The Walls of Orion

by T. D. Fox

  Dina hesitated. “Y’know, revenge might be sweet, but it could backfire keeping him worried about you on your own.”

  “It’s not revenge, and I don’t need him worried about me,” Courtney said. “I don’t need him thinking about me at all. He had his time for that.”

  Dina kept her lips closed, but Courtney’s spine tightened at the concern bleeding off her rarely silent friend.

  “It’s not like they live far,” Courtney added. “I can still see Michael, and I can avoid Conrad by knowing his schedule. It’s a win-win.”

  “Yep,” Dina said. “Definitely seems like you’re winning.”

  Courtney stopped, frowning at the back of her friend’s dark bob. Dina sighed, and turned around.

  “Look, I’m not asking you to start dating,” she said, tone softening. “Stay single as a Pringle and come out with me for girls’ nights, have fun once in a while. But... would you drop the whole straight-arm routine? Let at least one more person get close to you besides me.” Her dark eyes glimmered in the streetlights. “Not everyone’s going to be your dad. The Lone Survivor act is wearing out.”

  Courtney stared at her, startled by the sober look in those usually bright eyes. She heaved a laugh that didn’t feel light enough. “Okay. I’ll see if I can cut back on shifts. And we’ll hang out.”

  “And you’ll meet some new people.” Dina pursed her lips, then added, “Tonight.”

  Courtney blew out a puff of cloudy air. “I’ll meet some new people. Tonight.”

  With a nod, Dina turned on her heels and renewed the bounce in her step. “Say hello to life outside the coffee shop; we’ll find other ways to get you out of that apartment. Living next to the Wall’s depressing as hell. Cheap rent be damned.”

  “Ha... you’re not wrong.”

  Dina’s hands clapped together. “All right, come on. My toes are falling off.”

  Courtney picked up the pace.

  They reached the intersection and stood huddled at the crosswalk, waiting for the signal. She watched her breath turn to foggy swirls, tinted green under the traffic light.

  A car horn spliced the air. Then a second. Across the street, before the intersection, cars rolled to a stop in spite of the green.

  Dina frowned, stretching up on her toes. “What’s going—”

  A scream pierced the night, sending goose bumps down Courtney’s arms. The cry lifted, high and rough, before dropping sharply into a man’s hysterical cackle.

  Someone else screamed. Buried between the headlights, silhouettes scuffled in and out of focus. Tires squealed. A taxi lurched backward, crunching into the car behind it. Smoke rose to float in the headlights, followed by the stench of burnt rubber.

  A man convulsed in the center of the chaos, spine arcing, height building. Limbs thickened and warped. The silhouette grew before their eyes, haloed against the wash of headlights. The shape pitched forward and landed, arms spread on the hood of the taxi. Huge, hairy... not-hands screeched against the metal. The taxi driver laid on the horn. The creature leaped forward, crunching the hood under its weight. It surged for the windshield, drew back an appendage and smashed into the glass with a thud that reverberated through the concrete. The windshield splintered. Screams split the air as the creature dove through the jagged hole and ripped the driver from his seat.

  “Move!” A shoulder knocked into Courtney, throwing her off balance in her heels. Dina gripped her arm. More people slammed past. Car doors hung open, cabs abandoned as people streamed to the sidewalks.

  “Police!” someone screamed. “Somebody call the police!”

  A siren chirped, too far down the block. Blue and red lights flickered off the faces running past. Courtney turned around to see the two cops from earlier standing halfway down the sidewalk, squad car lit up beside them. Neither moved any closer. One jerked a radio to his mouth.

  Courtney turned back to the bedlam in the intersection—just in time to see the van come screeching out the alley opposite. It slammed into the taxi. The resounding crack of metal on metal shredded Courtney’s eardrums as the little yellow cab crunched sideways into the next car. Smoke poured from the wrinkled hood. The creature yanked itself upright from where the taxi driver lay, body torn halfway through the windshield. It began to shrink again. Limbs folding back on each other, chest caving inward, head jerking to one side as the long snout retracted. The ripped clothing slipped off in tatters.

