Worm

by John McCrae

  I stopped in my tracks.

  “He… talks… to… someone… and… catalyz… es… someth… ing…“

  The PRT officer had been asked to weigh an eternity of torment against the lives of billions, and she’d chosen the selfish option.

  “Every… major… group… helping… teams… defeat… Jack… Cauldron… Thanda… PRT… Protector… ate… Wards… Brockton B… ay villains… Moord Nag… Irregulars… Faultline… Triumvirate…”

  We’d just lost our last major advantage in determining how this could play out. Jack was getting everything. He was a wiki-walk away from getting details on everyone who was arrayed against his new Slaughterhouse Nine.

  I could sense the others as they moved through the complex. I beckoned Rachel and her dogs, then mounted up.

  I kicked the dog into motion.

  “Others… I… can’t… recall… they… are… keeping… powerful… people… away… from… Jack… to… avoid… catalyz… ing… they… are… employing… strike… teams… to… take… down… smaller… groups…”

  “And you’re here because?“

  “Because… Aster… supposed… trigger… young… usually… one… child… in… family… know… Jack… coming… probably… in… person… chance… she… is… catalyst…“

  “There’s a lot of people who could be the catalyst,” Gray Boy said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to cover all of the bases.”

  “Low… chance… but… still… chance… thought… we… could… protect… with… Night… Fog… Purity… Crusader…”

  “Well,” Gray Boy said. “That was boring. I wanted a story with neat monsters.”

  I gave serious consideration to switching the earbuds to a setting that would make them serve as earplugs. I made myself keep listening as the screaming started, keeping my ears peeled for clues.

  My swarm-sense, at the same time, was searching more of the area. I brought bugs to me, then sent them off into new corridors as I reached them.

  Too few bugs in this entire place. No moisture to feed them, no food sources. Only a scant few that had no doubt been brought in accidentally.

  “I thought the story was interesting,” Jack said, his voice sounding as though he were speaking in my ear. “See, I had a plan in mind, but now I’m rethinking it. If I’m supposed to be a catalyst, then it can’t be any of the others. Bonesaw would get the credit for any plagues or clone armies we deployed, even if I gave the order.”

  I grit my teeth.

  “But if the effect is broad, well, giving the order could be a part of it. Our Harbinger has been giving us some very good advice. Talking about the critical places to strike. What happens if we attack certain targets? The world teeters on the brink of falling to the Endbringers. Divide my remaining soldiers and attack key points in the infrastructure, and maybe that’s game over for humanity.”

  “Here.” A voice over the comms.

  Or Screamer fucking with our heads?

  “Verify.” I spoke over the comms.

  Nobody called back to verify. A sign I was on the right track? I kicked the dog to drive him to move faster.

  “Or if Gray Boy uses his power on Scion, perhaps? We could assassinate some key figures. Win-win, because we either deliver a critical blow or we might run into the right person to bring about the end of the world. So many possibilities, really.”

  I could sense them. Easily two hundred of the Nine, accompanied by a mess of Nilbog’s creations, hooked up to Bonesaw’s control frames. Nilbog hung on the wall above the group, limbs splayed, tubes feeding into him as blobs dropped down and were captured by a small army of mechanical soldiers.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. A trick?

  No.

  Two years of emotions caught up with me in a single instant. I felt fear grip me, anxiety seizing my entire body, adrenaline flooding through my body.

  Yet, when I spoke, my voice was calm. “Weaver here. I’m using my first priority passphrase. Danny and the Rose. Look for the flare.”

  “Message received loud and clear, Weaver,” Tecton said.

  I drew a flare from my belt and lit it, throwing it to the ground.

  That done, I glanced over my shoulder at Rachel. She nodded.

  Jack’s voice echoed through the complex. I could sense him with my bugs now. He was pacing back and forth, while all of the other Nine were stock still. “Attack the cities, target Scion, assassinate all of these powerful capes that are coming after me…”

  “Or I could do all of the above.”

