by wildbow
“Okay.”
All she wanted to do was stop. Instead, she stepped into the living room, where makeshift beds had been arranged with piles of blankets and sleeping bags. Only two kids were sleeping there, both clearly brother and sister. It was as much privacy as she was going to get. She plucked the satellite phone from her pocket.
This scenario wasn’t what she’d expected, on any level. Even as Skitter had explained the job duties as being helping out, rebuilding, organizing, Sierra had maintained doubts. She’d been waiting for that one job where Skitter tested her limits, asked her to do something a little dangerous, something morally ambiguous. It would be subtle, or it would have consequences she wasn’t immediately aware of, but it would set her on the road to something darker.
Except it hadn’t happened yet. Even the scope of what she was doing here caught her off guard. There were innumerable dead, and yet more people forced out of their homes by the fires Burnscar had started. It seemed like everyone was walking a narrow line between banding together as a community and killing one another.
It felt strange to identify as one of the key people who were pulling for the former. She was organizing everone, keeping in touch with the groups handling the other cleanup jobs and working tirelessly at the hardest and most unwanted jobs in the hopes of inspiring others to keep going. When the smell of shit and rot that accompanied the dead got to someone, Sierra was at their side, helping calm them down, always ready to name another place where they were needed.
It was almost too much. A huge part of her wanted to call Skitter, to get some guidance, to order supplies and defer on the harder problems, like the bodies.
Another part of her was scared to.
She dialed another number instead.
“Yes?” the voice was deep.
She was put in mind of being a little kid, calling a friend and hearing an adult on the other end. It felt awkward. She sort of resented it.
“I’d like to talk to Bryce?” It came out as more of a question than a statement.
“One moment.”
She watched with the phone pressed to one ear as Charlotte recruited some of the older children to prepare dinner. They started putting things back in cabinets, ordered not by the type of food, but by how long it would last. One of the children found a cutting board and began to cut lettuce.
“Sierra?”
“Yeah,” she answered.
“Well? What do you want?”
“Checking up on you, moron.”
“I’m fine,” Bryce said. He managed to sound sullen.
She crossed the room to approach the kitchen counter and mimed proper cutting technique for the ten-year-old that was preparing the lettuce. It wouldn’t do to have the kid lose any fingertips. Or maybe she was sensitive to the idea while talking to Bryce.
“Is that it?” Bryce asked.
“I was hoping for more than two words of response. How’s your hand?”
“Hurts.”
“That’s going to happen. You lost all four fingers.”
“No. It hurts like my fingers are still there and they’re being crushed.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. I’m sorry? You deserved what you got?
“Ask Tattletale about it?”
“She’s gone. Has been for more than a day, now. Jaw said she’s not to be disturbed with phone calls or anything like that.”
Skitter had been gone for roughly as long as Tattletale. According to Charlotte, Skitter had invited a bunch of local villains over and then left shortly after. They were probably the other eight territory bosses who were working to occupy the city. That had been over forty-eight hours ago.
“Jaw gave me some painkillers,” Bryce said.
“What kind?” Sierra felt a stab of alarm.
It must have been audible, because Bryce replied, “Relax. Over the counter stuff.”
“Okay. What have you been doing?”
“Nothing big. Keeping track of some members of the Chosen as they move around. Hookwolf’s guys.”
“I know who they are.”
“They’ve been moving in. I thought we were going to get in a fight, but Jaw had us all retreat. I think because I was with them. It’s annoying.”
“It’s a good thing that you’re not being dragged into a firefight. Especially one with capes.”
“They’ve been teaching me how to fight with a knife, how to throw one, how to use a gun—”
“I don’t want you learning that stuff.”
“I have to, in case we get ambushed or something. And I’m not bad at it. We could have fought those guys.”
“Did Tattletale tell you that you should fight them?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Like I said, Tattletale isn’t around and hasn’t been for a while.”
“So the answer is no, she didn’t give you the go-ahead.”
“No.”
“That’s a good enough reason to back off, then. I don’t know exactly who she is or what she does, but she knows what she’s doing. Trust her in that.”
“Always awesome to talk to you, Sierra. Thanks. Bye now.”
“Don’t hang up on me. Put me on the phone with Jaw.”
Bryce hung up.
He’s supposed to be getting better, more disciplined. Had she made the wrong call? If Bryce was getting training with guns and knives, and still failing to shape up, this thing with him being recruited by Tattletale could be disastrous in the long run.
She waited a minute, then called the same number.
“Yes?” Again, Jaw’s deep voice.
“He hung up on me. I wanted to ask you how he was doing.”
“The boy is learning.”
“I’d rather he wasn’t learning how to use weapons. If he’s getting in a situation where he needs to fight, you guys aren’t keeping your end of the deal.”
“That would be Pritt. He thinks she’s attractive, and listens to her best, so Minor has her accompany him much of the time. She is a former child soldier, she would have thought self-defense was a good way to regain confidence after the boy lost his fingers.”
She could imagine Jaw saying that with Bryce overhearing, her brother getting simultaneously annoyed and embarrassed. She liked it.
