Capes

by Drabble, Matt

  “And what is that to do with you? How are my actions, whatever they may be, any of your business?”

  “With respect, everything is my business, Simon. You are accountable to me, you are accountable to the entire nation, and right now, you are failing in your duties.”

  “I’m failing!” Clermont laughed bitterly. “Take a look around, Dennison. Do you not think that any of this is your doing?”

  “Mine?”

  “You brought her in, in from the cold and back on the stage.”

  “This would be Cynthia Arrow, I take it.”

  “You would take it right.”

  “She is a means to an end.”

  “But that end might just be my own, but I’m guessing that you’ll be okay. Oh, I’m guessing that old Dennison is going to be just fine. I’m just betting that you’ve got a feathered nest tucked away.”

  “I resent that.”

  “Resent it all you want. Right now I don’t give a damn,” Clermont said as he took another gulp from his glass.

  “So this is your plan? To sit and wallow? And how exactly would your loved one see you now?”

  “You leave my wife out of this.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your wife, Simon, I was talking about Ken.”

  Clermont was shocked by the notion that Dennison might have known about Ken and his feelings towards the man, but he tried not to show it.

  “I don’t know what you are insinuating…., but I suggest that you watch your step,” he said slowly and with real menace, but Dennison merely flapped the threat away with a waft of his hand.

  “It is my job to know everything, Simon, to know what it is that you want and what it is that you need. I knew about your feelings for the man, and if you had acted upon those feelings, then it would have been my job to clean up after you. It has always been my place to not just know about all the skeletons in your life, but to make sure that they stayed buried.”

  Clermont refilled his glass again and drained half of it in two long gulps.

  “What does it matter now? What does anything matter now?” he slurred.

  “It matters, Simon, because you have to go on… we have to go on. You do not have the luxury of self-pity now; you have a country to carry. That is your job. That is your duty.”

  “And what if I don’t want it?”

  “I’m afraid that doesn’t matter, not now. Some of us are chosen to follow, and a select few are chosen to lead. You are a leader, Simon. You always have been.”

  “And how do we get out of this bloody mess? We’ve gotten so far lost that I can’t even see the path anymore,” Clermont said, rotating the glass in his hand, watching the dark liquid glisten under the overhead lights.

  “We forge ahead. If needs be, we make our own path through the jungle. You do what you do best: you lead…, sir.”

  “And Cynthia Arrow? What do we do about her? I can’t be linked to a crazy lady, Dennison. For all I know, she was behind what happened at the residence, and I can’t have her investigated without exposing us to her deal.”

  “Well, sir, perhaps I might have a suggestion along those lines. I might just know someone who could help us extricate ourselves from under her spell.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes, sir, you can trust me on that.”

  ----------

  Through the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the front entrance to the building, the two snowmobiles were clearly visible, as were the two large bags containing the weapons that they’d brought but then forgotten to bring inside.

  Jesus and Link looked longingly at the bags, but Crimson had more than enough confidence in his own hand-to-hand skills, or to be more accurate, hand-to-blade skills.

  Jamie-Lyn understood the importance of the firearms, and while her skill set didn’t extend to fighting on the front line, she understood the need for the weaponry.

  CJ, meanwhile, seemed lost without his powers and was standing off in the shadows, flexing his hands and only seeing little more than an occasional crackle of purple electricity there.

  “We’ve got multiples!” Crimson yelled as he sprinted around the building checking locks and glancing out through the various windows as he ran.

  “Number?” Jesus called back.

  “Can’t tell, but we are officially surrounded.”

  “Are they armed?” Link shouted as Crimson flew past him.

  The question was answered when there was the audible sound of a rifle crack, and then one of the windows was punctured by a bullet, making all of them duck low for cover.

  “Never mind,” Link cried out.

  “You think it’s them? SOUL?” Jamie-Lyn asked Jesus as she moved to his side by a window.

  The two of them were now peeking up above a fitted bench that ran along under the window offering seating and a glorious view.

  “You know of any other nutcases that want us dead?” came the irritated reply.

  “But the outfits? White, hooded robes. That’s new,” she responded as she watched the emerging figures.

  “Looks like some kind of religious thing to me,” Jesus replied.

  “Could be the government?” she offered back. “Maybe even the Swedish one if word got out we were here? Maybe it’s some kind of arctic camouflage? ”

  “Pros wouldn’t have fired a single shot like that,” Jesus replied. “We wouldn’t have seen them until they breached.”

  “From what I’ve seen, neither would SOUL,” Link shouted from across the room on the opposite window wall.

  “Doesn’t matter who it is, they’re dead,” Crimson said, just before he ducked out of the room entirely and disappeared out of sight.

  “Gee, let me guess. He prefers working alone,” Link called out.

  ----------

  Crimson moved fast as the adrenaline coursed through his veins along with no small amount of anger to fuel to the fire.

  He had come back to find answers as to just who had attacked him in his jungle hideaway.

