DIRE : BORN

by Andrew Seiple

  “It's true,” Joan nodded. “Kitchen's full of food now. Though with more people eating it, I don't know how fast it'll go. And the laundry's full of spare clothing. Minna's got people working overtime cleaning it.”

  I looked at Sparky, who'd been silent so far. “What are your thoughts on the matter?” I asked.

  He waved a hand in a sort of helpless flop. “Ain't like we can turn them away. Whole point of this place was anyone could show up and stay so long as they behaved. But the Black Bloods are gonna come after us at some point, and this is gonna get a whole lot more people dead.”

  “Well,” I said, my mind spinning ahead and chewing over the problem, “it also means more people who can carry guns and fight if it comes down to it.”

  “No they can't!” Sparky clenched a fist, and snaps of lightning flared up for a second, before his collar compensated. “No. They can't,” he repeated. “They're factory workers and blue collar guys and housewives and welfare moms and... shit, doctors, too. Just one, maybe, but I mean they're civilians.”

  “Civilians who are being preyed upon the the Bloods. Same way we were.” I pointed out. “This isn't the fight Dire would have picked either, but it's the fight that found us.”

  Sparky puffed his lips out in a long sigh, and swiveled around in his chair. He looked at the crowd of people out in the camp. He kept tapping his fist against the armrest, and after a second I saw what he was looking at. The screaming group of kids, running up and down the shore. “I just... damn. It reminds me of a time back in the War. We'd taken the beaches, and there was this little village south of Caen. We told the locals we'd protect'em...”

  I put my hand on his shoulder, ignored the small shock. Some of Roy's words came back to me. “Was this the Black Forest stuff he mentioned? Devil dogs or something like that?”

  Sparky looked at me in confusion. “Huh? Devil Dogs? Shit, that was the marines, and that was in a totally different war.”

  None of this meant much to me, but I shrugged. “Dire must have misheard him.”

  “Roy was probably getting' mixed up again. He's been doing that more these years.” Sparky shook his head. “Ain't getting any younger and it don't matter. I just seen enough dead kids for one lifetime.”

  We were quiet for a minute. Khalid took off his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. I squeezed Sparky's shoulder, then let it go. “Well, the solution's simple, then.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Mmhm. We beat them before they can kill us.”I smiled. “Simple.”

  Guzman chuckled. “That's the spirit I was hoping to see. And Sparky, that's your name, yeah? Sparky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This old Navy salt's going to forgive you calling him a civilian. Once. Don't forget that some of these young men and women who showed up here today are veterans, too.”

  The look on Sparky's face was precious. Guzman grinned, wrinkles sliding over his face, and tipped his cap to me. “I'll go talk around and see who we have that's willing to help you fight. Good to meet you, Doctor Dire. I think this just might work out.” And off he went. Sparky stared after him dumbfounded for a bit, then coughed out a bark of laughter. “Well, I better go supervise. Can't let a navy guy run shit, or they'll start thinkin' they're actual people.” He rolled after him, and Joan just shook her head, and walked back towards the kitchen.

  Only Khalid remained. I turned back to find him studying me, his face inscrutable. “You're a doctor, a medical doctor?”

  “Yes. Though I haven't practiced in quite some time.” He didn't look that old, but I supposed there were more reasons possible for such things, and I didn't care to pry at the minute.

  “Good. We don't have many medically-trained personnel in the camp. Our sickbay is over there, along with the few first aid kits we have.” I pointed. “The kitchen's there, the laundry's there. Dire is putting you in charge of caring for the camp's wounded and sick. Do you object to such things?”

  “Would it do any good if I did?” It could be taken impolitely, but his attitude suggested earnest curiosity.

  “Yes, actually.” I nodded. “You can object, and decide not to be the resident medical expert. But if that happens, you'll probably have to watch people you care about die or get maimed or worse, and not do anything about it. Are you certain you want that?”

  “No, of course not,” he said. “But I had to make sure.”

  He bowed again, and I bowed back, a bit uncertain of how else to handle it. That seemed to be the correct thing to do, for he departed without another word.