  I hopped off of the dog’s back to make it through the doorway, then ascended the spiral staircase. The dogs struggled to follow, and I signaled for them to stop.

  Couldn’t have them blocking my retreat.

  I wasn’t sure what I could do, but there had to be something.

  I reached the top of the stairs, then stopped, my back to the wall beside the doorway. I held my gun.

  The sole remaining Cherish said something, a murmur.

  “Weaver.” Jack said. Screamer repeated the word after him, and it carried through the air, an echo.

  “Hi Jack,” I said. I hung my head, focusing on what my power was telling me.

  The bugs I had in the room clung to particular members of the group. They were eerily still.

  “Gray Boy is standing right in front of me,” Jack said.

  “I know.”

  “Most are shut down. Using a control to keep them still. Too unmanageable in a group like this. That doesn’t mean you have the slightest chance of accomplishing something.”

  “I have to try,” I said, echoing Purity’s words from the video.

  “Such sad, small words,” Jack commented. “You don’t have to.”

  I had tricks prepared, but none of them were remotely viable. Not with Bonesaw so close.

  I would die, and she would revive Jack. At best, I’d slow them down.

  “You’re too big for your boots, Weaver,” Jack said. “You had a few critical successes and you’ve run with them. Earned yourself a reputation. But at the end of the day, you’re still the same pathetic bug controller who got her powers because her mommy died.”

  He likes to talk. Every second that passes is a second we’re catching up.

  “People probably said the same thing about you in the beginning, Jack,” I said. “Too big for your boots.”

  “They did. My trigger event was a little more dignified, though. No matter. I’ve been at this a long time. You’re barely a concern.”

  “Want to fight, Jack?” I asked. My bugs moved through the crowd as I noted each of the threats that were present.

  “Eh,” Jack said, shrugging, “I can take you. Step through that doorway, and I’ll give you a fair fight. One on one. Look. I’ll even put my knife in my belt, hands on my head.”

  I had an assessment of their group. I couldn’t account for Nilbog’s creations, but I knew which members of the Nine were present and where they were situated.

  “You said it yourself,” Jack said. “You can’t afford not to.”

  Too true. The others weren’t close enough yet.

  “Why this fixation on ending the world?” I asked.

  “Nuh uh uh,” Jack answered me. “Not going to get bogged down in a discussion. We have a situation. I’m going to walk away in about fifteen seconds, unless you want to have a duel. Knife against knife, or gun against knife, if you prefer. You win here, it’s a coup for the world. What better option for the make-believe queen?”

  The make-believe queen?

  Maybe a name Cherish had given me. I tightened my grip on the gun, but I kept my finger off the trigger.

  Someone advanced. I felt tripwires snap and break.

  Letting a hostage go?

  I turned and started to fire before the individual in question could step through the doorway. By the time I made the conscious decision and started squeezing the trigger, the individual in question was emerging. The bullet made contact, passi
ng through their head.

  A life taken. A hostage killed. But I couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  No.

  I shook my head a little.

  A Nice Guy, not a hostage.

  He needed to focus on people to use his power. That focus was far weaker if he couldn’t see someone. My voice would be another vector, as well as knowing my location.

  “That was impolite,” Jack said.

  “No tricks.”

  “I could send Siberian after you,” he said. “She wouldn’t even have to kill you. Just hold you still. Bonesaw and Gray Boy could have worlds of fun. Remember what we did to your team leader? Imagine the eternity of pain Gray Boy could deliver after our Bonesaw has given you more nerve endings to work with.”

  “You could,” I said.

  The others were getting closer, reaching the foot of the stairs.

  Cherish spoke. “The others are here, Jack.”

  “Then your time is up, Weaver. I hope you don’t regret your hesitation.”

  I wouldn’t.

  I drew in a deep breath, waiting for the second Jack turned, then stepped into the doorway.

  Then I opened fire.

