“Well, Armageddon didn’t give a timetable on their hunt for vengeance.” Patrick sipped his coffee, without taking his eye off of the view outside.
“You don’t think it was just some empty threat to keep us on our toes, or force us to hide?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. But I think our best move was to play it safe. Make sure our families were out of harm’s way,” Patrick said.
“My question is, what if that’s the reaction Warhead and Ground Zero were hoping for?”
Patrick scratched an itch under his collar. “Seems rather mastermind-ish. Not their usual style.”
“What else could it be, though?” Graham asked. “Do you think they’re sending out large groups of those BoA kids looking for us? If it were me, I would say something to put you on your heels and make you prepare for an all-out attack.”
“If it were you, you would follow through with an all-out attack.”
Graham pressed his lips and nodded, conceding the point. “It still feels like a fake out to me. They’re misdirecting us. I can feel it.”
“Maybe so...or maybe it’s this lousy weather. Who wants to be out in this downpour anyway?”
After a beat, they both spoke at the same time. “Nolan.”
Graham drew ketchup shapes on his plate with a leftover french fry. “I think Bryson is probably out there as well. Probably mumbled something about meditation and being a samurai. I bet he’s out looking for a makeshift waterfall under a rain gutter.”
Patrick chuckled and shook his head. “What do you have against him? He was gracious enough to let us use his personal facilities as our new headquarters.”
“Yeah I know. Bryson seems cool and all, but it brings me back to my high school days. He’s trying to act like a father figure, but he comes off as more of an angry dad.”
“I hate to take Bryson’s side, but you and Trevor are a little sloppy sometimes,” Patrick said.
“You love to take his side,” Graham said. “Besides, it’s not my fault that the Brotherhood strikes when we’re in the middle of a heated Street Fighter tournament.”
“Except that hasn’t ever happened.”
“Details, details. You know what I mean.”
“No, but I know what you’re trying—” Patrick stopped mid-sentence. “You hear that?”
“Cops.” Graham turned in his seat to look out the window.
The wailing police sirens grew louder until two police cruisers sped by. Each threw up a rooster-tail wake from the water-soaked streets.
Patrick counted out some bills, well beyond the total and tip. He slapped the cash onto the table and grabbed his windbreaker. “We have to go.”
Graham pulled his buzzing phone from his front pocket, showing the incoming message. Patrick was already reading it on his own phone.
“I told you they were up to something big,” Graham said.
Patrick switched the call to speaker and tossed the phone onto his bed while pulling his outfit from the closet. “I said tell her to hang back.”
“You think Crystal is going to listen to me?” Manny asked.
“Just tell her that we won’t be able to get there fast enough to back her up.” Patrick was fumbling with the tubes and hoses running through his jacket.
“Abby says she and Genevieve aren’t too far from Crystal. She says they’ll convince her to help keep innocent people clear of danger.” Manny’s voice was breaking up.
Patrick snatched the phone and toggled off the speaker. “What’s the status on the drones?”
Manny explained Troy’s difficulty with the unmanned quadcopters. Operating with the heavy rain and winds made it almost impossible. Patrick rubbed his temples with his right hand as he listened.
“Alright,” he said, exasperated. “Once Bryson picks up Stringfellow and Juliana, make sure they hook up with the rest of us on comms. And tell them to stay clear of the action.”
Patrick held the phone to his ear with a shoulder while he laced up his boots, pausing to pay close attention to what Manny said. “The STF is on-site now? We have to make sure no one gets in their way. The last thing we need is to complicate things and get rounded up as part of the operation.”
Patrick finished with his boots and stood up, heading for the door. “I just hope it’s enough.”
Chaos consumed the city’s largest bank branch. A crowd of men and women rushed out through the shattered front doors and windows. All wore clothing announcing their allegiance to the Brotherhood of Armageddon. Some of them carried cash and valuables in tattered backpacks, pillowcases, and plastic shopping bags.