  And I was left standing outside, shivering. In the space of one night, everything had changed. My past was no longer a priority, with the present so troublesome and the future uncertain. I rearranged my mental checklist, glanced toward the general direction of the sun. I had things to do while I had daylight, and most of them either involved modifying the armor, testing the armor, or using the armor. First things first, a live-fire test of that coilgun—

  A yell rose from the far end of camp, and I saw Martin run after someone big, a man with a ragged bandage around his jaw. The one who'd tried to threaten me days ago, Rick. Why was he doing that?

  I started heading that way, just as Martin reached Rick and struggled with him, holding him back. Stopping him from going after the small, crouching figure cornered up against the wall of the laundry. A familiar small crouching figure, with greasy black hair.

  The crowd murmured and stared, and a ring spread out around the three people in the dispute. I strode forward, feeling a dull, throbbing ache building in my skull. How fucking stupid was this guy?

  As I pushed through the last of the crowd, I caught what Martin was shouting at Rick.

  “—easy man, take it fucking easy it ain't worth the blood don't do it you know the rules take it easy-” He glanced up at me, saw the expression on my face. “Oh fuck a duck.”

  I ignored Martin, as he let Rick go and held his hands up in a mute appeal. I ignored Rick as he stopped, and backed away as hastily from me as his feet could take him. I stopped in front of the crouched man, who peered at me from between his fingers as he shielded his face.

  And I glared at him. “Tugs.”

  “m'sorry.”

  “You stole from Dire.”

  “m'sorry.”

  “You sold what you stole from Dire.”

  “m'sorry.”

  “And then you have the nerve to show your face here again.”

  “I...” He was crying.

  I drew my gun.

  “Oh shit.” Martin had found his voice. “Dire. Dire, look. He's a junkie, all right? He's not in control. Does dumbass things.”

  “That's nice, he can do them somewhere else before Dire finishes counting down from thirty,” I said. “Start running, Tugs.”

  He didn't. “m'sorry, m'sorry, m'sorry...”

  “He's got nowhere to go,” said Martin. “Bloods have a bounty on anyone from this camp now. You kick his ass out he dies before the day's done.”

  “Or he can die here with a bullet in his head. Twenty-five.”

  “Look! Look... Shit. Look, I'll pay for whatever he took.”

  “What he got away with doesn't matter, but he almost took the mask, Martin. We would have died in that church if he'd succeeded. Fifteen.”

  “Dire. Fuck. Dire, please listen, I.. I'll take responsibility for his shit. I'll watch his ass.”

  “What is he to you Martin? A valued customer? Ten.”

  “Jesus, fuck, just stop okay! No I never sold to him. He's into the harder, cheaper shit that I don't sell. He doesn't have a choice now he's fucking hooked. Just I don't care, break his legs or something but don't fucking kill the guy. Not like this. Fuck man, not like this.”

  I moved forward. I put the gun's muzzle against Tugs' forehead, and his sobs grew, loud and rough and horrible to hear. A sudden pungent smell and a dark stain on the snow below him, and I knew he'd wet himself.

  “Zero,” I said. And I saw his head sag, as his ey
es closed.

  We stood there for a second, all watching us. I raised my voice.“This man was guilty of theft!”

  “Oh thank fucking god,” whispered Martin.

  “Don't be thankful,” I muttered, lips close, out of the side of my mouth. “Your work will be hard.” I raised my voice again. “But we're giving him one more chance. Tugs, if you steal again, if you work against the camp, if you harm anyone here, then you die. This is your last chance. Use it well.” I replaced the gun in its holster. I hadn't even taken the safety off, during all of that, tempting though it had been. I'd expected Tugs to run. When it became clear that he wasn't going to do that, Martin's offer had been the only good option. Though I had the feeling this would come back to bite him, in the end.

  I turned to face the crowd. “Same thing goes for everyone else. We're all in this together now, and we're all going to help each other survive this. Anyone doesn't, or anyone decides to steal, I'll hear. Anyone hurts others here, or causes trouble, you tell Joan, Martin, or Sparky. They'll tell Dire. If you're really unlucky, you'll have a talk with Dire about it. If you're really, really unlucky, the talk will involve bullets.” Somewhere in the crowd a child started to wail. A bit disheartening, but I couldn't afford to be misunderstood, here. “The Black Bloods own the police, so we have to police ourselves. Be good. That's all.”

