Worm

by John McCrae

  In truth, the only ones who wouldn’t let us get away with this were Mannequin and King. King was distinct enough for me to notice, and Tattletale was ninety-five percent sure Mannequin would need more time to set up. This was an approach we could only use with this first skirmish.

  But whoever we were up against, the moment they started losing, the moment we actually pulled an offensive, the line was crossed. This was an all or nothing.

  Stinging bugs attacked Cherish, going for the eyes, nose and mouth. Screamer choked. Somewhere in the midst of it, they managed to give a signal. It wouldn’t be Screamer. Cherish? Creating an emotional push?

  Winter made her way out from downstairs, hefting a grenade launcher.

  I spelled out words for the camera: Need Reinforcements.

  “The other teams are getting harassed, can’t close the distance.“

  I was going to spell out a response, get further details, but my focus shifted as Winter caught sight of Golem and Crimson and advanced.

  Her dynamic with Crimson was one of synergy. She captured people so he could feed. He was the front line so she could safely attack from range. She slowed down opponents so he could advance. He was immune to her munitions fire, in large part.

  My bugs swarmed her, but she was already concentrating her power. Smaller area, greater effect. She still held the people in the building in the area, but my bugs were lasting only a fraction of the time. Seconds. I activated my flight pack and approached.

  Golem finished creating his hand, but there was a limit to what he could do with it. It stood there, tall and useless.

  No, his focus was on escape. He thrust both hands into two different panels, slightly out of sync. One hand was created, almost twice the usual size, and another was simultaneously created from the palm of that same hand, a fraction smaller.

  Campanile’s idea.

  Both hands thrust out at virtually the same speed that Golem might have stuck his own hand out into the air, but that speed was compounded by the fact that both hands thrust out in unison. Golem set one foot down and vaulted himself up and out to land on the adjacent building, one story up. He spun around as he landed.

  Crimson gave chase, crossing the rooftop with heavy footsteps.

  Golem jabbed out with one hand as Crimson bent his knees to leap. The hand that appeared jabbed at the underside of one foot, lifting it.

  It was the sort of trick that would only work once on an enemy. The next time, the enemy would adjust, or jump off one foot. Here, it caused Crimson to stumble. He missed his mark, the jump failing, and he nearly ran straight off the end of the rooftop. He struck out with his sword, slamming it into the brick of the building face opposite him.

  Winter raised her grenade launcher and fired. Golem managed to vault himself away as he had earlier, a shallow movement that was forceful enough to nearly launch him off the building. He rolled on landing as the grenade disintegrated a corner of the building.

  These two were warriors. Crimson was a mainstay of King’s era, when he’d ruled the Nine as more of a brute squad, not dissimilar to the Teeth back in Brockton Bay. I had trouble marking why Winter had been recruited, but it likely had more to do with how she was off the battlefield, her predilections for torturing people she’d caught in her torpor.

  I reached the edge of the battlefield. My bugs streamed forth, a silk cord trailing between and behind them. The silk streamed out from the spinning spool at my belt. Hundreds of feet of material, and it extended out towards Winter.

  It was only a matter of feet from her when she jumped, startled, leaping to one side. I missed, and my bugs were dying in a matter of seconds. The cord went slack.

  A moment later, she was looking around, confused.

  Cherish, I thought. She alerted her, a burst of alarm.

  It didn’t matter. My swarm approached from the other direction, finding and picking up the dropped cord. Moving them within Winter’s effect range was a matter of relay, handing off to fresh bugs as they died. Slow but steady progress.

  The moment the silk thread was around Winter’s neck, I dropped down to the edge of the rooftop, and used the mechanical arms on my flight pack to reel in the cord.

  Darwin’s spider silk. Stronger than kevlar, a narrow cord of it made for a thin, almost unbreakable cord. The noose cut into her neck, and my arms and legs provided leverage to keep me still as the combined efforts of the mechanical arms provided the strength.

