Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  Tim collapsed to the ground, ready to concede to the darkness pulling at his eyes. He was being gathered up. His right elbow had mended together enough for him to paw weakly at the hands grasping around his throat, burning into his skin and searing his muscles. The fingers started to squeeze.

  Zealot started to laugh, childlike but malevolent. “He took my hands… my ability to touch, to feel, anything.” Tim tried to claw at the hands, but they didn’t budge. “But now… I’ve been given a new lease on what was stolen from me.” He lifted Tim into the air by the throat, the shorter man’s legs dangling above the earth. Zealot’s free right hand extended outward and he unfolded his fist, revealing, with a hiss, blue liquid pouring into a chamber in his palm. It pooled, then was sucked into one of the tubes connecting his artificial hand to his body. Zealot seized up for a moment, then relaxed. “It’s mostly an adrenal and dopamine mixture… the only thing keeping me alive after Purgatory’s Inventor took my hands.” His voice was soothing, yet somehow wrong. “Bio-feedback loops in these wondrous gloves give me sensation where there was none, villain.”

  The hand on Tim’s neck tightened, slowly. “I can feel your pulse weaken. In your death, I glimpse peace… the universe makes sense.” Tim lost his ability to fight against his attacker. He limply dangled as the world dimmed. He didn’t notice that Zealot’s helmet had retracted, nor did he see that tears joined rain droplets in streaming down his face. “To feel again… to know the world is right… there is no greater joy.”

  A final squeeze and, with a wet crunch, Tim’s world faded into nothing, before what was left of him was thrown by the wayside to be buried in the mud.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  INTO THE NIGHT

  SOMETHING BUZZED IN ARTHUR’S EAR, aggravating the pounding headache he was going to have to thank Tim for when he saw him again. He had long since regained consciousness, able to thoroughly enjoy the bumpy, unpaved road back to civilization in all its profoundly rocky glory. The rain was finally stopping, a small comfort considering that all the villains inside the ambulance were already soaked through and through.

  Mat grunted. “Someone’s having trouble with the earpiece.”

  It was the first time he had heard anyone speak since coming to. The words seemed alien in the air around them, unwelcome visitors disrupting an uneasy peace.

  Catalina brought her hand up to her ear. “Whoever is sleeping on their communicator, please stop.”

  The buzzing continued for a moment longer, then stopped. “… Is the Bearorist, the champion has fallen, the remaining villains are fleeing.”

  Arthur perked up immediately, his hand snapping to his ear to open a line between them. “What do you mean, ‘the champion has fallen?’”

  A hiss, then a crackle. “The leader of the last stand has been killed by Zealot. The three of us left are trying to escape.” A pause. She was clearly out of breath, running away from a mass of Enforcers.

  The words had taken a moment to reach Arthur’s brain. The instant they did, his heart felt like stopping forever. He shut his lids tightly, and tears rolled down his cheeks a second later. Shaking, he leaned forward and brought his hands into fists. “My fault… this is all my fault.” He felt Talia’s hand on his back and he shook it off. “Tim…” he started before losing strength. He screamed with rage, spinning in place and punching the sides of the ambulance. The blows did nothing to abate his anger, but they shattered the skin on his knuckles, allowing him to feel some semblance of punishment. They hit a bump in the road, and he collapsed, blood dribbling down his arms. He was exhausted, even more so than before, and all he could do now was curl into a ball and cry.

  “Bearorist, right?” Mat said after the outburst.

  “Yes,” came the reply.

  “How’d you get the earpiece?” he asked.

  A hiss for a moment. “I took it off a dead mobster. The other one’s unconscious, but he’s starting to throw out my back.”

  “Copy.” Mat took out his earpiece and threw it to the floor, eyes not leaving the road ahead of him. “We’ll be back on the main road soon. The hospital isn’t too far away.”

  “Mat…” Allison said in a startling display of empathy.

  “Allison,” Catalina snapped. The elder glanced in her sister’s direction to be met with a solemn shake of her head. Allison rolled her eyes and flopped back in her seat.

