Benjamin sputtered and coughed. “C-c-can you swim towards a house?”
I nodded and towed him diagonally towards a solid-looking roof.
A submerged car slammed into us, tearing us apart. Benjamin disappeared underwater.
“Benjamin! Benjamin!” I took a breath, then sank under the water with my eyes open.
In the bubbly darkness, I spied flashes of pale skin mixed with cloth, bits of wood and debris, and a limp dog with a collar still around its neck. I surged towards the pale skin and reached out, but was met with only water.
I dove deeper, the wet silence pressing at me. Though my lungs burned, I absolutely could not surface, because I’d never find Benjamin again. I kicked, propelling myself forward to a glimmer of white, and closed my hand around Benjamin’s wrist.
With a final burst of effort, I pulled him to the surface.
He sagged in my arms, unconscious. Fresh gashes from the collision with the car marred his arms, and his burn bandages were torn open. I hated to think what the filthy flood water would do to his wounds, but I couldn’t dwell on future problems while drowning was a present threat.
A massive oak tree stood directly ahead, so I angled myself in such a way that I’d slam into the tree instead of Benjamin. Three...two…one…
All the air in my lungs was expelled when I hit the tree, but at least Benjamin hadn’t hit it. I reached up and grabbed a limb, then pulled myself up with one arm while holding onto Benjamin with the other.
I gently draped him over another limb and inspected him. He was breathing, so I suspected his unconsciousness was from a thump to the head instead of drowning. After a few seconds, he coughed and dirty water gushed out of his mouth.
I settled back against the tree trunk and began to shiver.
Helicopters hummed in the distance. The flood flowed all around us, destroying my city from the ground up, but I couldn’t get out of this tree to save anyone. Was Marco alright? Had he killed the rest of the Trents?
I thought of the shelter, submerged and vulnerable, and hoped Marco would know what to do. I hoped he knew I was sorry for yelling at him, and that he was so special to me.
I thought of my dead brother Gregory and hoped that wherever he was, he was proud of his big sister, who’d fought her leader and won, who’d lead her team against a storm and won, who’d faced her death without blinking and won.
I didn’t think of Patrick except to wonder which luckless civilian would find his corpse, if anyone ever did.
I sat in the tree for an indeterminable amount of time, contemplating my past and future. Benjamin drifted in and out of consciousness. Every once in a while, he’d mumble something and jerk awake, but then his eyelids would flutter and he’d be still. Whenever this happened, I stroked his hair and placed tiny kisses on his clammy forehead.
When the sun was high overhead, I paused in my musings. The sound of helicopters in the distance, ever present, was growing louder.
I twisted around and pulled aside some branches, scanning the sky for orange and white. A small squadron of Coast Guard helicopters was flying our way. One by one, they broke off and went in their own directions, towards roofs bearing people, but the point leader approached the tree.
It slowed and hovered nearby, the wind creating small waves in the water, and then a small disk of hardened earth flew out bearing the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen: Reid.
He floated down next to the tree and held out his hands, the corners of his eyes crinkling in happiness. “Looks like you guys need a superhero.”
I gingerly lifted Benjamin into Reid’s arms. “Benjamin needs medical attention. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, right.” He shifted on the disk to let me on.
I jumped on and wrapped my arms around Reid’s torso, struggling to stay upright in the draft.
We floated up into the helicopter’s open doors. When we were safely inside, the disk disintegrated into dirt, which Reid directed into an orange bucket.
The co-pilot turned around in her chair.
“Ember!”
“Hiya. Sorry about the wait.” She nodded at Benjamin. “The Friedrich has a complete medical bay. Benj…Mercury is going to be fine.”
“Your teammate?” one of the Guardsmen asked Reid, mopping at Benjamin’s bleeding arm.
“My brother. My other brother is at the shelter. We’re going there next.”
40
“So then I pointed at your brother and said that if he wanted to stay alive, he’d collect your mom and beat it.”
