Julia made her way to the window. “What is that?” she asked, intrigued by the smell.
“It’s not the equipment, either.” One of the Enforcers trying to aim through the scope looked up at her. “C-Wing Tower is reporting the same thing.”
Carefully, Julia brought her hand up and touched the streaking rain outside. Immediately, she withdrew it with a hiss: it was hot to the touch. The Enforcers watched her as she brought her fingers to her mouth and ran her tongue along where the rain struck. The taste confirmed her suspicion. “Coffee.”
“Coffee, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.
“I’ll take care of this,” Julia said, feeling an instant gut reaction of anger rising in her. She looked at the two officers flanking her, studying their rifles. One magazine had the blue-striped magazine of rubber bullets. The other, live rounds in the red-striped magazine. She held out her hand toward one of them. “Give me your rifle.”
Ariana stood, arms out and looking mighty irritated, but Arthur had never felt luckier to simply know her. Pooling at the fleeing villains’ feet were the rapidly cooling remnants of coffee, but the thick walls of it railing against the Fort provided all the heat they needed to evade detection. It was brilliant. He heard the rumble of one of the buses turning over before rumbling to the gates. Most of them were going to have to make it on foot, but as long as Ariana could hold out…
“I can do this all night!” she cried out defiantly. People were running when they could, others being carried by more able members of the mass of humanity. It would be uplifting if it weren’t so desperate.
Five uniformed heroes stormed out of the Fortress, pointed at Ariana, then charged her position. With a gesture, a sheet of water turned into near-boiling coffee, inundating them with burns. The five fell to the ground, screaming and crawling back to the door.
Arthur looked at the entrance, anticipating the eventual rush of Enforcers. Instead, Stair shuffled into view, ignored by the heroes. Her face was red and blank, staring at the ground like it was the only thing keeping her on earth. His breath caught in his chest when he realized that she was covered in glistening blood. “Stair!” he shouted, but she didn’t look up. It was probably suicidal, but he couldn’t help but run to her.
Ariana cocked her head as he sprinted past her. “Where are you going?”
He ignored Ariana and continued toward the redhead. Maybe she just hadn’t seen the girl, or maybe the blood-drenched figure had turned invisible to everyone but him. He didn’t quite know why sometimes people couldn’t see Stair or even acknowledge that she had ever existed, but he certainly wasn’t going to question it when she had saved his life.
An Enforcer, enticed by Arthur’s charge toward the Fortress, rushed to meet him. The rain blackened above him, sending the guard into a screaming fit on the ground before he could even raise his weapon.
“Stair, you have to hurry,” Arthur said as he slowed in front of her. She didn’t even seem to notice when he grabbed her arm.
Her eyes remained fixed on the ground. “H-he’s dead,” she gasped from beneath rain-matted hair.
Arthur’s heart sank at the words. He paused a moment, trying to think of what to do. “Come on.” He grabbed hold of her hand and ran toward the buses. She reluctantly picked up the pace, her feet dragging in the half-stagger of grief.
Tim, carrying a younger inmate with a twisted ankle, ran past Ariana. “Keep it up, baby!” In an instant, he was past her, turning in place to keep her in eyeshot. “We’re almost finished with the vehicles.”
She looked back at him, smiling. “Nothing can sto–” Her head snapped around, and she collapsed. Tim almost immediately threw the girl in his arms to a fleeing goon as he doubled back to Ariana, Arthur and Stair already at her side.
“Ari!” Tim skidded into a kneel by her. “Is she okay?”
“Unconscious,” Arthur said, looking up at him. “How did…” he trailed off.
The two of them simultaneously reached the same conclusion. “Julia.”
Gunshots started up again, this time in great numbers. Goons were falling and not getting up. “Shit!” Tim shouted, gathering up Ariana in his arms.
And then, the water grew thick – unnaturally thick. A wall of rain stood roiling between them and the Fort. Morgan was standing by the vehicles, hand up and wincing. “Is she doing that?” Arthur asked.
“Who cares?” Tim said, running to the line of vehicles. Aeschylus and Cleese noticed Ariana in his arms and intercepted him.