  Talia leaned to Arthur. “He gave his life to save ours.”

  “It shouldn’t have happened.” His words were muffled, buried in the cocoon of his arms and legs.

  The world didn’t make sense anymore, at least not in the way it did a month ago. He had been preparing for the SVAC, planning on showing up his father, getting ready for his girlfriend’s birthday… everything had a place and an order and just worked. Sure, he failed SVAC and Kirsten broke up with him, but he had context for those heartaches. But now… Tim was dead. Countless lives were lost thanks to his plan.

  For what? Because of my need to show up my father? A man who pretended I never existed and then, to top it all off, died before he could see what I could do? How was that fair? That people should die for a man who never, ever would acknowledge a mistake or admit to a fault other than ‘working too hard’?

  “Heroes have taken the junkyard!” a voice hissed in his ear.

  “What?” Catalina shouted.

  “They’ve cordoned off the…” Static.

  Allison jumped onto the line. “All units, change of plan, the heroes have taken the backup stations!”

  “They’ve burned the hospital checkpoint!” Mat shouted, slamming on the brakes and turning the wheel hard to the right. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

  “Scatter and proceed immediately to the nearest subway entrance! Priority destination is emergency bunker two!” Allison shouted, the inner dictator suddenly very present. Had Arthur looked up from his stooped position, he would have noticed that Catalina was very, very annoyed at her sister’s sudden interest in taking charge, probably due to the fact that she was doing exactly the same thing that Catalina would have ordered.

  Arthur clambered to the front of the vehicle as who he assumed was the super hero, Spark, streaked overhead, lobbing a fireball toward the ambulance. Mat jerked the wheel to the left as the ball burst on the pavement, exploding in an expansive orange blast. The light was intense, powerful enough to temporarily blind Arthur. The shockwave briefly knocked the ambulance onto two wheels.

  “Should have shot that twatmackeral when I had the chance,” Catalina growled. The hero zipped by them again, launching another volley at the driver’s side forcing Mat to jerk the wheel hard to the right. The explosion smashed into the road, heat ripping through the interior.

  The orange flash had barely faded when two monstrous headlights appeared to the right, drawing the front passenger’s attention. A modified truck bore down on them, engine roaring along with the hiss of pneumatic pistons. Allison and Arthur screamed as Mat jammed the gas pedal to the floor.

  The massive truck clipped the rear of their vehicle, rocking it back and forth before they were on four wheels again. The whine of motorcycle engines filled the night, and five sets of over-under high-beams darted out from the flaming hospital’s parking lot.

  “They really don’t want us to get anywhere do they?” James said as he struggled for purchase while Catalina slipped further into the back. Through the rear windows, the truck’s headlights flared brightly and grew larger as it resumed the chase.

  “This is Colonel Morant of the Enforcers,” the radio hissed. “Allison Capone and her fellow conspirators are to immediately cease their escape attempt.”

  Allison picked up the radio handset. “I’m sorry, you’ve reached a wrong number.”

  “Too many lives have been lost tonight, Miss Capone,” Morant continued. His voice was firm and calm, strictly rational. He clearly thought that appealing to humanity was a good idea. “You should consider the lives of those who are still fighting.”

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nbsp; A motorcycle-bound Enforcer roared up to the ambulance, handling the steering with one hand while holding onto his rifle with the other. He drifted closer to Allison’s side. “Consider this.” She kicked open the door, the move anticipated by the Enforcer who darted away before swooping back to his original spot. Allison had yanked a pistol from her thigh holster and shot out the motorcycle’s tire. The machine went hard to the right and smashed into a bench before launching its rider into the nearest building. She shut the door. “That’s four left.”

  Catalina offered her hand in a congratulatory grip. “Nicely done.”

  “No negotiation,” Allison smiled. The crunch of metal ended the look as the ambulance buckled under the truck’s front bumper.