  The van doors flew open. Men in white jumpsuits leaped into the street, surging toward the Changer on the hood. The creature shrank further. The scraps of clothes left revealed a man’s hunched form, pink skin and skinny ribs, human as ever. Sides heaving, he rolled off the hood of the taxi and stumbled away on shaky feet.

  By then the intersection was deserted enough for Courtney to make out a softer sound—one she instantly wished she couldn’t hear. The man rocked back on his heels, staring at the white-clad men rushing toward him, and laughed.

  The sound echoed off the buildings, rising in pitch until it rasped into a terrifying giggle.

  It didn’t cease until the men in white brought their clubs down hard.

  ⬥◆⬥

  Courtney sat in Dina’s living room, nursing a cup of hot chocolate, watching the muted TV flicker through the news. The incident from the intersection an hour ago had only featured once. A brief ten-second story. Dina banged some pots and pans in the kitchen and growled.

  “This night should’ve been so much better.”

  “It’s all right.” Courtney took another sip of cocoa. “I wasn’t really feeling up to going out anyway.”

  “Yeah and it seems the crazy Fates agreed with you.” Dina slammed another pot down on the stove. “I’ve got images in my brain I can’t unsee.”

  “That poor cab driver,” Courtney murmured.

  “I was talking about that Changer’s naked ass glowing in the headlights.”

  “I’ve never seen one that close before.”

  “An ass?”

  “A Changer, you punk.”

  Dina snorted. “Those White Coats sure clean up fast. You know, that’s probably why half the city still thinks it’s a hoax. Group hysteria, some sort of conspiracy to keep us all in check. I mean, I thought so too once upon a time.”

  “Really? After ten years of Quarantine?”

  “Yeah, well, would you believe it? I never actually saw anything until tonight. I mean, all the videos look fake. With everything they filter out, all the censoring, it’s hard to trust anything. But now... what do you do when your own eyes tell you the world’s insane?”

  Courtney watched the steam rise from her mug. “Life’s not nearly as sane as they make it out to be.”

  “That’s a good one. Who said that?”

  “Someone from work.”

  “Not that one that keeps hitting on you?”

  “No, not Max. A customer.”

  Dina reentered the living room holding her own cup of steaming cocoa. “You have some pretty strange conversations in coffee shops.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Courtney’s phone buzzed on the couch between them.

  “Speak of the devil.” Dina picked it up. “It’s Max. Want me to text him a poop emoji?”

  “Don’t read my texts.”

  “What would a grown-ass man want with forty sugars?”

  Courtney snatched her phone back. “You actually sent him a poop. Real mature.”

  “What’s W stand for? Is that a euphemism for something?”

  “No. Just an eccentric customer the other baristas don’t like to deal with.”

  “Eccentric how? Another creepy old guy who orders coffee in his pajamas?”

  Courtney laughed. “No pajamas. And he’s not old.”

  “Creepy, though?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is he hot?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, your coworkers don’t like dealing with him. But sounds like you don’t mind.”

  “
I don’t pick and choose who I serve. It’s called being a professional.”

  “Mm, but not not hot though. I see that look.”

  “What look? I don’t have a—”

  The phone buzzed again, longer this time—an incoming call. Courtney latched onto the needed escape and lifted it to her ear.

  “Hey, Corny,” rasped an adolescent voice.

  A smile broke out on her lips. “Hey, Mikey.”

  “Mikeeeey!” Dina leaned toward Courtney’s face to yell into the phone. “Is that my favorite preteen in the world?”

  “It’s Michael, gosh. I told you, Mikey is a baby name.”

  Courtney smirked. “Michael. Right. What are you doing up so late?”

  “It’s Friday night.” A heavy sigh crackled the air on the other end. “Not that I have any reason to stay up. Dad banned me from video games all week.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Something about ‘being present’ with each other. Now he wants to play catch and do stupid stuff like going to the park. Like, I’m not five.”

  Courtney’s smirk cooled. Talk about ten years too late.