Police cars skidded to a stop, as the officers inside took cover behind their vehicles. As the fanatics streamed by, several of the law-enforcement officers tried to grab them. The Bank’s patrons ran out the door, followed by another group of Brotherhood members. This group was much larger than the first. With flushed skin, their eyes bulged along with their veins and muscles.
“Freeze!”
“Don’t move!”
The police shouted orders at the wall of fanatics. The Battlelord pushed past the line and stood in front. His eyes swept back and forth over the growing police presence.
He sucked in a deep breath and bellowed out his taunts. “This is your answer to the Brotherhood of Armageddon? Pop guns and tin badges?”
He continued walking forward.
“One more step and we’ll open fire,” said a cop, pointing his shotgun at the approaching mountain.
“We don’t appreciate you playin’ cops and robbers, and not invitin’ us.” Warhead’s thunderous voice preceded him as he stepped out of the bank, with a large canvas sack over his shoulder.
“What’s the matter? You don’t want us joining your game?” Ground Zero dragged two large bags behind him. “How about we change the rules?”
The police split their aim, some still pointing at Battlelord. The rest focused on the two new figures.
The rumbling engine and sirens of an armored personnel carrier washed over the pattering rain and screaming of the panicked civilians. The rear hatch dropped open as half a dozen armed and armored Supers Task Force officers stepped out. The rest of the police steeled their gaze, bolstered by the arrival of their backup.
“Now the teams are even.” Warhead grinned, looking at Ground Zero.
“New game. Now we’re playing battle royal.” Ground Zero dropped the bags and pushed his chin to one side with his fist, cracking his neck. “The wolves versus the pigs.”
The two wrestlers nodded at each other and then shuffled forward, each planting a big boot into the side of a police cruiser. The officers behind it dove out of the way as the vehicle slid sideways. The tires bit into the street, and the car started rolling at the police barricade.
“Open fire!”
CHAPTER
22
Black Paralysis and Speetah crouched behind a parked truck further down the street. They watched as Armageddon rushed forward, prompting a violent response from the police. The streets exploded with the sounds of gunfire and shouting.
“You think they’re still using non-lethal rounds?” Black Paralysis asked.
“We can’t sit around until we find out. I’m going,” Speetah said.
Black Paralysis hooked a hand around her upper arm, pulling her back. “We can’t be out there. Patrick said the STF isn’t going to stop and ask whose side we’re on.”
“I don’t care what Patrick says. There are people in danger, and if we don’t get them to safety, those psycho wrestling fans or trigger happy cops are going to kill someone.”
Black Paralysis let his hand slip from her arm. Before he had a chance to second guess himself, she took off, kicking up droplets as she darted through the rain. He closed his eyes, weighing the pros and cons of his next decision before getting to his feet and running after Speetah.
She reached the edge of the conflict, sliding across the wet sidewalk behind the nearest police cruiser. Speetah caught the nearby office
r, a young woman, off guard.
“Sorry, officer. I was just passing through.” Speetah bolted to the left, getting closer to the group of people trapped by some of the Brotherhood fanatics.
Moments later, Black Paralysis slid to the same spot near the same police cruiser.
Started again, the officer said, “Jeez, are there any more of you I should be looking out for?” She looked back over her shoulder.
“Maybe. But for now, can you do me a favor, and point that somewhere else.” Black Paralysis used a finger to shift the barrel of her service pistol back toward the battle.
He, once again, followed Speetah to the trapped civilians.
She built up as much speed as she could before plowing into two of the XGH enhanced fanatics. The impact drove them back, knocking one to the ground. Black Paralysis followed up with a flying side kick to the next man in line, driving the air out of him with a hiss.
The two heroes waded right into the deep end. Trading blows with anyone wearing the Brotherhood logo. Even over the gunfire, the sound of their melee drew more fanatics to the scene.