  He’d created a good life for himself out there, a simple life: you took what you desired and killed those who opposed you. It was the jungle in the most literal and figurative sense, survival of the fittest, and there was no one fitter than him. He had ruled a kingdom and now he was scratching around in the dark like an amateur; it was most definitely not a feeling that he liked.

  Their current enemy outside was yet another that he could not get a read on. Perhaps he really was getting old now. Perhaps the senses that had allowed him to rule were now beginning to finally fail.

  He headed for a window with an opening inside the bathroom that he’d spotted when he’d first explored the building. It was in his nature to always check for potential escape routes whenever he entered any new building.

  Pushing it ajar, he sniffed the air before easing himself gently out of the narrow gap and dropping down onto the ground with barely a puff of snow to announce his presence.

  It used to be that he moved without even having to think about it, just a predator cat with feline grace and silent movement. Now, however, it seemed like he had to think about his movement, his actions, his strikes. Now it seemed like everything came a little harder to him and a little slower too.

  The snow was still falling, which made finding his prey tough, but it also made him difficult to find as well.

  The winds were strong and they threw a myriad of scents towards him.

  He slowed his mind and closed his eyes as he knelt in the thick snow, ignoring the cold and dampness as it seeped into his bones, isolating the various identifiers until he became attuned to what was moving in the frozen wilderness.

  Slowly, sniff by sniff, he got a sense of what else was out here and only then did he open his eyes and start to move like the predator that he truly was.

  There were multiple figures moving around the building, encircling it and closing in. After the first, and so far only, gunshot, he could smell the oil on the wind and that allowed him to track the perpetrator.r />
  He moved out wide and ducked himself inside the advancing line. For a brief moment, he knew that he could make a break for it, to leave the others behind to their fates, but he knew now that it was a long way past the time for retreat. While part of him wanted to run, he knew that he now had nowhere left to run to; whether he liked it or not, he was in this until the very end, come what may.

  He caught sight of a figure up ahead. He had missed the person for a moment, but then he realised why. The figure was wearing a long pure white, hooded robe which perfectly hid them against the thick and falling snow.

  The figure moved carefully through the drifts, but it held a long-barrelled hunting rifle out in front, pointed at the building.

  The weapon did not look like it was military issue. It was more something that a local would normally use out here. The outfit, however, was far from normal.

  Just another costumed psycho, Crimson thought to himself. These days, the world seemed to be full of them.

  He matched the figure’s footsteps through the snow, allowing his prey’s movement to mask his own. He felt the heartbeat and breathing patterns and matched them as he approached, his own essence sinking into the environment until it disappeared like he was dust on the wind.

  The knife was in his hand seemingly of its own accord, the blade thirsty and eager to drink once more.

  His hand reached around the figure’s neck before clamping over a shocked mouth, and then the knife slid into the base of the hooded figure’s skull, silencing it forever.

  Crimson took the full weight of the would-be attacker and lowered it gently into the snow, all without a single sound.

  The hood had slid backwards, and now he found himself staring into the blonde-haired, male face of a complete stranger. There was no great unveiling here.

  He wondered whether he would find a certain SOUL tattoo somewhere on the man’s body if he stripped the figure completely, , but he had no time for such answers right now.

  He pulled the robe all the way off before pulling it over his own head and then lowering the hood to obscure his own features. He took the dead man’s rifle and checked it over to make sure that it was loaded before continuing on the man’s path towards the building.

  One down, he thought to himself. Not such a bad start for an old man.

  ----------

  chapter 34

  FROZEN STAND

  Back inside the building, the remaining team members heard an unmistakable smashing sound as a window was breached by the rear door.

  Unarmed with either weapons or strategic knowledge, Jesus felt momentarily helpless. He was a man who’d lived a life of peace and mainly administrative duties for most of his serving life.

  The SOUL war had been fought and won by his father, the man they all called God. Jesus was a studier of military tactics, a student of war, but the front lines had been wiped clean long before he’d ever had the opportunity to step onto the battlefield.

  He thought that he had acquitted himself well back at the Queen’s Guard base, but there he had the advantage of home turf, of weapons, of a functioning team with the likes of Dr Quantum and the nuclear option of CJ; now, he had none of those advantages.

  Devoid of his powers, CJ stood by impotently, seemingly unsure of what to do. He was a creature used to being the most powerful being in any fight, having heavenly abilities to smite his enemies, with the added benefit of being almost indestructible. Now he was kitten thrown to the lions.

  Having pretty much zero modern familiarity in the way of combat, Jamie-Lyn looked past Jesus and CJ to Link, the only one among them who was still in the game. While she’d had plenty of basic training when she’d joined the Queen’s Guard back in the day, that day had been a long time ago. Her only weapons of choice these days were her journalistic skills.

  As the youngest there, and the closest to having seen sustained recent action, Link was already moving while the others procrastinated.

  He reached the rear of the building just as an arm was forcing its way through the broken glass pane in the door.

