Worm

by John Mccrae Wildbow

  My fingers snagged on something. For a second, I thought maybe I’d gotten some containment foam in it.

  No. My hair was tied around a piece of paper. I had to use my bugs to untie it.

  I recognized the lettering. A series of symbols that all strung together so it was hard to tell where one began and one ended. I’d designed it, when I was making up the code to keep my superhero notes private.

  I’d left myself a message? When?

  “I gave myself a reminder, telling me to take our group to the south end of the main beach,” I said.

  “The fuck?” Regent asked.

  “I dunno,” I said. ”But we didn’t get the hostage we’d planned on taking, so I think we should go, if nobody else has a better idea.”

  ■

  It took some time to get there, sticking to back alleys and roads, and it took more time to verify that there were no threats in the area.

  As confusing as the message was, everything made sense when Imp made her presence known, dropping the veil of her power’s effect.

  Right. I’d had her tie the note into my hair so it wouldn’t confuse or distract me while I was in the field, something I’d only notice after the fact.

  She was practically bouncing with excitement.

  “Saved your asses,” she said.

  “And she’s never going to let us forget,” Regent commented.

  “You got out okay?” Grue asked.

  “I marched the fatty out of the building as soon as I’d made sure the robots weren’t going to attack again. Grabbed the keys from a cop and drove off. No way you can say I’m useless again, Tricksy.”

  Trickster looked at her ‘guest’. ”I won’t.”

  Director Piggot, the fat woman, was handcuffed and kneeling beside Imp, head hanging.

  “Well,” I said, “Could have gone better, but we got what we needed. You had her order them to shut down, right?”

  “Yup.”

  “Dragon must have given the Director the ability to command the suits. Wouldn’t have guessed,” Grue said.

  I nodded in agreement. ”It’s a matter of time before they arrange some workaround, take away the Director’s access or Dragon reprograms the suits, but this is good. We’ve got some leverage now.”

  The Director raised her head to direct a glare at us with swollen, bloodshot eyes.

  Funny as it was, I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad about it.

  16.x (Donation Interlude 1; PRT Squad)

  February 2nd, 2001

  The helicopter’s rotors stirred up billowing clouds of dust and debris as it landed.

  Evan leaned forward from the chopper’s passenger seat, hitting the button for the intercom. The interior of the helicopter buzzed with his voice, “Check!”

  “Clear!” Lady shouted. Pyne echoed her.

  “Gun up!” He told them. He followed his own instructions, unstrapping himself from his seat and collecting his machine gun.

  “Bird one landed, over,” the radio buzzed.

  He pressed the button, “Squad two here. We just touched ground, over.”

  “Waiting on a response from three, over.“

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be in the air with Pyne for supporting fire,” the pilot said.

  Evan nodded. ”Wish us luck.”

  “Luck.”

  He opened the door separating the cockpit from the chopper’s midsection. Four uniforms had been seated in the corners, and were now unbuckled and double-checking their guns and ammo, outfitting themselves with the additional gear that had been tied together and strapped down in the center of the chopper. Tieu and Coldiron carried the grenade launchers and ammunition: grenades, flashbangs, incendiary and smoke. Holler and Shane were the guys big enough to haul the extra guns and the packs with ammo clips and supplies.

  Pyne and Lady were still kneeling behind the turrets that looked out over either side of the vehicle. The pilot would be manning the guns for the front. The pilot, Pyne and Lady were the only ones certified to use the containment foam, the latest addition to the arsenal of the Parahuman Response Teams.

  Their entry hadn’t been quiet, and he’d expected at least one of the vehicles would see some sign of trouble quickly after they landed. Maybe it would be the terrified populace of Ellisburg, maybe their target would show up right away. He hadn’t quite expected this. It was empty, a ghost town. Rain, rain and more rain, not a light on in the small town, not a single soul to be seen.