Speetah staggered back. A bead of blood slid down from the corner of her mouth, She wiped it away with the heel of her palm and pushed forward.
Black Paralysis clutched his ribs with one hand, ducking under a punch before firing back with one of his own.
Soon they cleared a path through the front lines of the fanatics.
“Go, get out of here,” Speetah said, grabbing a woman by the sleeve, and shoving her in the direction of the opening. The crowd rushed out, running away from the battle.
Once they reached a safe distance, Black Paralysis grabbed Speetah’s wrist and pulled her back several steps. They stood shoulder to shoulder facing the large group of remaining BoA members.
Speetah wiped away more blood, this time from her nose, coloring the left side of her face with a wet crimson streak. Black Paralysis rubbed his right hand. A bruise formed under one of his eyes, as rivers of rain ran down his face.
“I think I broke my hand on that hippo right there.” he nudged his chin to the largest of the XGH fanatics.
Speetah didn’t respond. She stood, planted in place as the group closed the distance one step at a time. Black Paralysis put a hand on her shoulder coaxing her back with him, keeping the buffer between themselves and the horde.
The hippo plodded forward, pushing off of his two nearest allies. Black Paralysis shuffled in and fired his right leg out like a piston, driving the outer edge of his foot into the super soldier’s knee. With his energy stores depleted, he had to rely on good old-fashioned street fighting, as the hippo’s knee dislocated from his kick.
The man clutched his knee before his body even hit the ground. His shouts of agony drove a wedge between the remaining group. Black Paralysis grabbed Speetah’s shoulders and spun her around to face him.
He looked up into her eyes. “You did it. You saved those people. Now we have got to get out of here.”
She snapped out of her frenzy and looked back at him, nodding.
Speetah and Black Paralysis reached the first police car they used as cover earlier. The officer was sliding a fresh magazine into the well in the grip of her pistol.
“I saw what you guys did over there. Thank you,” she said.
“No, thank you,” Speetah said. We’re just here to help.
“Is that part of your help too?” She stressed the word.
Speetah and Black Paralysis peeked over the hood of the police vehicle to the other end of the fight. Most of the remaining trapped bystanders cleared out, leaving a pile of writhing bodies in the street. Some clutched at unseen injuries, while others had literal arrows pointing out the source of their agony.
“They’re not with us,” Speetah said.
“Yes, they are with us,” Black Paralysis corrected.
“Can’t say I agree with the approach, but I’ll be leaving that part out of my report. For space, that is.”
The patrol car bucked as the armored form of an STF officer slammed into the passenger side door.
“We’ll get out of your way now,” Black Paralysis said.
The woman braced her pistol on the roof of her car and fired two rounds at the monsters manhandling the Supers Task Force.
Nathan moved back to the bank’s entrance when the Supers Task Force arrived. He pulled some of the fanatics with him to keep them safe. They were still trying to contain the remaining customers, keeping them corralled like cattle. I can’t put these people in danger. He scratched his beard and moved to the nearest group of civilians.
“Get inside, now.” He kept his voice gruff and stern, using their fear as motivation. He waved a few more into the building before following.
A couple of the younger frightened fanatics trailed in.
Nathan put a hand on the back of one of their necks. “Get these people in the back. By the vault.”
The young man, eyes wide, nodded.
He grabbed the collar of the other fanatic. “Keep them safe. Do you understand?”
Nathan moved back to the sidewalk as a second APC rolled up, spewing forth more soldiers clad in government-issued costumes. Streaks of tear gas and smoke swirled around, contained by the rainfall. Warhead and Ground Zero stood at the epicenter of a whirlwind of destruction.
Warhead put his shoulder into a nearby squad car as bullets thudded off of his body. The rounds were unable to penetrate the aura of kinetic energy he generated while in motion. Ground Zero tucked a manhole cover under one arm. He absorbed a salvo of lead before channeling the power into the solid steel disc. He hurled it like a discus, shearing the bumper and one of the front wheels off of the second APC.