  The sight of the intruding limb raised the stakes for him, if they needed raising any higher, for the flesh of the arm was being torn open as its owner forced it through the broken window across jagged shards without making a single sound of pain.

  Blood dripped onto the tiled floor as the white-clad arm stretched in further, and the accompanying hand reached for the keys hanging in the door’s lock.

  Link sprinted towards the intruder, snatching up a heavy saucepan as he ran. The copper cooking tool was hefty in his hand, and he came in swinging it downwards as hard as he could muster.

  He struck the hand with full force and fought off a wave of nausea as multiple tiny bones broke as the flesh was splattered flat against the door.

  This time, he was met with a satisfying grunt of pain and the hand was withdrawn along with the bloody arm.

  “Damn right,” Link growled as he stood his ground, still holding the pan up like a baseball bat ready to strike again.

  “You okay?”

  He turned to look but only with one eye and saw Jamie-Lyn standing behind him. She was holding a large kitchen knife in her hand and looked ready to fight.

  “For now,” he replied. “But we’re not going to keep them out for long, especially without weapons.”

  “Should you be saying that out loud?” she whispered back.

  Link mentally kicked himself hard at giving away such a crucial strategic point like a fresh-faced rookie.

  “Well, we’ve got CJ. He’s all the weapon we really need,” he said, speaking louder than necessary for the benefit of the man outside while nodding slowly towards Jamie-Lyn.

  “I don’t like to say it,” she started with a confirming nod, “but if they don’t leave, CJ’s not going to have any choice but to vaporise the bloody lot of them.”

  They both listened on as footsteps started to slowly crunch away from the door in the thick snow.

  They shared a hopeful shrug before Link motioned towards the tall refrigerator and together grunted as they walked the heavy unit across the floor until it was blocking the door.

  “Is he still on the fritz?” Link asked quietly as he leaned in to her.

  She nodded in reply.

  “You think it’s him or them?” he probed.

  “Them?”

  “Maybe they’ve got some kind of…, I don’t know, dampening device? Did that ever happen before? A way of nullifying his powers?”

  “Not as far as I’m aware. Do you really think that’s possible?”

  “There’s a seven-foot green alien in there with superpowers who landed here on a freaking spaceship,” Link said, pointing back towards the open lab. “After meeting him, I’m kind of leaning towards anything’s possible.”

  There was more movement outside as heavy thuds suddenly landed against the door making it creak. The fridge wobbled but mercifully stayed upright and firm.

  “We need a plan,” Link said worriedly. “And we need it quick.”

  Jesus stared longingly out of the window towards the snowmobiles and the heavy-duty firearms that sat on the back of the machines, tantalisingly out of reach.

  CJ was sat now on the floor. Given his extraordinary height, his head was still up above the bench seating and making a rather attractive target for snipers.

  “You’re still not working?” Jesus asked him.

  CJ looked over his hands like a toddler seeing their own limbs for the first time. “No.”

  “Does that mean that you’re… vulnerable?”

  “Vulnerable?”

  “As in, can you get shot in the head? Or anywhere else, for that matter?”

  “Oh,” CJ replied thoughtfully before slumping down lower.

  That action scared Jesus badly. According to his father’s extensive files that he’d kept on the alien, CJ’s electrical powers extended to a kind of energy shield around him that gave him protection from bullets as well as from the lesser th
reat of knives.

  His father had kept files on all of the team, the sort of files that could never be seen by any of them for within the pages were details of their lives before, during and after the Queen’s Guard.

  Those that had left the government’s employ had never truly walked away. While everyone would have naturally, and quite rightly, assumed that Crimson had been watched, Bull, Jamie-Lyn and Doc had also had their lives tracked from the moment they stepped foot outside of the Queen’s Guard.

  Watching over ex-teammates might have been palatable to a certain extent – after all, they had all known who they were working for and none of them had left with a shred of naivety – but the file sections on their weaknesses and strategies for neutralising them would have angered them beyond reasonable doubt. It was an ultimate betrayal.

  His own interactions with CJ had been limited. The war had been long gone by the time that he had stepped into his father’s shoes and his appointment had only really been in the great man’s memory instead of Jesus’ own ability.

  There was no illusion as to how he was viewed, in fact how any of them were viewed. They were relics from a bygone era, embarrassing war-time propaganda that seemed obscene in the cold light of day during peacetime.

  He had always supposed that there were multiple war-time records stored somewhere, which would have seemed abhorrent to the public long after the conflict had ended. War often brought out the very worst in people, and fighting fire with fire might have been understandable at the time, but when the flames died down, all you were left with were cold dead ashes.

  Looking around, he could see clearly that this was no place to make a stand. There was way too much glass providing easy breach points and they were without weapons. The only thing that they had going for them right now was that the perpetrators didn’t know that CJ had been depowered, or at least he hoped they didn’t know.

  A horrible thought started to creep into his mind. What if those outside were affecting CJ’s powers? What if this was their strategy? What if SOUL had found a way to neutralise their enemy?