  “Here’s the lowdown,” he spoke to his squad. Hearing his own voice was reassuring – the only other noise was the drum of rain on the roof of the helicopter and the sound of ammunition clips snapping into place. “We have him pegged as a high level Changer. Who can tell me the standard protocol for dealing with a Changer classification?”

  “Formation is top priority, trust nothing and nobody, passwords, hit hard and obliterate,” Holler said, his voice characteristically quiet.

  “And for a Changer that’s off the charts?” Evan asked.

  There was a pause as his squad tried to recall if this had come up in training.

  “Formation is number one priority, trust nothing and nobody, passwords, hit hard, obliterate… and pray?” Lady asked.

  The others all chuckled, some more nervously than others.

  “Lady’s not wrong,” he admitted, “We’ve been able to piece together who he is. We got security camera footage from the early stages of the incident, just last week, and we found his face. One of the top geeks from the Protectorate then found other cases of his face around the city and found a name. Jamie Rinke.”

  His briefing was interrupted as the pilot buzzed them over the intercom, “Chopper three just landed, cap. You’re clear to move out.“

  “Can we get a picture of the guy?” Tieu asked.

  “No point. After his first appearance, he started changing his costume for each job, as well as adjusting his body size, body shape and apparent powers.”

  “His powers change?”

  The captain nodded. ”Off the charts, I told you. We’ve got him down as a tentative changer-seven, trump-four. The geek was able to dig up some background. Thanks to his accounting info, credit card statements, phone bills and emails, we know he worked as a banker, made more money than any two of us sorry losers put together. But he was a loner, no family, no friends, never went out unless it was for the Christmas party at work, and he tended to leave early.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Got downsized. Stayed at home for something like three weeks, then the bills started rolling in and he realized he wouldn’t be able to pay them all. He sent out job applications, dozens by email, but he didn’t have the references. Faced homelessness, a disruption of his boring, lonely life. We think that was his point-zero.”

  “His trigger event,” Lady answered.

  He nodded confirmation. ”Followed by a crime spree. Span of a few days, quaint little Ellisburg disappears from the grid, communications and power cut, no cars or people getting out. Guys upstairs sent some heroes in, we got a brief report before they defaulted to radio silence. Report doesn’t tell us anything except they think the whole crime spree was all the one guy.”

  “And we don’t know how he operates?” Tieu asked.

  The captain shook his head. ”They sent in cameras, cameras got taken out before they got an image. So they’re doing the sensible thing. They’re sending us.”

  “Great,” Coldiron said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  “We’re not alone out there, so be careful about where you’re shooting. This place’s got a population of about five thousand. Sort of town that has only the one movie theater. But whatever this bastard Rinke is doing, we think he’s operating from somewhere near the middle of the area. Three helicopters in the air, three squads of six, and a team from Toronto’s Protectorate division backing us up. We move in a spiral pattern to close in on the center of this podunk town, see if we can’t squeeze him out of hiding, and we maintain radio
contact with the other squads at all times so everyone knows what’s going on.”

  Lady had started pulling on her pack, with others watching out the tinted window around the turret. She buckled it on and then gripped the hose-sprayer. The display on the nozzle would be showing her the amount of foam remaining, as well as the settings for spray volume and distribution. She gave him a thumbs-up.

  He gave her the smallest of nods. ”Let’s move out.” He raised his radio to his mouth, “Squad two moving out. Where’s our capes? Over.”

  “Capes are with squad three, over.”

  “Pass on word if they break rank. I really don’t want to shoot a friendly, over.”

  “Will do, over.“

  He hit the button, and the side of the helicopter folded up. Moisture from the rain dotted the flat expanse of his helmet.

  He was point, Holler and Tieu covered the right and left flanks, Shane and Coldiron covering their rear. Lady stood in the middle of the group, ready to lay supporting fire where it was needed. Their gun-mounted flashlights were the only light outside of the scant amount that filtered through the clouds.

  The streets were empty. Cars had been abandoned where they were, doors left open, windows broken. There was no blood, no bodies, no clothing strewn about. Here and there, things had been knocked over, but that was all.