“Have her cut it out? I don’t want to sound like I’m giving you orders, but I don’t want my little brother shooting people.”
“It’s fine. Tattletale told us to do whatever you required as far as the boy is concerned. I will tell Minor, and he will order the others to keep the boy away from weapons.”
“Thank you.”
“I will also decide on a punishment for the boy for being rude and hanging up on his sister. I think we would all like him to learn some respect for his betters.”
She could imagine him looking at Bryce as he said it.
“Nothing too serious? As punishment goes?”
“Nothing serious. It will build character.”
“Thank you. Any word on what Skitter and Tattletale are doing?”
“No. All I know is that it will be dangerous, and every squad is on high alert. We are sleeping in shifts, maintaining combat readiness and doubling patrols. We were informed three hours ago that the downtown area is off-limits. I know Lieutenant Fish was deployed there when the order came down, and he has ceased all communications.”
“All of downtown?”
“Yes.”
She hung up and headed for the bathroom to tend to the damage her hands had accumulated over the day’s work. Disinfectant, antibiotic ointment, bandages. Every time she thought she’d found the last small scrape, she found another.
By the time she was done, her hands had as much in the way of bandages as there was exposed skin. She flexed her fingers to make sure she could still move them, adjusted two bandages, and then returned to the kitchen.
“Progress?”
“Nearly done. It hasn’t cooked very long, and I’m worried it’ll just taste like boiled vegetables in w
ater, but you said people were hungry. How do you want to get the soup out there?”
“There’s three spots where people are sleeping tonight. Let’s mobilize the kids and get some food out to everyone.”
“The kids?”
“Everyone needs to contribute. Maybe if they see seven-year-olds doing their part, the O’Daly clan will get the message.”
“Sierra,” Charlotte made a pained expression as she spoke, “They’ve been through a lot.”
“They’re using our sleeping space, they’re eating our food supplies. We can’t hold their hands and baby them. Everyone’s having a hard time these days.”
“That’s cold.”
“Maybe, but I’ve been working from sunrise to well after dark, here, and they were just sitting around, getting in the way, complaining and crying.”
“Most of their family died just a few days ago.”
Sierra didn’t have a response to that. They were still eating far too much and taking up too much room for people who hadn’t lifted a finger to help. “Anyways, think I can use the kids?”
“Don’t push them. Some are pretty emotionally sensitive. But yeah.”
Sierra turned around, “Hey, munchkins! Got a job for you. Help out and we’ll give you first dibs on the after-dinner treats!”
Roughly half of the little ones approached her. Six to ten years old, boys and girls, a variety of ethnicities.
“Who’s the oldest? Raise your hand if you’re ten… okay, if you’re nine? Eight?”
She mentally sorted them out, then directed them, “You, you’re in charge of those three. You’re in charge of these two… You’re in charge of this pair, okay?”
Older kids looking after little kids. They sorted into their groups.
“You’re carrying soup out to the sleeping areas. We’ve got something to carry them in, Charlotte?”
“Yeah. Just give me a minute. Don’t want them to burn their hands.”
“Everyone carries what they can. Take the soup out there and then come back here.”
Charlotte put the lids on the first few containers of soup, and the kids scampered off.
Sierra didn’t give it a second thought until she heard the shutter sliding open.
“Not the front door!” Sierra called out, but the kids were already out the front door. She sighed.
“They’re afraid of the storm sewer,” Charlotte pointed out.
“I know. It’s not that big a deal. I’m going to go out with the next group, just to keep an eye on the delivery process.”
“Okay. I’ll prep some for you to carry,” Charlotte said. “Find more tupperware or pots I can put this in?”
Sierra nodded and turned to do as she’d been asked, but the kids were already hopping to the task. She let them go ahead. It seemed they were glad for something to occupy themselves with. Maybe they recognized how shitty the overall situation was and they wanted to help fix it.
She suspected she’d find the necessary tupperware faster than the four kids combined, but it wasn’t a big deal.
“Well, well, well.”
Sierra whirled around before the man was even finished talking. Not a man, exactly, but boy didn’t fit.
It was Jay. The Japanese-American boy glared at her through his mop of hair.
“Jay. You weren’t invited here.”
“I can see why. Electricity, running water, food… you’ve got it made. Was wondering where you were going, tried following you, but you disappeared. Thought we’d missed our chance until we saw some ankle-biters running down the street with plastic containers of food. Seems you’re hoarding the good shit.”
“We’re not hoarding,” she spoke. She had to swallow to clear her throat. She knew she had to sound confident, “This is Skitter’s place.”
“Skitter’s, sure. If she’s still alive. But not your space. Don’t see why you can have this stuff and we can’t.”
“Skitter gave us permission.”
“We supposed to believe?” Sugita asked, his voice heavily accented.
“Yeah.”
“No,” Yan spoke. She reached behind her back and drew a handgun. “Don’t believe you.”
There are kids here, Sierra thought.
“Stupid,” she spoke without thinking.
Yan pointed the gun at her. “What did you say?”
“You know Skitter gave us the go-ahead to use her place.”
