“I managed to get myself out of bed and to work every day before I was a werewolf,” said Val. “I figure I still have some skills.”
“Did any of those skills involve military training?” Rex stared hard at him.
“My boss was an asshole,” said Val.
“That’s a close second, I’ll agree,” said Rex.
“I’m going,” said Val, “to negotiate.”
• • •
Val hefted Raph — a genuine Frank Thomas bat. Kind of a big deal. Super weird thing though, right, was up until a couple of weeks ago, Val couldn’t have told you who Frank Thomas was. Now? All kinds of knowledge had filtered into his head, almost as if touching the smooth knob at the end had let him know that The Big Hurt had played for the White Sox. Man had been born in Georgia. Five-time All-Star. Hell, he’d helped the White Sox to their first World Series title in eighty-eight years. Eighty-eight years. That was something to be proud of, make no mistake, but the odd thing was that a month back Val hadn’t known whether Frank Thomas was a first baseman or a plumber.
How the hell do you start carrying around baseball cards in your head?
He gave Raph a twirl. The bat sure felt good in his hands, a satisfying weight that broke no promises. It was the kind of bat you could work your way to a .300 batting average with.
What the actual fuck?
Val leaned back against the alley wall, a building grimy with the air of Chicago. Graffiti walked a crazy scrawl at chest height on the wall opposite, but it seemed like nothing but right-angles compared to knowledge that was flowing into his head. About a baseball player, of all things.
A shot rang out, followed by a sound that would have been a laugh if it wasn’t so nervous. Great. Kids with guns. Val tried to imagine how he’d feel if he was holding a gun in a city of crazy people and one more random guy walked towards him carrying a bat. Probably inclined to shoot someone, more or less. He looked down at Raph then rested the bat against the wall. He could come back for it later.
John would have kittens. He really wanted that bat.
Stepping out from the cover of the alley wall took a bit of doing; he was mortal now, couldn’t take stray — or directed — gunfire without bleeding out like any other dude. Once it was done he felt the cold winter sun on his face, felt its touch and took it for the world’s promise that everything was going to be okay.
It had to be, or there’d be no one to tell John where the bat was. Val felt a small smile tug at his face, then raised his hands into the universal sign of surrender as he walked further into the light. The helicopters had come down at the edge of Ping Tom Park. Crazy place to come down, what with the trees, Val would have put a bird down on the roof of a building and made the troops walk down.
Hang about. Val didn’t know how to fly a helicopter. Did he?
“FREEEEEZEMOTHERFUCKER!” The shout was amplified through a loud hailer, the words strung into one long sound of anger. Val saw the bodies at a natural perimeter around the helicopters, thought for a bare second then stopped walking.
He raised his voice. “Hey.”
“I said FREEZE,” said the voice again. Christ, but it sounded like a kid. Could have been Just James, if Just James was high on caffeine and holding a SAW.
“I’m frozen,” said Val. “Look, I got people who need—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you need,” said the voice. “You move, we will ventilate you.”
“Got it,” said Val. He stood, enjoying the sun. The little things, right? It wasn’t so bad, and he figured he could stand here for a while longer without too much worry, except — well, there was the kicker.
Five guys, armed to the teeth, camo, the works. All wearing helmets. Definitely nothing like Just James, not a Nintendo DS in sight. Val looked at them as they took up positions around the helicopters. Yeah, there was one with a goddamn SAW all right, the machine gun looking ridiculous among the measured peace of Ping Tom Park.
Val wanted to scratch his head. He wasn’t sure how he knew that the machine gun was called a Squad Automatic Weapon — a SAW. He figured moving his hands wouldn’t be the smart play, so he stood there with the sun and a smile on his face and waited.
And waited.
After a while, he said, “Can I come closer now?”
“Shit no,” said one of the soldiers. “Move the fuck along.”
Val nodded like he was agreeing. “It’s just, we could really use a ride.”
“Who’s ‘we?’” said the one with the SAW.
“Shut it, Demetri,” said another.