  “Nobody evacuated?” Tieu asked.

  “No,” the captain replied. He wiped the water from his helmet with the crook of his elbow.

  “Then where’d they all go?”

  “I suspect we’ll find out.”

  They passed a store with a grinning deer on the logo: a ‘Mister Buck’ store. Signs proudly proclaimed that everything inside was a dollar. It was the kind of cheap carry-everything store that appealed to the lowest common denominator, but in a town this small it was the centerpiece of the ‘downtown’ area. The front window had been shattered, and various gardening implements were scattered around the interior, out of place; hoes, shovels, pitchforks. Improvised weapons?

  “Holler, anything thermal?”

  “It’s cold. Rain isn’t helping, but I’m not seeing anything except you guys. Not even a smudge in the darkness”

  They moved on, guns trained in every direction, eyes scanning the area for their target. They passed a clothing store, where the window had been broken, the contents of one rack strewn out in the street, plastered to the road with the rain.

  Evan picked up the radio, “Squad two here. Anything out there, boys? Anything at all? Over.”

  “Nothing at one, over.”

  “Ditto from three, one of my squad just said they’re not seeing any critters. No birds, rodents or strays. Over.”

  No animals, no people.

  “We’re taking a short detour,” Evan informed his squad. He pointed with his gun, “This way.”

  His squad took cover beneath a bus shelter that was attached to a nearby storefront. The panes of plexiglass had been broken, but the overhang offered respite from the rain. He adjusted his flashlight to increase the light output and pointed it straight down at the ground.

  “Sir?”

  “One minute. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  Long seconds passed. He changed the settings on his flashlight back to normal.

  “What was that about?”

  “No bugs. Dark night like this, you’d think there’d be a moth or some mosquitoes gathering around the light.”

  “Captain,” Holler spoke up. ”Something on the thermals. Dim.”

  They turned to face the same direction as Holler.

  “Coming around the corner,” Holler spoke.

  “Lights off,” Evan hissed the order, clicking off his flashlight.

  In a second, the gun-mounted flashlights of his squad members flicked off. The shape that moved down the street was reduced to a dark blur, a shifting bulk of gray-black against a background of pitch black.

  Rinke? As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a figure dressed in a jester’s motley, two contrasting colors predominating, blue-orange or purple-yellow. The mask a patchwork cloth that covered his face, with only two dark holes for his eyes. But most daunting of all was the man’s size. He was obese, bloated, ten feet tall and nearly as wide, advancing at a glacial pace as he lurched down the middle of the street. His arms were drawn behind his back by the weight of the sack and the cloth he carried.

  He raised his radio, clicked it on. In a low voice, he spoke, “Got eyes on Rinke. He doesn’t see us. Move in to our location to support and keep the radio quiet. Over.”

  There was a confirming buzz as the man on the other end turned the radio on but didn’t speak. That would be squad one. Three buzzes marked squad three’s response.

  “Strategy?” Tieu whispered the question.

  “Wait for the other squads. Foam him, burn him to ash with an incendiary.”

  “We’re not going to interrogate him? Find out what happened to the people here?” Tieu asked.

  “No,” Holler was barely audible. ”He’s got no heat. The reading came from the bag. Not warm enough to be alive, but whatever’s in there’s just warm that it was probably living up until a few minutes ago.”

  Every eye in the squad turned to the large patchwork sack that the bloated thing hauled behind it.

  “Not worth the risk to interrogate,” Evan murmured to his squad. ”We foam him, which shouldn’t be hard with how slow he’s moving, then we burn him because that’s protocol for dealing with Changers. We’ll do it quickly and without hesitation because he’s got a Trump rating as well. Don’t know what cards he has up his sleeves. Might want to disappear us like he did with the rest of the locals.”

  “And the wildlife.”

  “And the local wildlife, yeah. Safeties off.”

  Rinke slowly turned to face them. The second the dark holes of the mask centered on them, they opened fire.