At least ten men and women lay, injured in the street. That number would double in minutes at this rate. The shooting slowed as another group of police officers made an attempt to retrieve their fallen. Ground Zero moved to intercept.
Nathan tucked his chin, sucked in a deep breath through his nose strode forward. When he was close to Ground Zero, he quickened his pace.
Two officers each grabbed a hand of a man in uniform, bleeding from the side of his head. Ground Zero trotted forward, but still they pulled their friend back. Nathan stopped the giant, placing a hand on his chest.
“Just let them clear out the injured ones, GZ,” he said.
The brute looked down and scoffed. “You’re gettin’ soft, old man.” He spat on the street, smiled, and went back to join his tag team partner. Nathan stood, watching as more officers moved to pull away the casualties. Nathan approached one of the STF agents crawling his way.
“Open fire,” The STF commander shouted.
Once again the streets filled with the pops and explosions of gunfire. Nathan felt a series of sharp impacts along the left side of his body. The gunfire was too accurate to be indiscriminate. He knew he was the quarry. Backing away from the fallen agent, he was presenting the police with a better target, but it kept the man on the ground safe.
Nathan crouched, and tucked his head, trying to use an arm and a leg to shield himself from the assault. He could see the mushroomed projectiles scattering on the street around him. In the puddles of rainwater, his blood swirled out in intricate patterns.
They’re going to kill me if I can’t get out of here, he thought. Nathan dropped to his knees and elbows, covering himself like a turtle when the impacts stopped. The shooting continued, but he was no longer considered a threat.
He looked up to see Armageddon, adding to the pile of injured officers. Ground Zero used a car door as a shield, walking up to a group of agents, before swiping them away with a backhand swing.
Warhead took two plodding steps before launching his massive frame into the air. He planted both feet onto Ground Zero’s chest and kicked off, launching himself into one of the STF armored personnel carriers. Ground Zero absorbed the force of the feet on his chest and instantly redirected it back, adding momentum to Warhead’s flight. Hurtling through the air, Warhead used his sup
er ability to create a kinetic field around himself whenever he was in motion. His power made him a nearly unstoppable and invulnerable projectile. The Missile Launcher was a move the tag team used in their previously human lives, as professional wrestlers. Now their super abilities and years of experience have turned the maneuver into a lethal attack. Warhead drove himself into the APC, and the impact released a shockwave that sent rain and glass flying everywhere. The twenty-ton vehicle groaned and rocked on two wheels before tipping and crashing down to its side.
Patrick, Boost, and Manerpillar stood their ground. They let the fleeing people by, holding off the few fanatics who tried to give chase. They could see the Armageddon in the midst of the commotion, fighting off the second wave of STF agents.
“Recurve, Striker, you two have the high ground. What can you see down there?” Patrick asked.
“I think this is too much for the police to handle,” Striker said. “This is going to end badly for the law.”
“Who’s that?” Boost asked, pointing to a large looming figure turning the corner. “Great, is that another BoA troll we have to deal with?”
The figure stood at least nine feet tall, covered in a wet, oozing, clay-like substance. Each step shook everyone nearby and sent ripples across the flooded streets.
“That’s H2Grow,” Manerpillar said.
“He’s going to take Armageddon on by himself,” Patrick said, stepping forward.
H2Grow lumbered into the mix, met by Battlelord. The hero’s massive form dwarfed the wrestler. H2Grow tried to swipe his foe away to get to his real targets. Battlelord ducked underneath and delivered a punch that shook H2Grow, staggering him back a step. Slow to recover, H2Grow took a kick to the inside of one leg, knocking him down to a kneeling position. Battlelord moved in for the finish. With a sudden burst of fury, H2Grow swung an enormous arm, hooking Battlelord by the waist, and hurling him into the bank.
The giant got back to his feet and approached Warhead and Ground Zero.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 13