Arthur led Stair toward one of the buses toward the front of the line. He flagged down one of the goons. “You need to make sure she gets out of here.” The goon actually seemed to notice Stair and offered his hand.
“What are you doing?” Stair started pulling against Arthur. “I’m going with you.”
Arthur turned to her and grabbed her shoulders. “I’ll be right behind you.”
She looked at him, tears welling in her eyes, shivering from the cold rain. “I don’t have anyone anymore!” Stair leapt forward and hugged him, tightly. “Please… don’t leave.”
It hurt, but Arthur couldn’t risk her staying with him, especially when the highest priority targets he could think of were going to be in the ambulance at the back of the line. He pushed her away and looked in her eyes. “I promise I’ll be back.” He offered a smile and a wink before the mobster grabbed her and started taking her toward the bus.
“No! No!” Stair was kicking and screaming at the goon, trying to get at Arthur. “Arthur! Don’t leave me alone!”
Doing his best to overcome guilt, Arthur sprinted back to the ambulance, watching the hero controlling the waves of water. She must have been a late bloomer for her to shrug off the effects of REM sleep so quickly. Not having control over your ability until later in life made you have to naturally concentrate harder to make it work properly, somewhat overriding the biological hitch sleep had on the Bestowed. Her free hand shot out and she snapped her fingers, a globe of water appearing and shattering, probably taking one of Julia’s bullets with it.
He had never seen someone develop their ability later in life with such control over it. She must have been pissed… or in despair… or just really, really desperate to survive.
Tim met Arthur on his way to the ambulance, Ariana no longer with him. “Where is she?”
“With her father. He’ll be one of the first ones out.” Tim’s logic made sense, even if Arthur knew it killed him on the inside. They raced to the back of the ambulance, meeting Talia, James, and Catalina lining up outside the rear doors.
“Hey, guys.” James meekly raised his hand, looking exactly as he did the night he went for a walk and didn’t return. “Talia caught me up with the whole escape thing.”
Catalina took a step toward Arthur as Talia and James climbed into the ambulance. “Honestly, the second we’re moving, all those people on foot are right fucked, Arthur.”
He looked around at everyone, their grim faces confirming that this had already been a topic of conversation. “What?”
Talia swallowed. “They’ll be the first targets. The vehicles will have some time before they can mobilize to intercept them.”
“Plus, you have those antsy snipers in the towers,” Allison said from the front seat, leaning over to reveal herself. “Boy, I know how that feels.” She vanished from view after she finished her thought.
The driver’s side of the vehicle rocked as Mat slipped into the seat. He looked over his shoulder. “We need to roll. I don’t think our improvised shield is going to last much longer.”
“Get in, Art.” Tim was already walking back toward the Fortress.
“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, his stomach working into knots.
Tim turned back. “They’ll need a distraction. I have the means to do it.”
“Tim, you can’t be…”
Tim whipped around and socked Arthur hard enough to dizzy him and render the world a fuzzy, unbalanced place. The next thing he knew, he was
in the ambulance, the sudden motion of the vehicle pulling him farther away from the only family he had ever truly known.
Tim had motioned over the two remaining Bennetts boys, each of them carrying rifles in their hands. “You two need to start shooting at the towers the moment the rain drops, do you understand?”
The one he was fairly sure was Herbert saluted. “Yes, sir.”
The one he was pretty sure was Paul nodded. “Of course.”
They went their separate ways as Tim walked beyond the rows of escaping trucks and cars, toward the mass of people being shepherded by the now white armor-uniformed Zombress. The skull on her back remained from when the outfit was a dress, red tears looking particularly ominous to Tim. “Stay together!” she shouted. “Once we’re in the woods, head to the nearest Italian Mob safe house. Follow the men in suits.” She turned to Tim and nodded solemnly. “This is too big a group,” she said quietly. “We’ll be caught and cut to ribbons.”