Marco was solemn as he picked at a patch on Benjamin’s scratchy wool blanket.
The five of us were in a tiny room aboard the USCGC Friedrich, crammed around Benjamin’s bed. Benjamin sat propped up on pillows, multiple bandages on his arms, leg, and head.
Marco wouldn’t meet Benjamin’s eyes. “He got your mom and zoomed off in the boat. Then I went back inside until the rescue boat came.”
“Why did you come out?” I asked. “I’m glad you did, though.”
“I…I, um, came out to see where you guys were, and also to apologize for being a brat.”
I hugged Marco. “I forgive you.”
Marco frowned and finally met Benjamin’s eyes. “And…I’m sorry I killed your dad. Can you forgive me, too?”
Benjamin’s jaw dropped. “He was about to kill me and Jillian. You had no other choice.”
But I saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes—he was hurting.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think we’ll see your mom or brother again?”
“Hard to say. They’ll be pissed, but Marco proved that our team isn’t weak. If we see them again, it’ll be a while from now. I wish I knew where Eleanor was, though. If she wasn’t in the library, and she didn’t go home to my family, then I guess she ran off. But where?”
“Back to the Rockies?” I suggested. “Maybe she’ll take her boyfriend back. Dean, right? Maybe you’ll have a brother-in-law soon.”
“Or back to cleaning out casinos in Vegas?” Marco said. “She’s Fortuna, isn’t she? Jill and I read about her in the files.”
“Ugh, yeah, she’s Fortuna,” Benjamin said, making air quotes around the codename. “That’s the thing now, coming up with codenames like we’re heroes or something. She’s Fortuna, Beau is Cyber.”
“What’s yours?” Reid asked.
Benjamin sighed. “I never came up with one.”
“Why not?” I asked, not quite believing him. It seemed to me that Benjamin would jump at the chance to give himself a heroic moniker.
“Because it would just have reminded me that I wasn’t a superhero. Like buying a car but not having a license.”
“Well, Mercury, how do you like being a superhero now?” Reid asked. “You know the principles. You’ve dealt with a natural disaster, got beaten up and rescued from a tree, and now you’re injured. You even fought supervillains. Sort of. The only thing you need now is an official uniform. We’ll work on that.”
Benjamin thought for a moment. “Is it weird that I love it?”
“Yes,” we chorused.
We resumed swapping stories of rescues and near-misses. The Friedrich tossed and turned in the choppy ocean, but we were fine. Patrick was dead. The Trents were in retreat.
I watched the sun set through the porthole, thankful that my team had a place to sleep for the night. Tomorrow we’d continue what would be a long rescue and recovery mission with the Coast Guard. All of us, save Benjamin, would go back out into the ruined neighborhoods. Benjamin would stay behind with the medical team.
One by one, the others left for their own beds, until Benjamin and I were alone.
“How are you really doing?” I asked as I sat on the edge of his bed.
He hid his face in his hands. “My dad. My dad is dead.” His voice broke.
I held Benjamin for several minutes while he mourned his father, and I found myself thinking about Patrick. I’d never shed a tear over him, but I couldn’t make myself re
joice in his demise. Perhaps Benjamin thought of his father as a type of Patrick; a terrible leader, an almost-murderer, and an oppressor, but a relation and a part of his past all the same. I certainly had no warm feelings for my own father, but Benjamin clearly missed his own.
I rubbed his back. “Tell me about your father.”
“Dad was horrible. I don’t know why I’m so cut up about it. I should be happy he’s gone.”
“He was still your family. That means something.”
“Being on your team means something more. You’re my family now.” He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.
“So…am I like Eleanor, or am I like your wife?” I teased.
Benjamin started to laugh, then broke down again.
I chastised myself for bringing up Eleanor and pulled him into another hug. When he’d composed himself, I stroked his cheek. “We’re all here for you, and if you want to talk about anything, I’d love to listen.”
Benjamin sighed. “How are you doing? I mean, you basically beat Patrick to death back there. That kind of thing leaves a mark.”