  Evan’s entire body shook with the recoil of his assault rifle. The brute didn’t seem to mind as his blood and flesh sprayed from the holes the bullets opened up, advancing steadily.

  Tieu and Coldiron fired the incendiary grenades. The shells exploded on impact with Rinke and the ground, lighting him up. He continued to waddle towards them, slower than they were able to walk backwards.

  Rinke dropped the sack, gripped the sheet with both hands and hurled it towards them. It spread out, scant amounts of light filtering through the holes in the weave.

  A net.

  Lady shot the net out of the air with a blast of foam, causing it to land at the halfway point between them and the brute. She sprayed his feet, locking him down to the ground.

  Rinke thrashed as the flames spread. The cloth burned away to show pallid, gnarled flesh, a face without ears, nose or brow – only recessed, piglike eyes and a mouth that was little more than a ragged gash across the lower half of his face.

  “Another incendiary, everyone else hold fire!”

  One more incendiary shell struck home, ensuring the monster was covered in flame from head to toe. The smell of burned meat and sulphur filled the air.

  “Hold position! Wait for the fire to do its work!” He raised his radio. ”We engaged and foamed the bastard. He’s lit up. Over.”

  “Squad one hears you, over.“

  “Squad three here. Good work, over.“

  The bloated stomach split with the weight of the upper body, tearing across one of the recesses of a roll of fat. A slurry of half-dissolved bodies spilled out around him.

  “Tieu! One more!” Evan called out.

  Tieu fired an incendiary round into the opening, lighting the brute up from within.

  It took several minutes for the entire thing to burn. They didn’t relax a second. It was the number one lesson drilled into them in training: as regular humans, it was a given that they were the underdogs. That meant that no matter how well equipped they might be, no matter how weak the enemy, they were not allowed under any circumstances to give the enemy an advantage by underestimating t
hem.

  “Hold position,” he warned. They’d wait until the others arrived. Rain pattered on the roof of the shelter, and fire crackled and hissed as it turned the mass of flesh into crumpled black tissue.

  The sound of distant gunfire cut through the quiet.

  “What?” Holler asked.

  Evan spoke into the radio, “Hear gunfire. Report, over.”

  The response came back, ”Hostiles!“

  There was no ‘over’ to mark the end of the transmission, only more gunfire.

  “Move out!” Evan ordered his squad. Into the radio, he shouted, “Squad two coming in to reinforce! Over!”

  Squad one had surrounded themselves with a ring of containment foam, and were alternately scanning the surroundings with their flashlights and firing bursts into the shadows.

  Two members of squad one dropped as spears of bone sank into the armor at their chest and neck. Evan caught a glimpse of the attackers, waist-high figures with oversized heads. Two had mouths like the bloated thing had, with the narrow teeth of a fish, while a third had a beak.

  That wasn’t Rinke we shot. There’s others.

  The other realization hit him just as hard.

  “He’s not a Changer!” Evan bellowed, clicking the button of his radio to inform the capes and squad three. ”Master-class cape!”

  “Sir!” Shane shouted.

  Evan turned. There were more crawling out of the windows and storefronts behind them. They ranged across the spectrum of body sizes and shapes, from small men little more than knee-high to figures not unlike the bloated thing they’d attacked earlier. Males and females, fat, thin and muscular, tall and short, nearly human and almost alien. Two or three dozen of the assorted creatures.

  No. He caught sight of light reflecting from watching eyes in the shadows, eyes that reflected light like a dog or a cat, in the darkness of building interiors and the shadows of alleyways. There were quite a few more than two or three dozen.

  “Fighting retreat! Fire at will!”

  They backed towards the other squad. Their gunfire mowed through the enemy, the grenades killing ten or more in a single detonation, but the enemy ranks were seemingly endless, the targets too unpredictable. Some were slow, others fast. Some made large targets, absorbing gunfire meant for their fellows even as they died, while others were damnably small. The mass of them made noise, too, squealing, gibbering, giggling and grunting.