  The crowd parted for me as I strode toward my armor, and climbed into it. I'd had enough of people to last me for a while. Time to blow off some steam with a proper weapons test.

  The coilgun tested decently. The added drag of the barrel and acceleration apparatus made flight a little trickier, and the ammunition canister and feeder broke up the lines of the armor. Made it look inelegant, awkward. No help for it though, this was the time for functionality rather than form. More awkward were the facts that each coilgun shot disrupted my forcefield temporarily. They involved two different applications of electromagnetism, which didn't play well together at all. The long and short of it? I couldn't have both going at the same time. Not optimal, but I'd have to live with it for now.

  When I hovered back to shore, I noticed one of the newcomers waving me down. She was a small, dark-skinned young woman in coveralls and glasses. I steered toward her, cut the gravitics about ten feet away, and kicked up a spray of snow when I landed. “Hey. Doc Dire, right?”

  “DOCTOR DIRE, YES.” My voice caused screams from the camp, hastily cut off when the original members started laughing at newcomers. With much chagrin on the faces I could see, they resumed their activities. The young woman, for her part, was grinning wide. I noticed she had one or two silvery teeth.

  “That's bitchin'”, she said. “Always wanted to work for a supervill. You hiring?”

  “SUPERVILL?”

  “Villain. Look, I'm a wicked sweet mechanic. Customized my own ride. Your power armor? I can fix it. Do maintenance and stuff.”

  I considered her, letting the villain label pass. I didn't particularly care what people thought about me. “YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE MECHANICAL SKILL TO MATCH DIRE?”

  “Hell no. But I can do little stuff so you don't have to.”

  It was tempting. “ONE MINUTE.” I decanted from the armor, headed into the women's tent, and retrieved my backpack. Also retrieved the fur coat, that someone had returned to my sleeping quarters. The day was still chilly, after all, even if it had warmed up sometime during my rest.

  When I got back out, the 'bitchin' mechanic' was standing up on a chair, having dragged it over to peer down the open chest of my armor. I smirked, and tossed her the backpack. To her credit she managed to twist around and catch it without falling off the chair. “There's a toolkit inside. Crack it open, carefully, and tell Dire the name of each tool and how they are used.”

  “For real? Shit, that's baby stuff. Might as well ask me to do a freaking book rep— Oh. Oh my.” She had the toolkit open by that point, and was looking at the power tools. “Is that a real plasma cutter? Ohmigod.”

  She didn't know the name of every tool, but she managed to discern the purpose of all of them, save for the quantum wave analyzer. I nodded, and reclaimed the empty backpack. “You have a name?”

  “Wilma. Wilma Abernathy.” She made a face. “Don't blame me for that. Friends call me Abes.”

  “Well, Wilma, friendship is yet to be determined, but you're in.”

  She pounded the air. “Hell yeah! So what's the first job, boss? Buffing? Recalibration? Maybe some nitrous? I got a system at the garage, we can cut it down to size—”

  “Ammo.” I tugged on her hand, guided her to the half-salvaged SUV. “Right now she's short. Here...” I cracked the armor's ammo hopper open, took out one of the makeshift beanbag rounds, and one of the spike rounds. “We'll need both in equal measure. Cut up the seat foam, mold it into balls around a coin or two. Add smooth rocks throughout to give it weight, but make sure not to bunch them up. Then duct tape the whole mess. These are the nonlethal option, they'll batter and bruise and maybe break, but they shouldn't kill if used properly.”

  She nodded, held up the spike round. A tapering fold of metal, peeled from the SUV's panels with a long nail from the camp's stores embedded at the front. “And these?”

  “Oh, those are lethal. Also they're pretty much constructed as they appear. Any questions?”

  She shook her head, and got to work. I paused, then dug in the backpack again, pulled out a stack of hundreds and handed it over. She took it with a funny look. “What's this for?”

  “You wanted to be hired, yes?”

  “Well, yeah, but I didn't ex... pect... wait a minute, I don't know the president on these. And these aren't ones. These aren't ones at all. Ohmigawd.”

  “So your wages are agreeable?”

  “Ohmigawd.”