  I’d first run into the scenario when I went up against Mannequin, before running up against Glory Girl. The first time I shot a gun, I hit my target.

  Now I had a better idea of why.

  Having bugs over the entire area, I had a sense of the area, of the topography, of where everything was. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an advantage. Something to help aim the shot, to help give me a sense of the path the bullet would travel. It was like being able to reach out with my arm in a perfectly straight line, touch my target, then aim along the line. The same effect I’d granted Foil, so she could snipe Tyrant.

  The sole remaining Siberian moved to Jack’s side before I could pull the trigger.

  I wasn’t aiming for Jack. It wasn’t even a consideration. Like he said, he had Gray Boy with him. The second I stepped into their sight, I was a goner.

  My bullet took Cherish in the head. Another bullet struck Screamer.

  I hesitated.

  Then I shot Aster, who was held in a Hatchet Face’s arms.

  Manton-

  No. Too dangerous. Gray Boy was moving, trying to get to a better vantage point.

  I turned, activating my flight pack for a boost of speed.

  The Siberian broke away from Jack, giving chase. Crawlers advanced only a pace behind.

  In that same moment, I drew out more lines, giving the signal.

  Revel and Foil both opened fire, their energy-orbs and bolts tearing through the walls and into the rank and file of the Slaughterhouse Nine.

  “No!” Jack ordered. “Siberian, with us. The remotes are programmed?”

  “Yeah,” Bonesaw reported.

  “We go. Divide into groups. One major target each.”

  Jack quickly sorted them out, his Siberian touching him, Manton and Bonesaw as the bolts and orbs continued to tear through his crowd. One or two dead every second.

  And then they separated into groups. Bonesaw paused, then broke away, joining her crowd before hitting the remote. They disappeared.

  Another group gone.

  Then the remaining three disappeared all at once.

  I collapsed on my hands and knees as I reached the bottom of the staircase. The others that had managed to reach our location stood over me.

  “They’re gone,” I said, panting not from exertion, but the sheer panic of what I’d done.

  “We give chase,” Chevalier said. He looked to Defiant. “Can we?”

  “We can if there is a computer,” Defiant responded.

  I only nodded.

  “Good,” Defiant said.

  I looked up as Golem approached, Revel beside him.

  “Aster’s dead,” I said.

  He went very still.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Did you-” He started, then he stopped, staring down at me.

  “Nevermind. Sorry for asking,” he said. “Whatever happened, it’s for the best.”

  He didn’t sound like he believed it. He didn’t sound confident in the least.

  It’s for the best, I thought, as Golem joined Chevalier and Defiant in heading up the stairs.

  “Can you tell me the order they went off?” Defiant asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Then I think we can figure out which went where. We can eliminate this place as an escape route.”

  Which meant we knew which way Jack had gone, and he couldn’t run anymore.

  Final encounter.

  26.a (Interlude A, Golem part 1)

  Theo exhaled slowly. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. Inhaling again, the smell of shit and blood was so heavy on the air it choked him. His suppressed cough was almost a grunt, almost a gag.

  His eyes returned to the two bloodstained spikes that had been stabbed into the wall. It was the space where Nilbog had been crucified, apparently. Something dangled from one of them. A tendon, maybe, a vein, or a strip of meat. The goblin king had been torn down with enough haste and enough force that some part of him had been left behind.

  He’d spent some time staring at the metal spike with flesh dangling from it. The others were busy. It made sense to take the time to strategize, to get equipment and gear in order, familiarize himself with every tool and technique this squad of capes had on hand.

  Thing was, Theo didn’t want to, even as he knew it was the smart thing. The others seemed to recognize that and weren’t pushing him, weren’t approaching. Maybe they’d brush it off as a kind of meditative thinking, a mental preparation for the fight that was to come. Maybe they’d see it for what it really was. Avoidance.