  “Mega-weapon back there isn’t too pleased,” Mat said, looking through the side mirror. A motorcycle darted in front of their vehicle and leaned over, peppering the windshield with automatic rifle fire before it vanished from sight. A blast of orange fire smashed into the roof, the attacking hero flitting above and behind them.

  Catalina moved over to one of the weapon cabinets and shoved James out of the way. She shoved her hand into the cache and withdrew a belt with a variety of grenades. She clipped it on over her waist.

  The ambulance jerked again before it swerved to the left, an explosion outside heating the interior. “What are you doing?” Arthur shouted.

  Catalina grabbed two automatic rifles and threw one at Arthur and one at Talia. “Taking care of the trucker.” She gestured to the door. “When he gets close enough, I’m hopping on board. Keep the others off of me.”

  “I… I can’t…” Arthur said, holding the gun like it was a particularly pungent child.

  Catalina pointed at James. “You. Beardy.” James pointed at himself, as though there was someone else she may have been talking to. She rolled her eyes. “Can you pull a trigger?” He stared at her, wide-eyed with fear. Exasperated, she snapped at Arthur, “You don’t have to kill them, you idiot. Just make sure they don’t kill me.” She adjusted her rifle strap, cinching it tighter. “I’ll handle the big-girl stuff like splattering their brains against the pavement.” The ambulance rocked again. Talia took a position near the doors, Arthur mirroring it. “Ready?”

  Arthur was fairly sure he’d never be ready to fire a real gun… that’s why he invented things to sanitize the whole killing thing. With an unnecessary war cry, the mobster kicked the doors open. The truck was there, bearing down on them. Catalina braced for the impact, then leapt as the truck pulled away, clutching the armored grill. The Enforcers hadn’t yet noticed Catalina as they swept in front of the ambulance’s open doors and took aim with their rifles.

  Talia had no qualms about shooting first. The first Enforcer was pelted with bullets, blowing him off the bike and into the path of the truck’s tires. The orange streak appeared in the sky, seemingly hovering in place above them to watch what they’d do. Arthur aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger… and nothing happened.

  “The safety, Arthur!” Talia shouted. “Red means dead!” She sighted the rifle and fired a few warning shots. The orange blur darted away and lobbed a fiery sphere toward them.

  “Close the doors!” Arthur shouted. He and Talia yanked their respective doors shut as the fireball exploded, rivers of fire splattering against the windows and rendering them too hot to touch.

  Catalina pulled herself up the grill and onto the hood, crouching in the wind. She recognized the vehicle as belonging to Road Warrior and Scout, the mechanic-and-son turned heroic duo. Everything about the truck was reinforced and souped-up, making the tin can a formidable opponent… but also a death trap.

  The truck swerved, trying to buck her off of it, but its movements were too slow and ponderous for the task. She pulled out her pistol and aimed at the driver’s side. One, two, three shots hit the windshield to pretty much the effect she anticipated: none. “Well, there goes the easy way out.” In response, the vehicle swerved, this time nearly sending her flying off. Before she could readjust, an Enforcer opened fire on her position. She looked back, noticed the ambulance’s doors were closed, then looked up to the sky as the orange streak darted ahead, sending another fireball in the direction of their escape vehicle.

  “Shit,” she muttered as the sound of bullets impacting metal ricocheted around her. The ambulance took a hard right, dodging the hero’s explosive volley. Catalina knelt as her own ride aggressively followed the more mobile vehicle. One of the Enforcers drifted his motorcycle back to match Road Warrior’s speed and aimed his rifle at Catalina. With a crash, the ambulance doors burst open, Talia and Arthur’s suppressing fire making the Enforcer fall back and permitting Catalina to rise.

  Crawling over the hood, she smiled at the quaintness of the fact that the armor-plated, high-speed chase busting monstrosity had windshield wipers. She looked up into the tinted glass and wagged her finger. She pulled out a flash-bang, primed it, and tucked it between the wiper and the windshield. She leapt up and over the glass, onto the cab, and waited.