“That so? I overheard someone complaining that Skitter left without announcing anything, after the fires,” Yan said. Her tone was mocking.
“You assholes. Least you can do is drop the bullshit and admit you just want to take our stuff.”
“Was thinking about it, sure,” Jay said. “Doesn’t look like Skitter’s coming back. Two days, situation like this? But you’re dreaming if you think we’re going to just walk away with some food. I think we’re going to evict you.”
“Evict us?
“Move out of the way,” Yan ordered Sierra, twitching the gun to her left.
“Why?” Sierra asked.
“Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t,” Yan said. “I can’t believe you’re not listening. You’re either stubborn or stupid.”
“I’m tired,” Sierra replied. “And what you’re doing here isn’t exactly brilliant. Think about it. Where did this food come from? The equipment?”
“Skitter bought it.”
“From who? From where? It’s pretty obvious this place was set up after Leviathan came, but where’d she get it? She had it delivered. And the same people who make deliveries like this to a supervillain are going to be pretty ticked off if they find out someone’s messed with one of their customers.”
The argument was feeble, and she knew it.
“If these people exist, they won’t show up tonight. We’ll spend the night. I figure we’re overdue for a party.”
“Leaving us to clean up the mess?”
“Sierra,” Charlotte spoke, her voice quiet, “Not worth it.”
Yan gestured with the gun, and Sierra listened this time, stepping out of the way.
Sugita and Jay headed past the counter and into the kitchen, while Yan stood where she could block the front door. Sierra could see Charlotte shrinking away. Like a shark that smelled blood, Sugita turned his attention to her. He stepped close, invading her personal space.
Don’t show fear, Sierra prayed.
But Charlotte did. In an instant, it was as though she was a different person than she’d been five minutes ago. Weak-kneed, cringing, not even resisting as Sugita grabbed at her wrist.
There was something at play there that Sierra hadn’t been told about. “Leave her alone!”
“Shut up, bitch,” Yan stepped closer, waggling the gun, “You want to get shot?”
“Just let us go. Do whatever the fuck you want here, it’s on your head, but let us go.”
“Don’t think so. I hate arrogant bitches. Going to spoil my mood if I don’t do anything about it. Your choice. I can shoot you through your palm, shoot you in a knee, or I can shoot one of the kids.”
Sierra glanced at the kids who had shrunk back against counters, cabinets and the wall. There were tears tracking through the dirt on their faces, but they were mostly managing to keep quiet.
“Well?” Yan asked, raising her voice.
Sierra couldn’t bring herself to speak. Being shot in the hand—she might never use it again. But the knee was supposedly the part of the body that had the hardest time recovering from a major injury.
Yan bent down and grabbed one of the oldest boys by the hair. Ten years old, blond hair in bad need of a cut and a pugnacious nose. He squealed and writhed in pain at the grip on his scalp, until he wrenched himself out of Yan’s grip, falling flat on his back.
The girl jammed the gun in his mouth before he could recover, and he froze.
“Choose!”
“My hand.”
Yan smirked, taking the gun out of the boy’s mouth. “Put it flat against the wall
.”
Sierra started raising her hand, then stopped.
A figure stood behind Yan. Her costume was barely recognizable—She wore a short cape of tattered black cloth over her body armor, a skintight black suit beneath that, and there were folds of black cloth draped around her legs like a dress or a robe. The entire fabric seemed to ripple and move. It took Sierra a second to realize it was crawling with a carpet of insects.
The disconcerting part was the girl’s face, or lack thereof. Her expression was masked behind a shifting mass of bugs that moved in and out of her hairline. Sierra couldn’t even tell where the bugs ended and the scalp began, as the small black bodies crawled into and onto the black curls. There was a hint of something like glass where Skitter’s eyes were, but the bugs ventured far enough over her eyelids and around the frames that nothing was visible in the way of goggles, glasses or skin.
Skitter hadn’t made a sound as she entered. She hadn’t spoken, and her footsteps had been quiet.
Yan pointed the gun at Skitter. “You’re back, huh?”
The villainess didn’t speak. She pointed to her right instead.
Advancing toward the group was a beetle the size of a small pony. It didn’t use its forelimbs to walk, but held them up so the razor edge was both visible and ready to strike.
“Call it off or I shoot!”
“Shoot and you die,” Skitter’s voice was distorted, not really resembling a sound from human lips. The beetle seemed to offer a deep buzz to accompany the ‘oo’ sounds. “It won’t be pretty. Brown recluse venom makes your muscles necrotize. That means it decays while you’re still alive. It takes days, but the only real cure is taking a knife to the area around the bite. That might be okay if you have one bite, carve out a half-pound of flesh, let the wound drain, stitch it up. But what if you have three or four bites? Or ten?”
“You’re bullshitting me,” Yan spat the words.
Skitter ignored her. “It’s excruciatingly painful. Nothing you experienced during your initiation into the ABB even compares, I can guarantee it. You’re rotting alive, your flesh turning black as it liquefies. So maybe you shoot me. Maybe you even kill me, though I doubt it. Either way, whether I walk away from here alive or not, you get bitten. They’re already on you. All three of you.”