“You shut it, Pollock,” said Demetri. “It’s an honest question. Could be VIPs.”
“Could be unicorns too,” said Pollock. “Odds are about the same.”
“It’s not unicorns,” said Val, “or VIPs. I got three people who need to be elsewhere. Rex, James, and Sky.”
“Rex? Like a dog?” Demetri had lowered the barrel of the SAW a fraction.
“Like a Tyrannosaurus,” said Val. “Retired firefighter.”
“How about you?” said Pollock. “You on the list?”
“Not so much,” said Val. “I’ve got things that need doing.”
“So why didn’t Rex, James, and Sky come and ask us for a ride?” Demetri’s head was cocked to one side.
“More or less,” said Val, “because we thought you’d shoot us all and leave us for dead.”
“Fair enough,” said Pollock, nodding his head a fraction to the side of Val. Val had a moment’s confusion before he felt agony shoot through his knee. He stumbled then fell forward, catching himself on his hands. Some animal instinct—
Fight. Kill.
—made him turn, and he found himself looking down the long barrel of a — M4A1, now that’s unusual, you’d expect to see an M16A4, and how the hell do I know that — rifle pointed at his head. He’d had the back of his knee kicked by this solder. Keep cool, Val, keep cool.
The soldier was wearing a sneer above camo, but the rifle was held steady — full professional. Except the kid was too close, been spending more time playing Call of Duty than reading his damns ops manual. Ops manual? How the fuck..? “Hi,” said Val, after a moment’s pause. He winced. “Can I get up?”
“What?” said the soldier looking down the rifle. “Hell, no.”
“Okay,” said Val. “What now?”
“Now,” said Pollock, “you tell us where your friends are.”
“Are you going to fly them out?” said Val.
“I don’t think you should be concerned about that,” said Pollock. “I think you should be concerned about the gun pointed at your head.”
“Had guns pointed at my head before,” said Val. “This isn’t really that unusual for a Tuesday.” He looked up at the rifle, the way the soldier was holding it. He could see a place there where he could grab the barrel, pushing it sideways, then use his other hand there on the stock. It’d switch the weapon around, and with a bit of luck he’d get a human shield for free.
“You’ve not had Sessle point a gun at your head,” said Pollock. “Relax the man some, Sessle.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Sessle,” said Val. He looked up the rifle barrel, looking for the man behind the gun. “Probably be the last bad decision you make. I’m sure you’d like to get back to the world, get a woman, have a bunch of kids crawling around your ankles. All we want is a ride out of here, don’t want no trouble. Still, trouble comes to find me, and I will respond. You try and work me over with that rifle and I promise you I will bring all kinds of hurt you’ve never seen.”
Fight.
Sessle blinked at him, a look of astonishment replacing the sneer. “What did you say?”
“I said,” said Val, trying to remember — because Lord knows, that wasn’t him talking — what he’d just said. “Look, it doesn’t matter what I said. You think I’m here on my knees, you think you’re in control with the rifle. Handsome weapon, that, but it won’t save you. Only thing between you and God is good judgment,
and you’ve got precious few seconds left to determine a fate that doesn’t leave you all dead. Ignore Pollock. Guy’s an asshole. I’ve had a boss like him before.”
Kill.
“He’s not my boss,” said Sessle. The rifle still didn’t move.
“Even worse, right?” Val wiped his face with a hand, but Sessle didn’t move. Good. “Some asshole who’s supposed to be on your goddamn team, and he’s giving you orders? Probably disrespects you all the time, right?”
“Right,” said Sessle.
“Shoot him, Sessle,” said Pollock.
“Hold up,” said Sessle, looking away from Val. “We’re talking.”
FIGHT.
That look, that spare quarter second in between words, was all that Val needed. His hand worked its own way around the barrel of Sessle’s weapon, his other hand coming up to grip the stock. He gave the weapon a tug, knowing — without knowing how — that was the best way to get Sessle to tighten his grip, subconscious, immediate. Fast enough to let Val use it to pull himself to his feet, then reverse the weapon on Sessle. Val had his finger on the trigger and the weapon pointed at Sessle’s stomach in less time than it took to take a breath.
