say if they knew that I owed most of my reputation to the powers of another Epic? The forcefield that cushioned me from harm and the healing that brought me back from near death … these were both part of Prof’s power portfolio, things that he disguised as technology. He was what we called a gifter, an Epic who could lend his extraordinary talents to others. For some reason, that let him remain uncorrupted by them—others could use his powers for him, but using them himself threatened to destroy him.
Only a handful of people knew the truth about Prof. Those ranks didn’t include the common people of Newcago—outside the building, a large group of them had gathered. Like the soldiers, they watched me with reverence and excitement. To them I was a celebrity.
I ducked my head and pushed through them, uncomfortable. The Reckoners had always been a shadowy group, and I hadn’t joined up for the notoriety. Unfortunately, we needed to be seen so that the people of the city would know that someone was fighting back—and hopefully that would inspire them to fight back as well. It was a hard line to walk; I certainly didn’t want to be worshipped.
Beyond the gawkers, I spotted a familiar figure. Dark-skinned and well-muscled, Abraham wore a black and grey military uniform—camouflage for a city made of steel. The clothing was ripped and scuffed; I knew enough to recognize that the protective field Prof had given him had been stretched to its limits. Abraham gave me a thumbs-up, then nodded toward a building nearby.
I headed that direction while, behind me, Roy and his team carried out the dead Epic to show off the body. It was important that the people see Epics as mortal, but I didn’t glory in the death. Not as I might once have.
She looked so terrified at the end, I thought. She could have been Megan, or Prof, or Edmund … just a normal person caught up in all of this. Driven to do terrible things by powers she didn’t ask for.
Knowing that the powers literally corrupted the Epics changed my perspective on all of this. A lot.
I entered the building and climbed the steps, eventually entering a room on the second floor, lit by a single light in the corner. As I’d anticipated, I found Prof here, watching out the window with crossed arms. He wore a thin black lab coat that draped down to his calves, a pair of goggles tucked into the pocket. Cody waited on the other side of the dark room, a lanky silhouette wearing a flannel shirt with the arms cut off, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder.
Prof, aka Jonathan Phaedrus, founder of the Reckoners. We fought Epics. We killed them. And yet we were led by one. When I’d first found out, that had been difficult to reconcile. I’d grown up practically worshipping the Reckoners, all the while loathing the Epics. Discovering that Prof was both … it had been like discovering that Santa Claus was secretly a Nazi.
I’d gotten over it. Once upon a time, my father’s idea that good Epics would come had been laughable to me. Now, after meeting not one but three good Epics … well, the world was a different place. Or I guess it was the same place—I just saw it a little more accurately.
I stepped up beside Prof at the window. Tall, with salt-and-pepper hair, he had square features. He looked so solid standing there, arms clasped behind his back. Something stable, immobile, like this city’s buildings themselves. As I joined him, he raised his hand, gripping my shoulder, then nodded to me. A nod of respect, and of approval.
“Nice work,” he said.
I grinned.
“You look like hell, though,” he noted.
“I doubt hell has this much Kool-Aid,” I replied.
He grunted, looking back out the window. More people had gathered, some raising cheers at the victory. “I never realized,” Prof said softly, “how paternal I would grow for these people. Staying in one place, protecting the city. It’s been very good for me to remember why we do this. Thank you for encouraging us. You’ve done something great here.”
“But …?” I asked, recognizing the catch in Prof’s tone.
“But now we have to make good on what we’ve promised these people. Safety. A good life.” He turned to me. “First Mitosis, then Instabam, now Sourcefield. There’s a pattern
to their attacks, and I feel that someone is trying to get my attention. Someone who knows about what I am, and who is sending Epics to target my team instead of me.”
“Who?” Who could possibly know what Prof was? Even most members of the Reckoners didn’t know about him. Just the team here in Newcago was in on his secret.
“I have suspicions,” Prof said. “But this isn’t the time to talk about it.”
I nodded, knowing that pushing him on the topic wouldn’t get me any further at the moment. Instead I looked down at the crowd, and the dead Epic. “Sourcefield trapped you, Prof. How did it happen?”
He shook his head. “She caught me straight-out with that electricity-bubble thing. Did you know she could make one of those?”
I shook my head. I’d had no idea.
Prof grunted. “To get free, I’d have needed to use my powers.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well … maybe you should use them. Maybe we could practice, and see if there’s a way you can be an Epic without … you know. I mean, you can gift them without the corruption happening, so maybe there’s some secret to using them yourself. Megan—”
“Megan is not your friend, son,” Prof said, interrupting quietly but firmly. “She’s one of them. She always has been.”
“But—”
“No.” Prof squeezed my shoulder. “You have to understand this, David. When an Epic lets their powers corrupt them, they choose to become the enemy. That’s how we have to think of it. Any other way leads to madness.”
“But you used your powers,” I said, “to save me. To fight Steelheart.”
“And both times, it almost destroyed me. I have to be firm with myself, be more careful. I can’t let the exceptions become the reality.”
I swallowed and nodded.
“I know that to you this has always been about revenge,” Prof said. “That’s a strong motivation, and I’m glad you’ve channeled it, son. But I don’t kill them for vengeance, not anymore. This thing we do … for me, it’s like putting down a rabid dog. It’s a mercy.”
The way he said it made me feel sick. Not because I didn’t believe him or disliked what he said—sparks, his motives were probably more altruistic than mine. It was just that I knew he was thinking about Megan. He felt betrayed by her, and honestly, he probably had every right to feel that way.
Firefight Page 2