Tim grunted and moved toward them. “I need brawlers. Anyone with Bestowed abilities that aren’t messed with by the sleep chambers: super strength, speed, agility… you need to come forward now.” The group stared at him. “We need to buy time. There are hundreds of heroes on the other side of that wall, and it can’t stay up forever.” He gestured to the girl protecting them, who was now supporting herself on one hand while the other remained skyward. Globes of water still materialized to intercept bullets, but they were smaller and now appearing one after the other, greater numbers of them necessary as she weakened. Clearly, she was fighting something internal to the last breath, and it was not going well. “The second it does, there had better be something standing in their way from our loved ones.”
No one moved. Tim thought that he may have to go in fighting by himself for a moment, get shot a couple dozen times, then captured. But, slowly, a woman pushed her way out of the crowd. The villain was tall and naturally tan, raven-black hair pulled back above her scowl of determination. “The Bearorist, reporting.”
“Father Fistmas,” a jolly old man with white hair and a beard said, kneeling down to a little girl clinging to his hand. He whispered something to her as another woman came forward, not introducing herself.
“Eighth Street Bros, my man.” Tim hadn’t seen them approach, but there they were, all seven members of the gang. They were ridiculously well-built, wife beaters stretched taut over their bottle-tanned skin as their Fort-issued orange pants hung below their waists. “Let’s teach these boys not to mess with the bros!” His compatriots gave a whoop of agreement.
Another man came forward, his hand held by another man while a crying boy sat on his shoulder. “Daddy, don’t go…” the tiny one cried, not understanding why the world had gone the way it had. The boy’s father reached over and ruffled his hair before kissing his partner on the lips, holding him close. Tim’s chin quivered as the man let go, leaving the two mourners behind.
“Timothy McFadden,” Zombress whispered as two more, a man and a woman, left the crowd. “I can stay and fight.”
He turned to her. “Can you use your abilities?”
She shook her head. “Not one you’d want.”
“Get them as far as you can.” He could hear a trickle of other former inmates fighting their way toward the members of the last stand. “You’re much too valuable to lose here.” He turned toward the Fort, his ragtag super villain coalition marching in a straight line toward the girl who was giving her life to protect them.
A gift he intended to return.
They stood in front of her, her repeated chorus of, “Don’t let her beat you, Morgan…” providing an unhappy anthem by which to fight. “So many of them… so… damn… many.”
“Morgan, can you push this wall forward before it dissipates?” Tim asked loud enough to catch her attention.
She was briefly distracted by intercepting a bullet. “I think so.”
“When we’re ready, do it, then get out of here.”
“I can stay and fight,” she said between heaving breaths.
“Not like that,” the Bearorist snapped.
Tim nodded. “She’s right.” He cleared his throat. “Get together with the others the second that water is down, do you understand?” He couldn’t see her, but he was fairly sure she nodded in agreement. “Everyone, this is it. We can’t let them through. The lives of everyone outside these walls depend on it.” He leaned downward in preparation for the rush. The others at his flanks copied him.
“On your mark!” shouted Father Fistmas.
“Let’s get this done, Bro-saurus Rex!” one of the Bros called out.
Tim inhaled deeply. Before him, the wall of water faltering slightly. He shut his eyes, focusing on Ariana… the one, true love of his life. If he made it out of this in one piece, he’d make sure she knew that. He had to.
The ambulance was through the gate when Catalina shouted, “Stop!” at Mat. She kicked open the doors and threw herself over the prone Arthur.
Talia leaned out of the vehicle to witness Catalina unholstering her pistol as she marched into the guard house. “What are you doing?”
Catalina turned back to her. “Making sure the gate stays up.”
“And that needs a gun?” Talia shouted at her.
Catalina smiled. “No. This is for unfinished business.”
Tim’s eyes snapped open. “Let’s go!”
They ran toward the wall of water, the mass shifting and moving along before it collapsed before them. And suddenly, there they were, the many which Morgan had somehow seen. The Enforcers were in rank, the frontmost recovering from being bowled over. The second row, still standing, raised their rifles to open fire, but Tim and his companions were leaping over the rising Enforcers – Tim making sure to send his foot into the face of the one in front of him – and smashing headlong into the officers.
