Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

She tried to hold back her tears but failed. Julia stood and ran to the back of the room. As she neared the exit, she looked one last time at her brother. After a moment of hesitation, she ran.

  “All for nothing,” Dark Saint growled, rising to his knees. His face, bloodied with glistening white bone still shining beneath the knitting flesh, glared at Arthur like the specter of death.

  Claymore, hands bound behind his back, sat in the back of an Enforcer van he was sharing with five SERAPHIM as they waited to be transported to a holding facility. They talked amongst themselves about their alibis, leaving him alone with his thoughts. How had everything managed to go so wrong? He was supposed to be a hero, the greatest one since… well, since ever. But everything was dashed now. Even if he was acquitted, he was marked for life.

  A bleeding and bruised Enforcer closed one of the back doors, shaking his head at the lot of them. “You’ll be on your way to your new home shortly.” He grabbed the other door. “Buckle up.”

  As the heavy doors closed, Claymore saw the familiar red-haired girl, backpack hanging from her shoulders, dart between a pair of Enforcers and yank an earpiece off of one without breaking stride. The burgled officer slapped at the side of his face in annoyance and turned, but didn’t appear to see the girl charge toward the Heroes’ Guild. Claymore’s heart stuttered as he stood up and screamed, “Wait!”

  The door slammed in his face with a hollow, metal clang.

  Arthur was shoved violently against another computer tower and propped upright against it. Dark Saint shook violently as he moved, trying to keep his body intact. Arthur was twitching as he felt the blood drain from his body, leaving him cold. His father grabbed his head and shoved it back. “You’re going to want to see this!” he shouted, turning toward the green iris of Overseer.

  “Requesting satellite data,” Overseer announced as the timer clicked to 1:45:00.

  “It will all be over soon,” Dark Saint said to himself. “The dream has become reality.”

  Arthur watched the screen, watching as Overseer presented a globe. It zoomed in over New York, and a red dot flickered into existence. “Primary satellite data acquired.”

  Arthur’s eyes closed. “Please…” he whispered. “Mollie…”

  Stair didn’t hesitate shoving open the bloody door to the security office. “Mollie, please tell me you hear me,” she said, hoping the earpiece she lifted off the Enforcer was functioning. She scanned the empty room, the blood heading to the card maker. She raced to it and took one of the blank cards from a nearby stack before inserting it into the machine. “Come on, come on, come fucking on!” she shouted, practically bouncing in place.

  “I am glad you got my message,” Mollie sighed, startling the girl. “Get the card and head to the basement. I will guide you,” the computer chirped as soon as the keycard popped out of the reader.

  “What about you, Mol?” she asked, yanking the keycard free and sprinting out of the room.

  “Keep the wireless modem on and I will jump in when we are not going to die.” Mollie cooed as the girl ran toward the nearest stairwell. “I apologize. I meant to say ‘if’.”

  A second red light appeared on the globe. “Secondary satellite data acquired.”

  Dark Saint took a step forward, holding his arms out triumphantly as the clock ticked down past a minute. “Yes, yes!” he said, positively ecstatic. “The new age shall dawn! Heroes returning to their rightful role in history!”

  Arthur struggled to stay conscious. His head was lolling, his eyelids heavy. Thick strands of blood and saliva trickled out of his mouth, but he didn’t care. Dark Saint turned back to him, smiling widely. “This is how it was always going to end, Arthur: your struggle a mere footnote to the glory of my magnificence.” The words sounded cold, hollow… lacking the life of his father’s earlier megalomaniacal harangue.

  Overseer flickered. “Tertiary satellite data acquired.” The iris whirled in place. “Auto-targeting completed.”

  “Overseer, show me the target,” Dark Saint demanded as the timer clicked past thirty seconds.

  Arthur’s attention went straight for the screen as it revealed a large, X-shaped structure in the middle of a field. His eyes shut as he was overwhelmed. Despite the agony, the knowledge that he had failed, confirming it, was too much. He cried.