  “And I’m not even allowed to use the computer until I finish my homework.”

  “What if you need the computer for homework?”

  “He blocks all the sites to the games. I need a special password that only he knows.”

  “Well. That sucks.”

  “Yeah.” Another crackly sigh. “I wanna come visit you. Dad says we could go to the movies or something.”

  “Uh... yeah. I mean, I’ll have to check my work schedule, but maybe I can take you sometime after school? We could see that new one about the superheroes.”

  “Dad wants us all to go.”

  Courtney hesitated, a beat too long. Michael heard it for what it was.

  “I mean, he doesn’t have to come. He just wanted to see you. He asked me to call.”

  Wow. Using her little brother? Courtney ground her teeth but spoke lightly, “I’m sure we’ll figure out a date.”

  “Uh-huh.” Michael fiddled with the phone. “Well, maybe I could just come over and hang out for a weekend. You’ve still got our old PlayStation, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s in a box somewhere.”

  “Cool.” A beat. Then, “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, bud. Let’s hang out soon, all right? I’ll talk to Dad and see if we can see a movie.”

  “Okay!” His voice brightened. “I’ll skip school if I have to.”

  She laughed. “I think we can work around that.”

  “Yeah, well, Dad’ll let me if it means we all get to hang out.”

  Another low blow.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll call you again once I figure out my schedule. How’s next Friday sound?”

  “Um, you should do Monday. Afternoon. I got a test in History fifth period.”

  “I think we’ll plan for Friday.”

  “But it’s History.”

  Courtney chuckled. “See you, Mikey.”

  “Michael!”

  “Michael.”

  Dina grinned at her after she’d hung up. “Does he still call you Corny?”

  “Yeah.” Since he was four, though he could pronounce her name fine now. She hoped it never changed.

  “Agh. I just want to pinch his freckly cheeks! Can I adopt your little brother?”

  Courtney started to smile, but then her eyes caught on the muted TV screen. A hulking figure filled the frame, black mask turned away from the camera. Dina followed her gaze and gasped. She swiped the remote and turned the volume up.

  “Look who’s back!” She scooted up to the edge of the couch. “When I didn’t see him on the news this month I got so worried they’d caught him! You know the OCPD needs to get its priorities straight when they can’t catch a Changer but fall over themselves trying to arrest a superhero.”

  “Vigilante,” Courtney corrected.

  They both watched the screen. A massive human figure raced down the street, surprisingly fast for his size—over ten feet in height—and ducked around a corner. His face was obscured by a mask. The police car chasing him skidded to a stop before a brick building. He’d jumped onto the roof with a single bound, leaving the cops in the dust.

  The picture changed. A reporter came on, warning of disturbing images to follow. Three men appeared, beat up black and blue, slouched against the base of a brick wall. They were all three cuffed to the rail of a fire escape.

  “The vigilante known as the Orion Giant has surfaced yet again, leaving a trail of known criminals in his wake. However, the OCPD has released a number of the Giant’s victims, due to insufficient evidence or witnesses to testify to their crimes. They request any individuals who have information on the vigilante...”

  “This city is so messed up,” Dina snapped. “That guy on the right is a rapist. I remember his picture from last year. The cops let him go because his father’s a politician. And now they’re letting all the other scumbags go because it wasn’t one of their own boys in blue to bring them in!”

  Courtney shook her head. “It’s not fair, but you can’t try to right a wrong by going above the law.”

  “The vigilante upholds the law more than the police do.”

  Courtney couldn’t say anything to that.

  “Plus, did you see the size of him?” Dina added. “I heard he can double his size in the blink of an eye, and he lifted a car off an injured lady with his bare hands. If that’s not a superhero, I don’t know what is.”

  Courtney skimmed through her messages while Dina fawned over her celebrity crush. She’d missed several texts from Max. Maybe Dina was right. She did need to set some boundaries before he got the wrong idea.

  7:59PM. This shift is so boring without you.

