Cold

by Robert J. Crane

  A blur whizzed past me, a black figure coalescing a few feet beyond my bubble. I heard a soft thudding: golf claps from my opponent.

  “Nice,” I said, staring them down.

  “Knew I’d have to deal with you one way or another,” the speedster said, voice grinding like metal on metal. “I guess—”

  I used my momentum trigger to launch myself at them, shooting into their personal space and pushing them into my bubble. I saw very surprised eyes for just a second as my powers activated—

  And the speedster went launching through the wall the exact same way they’d done to Veronika twice now, disappearing across the Vegas sky and into the distance.

  “Whoa,” I whispered. The speedster flew in a slow arc through the air, crashing down somewhere a few blocks past Vegas Boulevard.

  What to do? The old me would have counted herself fortunate, having won this round.

  But this speedster hadn’t yet surrendered, not even after some particularly hard hits.

  “Time to be the new me,” I whispered, and set my feet. After bracing myself, I released momentum and, in a blur, I shot off in a matching arc—after the speedster.

  79.

  Sienna

  I hit the ice barrier with my shoulder and careened off.

  “Damn,” I muttered, giving it a push. It didn’t move at all.

  The hotel corridor was completely blocked with this, and on the other side of it, somewhere…

  Warrington waited. Hopefully still alive, though I was a little torn on that.

  Gunfire came from down the hall, muffled, and a lot of it. Way more than one person firing. I had a suspicion it was the Louisiana State Police trying to blast their way through another ice wall.

  “That’s not going to work,” I whispered, deciding my course of action. Bullets would just chip at this thing, like slightly larger ice picks going up against a slab. This was thick, several inches of ice hardened to whatever optimal temperature Brianna Glover hit to produce such incredibly solid bullets and walls and whatever the hell else. For all I knew, it didn’t even have anything to do with temperature, it might have been more to do with the density of the molecular structure she was manipulating.

  Whatever the case, I knew the only way through was to go through. No chipping away. No half-assed bumping into it.

  I slammed my fist into the ice, launching my punch from the hip. “Should have gone with more protein, fewer carbs for breakfast,” I muttered, my knuckles bleeding, a little crack appearing in the center of the ice block. I fired off another punch from the hip, twisting it as I hit for maximum torsion and impact. The crack broadened, a half-inch line right down the middle of the slab. “That French toast was good, though.”

  My hand ached, and I shook it out. If my punches wouldn’t do it as fast as I needed to get through…

  “As ol’ Clyde would say…’Geronimo.’”

  I lifted my leg and let loose an almighty stepping sidekick, my steel-toed boot landing on the heel rather than the steel part of it.

  Didn’t matter. I busted through that wall anyway.

  It came raining down and I was already shoving my way through as the ice rained down on me. The hotel room door in front of me was busted open, and I could see a couple troopers on the floor, iced around the chest and arms like someone had tied them up with a band of hardened snow.

  I stormed into the room, hand on my Glock but yet to pull it. Brianna was just ahead, a dozen or so paces from Warrington, who stood against the frozen hotel room windows, sweating as he stared at her, death waiting just feet away.

  “I see we’ve got ourselves a crazy situation forming up here,” I said, trying to figure out the combination of words that might calm it down.

  If there was a combination of words that could calm this down.

  “It’s almost over,” Brianna said, which was just about the worst thing I imagined she could say.

  I pulled my pistol and the click of the barrel leaving the retention holster made her look over her shoulder. “Please don’t do this,” I said.

  “I have to,” she said.

  “You really don’t.” I stared at Warrington. “I know he’s done some serious wrong—”

  “He won’t even admit it,” Brianna said, her voice sounding far away. “Arrogant, entitled—he thinks he deserved to do that to her, like it was just a divine right afforded him to tear apart a teenage girl.” Now her tone hardened. “He deserves to die.”

  “I—” Warrington started to say.

  “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you,” I said. “There’s not much you can add to this that’s going to make things better.”

  “How about a confession?” Brianna asked. “And an apology.”

  “I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve somehow done you wrong—” Warrington said, before I could stop him.

  Brianna fired a blast of ice that embedded itself in the window atop his head, crowning him like a frozen mohawk. Warrington let out a shout and I drew a bead on her. “Stop!” I shouted, putting the front sight on her back where her heart would be. Given the speed with which she could move, trying for a head shot seemed like a bad idea.

  “He can’t even admit what he did like a normal person,” Brianna said, malice and loathing dropping her voice to a whisper. “Listen to that politician doublespeak.”

  I took another step closer to them, and I don’t think she even noticed, so I kept going, albeit slowly. The closer I got to point blank range, the easier it’d be on me if I had to take the shot.

  Warrington was dripping blood down his forehead where he’d taken that ice spike. A couple inches down and he’d have caught it in the brain. “Why aren’t you doing something?” he asked, looking past her to me.

  “You had me removed from the case, remember?” I met his eyes, and there was a very brief flash of panic there. “So, not to go all Clerks on you, but I’m not even supposed to be here today.”

  “You should walk away,” Brianna said, not taking her eyes off him. “He deserves this. He’s earned it.”