  When she reached the base of the building I stood on, she was lifted off the ground. I shifted my position to improve my leverage and waited, hiding.

  I could barely tell in the midst of her power, but I sensed her raising her arm. Raising the grenade launcher.

  Nets of spider silk peeled away from the gray-white portions of my costume as my bugs pulled them free. I drew it out, connected the narrow sheets with knots of more silk.

  It moved into place just in time to catch the projectile out of the air.

  Golem managed to find a moment to use his power. A hand of stone struck the grenade launcher from Winter’s hands.

  He was holding his own against Crimson, who was adapting. Golem thrust one hand into his armor to create a hand beneath Crimson, and the villain leaped closer, forcing Golem to vault himself away and maintain a safe distance. The sword swipe that followed after Golem’s retreat passed within a foot of the hero.

  Wanton, surrounding Golem, advanced on Crimson, and Golem tossed out a bag.

  Wanton took hold of the bag and emptied it of its contents. Razor blades, caltrops, hooks and my threads joined the miniature maelstrom, and Crimson was slowly bound. He tore some free, but it found its way into his flesh again a moment later.

  Then Golem slid his right hand into his armor. Crimson leaped in anticipation of an imminent attack, landed, and then glanced back at the point where he’d come.

  Nothing.

  Golem continued sliding his hand into his armor, slow, inexorable.

  Crimson charged, and Golem backed away, using his free hand to erect barriers. Wanton ran defense, and Crimson stumbled.

  A rumble marked Golem’s real direction of attack. A second hand, down on the street below, gripping the large, six-story tower he’d created earlier in the fight, pulling it down.

  It toppled on top of the building that Winter and Crimson had emerged from.

  Toppled towards Screamer and Cherish.

  In that same moment, Chuckles made an appearance. He moved so fast it was almost as though he teleported, appearing beside the two girls. My bugs barely had time to make contact and try to get a sense of him before he was moving again, holding the two villains this time.

  They jerked to a stop. I felt a fraction of the same confusion Chuckles no doubt did. I sensed his arms, extended to ridiculous lengths. He realized they were caught, bound to the computers. Too entangled to take along.

  And then he was gone, out of the building as the hand struck home. Two floors crushed, the two villains crushed with them.

  Tecton had provided the calculations on what the building could withstand, I’d provided the general data and information on where the hostages were. The damage was controlled, the hand crashing a specific, certain distance into the building before coming to a halt.

  “Bitch and Foil tried to intercept Chuckles just now as he left the city. He escaped, but Foil hit him with one shot,” Tattletale said.

  “Right,” I said, even as I swore to myself. Shit, shit shit shit.

  Far too soon for Jack to get a report on the fact that we’d helped.

  “Chuckles can’t talk,” Tattletale said. “He laughs, but he can’t talk.“

  I shook my head. Couldn’t worry about that right now.

  Crimson was only staring at the wreckage. He mumbled something around a bloated tongue.

  Does he think Winter’s still in there?

  Then Crimson charged Golem once again.

  Golem had both hands free, and he used the same double-hand technique to strike again
. A second hand, sprouting from the first, which emerged from the rooftop in turn. The hands caught Crimson in the side of the leg, slamming into the knee, using the curve of the thumb to catch the leg and limit the range of movement.

  Strong as Crimson was, he was still bound by physics and general physical limitations. Being struck in the knees hurt, and he still needed to maintain a sense of balance. He toppled.

  Another double-hand strike, and Golem caught Crimson in the groin as he landed on his hands and feet, shoved him off to the right.

  Two more strikes, this time not doubled-up, catching Crimson in the left arm and left leg, respectively, keeping him off-balance.

  The key was to deny leverage.

  An arm looped over one leg and one arm, binding them to the rooftop. Crimson tore free with little effort, but the act meant he shifted his weight to one side. Golem capitalized on it with another double-speed strike to his side, pushing in the same direction the blood-gorged killer was already moving. That was followed in turn by one larger hand, moving slower, to scoop Crimson up and tip him off the edge of the rooftop.