  Julia staggered up to the first floor. Her head was swimming from all the movement, but she couldn’t stop. If her father caught her, she was as good as dead… even if she didn’t quite care what that really meant at the moment. Bracing herself against the wall, she moved toward the lobby.

  “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!” Dark Saint was chanting in unison with Overseer. A note of laughter tinged his voice as he continued: “Six! Five! Four! Three! Two!” With a final, triumphant roar, he cried out: “One!”

  The timer hit zero.

  The building shook. Dark Saint’s eyes went wide as he stumbled.

  “An attack on the Guild has been detected. Data backup for transfer to secure location commencing,” Overseer announced.

  Dark Saint panicked, his mind reeling. “Overseer, what’s going on? Who’s attacking us?”

  “I am presently occupied with securing data. All personnel should evacuate immediately.”

  He whipped around to look at his…

  Daughter? No, Julia had left… how did I end up here anyway? Why didn’t I track her down by now? His head felt heavy, as though trying to remember something was taking a physical toll.

  A pillar of brilliant light smashed through the ceiling in the room, searing his vision and sending streams of dust to the floor. “No!” he screamed as the destruction of the Villains’ Guild replayed in his mind’s eye.

  Stair hefted Arthur’s weight as best as she could; the shuffling, bleeding, and barely conscious oaf leaned on her so much that she feared he would crush her. She was out the door, heading down the hall on Mollie’s orders to get to the basement exit. For the final time tonight, Mollie had taken up residence in the backpack-secured laptop, safe from Overseer.

  “Keep him talking,” Mollie chided.

  “Arthur, tell me where you live,” she asked as she readjusted his weight on her shoulders.

  “In… a building,” he responded.

  “Do you have any siblings?” she asked, knowing full well the answer.

  “J… Julia… she’s a hero now…” he continued as the hallway filled with light, the crashing of the ceiling sending a wave of dust in front of them.

  “Good, good,” she said. “What’s her… uh… hero name?” she said, readjusting his arm on his shoulder.

  “P… Pony Exp… Expre… Express…” he muttered.

  “Take the next left,” Mollie urgently cried.

  Weston Marsh had finished loading Athena onto the helicopter. Agent Mast helped him in as he gave Cleese a rap on the shoulder to let him know he was inside.

  “I think we’ve already seen the ending of this story,” the pilot said, lifting off the roof. “Tray tables and all that!” he shouted with a laugh. Another bolt of coherent light slammed down in front of them, before an increasing hail fell from the sky. The perimeter flashed and the carving beam of brilliance began to form the curtain of blinding photons around the edge.

  Dark Saint slammed his fist into the console, screaming in rage. “Stop the weapon! Stop it!”

  “Unable to comply. Freedom’s Sword was designed…” Overseer was cut off as a bolt of white energy crashed down on the console, exploding the air around it and sending Dark Saint hurtling backward. He landed in a crouch, realizing he had no choice but to escape. He sped toward the door, the effort of keeping himself alive and utilizing another power on top of that taking a toll on his ability to focus.

  He collided against the door and tried to open it. It did not respond to his protests as he slammed his fists against it. “Damn!” His eyes trained toward the ceiling, the glowing holes from the attack providing an escape route. He leapt onto the computer towers, then to the gantry.
r />   “Data corruption detected,” Overseer said, his voice drawn out and slow. “Emergency virus sjjjrhkkkf,” it gurgled before the sound snapped off completely.

  Mollie seemed to snicker in Stair’s ear as she reached the room, dragging Arthur in first before she shut the door. The crashes were getting louder and more frequent. “What’s so funny?” she asked, nearing their escape route.

  “Yeah… Tim… what’s so fun… funny?” Arthur drooled.

  “I left a present for Overseer,” Mollie explained. “Teach him to mess around with villains.”

  Stair reached the wall, propped Arthur against it, and reached into her pocket for the keycard. She slid it into the reader and it chimed, releasing the pressure lock.