He’d also — can’t remember how — spun Sessle around, placing him between Val and the rest of Pollock’s group.
“Hi,” said Val. “Now, I was wondering if we could get a ride.”
“FIRE!” screamed Pollock.
KILL.
Five shots rang out, Sessle jerking with each one, his eyes wide. Val watched as Sessle looked down at his chest, hands pawing at his body, checking for the holes he was sure would be there. Val lowered the rifle, smoke trickling from the barrel, the last kiss of a casing hitting the ground gone seconds past. He didn’t remember consciously firing the weapon, but he’d felt it buck in his hands all the same, five perfect shots as he’d squeezed the trigger each time. Val cleared his throat. “You’re fine.”
“What?” said Sessle. “What?” The man looked to be in a state of permanent surprise.
“I didn’t shoot you,” said Val, “because you didn’t … hell, you made the right call, didn’t you?”
“What?” said Sessle. “I … sure. What?”
Val nodded over Sessle’s shoulder. “Go on. Take a look.”
Sessle looked at the weapon in Val’s hands, then at the ground around Val’s feet where five bright brass casings had fallen, then slowly turned to look behind him. The five members of Pollock’s squad — including Pollock himself — were all lying on the ground, a single shot in each head.
Sessle turned back to Val. “What did you say your name was?”
“Didn’t,” said Val. “You know how to fly a helicopter?”
“No,” said Sessle. “I mean, yes.”
Val felt the hot wet on his upper lip, and wiped the blood from his nose away. God damn, that’s not going away is it? “Which is it?”
“You’re bleeding,” said Sessle.
“It’s a bloody nose,” said Val. “It’s not likely to be fatal.” Yet.
Hunt them all. Kill.
“We’ve no reason to kill this one,” said Val.
“What?” said Sessle.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Val. “Which is it?”
“What?”
“Can you, or can you not, fly a helicopter?” Val nodded towards the two birds on the ground. “Those things are helicopters.”
“Right,” said Sessle. “I can fly crop dusters. Dad taught me how.”
Val pivoted on his feet, his rifle barking twice more. He looked down at the weapon, astonished with himself, then over at the man who’d been creeping up on them from across Ping Tom Park. The now dead soldier was hard to see, his Gilli suit making him difficult to spot in among the grass and scattered trees.
“How’d you know he was there?” said Sessle.
“A better thing to be saying about now,” said Val, turned back to Sessle, “is how many more are out there.” He held up a hand. “I’m seeing two Black Hawks on the deck. You can get eleven humans in there with all their shit, and there’s five dead assholes on the ground and you, standing alive and breathing, in front of me. Asshole in the grass over there—” and Val jerked his head towards the man in the Gilli suit “—makes seven. If you didn’t come to evac us—”
“Who’s saying we didn’t come to evac you?” Sessle blinked twice. “I mean, we could. We did. We were. I mean.”
Val eyed the man. “Right. If you didn’t come to evac us, and you came with two full birds, there’s got to be fifteen more guys.”
“We didn’t come with a full crew,” said Sessle. He looked down at Val’s rifle. “Are you going to kill me?”
“So,” said Val, “I’m only going to shoot you if you can’t fly a Black Hawk. Now, can you, or can you not, get in one of those aircraft and pilot it to a safe place?”
“I can,” said Sessle, and made a lunge for Val’s rifle. It was a good move, the man had kept his body light, center of gravity low, pouncing like a cat. Good, but not good enough; Val saw the way the man was going to move, felt the other man’s strength wrestling for the weapon he held. Val gave the rifled a small twist, pulled the trigger, and watched Sessle drop to the grass. The man’s eyes were wide, staring at something in the sky, before his breath came out one last time, dragging its way out.
Val looked at Sessle’s body, then back at the two Black Hawks. “Fuck,” he said.
• • •
John looked at the two helicopters, then down at the duffel bag he carried. “Okay, you win.”