  Staring at the wall and trying not to think about anything was easier than looking down, seeing the dead members of the Slaughterhouse Nine, and maybe seeing Aster in the mess of bodies.

  Being silent was easier than having to look the others in the eyes and pretend he was alright, risking that they’d offer some gentle, kind condolences, and he’d have to be stoic in the face of it.

  Men weren’t supposed to cry. It would be disastrous, shattering their image of him, creating too much doubt at such a crucial juncture. He could imagine how they’d react. Some of them would be awkward. Defiant, maybe, would avert his eyes. Bitch might say something harsh.

  Revel, probably, would be nice about it. Offer a pep talk, a hug, heartfelt words. Tecton would be much the same. Parian and Foil, even, might be kind, if he went by descriptions Weaver and others had offered of them and the little clues he’d seen in interacting with them.

  The moment he pulled himself together, if he could pull himself together, Chevalier would be at his side, all business, outlining the situation in clear, defined ways. Framing it all into plans and setups that would put less stress on Theo, no doubt, but not in such a way that anyone could say anything about it.

  Hoyden? Hard to say. She lived with this wall that she’d erected around herself. Layers of defenses, in bravado or being snarky or being sarcastic or aggressive or avoiding the situation. In combat situations or real life, Theo suspected there were very few things that really got to the heart of Hoyden. When they did, they hurt. How would she react to someone being vulnerable?

  And then there was Weaver.

  She was in the periphery of his vision, sitting on a computer case, staring down at the floor. As ever, her mannerisms were peculiar. She was so still. If it weren’t for the bugs, or the fact that her head would periodically move, as if she were looking over the dead, he might have thought she’d stopped, like a machine with the battery removed.

  She would be assessing who was dead, who wasn’t, planning and adjusting her expectations for the coming fight, quite possibly. Probably.

  In the midst of that, was Weaver thinking about Aster? The fact that she, either by aiming a gun and pulling the trigger or by giving the order to Revel and Foil, had killed a toddler?r />
  Weaver was a hard person to deal with.

  Taylor, not so much.

  If that was all it was, he wouldn’t have worried so much.

  There were other possibilities, ones that troubled him. What if he approached them, and nobody offered condolences at all? What if they accepted it as a cost of doing business, a necessity in dire circumstances?

  What if he did show emotion, and none of his allies offered any emotional support at all?

  Kayden had been the closest thing he had to a mother. If it hadn’t been for Jack’s game, then Theo suspected he might never have rated. He wasn’t her first priority. That would be Aster. Not her second. That was her mission, nebulous as it had been in recent years. He hesitated to believe that he’d even rated third place.

  He struggled to convince himself he placed fourth or fifth, even.

  But she’d been there. She’d shown kindness, had stepped between him and Father when the situation demanded it. There had been gentle moments, like the time they’d been watching television one morning and a cape had talked about how tinkers were their least favorite type of opponent to fight, and he and Kayden had laughed, because Kayden and her group had run into Leet just a week before.

  Stupid things, in the end. Nonsensical. But stupid, nonsensical things were sometimes the most important.

  He’d never had friends, before he got his powers. Even now, he wondered if he’d have really formed the friendships he had if they’d chanced to meet in some universe where powers didn’t exist.

  Being alone as often as he had, Theo valued the connections he had made. Even connections with Justin, Dorothy and Geoff. Crusader, Night and Fog.

  On the flip side of that same coin, he felt the betrayal of Justin leaving him behind.

  Above all, he felt the quiet, perpetual horror of knowing that Crusader was still screaming, his throat never going raw, as Gray Boy’s loop continued without cease.

  Kayden would be standing a short distance away, stoic, trying to keep from slowly going insane as Justin’s screams continued without end.

  He’d lost people who were important to him, in maybe the most horrible way possible. He’d lost his father, and Kayden, Justin, Geoff and Dorothy, and now Aster. He’d lost them to violence and stupidity and madness, and he could see the allure in how the others seemed to be functioning, bottling it all inside.