  The curtain was nearly finished when Jack noticed a young lady running in vain toward the diminishing hole. He brought the helicopter around, narrowly avoiding a bolt of energy that whizzed by the cockpit. “What are you doing?” Marsh shouted.

  “I can’t leave a damsel behind!” he said with a laugh as the copter began a fairly steep dive, rolling out of the way of a few of the energy lances.

  Julia saw the helicopter pivot toward her, then move through the light shower with a seeming casual disregard for physics. Behind them, the curtain was rapidly closing, leaving her no choice but to take out her grapple-gun and aim carefully, one-handed as Electronica had recommended what seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The helicopter pivoted and revealed its cargo hold. She hit the trigger, and, with a hiss, the hook shot out and sank into the roof of the copter. She hit ‘retract’, and was in the air as the helicopter pulled her toward the nearly-shut window to freedom.

  Dark Saint bounded through the floors, fighting to get to the roof. He had no doubt he could make it, no doubt that he could try this again. No one would believe his daughter… even if she talked to someone before he made it look like she killed herself in grief. Agent Mast would be a tougher sell, but he believed he could make it look like an accident… yes…

  He leapt through the final hole and landed on the roof, eyes adjusting to the now-brilliant night. Everywhere, the golden curtain crackled with energy except for one sliver which shut behind a fleeing helicopter, destroying its rear rotor.

  The air prickled with ions as debris lifted into the air. He looked up, the blinding light of the death ray beaming down on him. “No!” he screamed. “No!” He held his arms to the side as the light grew larger. “No!” his words carried on, until there was no longer an entity to project them.

  The helicopter went into a spin, Julia holding on for dear life as the others were buckled in but gritting their teeth. The pilot laughed uproariously, as if drawing amusement from staring death in the face. Outside, the world roared with an explosion, throwing the already tumbling vehicle into a building before swatting it to the earth.

  The screech of metal on pavement assaulted their ears as the helicopter rolled end-over-end before squealing to a stop. Julia, fingers digging into her palms, finally stopped holding onto the crash webbing. She tumbled to the earth, coming to a rest against the unconscious body of Weston Marsh.

  The world seemed to lose its color as what looked like snow fell from the sky. The faces of Enforcers appeared in her vision, their concerned eyes the last thing she remembered seeing before sleep took her in.

  Ariana stood alone at the ramshackle barricade the Enforcers set up. All eyes were drawn to the Guild, the low howl of wind the only sound.

  “Arthur,” Ariana said quietly as the sparking mushroom cloud rose from the aftermath. She fell to her knees and covered her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t cry, not after everything else. Instead, she watched as the luminous cloud rolled into the sky.

  Wildfire.

  The word which sealed his fate. Which took him away forever. A word which guaranteed the safety of countless others at the cost of his life.

  Arthur, hold on to your past.

  Arthur, don’t leave us.

  Don’t leave me.

  I need you.

  Remember how we met.

  Remember…

  Remember…

  Remem

  Rem

  R

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  WHISPERS OF SUMMER

  July 6th, 2011

  Early Morning

  THE WORST PART ABOUT HOSPITALS, Steven thought as he watched doctors and nurses rushing by, is no one ever seems to notice you. It was probably four in the morning now, not that he cared to check, but he was still wide awake. His eyes were dry and ached from lack of sleep, but the adrenaline in his system, coupled with the constant agony of a gunshot wound, kept him from drifting off.

  It wasn’t like the doctors weren’t courteous, but as soon as they patched him up they began working on one of the Enforcers who had come in fresh off the brawl. The neutrals were perfectly content with the operation, handling the overflow from the heroic hospitals that were never equipped for more than a few patients at a time. There was probably a tax break in it for them, which explained the lack of overall grumbling from the harried staff.

  Steven rolled over in his bed, his perforated body protesting the entire time. He felt like he had been hit by a truck, backed over, run over again, and then fired. Most of the Italian Mob had been reduced to ash, probably leaving him jobless and uninsured the second this mess happened. On top of that, his brother had betrayed him at some point in the past and had been perfectly willing to watch him die.