  “Please don’t,” Warrington said, and here I caught the first real hint of absolute panic.

  “You know what he did,” Brianna said, tearing her eyes off him to look at me. “You know. You can feel it, can’t you, just being around him? He’s remorseless, guiltless…he’d do it again tomorrow even knowing what happened to her. Just look at him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” Her voice dripped loathing.

  “That’s not true,” Warrington said, panic seeping in. “I have a wife. A family. You know this, Brianna—”

  “Don’t say my name,” Brianna snapped, frost dancing around her fingers.

  I looked sideways. Jenna Corcoran was practically climbing a table at the edge of the room, trying to avoid making a sound or being seen in all this, but she was here, following all the talk. There was not a chance in hell she could help me, or that she’d find enough courage to so much as speak, but there she was, taking it all in.

  “I didn’t do what you think I did,” Warrington said, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I can make you believe me, but I didn’t do it.”

  “You could do it,” Brianna said, turning back around to look at me. “I know your powers. You could touch him. Look into his memories.” Her lips twisted in disgust. “Prove he did it.”

  I drew a slow breath, and looked past her at Warrington. “Yes,” I said. “I could.” I opened my mouth to add a “but” of the size Sir Mix-A-Lot would have found very appetizing for his anaconda, but Warrington broke first.

  “Fine,” Warrington said, his facade of calm completely gone in an instant. “I did it! You want to hear that?” His eyes were wild, furious, panic stampeding out in a way I’d never seen from him before. “I did it and I’m sorry! I thought she wanted me—”

  “Ermagerd.” I almost had to look away, my stomach roiled so heavily. “You thought a thirteen-year-old wanted your aged ass? How old were you when this happened? Thirty-five?” I hit a f
ull-body shudder. “That’s ancient to a teenager.”

  “I was sorry it went down the way it did,” Warrington said, rooted in place, staring at Brianna. “I didn’t know she was hurting so bad. But I didn’t make her take drugs. I didn’t make her overdose. And when I found out it happened, I had someone I knew give her a proper burial.” He dropped to his knees, and his eyes were all on her, watching to see if his begging was having an effect. “I never meant for it to happen. Not to her. Not to sweet Emily.”

  Brianna let her hand sink from where it was pointed at his face. She seemed to calm, some of the tension coming out of her shoulders. “I understand,” she whispered.

  Then she fired a blast of ice into his leg, and his scream tore up the room.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen either, but I think it wrecked your knee anyway,” Brianna said, hand back to pointing at his head. “And you may not have meant to ruin Emily, you might have just meant to use her, but she ended up like she ended up, and it was your fault.”

  “I didn’t make her take heroin!” Warrington shouted, grasping his knee, a six-inch dagger of ice sticking out of the patella. I grimaced; I bet it hurt. He’d walk with a limp for the rest of his life.

  “Yes, you did!” Brianna shouted, now firmly at the top of her lungs.

  I felt a slow internal tension ratcheting up on me, like someone had taken a screwdriver and was tightening invisible screws in my back. Now they’d gotten them too tight, though, and something felt like it was going to break—and soon.

  “Brianna,” I said, trying to keep low, be the voice of reason. She hadn’t killed him yet, but I had a feeling she was working up to it. Shooting someone through a scope at long distance was a lot less difficult. That was practically point and click, a serious distance in which to discount the humanity of your victim. This, though, up close and personal? It wasn’t the easiest thing, looking a human being in the eye and murdering them, but Brianna seemed to be moving that direction fast.

  She turned her head to look at me as though remembering I was there. She blinked a couple times, then met my gaze. “Hm?”

  “You got him to confess,” I said. “Okay? He admitted it. Come on, now.” I waved at her with my free hand. “We all heard it. That’s enough to get him on. Let the law handle it from here.”

  Brianna shook her head slowly. “The statute of limitations in Louisiana is ten years starting at the eighteenth birthday of the victim. We’re past that now.” Her hand was still pointed on target, and her voice didn’t waver, back to ice cold. “There is no justice for Emily…except this.”

  80.

  Olivia

  I trailed out of the sky, breathing hard, still fighting my natural panic from dropping like a thrown stone, down to where the speedster lay in a crater below. They’d come crashing down on a pawn shop, right through the front and out the side. I angled in that direction, firing off my bubble, and it altered my course, mid-air, by a small amount.

  My momentum powers could gain limited traction in air. Huh.

  That was kinda neat.

  I shot toward the speedster as they stirred, a small groan coming from their lips. It was somewhat deep, too tough to tell whether the voice was male or female, but they started to sit up as I came down—

  I collided with them, unleashing another burst of momentum as I came down. It directed all my force down, toward them, thumping them against the bottom of the crater as I launched up.

  Centering myself by firing off my powers, I came down again in an ungainly drop, landing and firing off—

  The speedster hit the bottom of the crater again, harder, and I launched farther up, bouncing off them.

  “You were…a mouse…” the speedster said as I came looping back down. I fired off again as I landed, drumming them into the ground with more force and then popping back to land on my feet a few paces away. Something about their voice sounded…familiar.