  Crimson fell. Not a fatal fall, but it would hurt some.

  A gauntlet of concrete seized the large hand Golem had just created and tore it free of the rooftop, then let it roll free to fall right on top of Crimson.

  With the villain in an alley, the ensuing takedown was just as brutal and tenacious as before, with the added advantage that there were walls on either side to strike from. Hands struck out, and they remained there. As the villain was denied any footing, any balance, the hands around him increased in number, folding around him, sliding into gaps.

  It was a parallel to Kaiser’s pyramid of blades technique, that he’d used to try to entrap Lung. I’d passed it on to Golem, but I hadn’t told him the source. I got the sense he wouldn’t appreciate it.

  I turned my attention to Winter, who dangled beneath me. She’d gone silent and still. I continued to wait, but I raised one hand to my ear. “Tattletale? All four are down.”

  I could speak. A benefit to Screamer being dead.

  “Good. Too soon to tell if Jack’s got wind of what you’re doing. But if Chuckles passes on word, or if there’s a Nice Guy in the area…“

  “I wouldn’t think he’d use the same guy twice in a row.”

  “No,” Tattletale agreed. “The numbers fit, makes sense he’d start with four with a fifth as backup, considering how he can scale up the numbers in successive attacks. Still-“

  “There was no graceful way to do it with Cherish there, and I couldn’t not help. Golem was incapacitated.”

  “I’ll let Chevalier know what happened?” she made it a question.

  I sighed. No point in keeping secrets amongst ourselves.

  “Do. And send Foil here,” I said. “She can punch a few holes in Crimson while he’s trapped.”

  “Will do.”

  I waited another minute as Winter dangled from the thread, then cut her free. Her body crumpled in a heap at the base of the building. I made my way over to Golem and Wanton, where Wanton was still in his breaker form.

  This was the warm-up, for the Nine, for us. Four down, two hundred and seventy-some to go. Jack had a little information on us, no doubt.

  I didn’t dare hope it would stay this simple. We still needed to find a way to narrow down Jack’s location, killing him. He already had an advantage, wearing us down, costing us time, and he surely had some intel on us.

  I could only hope that intel didn’t include the fact that Golem had help.

  “Chevalier here. We have reports that they’re showing themselves for the next locations.“

  I met Golem’s eyes.

  “Locations, plural?” Golem asked.

  “They want you to choose,” I answered him, as the realization dawned on me.

  He stared at me, lost. He was heaving for breath, his hands shaking visibly, even with gauntlets on.

  “Go with the Chicago teams. I’ll take the Undersiders and Brockton Bay Wards to the other location,” I said.

  He nodded, pressing one hand to his ear as he started making his way to the ground. I watched him for a moment, then took off.

  This was a statement, I suspected. I could guess what that statement was. Jack fully intended to double down on the challenge each time we came out ahead.

  26.03

  “Hey, Weaver?”

  I had to twist around to look at Crucible. We were in the hallway just outside a set of elevators, windows on one side, doors at either end of the hallway leading into offices. This was something of a waiting game, as Tecton and Revel got their teams into position to support Golem.

  Through countless stakeouts, I’d found a routine. Cheating on the ‘can’t do anything but sit there’ rule and reading while my bugs saw to everything else was a part of that routine. I was nestled in between two pillars that sat between clusters of windows, my back against one, one knee propped up, a file in my lap. My cliff notes on the various members of the Nine.

  “I wanted to say thanks,” Crucible said, “Appreciate the invite. Hundreds of superpowered lunatics, some of the scariest guys around, and that’s not even the scariest part of all of this! But Chevalier’s all, ‘Weaver specifically asked if you’d help.’ How the hell am I supposed to say no to him?”

  “You just say no,” Clockblocker said, before I could respond. “You’re team leader, I’d even argue it’s your job to say no when the situation calls for it. More than leading the team, more than strategy or handling double the paperwork or attending the meetings. You decide what jobs are out of your team’s depth and you tell the bosses to go fuck themselves, in the politest terms possible.”