  “She'll take that as a yes. Get to work, hm?”

  She did, and I clambered into the armor. Enough testing, enough drama, time to get to work.

  CHAPTER 12: More Heroes, more Harassment

  “I had a chance to stop her, early in her career. I failed. It's on me, I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. Jesus Maria, if I'd known then how she'd turn out I would have gone lethal, and damn the consequences.”

  --Comment accredited to Ballista, independent hero active in Icon City from 1999-2008.

  Today's main task: ammunition. Not for my coilgun this time, but for the various firearms that we'd liberated from the Black Bloods. I took the time to check with Martin.

  “There's gun shops, but most of them been hit already by looters or Bloods, guarantee it. Same thing for Q-Marts, or hunting places. Pawn shops you might maybe get some shells, but most people don't pawn ammo, just guns.”

  I chewed my lip under my mask. “SO WHAT'S THAT LEAVE?”

  “Police station, but from what my customers tell me, they holed up and waiting for the 'pocalypse. And hitting them would be bad. We already in the shit for that stuff yesterday. But... hm. Now that I think of it...” He rubbed his fingers together, smiled. “I might know a place after all. There's this guy I know, Willis. He's a dealer too. Paranoid son of a bitch. Thinks the government's after his ass. I've seen his safe room. He's got enough of an ammo stash to hold off a fuckin' army.”

  “SOUNDS LIKE A START. THINK HE'LL SELL IT?”

  “All of it? Shit, no. But even a tenth of it would be enough for us. And I got some stuff you can trade for it. Hang on.” He headed back into his tent, came out with a fanny pack. He opened it, showed me the brick of white, plastic-wrapped substance inside. “This is Nuevacoke. The good shit, straight outta Guatemala. You got more than enough here, don't settle for nothing less than fifty thousand rounds of nine mil.”

  “WHAT COMPENSATION DO YOU WANT FOR THIS?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I'd said something monumentally stupid. “I want to survive this. So this one's on the house. Now if you'll excuse me, I got to go make sure Tugs ain't getting into my mouthwash. Fucker's a fiend for that shit.”

  I shook my head. �
��WHY DID YOU STAND UP FOR HIM, ANYWAY?”

  He looked away, looked back. “He reminds me of someone. But... not now, aight? Ask me that sometime when you ain't in the shouty suit, I'll tell you.”

  “FAIR ENOUGH.” I secured the fanny pack inside my cargo compartment, next to the ball drone, got the directions I needed from Martin, and headed out.

  Willis had a lair in what used to be a student dormitory before the adjacent University went out of business. The campus buildings were in the midst of being demolished before Y2K hit, and the construction site should be easy enough to find, just north of Downtown proper.

  It was smaller than I'd expected. From there, it was only a few blocks west, to find the rows of large old houses with various Greek letters faded and peeling across the front of them. When I came to the one tucked back in its own cul-de-sac, I knew I'd found the place. But it wasn't as I'd hoped. I felt my heart sink as I saw the shattered glass glinting in the snow of the street, and tracked the bullet holes in the walls. Trouble had found this place. The main door shifted in the wind, broken and dangling from one hinge. Inside, darkness beckoned. Great. Just great.

  Well, maybe he was still here.

  “MISTER WILLIS. THIS IS DOCTOR DIRE.”

  No response.

  “SHE WISHES TO BARTER WITH YOU, AND HAS PRODUCT.”

  Nothing. From my position above, I saw a pair of people two streets over run for it. They retreated into one of the houses and slammed the door. Only prudent, really. I landed and walked in the front door, switching the mask's low-light mode on as I did so.

  The first body was about ten feet back, lying where it had taken cover behind a kitchenette. The antechamber between here and there was shredded, and brass casings covered the floor. Blood smeared one of the walls, and as I picked my way through the house it became pretty clear that however paranoid Willis had been, he'd had reason to be so. I couldn't say whether or not he was one of the corpses I found, but it was pretty clear that there was no one left here to conduct any sort of business. Nor was there anything much left to sell. The places which looked like they might have had something of value were wrecked, with items strewn all over and nothing of worth left. I did manage to find a few small boxes of bullets, but they weren't of the caliber Martin had advised.