Immediately, he lost sight of his team, but it wasn’t about coordinating attacks; it was about carnage. Tim was smashing his way through the officers, arcing his fist across the face of one, straight kicking another, grabbing the vest of a third and twisting him around before bringing his fist down as hard as he could on the man’s sternum. It was only a matter of moments before he was surrounded, but it was exactly what he and his fellow brawlers needed.
It made guns useless. Friendly fire was too great a risk.
The telescoping batons were out, about half of them snapping with electricity. One sparking cudgel swung at shoulder level at Timothy, who easily ducked under before he grabbed the outstretched limb and punched upward toward the elbow. The joint snapped and the Enforcer shuddered backward in agony before Tim grabbed him by the neck and yanked, spinning in place and pulling the officer off his feet, through the air, and releasing him into an advancing crowd.
A standard baton smashed him on the back of head, forcing Tim to grab hold of the attacker’s wrist and spin them in front of him. He squeezed, feeling the bones shatter before he released his victim and kicked him hard enough to send him flying backward. Tim briefly saw the Bearorist leaping at an Enforcer and knocking the victim to the ground, tearing at the assault mask before kicking up and off the downed man into another one. He couldn’t help but smile. It was kind of fun in an ultra-violent kind of way.
Two Enforcers bellowed from behind him, compelling his attention. The two were charging, metal batons at the ready, when Tim launched himself toward them. His hands latched around their throats before they could react. He threw one to the ground while his grip tightened around the other. He stomped down on the grounded Enforcer before yanking the baton out of the throttled officer’s hand. Releasing him, the man wobbled in the rain before Tim brought the baton smashing on his face, sending him spinning into the mud.
“Behold the fury!” someone shouted behind him. Tim whirled around as a black armor-vested man rapidly closed the distance between them, an improbably large sword flashing in his hand. Quickly, the attacker swung the huge weapon and Tim instinctively swung the baton to intercept o
nly to have the metal rod sliced in two.
The man recovered from the swing by carrying through with the momentum and spinning to bring the blade around again. Tim closed what gap between them remained and brought his arm up to interrupt the swing. The man’s arm connected with Tim’s, giving the villain time to deliver several quick jabs to the swordsman’s chin. Each one would have downed anyone un-Bestowed unless they had trained to withstand such punishment.
Tim was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and headbutted to the ground, the blow briefly breaking his nose. The swordsman reared back for an overhead bisection and swung downward, hard, as Tim rolled backward. The sword sunk into the mud as Tim got to his feet and leapt forward, bringing his fist down on the other man’s face and sending him rocketing to the ground. Taking the opportunity to pin the hero beneath him, Tim leapt on him knees-first, then pounded his face repeatedly. His victim tried to move, but Tim was incredibly dense, owing to both his super strength and nigh invulnerability.
It took an Enforcer body-slamming him off his target to make him slide off. It must have been like running headlong into a wall, because Tim felt the Enforcer’s collarbone shatter at the impact. The two spilled onto the earth, Tim rising as the officer screamed at the bloodied hero rising from the mud: “Claymore, are you okay?”
With a grunt, Tim leaned over and gripped the Enforcer by the vest and heaved him into a group of his fellows with their backs turned to him. The officer was clearly incapacitated, no point in keeping him around as a roadblock. Before he could turn around, a red-uniformed hero leapt at him, punching at his face. Tim’s head snapped along with the blow while he reached up and clamped onto the back of the hero’s neck. Tim brought the man’s face down, hard, on his knee, and he slumped, gurgling, to the ground.
The man the Enforcer had called Claymore shrieked behind him, and Tim darted to the side as he spun around, narrowly avoiding being cleft in two. The speed at which the swordsman moved was impressive, but all Tim had to do was wear him out… or lure him toward his allies. Tim ducked under a horizontal blow and tackled into Claymore, picking him up and running into more Enforcers, bowling them aside before he tripped and pile-drived the hero into the ground. Tim toppled on top of Claymore before rolling off and aiming a high kick at his face.
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