I examined my feelings. “I don’t feel good, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. I am sorry you had to see me like that, though. I…I went to a dark place. That was a different side of me.”
“Is that the real you?”
“Absolutely not. You’ll never see that part of me again.”
He and I stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds, silent emotion passing between us.
His worry melted into something softer. “You know, I can think of one thing to be happy about.”
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“It’s your birthday tomorrow. Since the piano is gone, I’ll have to get you something else.”
“Oh!” I’d completely forgotten that I was turning twenty-one the next day. I brushed my hair out of my face and feigned deep thought. “Well, hm. I’d like a fancy dress, a rope of pearls, a set of knives, a—”
Benjamin laughed and kissed my hand. “You may have to settle for a slice of sheet cake from the galley. But I can give you this.” He leaned forward and kissed my lips. “Thank you for saving my life.”
I stroked his cheek once, then stood. “Get some rest.”
I walked out and shut the door behind me, then crossed the narrow passageway to my own stateroom.
Above the tiny sink hung a scratched mirror, and as I brushed my hair before bed, I studied my reflection.
Who was Jillian Johnson? An abused woman in need of saving? A rebellious upstart in need of discipline? A leader? A heroine?
I gave myself a small smile and turned away from the mirror.
Three Months Later
The doorbell rang. It was the first time it had rung since our headquarters had been rebuilt a month before.
I poked my head out of the bathroom, still in my towel after my bath. “Benjamin! Can you get that?”
He blurred past me and I heard the door open. Benjamin greeted someone, thanked them, and shut the door.
I walked downstairs, my towel wrapped around me, and he paused from opening the large cardboard box to stare at me. “Please tell me that’s your new uniform.”
“Go take a cold shower. These are your new uniforms.” I recognized the logo of the company that the camp allies hired to make our uniforms. Benjamin and I had designed them a few weeks ago. They were the last shipment of new uniforms to arrive. I broke the tape on the box with no effort.
Inside the box were ten light gray tunics, each with a red cross embroidered on the right shoulder and the mythological Mercury’s caduceus on the left. On the back was Benjamin’s codename in bright red letters above another red cross. Underneath the tunics were ten pairs of sturdy khaki pants, a bulletproof vest, steel-soled boots, and a utility belt with many pouches. I hadn’t put in a request for gloves like mine because Benjamin’s healing power required bare hands.
“Suit up,” I said, grinning. I carried the box upstairs for him and placed it on his bed, then went to my room to change.
My new uniform was similar to his, except my tunic was no longer black, but blue, my favorite color. I’d given my team an opportunity to change their names to whatever they wanted—our codenames having been given to us by Patrick—but nobody had wanted to change. I myself found that I liked being Battlecry, but I couldn’t determine when my feelings about my codename had changed.
None of us work masks anymore.
We met at the top of the stairs. Benjamin self-consciously tugged at his uniform. “The vest will take some getting used to,” he said. “It’s heavy.”
“Not as heavy as the dead body you might be without it,” I said, smoothing out a wrinkle on his sleeve. “You look hot, by the way.”
He leaned in close. “Is that so?”
When we left our headquarters several minutes later, we walked past the church next door and waved to the schoolchildren at recess on the lawn.
The church had had some repairs from the fire Marco ignited, but besides that and a tiny bit of water damage, it was untouched. The church’s financial board had unanimously voted to sell the convent’s land to us for a dollar, and after a little finagling we’d received a new headquarters from the city. Construction, aided by five superpowered helpers, had taken a mere six weeks.
Down the block, James Oglethorpe High School stood half-constructed. Workmen labored at a steady pace to rebuild the school that had been burned out, then washed away three months before. Around the perimeter of the campus, nearly two hundred wooden crosses stuck out of the ground like a macabre fence. Each cross bore the name of a victim of that terrible day.
I paused at Sebastian Gonzales’s and kissed my hand, then touched the cross. A few dozen crosses down, I did the same at Captain Hannah Drummond’s.
