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Jamie-Lyn was watching the corridor, feeling that time was rushing away from them and that standing motionless was killing her.
“Oh shit.” Link breathed to himself as he stared at the screen.
“What is it?”
“This… Oh shit.”
“What?”
“Those tubes back there, they were for cloning… Jesus Christ, he cloned most of the bloody town.”
“Gustafson?”
“It’s here in his journals. Look, there’s no way I’m ever going to understand the science of it; we need a bigger brain than mine for that, but he did it. Hell, he perfected it.”
“How? Why?”
“His parents were killed when he was just a kid. His parents were scientists. His father was a geneticist looking at human genes in the thirties and what might be unlocked there or indeed added. According to Gustafson’s journal, the townsfolk weren’t too happy at someone playing God. That old research base was way out of town, but in small communities, I guess once the rumour mill gets going, you know?”
“I can guess.”
“You remember the names that those people were yelling at us?”
“Astrid, Erik and Freja, I think.”
“Well Astrid and Erik were his parents. Apparently, one day in town, Erik saved a local woman’s life. Seems like fairly basic CPR. But when he brought her back, the town went nuts… real old-school religious fanatics.”
“That must have been Freja, the woman he saved.”
“Well, the cast of the Swedish Wicker Man went out there one night and well, little Olaf was left an orphan. He had to watch his parents being hacked to death in front of him in some crazy ritual sacrifice.”
“And this never got out?”
“You saw the place, how isolated it was, and this was the thirties. That little fishing town is miles and miles from anywhere else. If no one came looking, then how would anyone else ever find out?”
“Okay…”
“Apparently, that night Freja managed to convince the others to spare the child and she took him in, raised him as her own. I guess she at least felt guilty after Olaf’s father saved her life.”
“How old was he when this happened?”
“Four.”
“Jesus, what would that do to a child?”
“Screw him up royally, apparently,” Link said, tapping the screen. “Freja managed to smuggle out what she thought was a diary from his father, some kind of keepsake for the boy, but in truth it was a record of his work. Little Olaf inherited his parents’ intellect and worked to decipher and understand what his father had been working on. He left the town at the first chance he got and took himself off to study across Europe.”
“When did he return? I mean, I’m guessing that he came back and it wasn’t a happy reunion.”
“According to his journals, he went home some decade or so later in the early sixties and set about rebuilding his father’s work at the research base. The town had evolved a little at that point. They weren’t burning witches at the stake anymore, but I think the damage was already done. Gustafson started his experiments and began test trials, cloning and genetic manipulation.”
“Like some kind of real-life Dr Frankenstein.” Jamie-Lyn breathed.
“According to this, he started replacing the town, one person at a time, and implanting control measures in them.”
“Oh, this just gets nuttier by the minute. That’s why they attacked us? The townsfolk, I mean.”
“I guess someone used the control device and ordered them into battle… at least those that had been cloned and were under control. I’ll bet that if the authorities go in there now, then they’ll probably find a bunch of dead folk who were maybe made the old-fashioned way and not in a lab, people who moved into the area and settled… men and women who simply got in the way.”
“What about CJ’s powers? Is there anything about what’s dampening them?”
“There are some schematics for that. Gustafson had plans for a small device to emit a dampening field that shuts down the part of his physiology that produces the electric charge that he can emit.”
“So where is it? CJ thought that whatever was doing it to him was back in the base.”
“Judging by these plans, it could be handheld. Maybe there’s more than one. Maybe there was one in the base waiting for him and Cynthia might be carrying one on her now.”
“So the base was what? A set-up? Who knew that we’d be there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a trap was left just in case? Maybe Gustafson was just covering his tracks?”
“Do you think that Gustafson sent them after us? The townsfolk, I mean”
“Could have been Cynthia’s orders?” Link ventured.
“So who’s working for who here?” she replied, confused. “I mean, I assumed that Cynthia had brought Gustafson into her fold whether he was a willing participant or not. What if, in fact, she’s working for him?”
“Cynthia being used? From what I’ve seen of her, I find that hard to believe.”
“Well what if they’re not working together at all? What if this is two sides and not one? Two forces working against us? You said he made the beast, right? Gustafson made the beast?”
“Yes.”
“So that thing has killed plenty of Cynthia’s soldiers, right? I mean, it attacked us and government forces, but it also killed a bunch of her guys too.”
“I guess; maybe it’s just hard to control?”
“Or maybe it’s been doing its job just fine all along.”
“Maybe… look, there’s a bunch of stuff here on that thing. Let me check over it,” Link pondered as he turned his attention back to the screen and started to flick through various folders.
“Well?”
“Give me a minute.”
“Come on, there must be something?” she said irritably. “Time’s short here, Link, I can feel it.”
“Well here’s…” His voice trailed off.
“What is it?”
“I’m no scientist, but I don’t like the sound of this.”
“What, for Christ’s sake?”
“Transformative,” he said, tapping the screen. “Dormant cells,” he continued, picking out the relevant words from a whole screen of swimming scientific terms that neither of them understood. “Trigger…, memory wipe…, resting state…, holy shit!” he said quickly, jumping back from the desk.