  “It’s Chevalier. Important guy.”

  “And when we asked you if you were okay with me taking command, that was your opportunity to say no. His rank doesn’t matter. He’d probably respect you more if you told him your team wasn’t prepared and then stuck to your guns.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone to go fuck themselves,” Crucible said.

  “No. And I agreed to help out with this because this is important. My old teammates have been preparing for this in their own time, and-”

  “-And you’ve got a thing for Weaver,” the Ward I hadn’t yet met said. It was a girl, flanked by five shadowy silhouettes of herself, who were sitting around her on the other side of the hallway. I’d read up on her, and I knew her as Toggle. The ‘baby’ of the team, it seemed, at fourteen. She held what looked like a mace, but it, along with the layered body armor she wore, had circles of light glowing in shifting colors.

  There was a long, awkward silence. I glanced at Clockblocker, but he appeared unfazed. Not that I could really tell. His armor still had animated clock faces digitally displayed on the open spaces, and there was one in the middle of his face. Was the varying speed and position of the hands supposed to indicate something, or was I reading too much into it?

  “That was a joke,” Toggle said.

  “I’m not dignifying it with a response,” Clockblocker said.

  “Clocksie’s sweet on Weaver,” Imp said. “Aww.”

  “Clocksie,” Clockblocker said, deadpan, “Has been the target of a lot of criticism, because he was in charge of the Wards at the time a lot of stuff went down. Some dingbats online speculated that I had a thing for Weaver, and it took off. The people online like to find stuff that fills in blanks, and there were a hell of a lot of blanks around the whole thing with Weaver defecting, and our pseudo-truce with the Undersiders.”

  “They latched onto the idea,” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry,” I told him.

  “Not your fault, not exactly. The city’s pretty peaceful, pretty safe, and nobody even hints about why, but people know. My bosses know why, and that means my career might never recover. The only thing keeping things remotely interesting is the challenge of trying to get to any new bad guys before the Undersiders do, to enforce real justice instead of vigilante scare tactic
s-”

  “We’re awesomely good at the scare tactics though,” Imp cut in.

  Clockblocker ignored her. “-Except we barely even get to do that, because Tattletale’s always a few steps ahead. Then, to top it all off, I hear about the Weaver-Clockblocker thing every single day, to the point that it’s sad. Salt in a wound.”

  Silence lingered.

  “Jesus, Clock,” Vista said, after that. “Pent up much?”

  “Fuck, you’re right. I’m stressed, ignore me,” Clockblocker said. “Like Crucible said, it’s a lot to manage. Sorry.”

  “I just wanted to make a funny,” Toggle said.

  “Don’t worry. Clockblocker used to be the funny one,” Vista said. “Now he’s the asshole grown up that tears the funny kid to shreds.”

  Clockblocker didn’t respond to that. Instead, he shifted the device he’d been wearing on his back against the wall and sat down between the elevators.

  Waiting on my lonesome was easier.

  My bugs crawled all around the exterior of our target. The buildings in this town were smallish, the tallest being five stories, and this contingent of the Nine had chosen it as their destination.

  Not a single gap. They’d barely had any time, but they had hermetically sealed the structure, containing themselves and every single resident within. The windows and doors had been sprayed with something red that trickled out of cracks only to harden. My bugs explored cracks in the foundation, and found that same vaguely tacky, amber-like barrier blocking the openings where they should have been able to enter the building.

  Doors, windows, cracks, vents, all protected.

  I could estimate seven apartments per floor. One on the ground floor, for the building manager. Assuming they weren’t bachelor apartments, that suggested fifty-five to sixty people in total, trapped within, along with hostages and an unknown number and composition of the Nine.

  “I have to ask,” I said, not looking in Clockblocker’s direction, “This end of the world thing. The way you talk about the future, life beyond this supposed apocalypse event. Can you do that because you’re optimistic, or because you don’t think it’ll happen?”