  Someone’s not getting a birthday card, that’s for damn sure.

  “Hey,” came the familiar voice of Morgan.

  He rolled over, wincing as he did so. Her hair was disheveled and dirty, a gash in her eyebrow had been stitched, one eye was swollen beneath a nasty welt, and her arm rested in a sling. Nevertheless, she moved smoothly as she sat down on the unoccupied bed next to him. “I thought you’d be sick of me by now,” he said.

  She smiled weakly. “Maybe it’s the concussion speaking, but you’re easily my best friend.”

  “Thanks,” he said. After a pause, he reconsidered the statement. “I think.”

  They looked awkwardly at each other for a few moments, Morgan taking to gently slapping her unbound palm against her thighs like a pair of drums.

  “I just–”

  “You should–”

  They trailed off, sheepishly smiling at each other before laughing. He gestured to her. “You first,” he said.

  “No, I insist.”

  “I had nothing important.”

  Morgan nodded, took a deep breath, and finally pushed herself to the edge of the bed. “Thank you.”

  Steven felt a little disappointed, but hoped he didn’t let it show. For as big a pain in the ass as she could be, he thought she was a cute pain in the ass. He looked away, mock embarrassed. “Aw, shucks. It wasn’t worth anything.” When he looked back at her, she hadn’t looked away, instead staring at him intently. He swallowed dryly and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  She leaned forward on the bed. “So what are you going to do after this?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “I have two brothers left that I know of. Probably try to look them up before anything else.” He brought a hand to his chin, adopting a stereotypical ‘deep thinker’ look. “Don’t know after that. Maybe open a bakery.”

  “A bakery?” Morgan laughed.

  He pretended to be offended, dropping his hand from his chin in faux-shock. “Why not?”

  “It sounds great,” she said, her toothy smile fading to a close-lipped one. They continued to look at each other, the battered survivors of a near-apocalypse. Steven breathed in to say something, but Morgan beat him to it. “Would you like some company?”

  Arthur hated hospitals. He had been in one only twice that he could remember, but both times were unpleasant. Once, he had to have a cast put on his broken arm. Before that, staples were punched into his skin to close a gash in his leg. His memory of both events was hazy, but he remembered being scared, his father
having left him to his own devices as the doctors worked to make him better.

  Now he was alone in a waiting room, impatiently jiggling in place. The leaves in the courtyard were just turning orange with the season, promising to be inviting in a month or so when they fell away into great heaps on the ground. For now, they teased Arthur with the possibility of fun as he waited.

  “Arthur,” his father hissed from a doorway. The boy looked up. His father, serious as always, waved him over. He obliged, walking to the super hero and following him down the hall to a door. His father stood by the doorway, like a cop in a movie.

  “Arthur,” his mother called from the room in her sweet, welcoming tone. A smile spread on his face as he entered the hospital room, free of doctors and their staple guns, and moved toward his mother as she stretched on the bed. Brunette hair fell onto the pillow behind her like a perfect shawl, highlighting her natural tan. She smiled at him, shifting a bundle that had gone unnoticed until that moment. “I want you to meet your sister, Julia.” He walked to the side of her bed and peered at the swaddling. A pale, sleeping face fidgeted slightly as he studied her features. Something about the baby made him smile, even if all it did was squirm. “You two are going to get into fights and say things neither of you really mean to each other.” He looked at his mother. “But you have to remember that your job is to always love and protect her.” She smiled, placing a warm hand on his cheek as a tear rolled down her own. “And she’ll always do the same for you.”

  July 11th, 2011

  Mid-Morning

  Colonel Morant, wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans, was taking the stairwell to the roof of the building after the elevator had taken him as far as it could. The VWN building was teeming with activity, newly returned workers trying to reorganize after all the looters had their fill of the place. Only a few people gave him sideways glances, others nodding as he passed them by. Forgiveness was not easy to achieve, but it seemed that a few had realized he understood the mistakes he had made.