“What? What are you saying?”
“Don’t you get it? The beast, that monster. Gustafson made a… a kind of…”
“Werewolf,” she finished. “That’s what you’re saying, right? I mean, not literally, but something that changes from one form to another, that goes from person to animal, which means…”
“Which means it could be anyone. It could be anyone here. Shit…,” he said, returning to the screen again. “No, not anyone… Come on!” he suddenly shouted before taking off running, and all she could do was to run after him.
----------
Cynthia moved to CJ and turned the Angel Blade over in her hands, savouring the throbbing power that she felt through the steel.
“‘Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.’ Ephesians 6:11,” she said as the blade radiated.
“You can stab away all you like, Cynthia,” CJ said tiredly as though speaking to a child who was struggling with a basic premise. “You’re going to achieve nothing but the blunting of your blade. I’ve already told you that nothing on your earth can harm me, certainly not that rusty old thing.”
“But this is no ordinary blade, demon. This is my Angel Blade,” she said, showing the camera.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. My skin is impenetrable, regardless of my powers. Even without my abilities, you cannot harm me, Cynthia. When will you learn?”
“It is you that shall receive the lesson now, demon. You shall see where the true power lies.”
; With that, she raised the knife before plunging it downwards. CJ’s expression did not change as he waited for the woman with mental health issues to snap her ancient-looking knife against his hide. But his expression did change into one of confusion as the rusty old knife drove into his shoulder and didn’t bounce off. Instead, inexplicably, the tip pierced his flesh and sank in up to the hilt.
Cynthia raised her hands to the heavens in a triumphant dance for the cameras as her entire existence was justified in a single blow. She was chosen by God, and her Angel Blade was indeed a holy weapon.
Crimson watched on in stunned disbelief, unable to comprehend what he was seeing as the indestructible alien was stabbed with a single ordinary knife.
Link and Jamie-Lyn had exited the hangar from where they had emerged up to ground level and skirted around the outside of the building, hoping to avoid further conflict.
The inside of the hangar building was a hive of activity with a lot of SOUL’s combat-clad soldiers, so it seemed wiser to try and find a way around rather than directly through.
They stumbled across a TV news van parked in a bay outside guarded by a couple of heavies.
From their vantage point secreted behind another couple of vehicles, they were able to see inside the van as the large double back doors were open. Looking through, they could see the monitor screens and a close-up just in time to see the show.
They saw CJ sat on a chair while Cynthia did her usual crazy lady preaching shtick in front of him while CJ sat patiently trying to reach the woman who wanted nothing more than to see him dead.
At first, Jamie-Lyn had been relieved to see that all Cynthia was armed with was a rusty-looking old knife, but much like Crimson, she found herself looking on in shock as the knife plunged into CJ’s flesh.
For his part, CJ started to scream, scream in pain; he screamed like a being that for the first time in three decades on the planet felt the touch of mortality that he’d often spoken about when envying the human race. He screamed like a creature that had once wanted to experience the fragility of humanity but was now finding out what that really felt like.
chapter 42
COUNTDOWN
Seven minutes to transmission
Reagan Holgate sat in the TV van and almost fell off his seat when he saw Cosmic Jones get stabbed.
Like the rest of the world, he was under the impression that the alien was pretty much indestructible, and when Cynthia Arrow had produced some rusty old knife, he had almost laughed at the crazy lady’s actions. But he wasn’t laughing now.
One of the guards outside his van had told him in passing that Cynthia held an Angel Blade, supposedly sent to her father by God himself and then passed down to her.
It had been difficult keeping the laugh out of his voice when the meathead had told him that in all seriousness, but the large man and the larger automatic assault rifle had done a sterling job in keeping the mocking mirth from showing on his face.
Life had quickly gone from the everyday norm to the batshit crazy at a record-setting pace. He and Dougie Renner were a two-man team. Dougie worked the camera and he worked the van. When he’d been told that their reporter in the field today would be Summer Sloan herself, they had executed a perfectly synchronised double roll of their eyes.
The young woman was the new power at the station and had been ever since the station manager, Chris Adams, had been murdered and surprisingly not replaced.
Now, Reagan found himself sitting in some kind of private military base surrounded by armed thugs, watching Dougie’s camera feed showing Cynthia Arrow torturing an alien superhero, and somehow managing to stab the apparently impenetrable being. This really wasn’t how he’d envisaged his career going.
The goons outside had made it clear that he was in no way to inform the studio just what to expect when they started broadcasting and he wasn’t about to argue with dead-eyed guards. There was to be no introduction or explanation from his side, just the feed.
He checked the transmission clock and saw that they were now six minutes from broadcasting; the country was about to get the show of a lifetime.
Six minutes to transmission
Cynthia called Summer over to her and the woman walked warily after a little nudging by Savannah.
“Come, child,” Cynthia motioned.
Summer reached her and tried her best to keep her knees from knocking together.