“Come again?” Val wasn’t really paying attention, he was scanning the park around the birds, checking for soldiers or zombies or both. He was pretty sure they were safe for the moment, the rattle of automatic gunfire blocks away suggesting — but not guaranteeing, not even around Ping Tom Park — a military force.
“I got some clothes, a new iPod, and some protein bars. The Nike place down on Michigan had the shoes in that I wanted.” John held out a foot. “See?”
“Very nice,” said Val. “Say. Are those the new Frees?”
“I know, right?” said John. “But you still win. You looted two helicopters.”
“John, I need you to focus for a second.” Val rubbed at his chin. “You know how we were going to get Sky, Rex, and Just James out of here?”
“I heard the plan, yeah,” said John. He looked at the Black Hawks, then at the bodies around them. “Oh, neat. A SAW.” He walked over to the fallen men, hefting up the heavy gun.
“There’s a problem,” said Val.
“Just one?” John frowned. “Truth to tell, there might be two. I couldn’t find any silver. Looked everywhere. Lots of gold, if that’s your thing. Some real A-grade bling, diamonds, the works, but not an ounce of silver.”
“Silver?”
“For weapons,” said John. “Your plan. Remember?”
“Right,” said Val. No silver is a wrinkle we don’t need, but we probably need to know who the hell else is taking it all. Maybe we can solve that one after the immediate crisis is over? Focus, Val. “Back to my problem. It’s a significant one. We can’t take Sky, Rex, and Just James out, and go kill the bad guys.”
“We’ve got two helicopters,” said John. “We can go two different ways.”
“Do you know how to fly a Black Hawk?” Val stretched, arching his back, trying to get the kinks out.
“No,” said John, “but how hard can it be?”
Val blinked at him. “It’s a little tricky.”
“It’s not like you can fly one,” said John. “You work in computers.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” said Val. He felt the remembered texture of a flight stick in his hands, the helmet on his face as he looked over a battlefield. The helicopter fought him as it went down, but it was going to be okay, he wasn’t going to die. After all, he couldn’t die. The poor bastards in the back—
Fallen pack.
He jerked away from the … whatever it
was, it felt like a memory. He looked at John. “Uh.”
“You okay, buddy?” John took a step towards him. “I kind of lost you for a second.”
“Right,” said Val. “You know how you said I can’t fly one of those?” He jerked a thumb at the Black Hawks.
“Right,” said John.
“Well,” said Val, “That’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I can.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
“Thank you for the ride, Detective,” said Pearce, holding out a hand. “I’ll be seeing you.” Her eyes had taken on a haunted look, and they kept almost looking at Adalia, skittering around where the girl sat.
Carlisle reached forward and clasped the other woman’s hand. “It’s been … actually, it’s been shit, but that’s not on you.”
“Likewise,” said Pearce. “Are you going to be okay?” What she meant, Carlisle suspected, was more like what the fuck is going on.
“I think I’ll be fine,” said Carlisle, then coughed. She reached into her pocket, pulling out the Aleve. She dry-swallowed four caps. “Don’t forget to call in the cavalry. People around here are going to need help, after … after the end.”
“You call, I’ll come,” said Pearce. “Assuming I get out. Last I heard, there were some birds down around the city. Got to be a working radio in there somewhere.”
“You could come with us,” said Carlisle. “We’ve got a werewolf on our team.”
Pearce pointed with her chin at Carlisle’s chest. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Better than you,” said Carlisle. “We’re all still alive.” And then kicked herself as the guilt flashed bright and clear across Pearce’s face for a second, before being pushed back behind the mask. “Hey,” she said. “Hey, I didn’t mean it—”
“Save it, Detective,” said Pearce. The Major finally turned to Adalia. The girl was standing back from them, behind the tail of the Yukon. Almost, figured Carlisle, as if she was using the Yukon as a barrier. A barrier against whom, though? Pearce licked her lips, cleared her throat. “I wanted to…”
“He misses you,” said Adalia. “He misses you every day.”
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