Downtown, there were several new names and End of Watch dates on the city’s fallen police officer memorial. They’d had to expand their existing one.
We strolled down shady streets to the Saint Catherine Central Library.
The stately building boasted three floors of books, computer rooms, conference rooms, reading rooms, and several dozen small displays dedicated to different subjects such as local history, current events, various countries, sports, and holidays. Thanksgiving was in a few weeks, so many displays offered picture books and history books about the pilgrims, fall-themed decorations, and cooking.
Reid sat in a large chair in the corner, engrossed in a cookbook titled A Classic Vegan Thanksgiving.
He looked up as we approached and put it down. “I’m thinking about trying my hand at some of the dishes,” he explained when I picked up the glossy volume. “I’m making a totally vegan Thanksgiving dinner.”
I laughed. “Well, it’ll be memorable. Where is Ember?”
“Over here.” Ember’s sweet voice floated from behind a shelf marked Mental Health. She walked over with a large stack of books in her arms and dumped them on the table by Reid’s chair. They were all about psychology and mental illness.
“Are you leaving my team for medical school?” I asked, faking wide-eyed horror.
“Hardly. I just want to learn more about the human mind, since I’m in it all the time.” She waved at Benjamin. “Looking good, Merc.”
“Where’s Marco?” Benjamin asked, scanning for him.
Reid opened his book again. “Upstairs teaching kids how to knit. The regular storyteller guy had an asthma attack, so Marco swooped in to save the hour.”
I leaned forward. “Since he’s not here, now’s a good time to ask: what are we doing for his birthday?” Marco would turn eighteen the next day.
Benjamin smirked. “Get him a pack of cigarettes and a porn rag. That’s what Beau did for my eighteenth.”
I ignored him. “I was thinking a bunch of knitting stuff, and maybe pizza.”
I took a silent moment to remember our first time eating pizza, in the galley of the Friedrich. It had been an almost indecently pleasurable experience.
“Let’s t
alk later, because here he comes,” Benjamin said, pointing to Marco, who was walking down the stairwell.
Marco spied us and ran over.
“Hey, guys!” He plopped into a chair and sighed. “Fifteen five-year-olds and one pair of needles. Dang. I deserve an award.”
I grabbed him and gave him a noogie. “Here’s your award.
He yelped and squirmed away from me. “You’re crazy, woman,” he muttered, massaging his head but grinning.
A postal worker strode past us to the main circulation desk. Benjamin slapped a hand to his forehead. “I forgot!”
“What?” I asked. “Did you need to mail something?”
“No, we got letters. They were in the bottom of the box that came today.” He pulled folded envelopes from his pocket. He gave us each an envelope bearing our full names in neat, typed lettering: Jillian Johnson, Marco St. James, Ember Harris, Reid Fischer. Benjamin didn’t have an envelope.
We all stared at ours.
“It was bound to happen sometime,” Reid said finally, tearing his open. “Let’s get this over with.”
I opened mine and removed the short letter. Benjamin read over my shoulder.
Jillian Johnson (Battlecry),
You are hereby ordered to report to Chattahoochee Camp no later than 29 December to give testimony regarding the defection and the disappearance of Patrick Campbell (Atropos). Failure to appear by the appointed date will result in your immediate removal from public service and subsequent sanctioning by appropriate authorities.
Elder Thomas St. James
I read the letter twice. Despite the letter’s statement that we were being recalled to testify regarding Patrick, we all knew we were going to have to defend our own actions. I was in bigger trouble than any of them.
A flicker of fear burst to life in my chest. They’d waited until the storm was cleaned up, but our grace period was coming to a close.
Ember tore her letter into tiny pieces. “You are hereby ordered,” she mimicked. “They’re all invited to bite me. If they’re going to pretend that this is about Patrick, then I can’t wait to tell Elder Campbell what his son did. I hope the whole damn camp is there to hear the testimony.”
Battlecry Page 33