  Either the flash of light or the concussive boom disoriented Road Warrior, and the truck began to swerve sharply. Holding as tightly as she could, Catalina gave a whoop of triumph as the truck rocked, slammed into a building, then fell on its side, a trail of sparks erupting as it skidded to a stop.

  Releasing her grip, Catalina landed on her feet and cracked her knuckles nonchalantly. With a squeal of rubber on cement, the motorcyclist who had tried to shoot her off earlier noticed what happened and did a sharp 180. Catalina walked to the middle of the street, unslung her rifle, and aimed down the scope. The bastard was just now aiming his rifle at her, waiting to get to the proper distance. She squeezed the trigger and his head snapped back, the motorcycle slipping away and sliding down the road as he rolled along the street with a fresh bullet wound in his head.

  Catalina jogged toward the motorbike, hoping that it hadn’t gotten too beaten up in the fall.

  Allison watched the truck flip over in the side mirror and gave out a yelp of triumph. “That’s showing them how it’s done!” One of the two remaining motorcycles roared by her door, its driver firing at her. The bullets moved up to the window, causing spider webs to splatter across it for a moment before it shattered completely. She immediately ducked as the final few rounds of the magazine sailed into the cabin, mercifully missing Mat.

  She popped up, aimed her pistol out the window at the bike and fired off a few rounds. The Enforcer slowed his bike down to dodge, then sped up again, reached out, and batted the gun free. “Asshole!” she shouted. “That was my favorite gun! Ass… prick… mother…” she sputtered, legitimate anger overriding her ability to verbally convey it. He pulled his sidearm out, a new and impressive handgun which immediately stopped her rambling. The man lined up a shot, but Allison darted back behind cover, watching his frustration from the side mirror. “Hey, Maty Beats,” she cooed, looking over at him.

  “Yeah, boss?” he responded, his eyes on his own side mirror as Spark darted by, blasting a spray of flame along their flank. “This fuckin’ guy!”

  “Wanna get me a new gun?” she asked. He looked at her, and she nodded over at the side mirror.

  He smiled. “You know it.”

  He slammed on the brakes and swerved to the right as Allison kicked the door open. The Enforcer was practically inside the ambulance as she grabbed him and yanked him in. The motorcycle hit the door and fell away in a shower of sparks.

  Her pull was enough to make the Enforcer drop his pistol on the floor. With her new gun in reach, she balanced the man on her foot and kicked him out, his body slamming into a parked car. Moments later, a fireball smashed into the door and tore it free from its brackets despite Mat pulling the wheel to the left.

  Colonel Morant fell behind the ambulance, watching as Spark patrolled the sky above them, lobbing his incendiary gifts in an attempt to slow them down. In a moment, Catalina Capone would be behind him, no doubt waiting to pepper him with bullets. Not that it mattered at this
point. All semblance of order and justice had been supplanted. The blanket order to kill villains… it was unthinkable in this day. Right now, they were fighting for their lives just as every hero was doing in return. The pitched battle he had overheard on the radio was a horrifying callback to the dark days of Apartheid South Africa… or even the United States in the last days of the Silver Age.

  They were killing his men, yes, but he had to draw the line. “Overseer, I need to speak with Arbiter,” he said, moving forward to outpace a burst of gunfire.

  “Colonel Morant.” Arbiter’s voice was unhappy. “I trust you have good news.”

  “I need you to contact the police…”

  Arbiter cut him off. “Are you admitting your inability to kill the fugitives?”

  “I am trying to bring them to justice!”

  “As am I, Colonel.”

  The pause was just long enough to watch Spark send a laser-like beam into the side of the ambulance, carving a neat black line in the metal. The driver maneuvered the vehicle away, and the attack inadvertently blasted a civilian vehicle into slag. “I know where they are heading. I just need to organize a blockade…”

  “Stand down.”

  The words made a chill run up his spine. “What?”

  “You are to return to Fort Justice immediately.” Arbiter didn’t need to explain what was being mobilized. Morant’s gut twisted.