  “I was,” I said, catching my balance on the edge of the crater. I hopped down, hands in front of me, and pictured a boxer as the speedster started to push back to sitting, moving at normal, human speed. “I was scared of everything.” I looked at my bare hands, took a deep breath, and then surveyed my foe, bleeding from the mouth but hardly out. “I’m not anymore.”

  I swung with a clumsy punch and triggered my powers when I got close to the speedster’s face. It took all the momentum of my meta-strength swing and multiplied it, launching the speedster’s head into the edge of the crater. I heard a crack, and the speedster went limp, body relaxing as they fell into unconsciousness.

  God, I hoped it was unconsciousness. Hopefully I hadn’t just killed them.

  Sirens were blaring behind me as I reached down, pulling off the black ski mask that covered their face. And beneath it…

  Was Sylvia, the crabby, complaining, list-making hoarder-wannabe landlady of the guy we’d arrested.

  “Oh,” I said. So that was how she’d gotten his ID. Heck, she could have framed him while we were walking up to the front door, if she’d been of a mind to.

  I rolled her over, pulling her arms up as the cops came screaming up into the parking lot. I waved my hands as one of the LVPD officers came charging out of their car, gun drawn.

  “Hey, guys,” I said, arms raised, waving at the speedster. They took one look at me and moved on past. One of them had a suppressant needle already in hand. Clearly they knew what they were here for.

  “What happened?” the lead officer asked. His nameplate read Morton.

  “Well,” I said, and a long explanation formed in my head that I immediately dismissed. Besides, there was a much simpler one that encapsulated it all, anyway. I shrugged, and said, “I got her.”

  81.

  Brianna

  This was it.

  He’d finally copped to it.

  He was on his knees, staring up at her, and he’d finally admitted what he’d done.

  This was everything Brianna could have asked for.

  And it was all thanks to Sienna.

  Brianna swallowed, tried not to look him in the face. He wasn’t human, after all. Not after what he did.

  He was scum. Trash. Subhuman, at best.

  And he’d taken everything from her.

  “Don’t do this,” Sienna said, jarring Brianna out of her thoughts.

  Brianna turned, her brow deep and furrowed. “What?”

  Sienna took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second. “I said—”

  82.

  Sienna

  “—don’t do it.” I kept my Glock aimed at Brianna’s back. She was partially turned away, her hand aimed right at Warrington’s head. “He’s not worth it.”

  Brianna just blinked at me, a few stray blond hairs having found their way into her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “Warrington is scum,” I said, trying to talk her back from the edge. “Listen to me, because I know this—killing him isn’t going to solve anything. It won’t bring back Emily. It won’t even bring her justice.” I swallowed. “And what it’s going to do to you…it’s not worth it.”

  Brianna laughed under her breath, soft and desperate. “How can you say that?”

  “Because I know,” I whispered. “This isn’t the way. Listen, he’s guilty of other things. Guilty as sin. Help me. Help me bring him to justice.”

  “There is no justice for him,” Brianna whispered. “Not for a man like him. He’s too powerful, too slippery. No one wants to go after him, not that way.” Her hand steadied, and I saw the resolve appear on her face. “This is the only way.”

  “Please don’t do this,” I said, keeping my gun steady on her. “If you do this, I have to stop you.” I felt a grinding pain inside as I said that.

  She froze, staring at him. “Why?”

  “Because there are laws for a reason,” I said, my hand sweating on the grip of my pistol. “And they’re not just to protect him. We ignore them at our peril. If we just let everyone get their own justice…it starts a
spiral where nobody trusts the system, and that way? Chaos lies at the bottom of that ladder. So…please. Don’t. Do. This.” And I steadied the front sight on her back.

  She stayed utterly still for a long moment, and her hand wavered before joining her in stillness, aimed at his head. “I can’t do that,” she said, and I saw her tense before—

  I stroked the trigger automatically, lighting her up with shot after shot. The bullets hit her in the back, peppering her in a three-inch space centered on the middle of her back. I fired ten times before she dropped, a puppet with her strings cut because I’d annihilated her spine with my shooting.

  “Thank God,” Warrington said into the silence that followed before my ears started to ring like sirens.

  Brianna hit the ground face down and I was next to her in an instant. I rolled her over as she gasped, taking her last breaths. I knew the moment I rolled her over that my shooting was way too good, that there was no chance she was walking away from this.

  She wasn’t going to live more than another thirty seconds.

  Her blue eyes found mine as I cradled her in my arms. I didn’t say anything, because what could I say other than the vaguely stupid, “Why did you make me do this?” Hell, I knew why she did it. If I’d been her, I would have done it, too.

  She looked up at me, and there was a hint of betrayal in her eyes as a thin line of blood slid out of her lips and down her chin. “I just did it the way you would have,” she whispered over the ringing in my ears, and it was loud enough it might as well have been a thunderstorm.

  I looked her in the eyes and felt like I’d been the one who’d had her heart shot out for a second. Drawing a hard breath, I looked at the betrayal on her face and said, “I know.” I nodded. “I know.”

  Because what else was there to say?

  I held her as she died, cursing myself and wondering if maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t been here—hadn’t been around at all, in fact—Brianna Glover’s life might have turned out a lot different. A lot better.