  8:06PM. You-know-who hasn’t shown up yet. Think Jess would fire us if we closed early? I’m gonna quit this job if he starts showing up when you’re not here to handle him.

  Courtney rolled her eyes, tugging the screen down to the next set of messages.

  9:18PM. Betting on how many sugars Freakshow wants today. Madeline says thirty, I say forty. Loser’s gotta hand off his drink.

  9:25PM. Shit he’s here.

  Courtney swiped to the last message. She stared at it, maybe a little too long.

  9:27PM. Maybe you should be sick more often. He left without ordering anything.

  4. THE TORCH

  DR. JEANINE CAMPBELL adjusted her glasses with the edge of her wrist, balancing her coffee and clipboard stacked high with notes. She blew a lock of blonde hair that had escaped from her bun away before it caught on her lipstick. Some people wondered why she bothered wearing makeup, down on the lower wards around orderlies and patients who couldn’t care less about presentation. None of the lesser doctors cared to cover their faint age lines or sleepless eye circles as she did. But her prim composition was no mere style preference. Professionalism wasn’t an option in this line of work; it was survival.

  The steady click of her heels echoed down the endless concrete corridor. It looked more like a prison than a hospital. She supposed in reality it was a mix of both. Shrieks and growls, muffled behind heavy iron doors, followed her. Jeanine had grown used to them long ago.

  Funny the things one stopped hearing when working for AITO.

  “Morning, Dr. Campbell.”

  Jeanine looked up in surprise at the orderly she hadn’t heard emerge from one of the cells. She glanced at the nameplate on the door. Reginald A. Murphy, room Z-201. Her next session.

  “Evan,” she said. “How is the patient?”

  The white-coated youth shrugged. Unlike most of the orderlies, picked for their brawn or intimidation factor, Evan Grimes was thin as a reed and gangly to boot. Nevertheless, he was often assigned to the most volatile cases. The kid’s subdued, measured temperament worked as a kind of sedative to even the Z-Ward patients. Last week, the patient in Z-26 had bitten off the ear of one of the nurses. In the pandemonium that followed, the patien
t had beaten up three doctors and a security guard, flashing between his bestial form and his emaciated human one. Only Grimes had been able to talk him down.

  “The drugs seem to be working,” Evan said in his mild voice. “He’s lethargic, but lucid. The Ativan seems to be keeping his creatural shift at bay. Mostly.”

  “Mostly?” Jeanine echoed. “What does that mean?”

  Evan’s face, expressionless as usual, gave nothing away. “You’ll see when you get inside.”

  He keyed in the door’s pass code and stepped aside. Jeanine hesitated. She’d heard a lot about the Torch in the two years since he’d surfaced in Orion’s Eastside. She could hear something from the other side of the door. A faint clicking noise drifted from the cell within.

  Evan cleared his throat. “Would you like me in there with you?”

  Jeanine drew herself up. “No. Frank and Mitch are inside, right?”

  Frank and Mitch were two of the burliest orderlies they had. Ex-Special-Ops, they weren’t to be trifled with. Evan nodded.

  “I’ll be right outside,” he said.

  Another doctor might’ve taken offense at such a statement, offered by a scrawny twenty-something. Jeanine had four PhDs and fifteen years of experience working with the mentally unstable. However, she wasn’t a fool. She knew that if things went south on the Z-Ward, Grimes was her best defense.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  The room was freezing. She knew why, of course, but she had to fight the urge to shiver under the powerful AC. In the middle of the room, his hands cuffed to a metal table, sat Reginald. He didn’t look up when she came in. The two looming security personnel stood behind him.

  She recognized him from the papers: the monster-man that had terrorized the Eastside of Orion since last May. He looked thinner than his mug shot. The wild, brilliant red hair had lost some of its color, and his short copper beard had grown out, scruffy and unkempt. He wore the standard gray jumpsuit, with his patient number printed over his heart.

  “Hello, Mr. Murphy,” Jeanine greeted him.

  He remained motionless. As she neared, she realized that his eyes were closed. She crossed the room and took a seat in the chair opposite him.