Cynthia placed a hand on her shoulder before turning her to face the camera.
“Speak to your people, child. Speak to our people,” Cynthia ordered. “Tell them about what you have seen here today. Tell them the truth of my word and the glory of God.”
“I… I don’t understand…,” Summer stammered as she turned to look back at CJ who was now slumped forward in his chair and not moving.
“You know about his filthy lies,” Cynthia continued. “You know his dark path. You have seen his false face firsthand; you have witnessed his black-hearted intentions. Now tell the people, child. TELL THEM!”
“I don’t know what you want from me?” Summer recoiled.
Cynthia responded by grabbing Summer hard by the scruff of the neck and marching her over to CJ. She shoved the other woman’s face forwards until her nose was almost touching the seeping green blood that was leaking out around the hilt of the knife in his shoulder.
“This creature walked among us, spreading his lies,” Cynthia snarled. “A foul demon dragged up from the gates of hell who masqueraded as a hero,” she sneered sarcastically. “He convinced the world that he was sent to save us, and yet in reality, he was sent to destroy us.”
“Okay…,” Summer said hoarsely.
“A monster among men, a filthy demon who could not be harmed by any conventional weapons, right? No gun could shoot him, no knife could cut him, right? RIGHT?”
“Yes, yes.” Summer nodded quickly as she tried in vain to twist away.
“And what do you see now?”
“He’s… he’s bleeding.”
“Exactly. My Angel Blade has pierced his flesh; my blade has struck him down. My holy glory has laid the animal low. This is my destiny… this is our destiny. THIS IS THE WILL OF GOD AND YOU SHALL BEAR WITNESS. YOU SHALL ALL BEAR WITNESS!”
Finally, she let go of Summer, and the younger woman gratefully slipped away and out of her grasp.
“Tell them,” Cynthia instructed as she pointed towards the camera. “Tell them now.”
“I am… I am standing here with Cynthia Arrow and the superhero known as Cosmic Jones,” Summer started with a deep breath, trying to find solace in her natural environment in front of the camera.
Her mind was racing and it was all she could do to focus on the job in hand and not let her imagination run wild with the fragility of her own predicament.
The woman in front of her was clearly insane, which now cast doubt over everything that she’d been pushing down the public’s throat and the agenda that she’d been spinning. Part of her felt an obligation to expose the truth, but a larger part of her just wanted to live, so she did as she was told and started to report what Cynthia wanted to hear.
Five minutes to transmission
Crimson watched in shock as CJ sat slumped, seemingly knocked out by the wound in his shoulder.
He’d spent time back in the day trying to spot a weakness in the alien to exploit should it ever become necessary and had never found one. Any being that powerful needed an off switch.
Now he had just seen the big green alien stabbed in the shoulder with a rusty old knife like he was… well, like he was just a man.
His next thought came quickly: if CJ could feel pain, then he could be hurt; if he could bleed, then he could die.
There were just two armed men standing guard inside the hangar, but the grounds outside were thick with Cynthia’s soldiers. Presumably, she wanted to keep the camera’s view as simplistic as possible and not show that she had an army to back her up.
He’d taken a baseball cap from the second set
of guards that he’d killed and now pulled it down low on his head as he started to move.
It was open ground between him and the group in the middle of the hangar, so he had to use the thankfully afforded shock value moment to close the distance.
CJ was on a chair while Cynthia stood next to him now, and the reporter woman from TV stood ahead of them both while speaking into the camera.
The camera itself was some 10 or 12 feet back and on a tripod with a civilian operating it. Two guards stood behind that with their weapons now lowered slightly as they stared at the scene unfolding in front of them.
Crimson moved towards the back of the men, hoping that their attention remained focused on the scene ahead of them, but of course, that meant that if Cynthia looked out over their shoulders, she would see him approaching.
He walked as if with a purpose, not too slow and not in a rush, keeping the hat down low and his head lower.
There was a pistol with spare ammo in his holster and a small knife that he’d taken from one of the guards up his sleeve. His insides felt mushy and one eye was swollen shut. His left leg didn’t seem to be working properly; his ribs felt like there were a couple broken and nothing was healing.
It wasn’t much of an arsenal to work with and they were pretty shitty odds all round, but he figured what the hell.
Four minutes to transmission
Jamie-Lyn and Link stared on in shock at the scene before them as CJ was stabbed in the shoulder and started to bleed.
It was the first time that she’d ever seen the alien even slightly inconvenienced, let alone hurt, and now he was bleeding.
As well as carrying the pictures, the monitors were also sharing the audio from the scene inside the hangar as well, and they heard every word of Cynthia’s crazed rant.
Inside the van was a man who was obviously a civilian, given how well he was operating the complicated equipment and how ashen-faced and terrified he looked.
“Holy crap!” the man exclaimed after the stabbing. “Is he dead?”
“Just keep recording,” one of the guards said, his own voice a little shaky.
“Praise God,” the other guard uttered in sheer reverence. “The day has finally come and all glory in his name.”
Capes Page 59