“Maybe it won’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. Getting the chance to take a shot is hard enough. He doesn’t exactly keep to a schedule. And keeping my weapon available isn’t convenient. I have a loaner car in a parking garage, but I ran into some cops and someone who recognized me yesterday.”
“That’s your plan?” he asked skeptically. “Just drive to wherever he shows up, pull out your…cannon, and blast him?”
I put the rifle away. “Was it a mistake telling you?”
“No! It’s just your way of going about this is so…” He trailed off.
“I get it. You weren’t expecting me to show up in your life, get you drunk, and then reveal a crazy plan to assassinate the most powerful superhero on the planet. It does sound crazy. But it also might work. I’m not asking anything from you except that you keep this to yourself.”
“You really believe one of these special bullets can put a dent in him?” he asked.
“Yeah, I do. Someone’s got to stop him.”
“Crazy,” he muttered.
“What?”
“This is crazy. But I want to help. I’m in. Are you going out tomorrow morning? I’ll pick you up at the same time.”
***
The next few mornings we fell into a routine. Carter picked me up and we went into the city. But now I took my rifle, shoving the case into his empty trunk. I still wasn’t sure about the logistics of operating my weapon within his car. The vehicle was immaculate. I didn’t think he’d want me setting up a shooting stand on the roof or trunk or breaking out a window to make firing the rifle inside the car possible. Any crumbs and coffee cups from the previous day were cleaned up. The windows didn’t even have any smudges from my dirty fingers.
By Friday, I felt particularly bleary. A headache was scraping at the back of my eyeballs. The nightmare had returned each night, ratcheting up in intensity, and not fading like most dreams. I was so exhausted after waking I actually skipped my workout and went straight to a long shower. But even the pulsing jet of hot water couldn’t get my brain out of its funk.
“There’s coffee,” Carter said as I climbed in his car.
My eyes were half-mast. I shielded them as best I could from the morning glare with the hood of my sweatshirt.
“Anything in it?”
“Cough syrup,” he said with a straight face.
“Perfect.” I took a sip. It was hot and good. Then I eyed him. “Did you make a joke? I’m so proud of you.”
He shrugged. “Are you feeling okay?”
“It’s nothing. Just a headache.”
“Lots of those. It’s even in the news. Lots of people missing work because of allergies or something.”
“I don’t have allergies.”
“Maybe it’s a flu going around. Did you get my email?”
I nodded. Since exchanging actual contact information, Carter had been forwarding his collected data, including spreadsheets and charts tracking Chronos sightings based on time, place, and a metric he called “event intensity,” the measure of how much damage and suffering was caused during Chronos’s appearance. It was all overwhelming. While I was out on the street looking for a man who could fly, he’d been on his computer crunching numbers all these years.
“It’s a lot to absorb,” I said.
“Well, you seem to have nailed his timing on most appearances,” Carter said. “The most likely time he will show up is 11:10 a.m. It’s an average, of course, and there’s no way to know he won’t change his behavior, but this is our best bet.”
His phone chimed. “Work stuff. Excuse me.” He busied himself texting while I studied the police scanner app. Its premium features included law enforcement news, everything from legal developments to products and technology. Apparently Carter was right: there was a spike in police absenteeism over the past couple of days throughout the country. The mayor’s office had commented they were worried the sick cops were part of a stealth sickout organized by the union.
Two alerts rocked my phone.
“We’re in business,” I said. “Loremaster and Mr. Tingle just started fighting each other in Washington Square. And there’s an armored car robbery underway down on Hudson and West Houston.”
Carter put the phone down and started the car.
“Wait,” I said. “There’s too much traffic.” I pointed to my scooter parked next to us in the garage.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Come on.”
I strapped the rifle case to the back. Once there, the hardcase could be any number of things, like a keyboard or a toolbox. Carter climbed on behind me and clung to me for dear life as I launched the scooter forward and down the loop to the garage exit. Once out on the street, I sped up and deftly steered around the usual logjam of vehicles. I didn’t have a helmet for Carter. With him pressed up against me, I had to sit on the forward edge of the seat with my knees touching the front of the scooter. Carter was saying something but the rushing wind drowned out his words.
Ducking cars was one thing, but plenty of trucks and buses were moving about like icebergs on an ocean, and one garbage truck nearly ended our run when I passed him on the right as he decided to turn. Carter clung tighter. Motorbikes and bicyclists were the worst, as they jammed up the gaps I was trying to speed down.
“Which one are you heading to?” Carter asked when we were forced to pause at a light.
“I’m letting traffic decide. The armored car is closer.”
I checked my phone screen. A third alert. Chronos was sighted flying towards downtown.
“He’s here.” I jammed the phone in my pocket. The light was taking forever. Cross traffic zipped by. I cranked the accelerator and the scooter sped into the passing cars.
“It’s red!” Carter said.
“Hang on. If we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss him.”
Horns blared at us as we cut off at least half a dozen vehicles. A speeding muscle car swerved to avoid hitting us. But we made it across and I found an open stretch of road to race down.
“This isn’t exactly low-key,” Carter shouted in my ear.
I ignored him. What I hadn’t told Carter was that the armored robbery was flagged as having possible superhuman perpetrators. Whatever was going on in Washington Park, the hero named Loremaster was involved. I didn’t know much about the mentalist, but he was experienced, and Mr. Tingle was just a guy in an electric-powered suit. My money was on Chronos going for the robbery. More glory for him where he wouldn’t have to share the limelight.
Something tore past us overhead above the tops of the buildings. A shadow or a trick of the light? No. Man-sized.
“It’s him!” I shouted.
The adrenaline was pumping. My jaw clenched as I navigated traffic. This could be the day I got him. We were almost there. A block and a half to go. My scooter had its limits, and those were being tested by the passenger load. Carter was big enough to make the engine work harder than normal, and trying to get the scooter to perform like a racing bike exceeded its design. I considered dropping Carter off but I didn’t want to slow down.
I caught a break with the cars pressed in around me and the lights at the next intersection, but on the next block everything was jammed.
“Whoa!” Carter yelled as I drove up on the sidewalk without hesitation. There were enough pedestrians that I had to slow down, but a few beeps of my feeble horn and the good citizens made way.
I could see him.
Chronos was floating midair, his black uniform and cape shining in the sunlight. Breathtaking, truly. Men shouldn’t fly like that. He had his arms crossed and it looked like he was speaking.
I almost slammed us into a mailbox. Tires screeched as I squeezed the brakes.
“I’m parking here,” I said and slid off the seat. Carter moved out of the way as I unstrapped the rifle case.
“There’s too many people around,” he said.
Up in the air ahead of us, Chronos was done with his monologue. He
suddenly streaked down outward out of sight. A loud crash of metal and shattering glass followed. Around us, people were running away. Nearby there was an express delivery van double-parked. Its side door was open and the driver was nowhere to be seen. I hauled the case over to it and pushed it onto the roof.
Carter followed. “There’s a cop right over there,” he said.
A police officer was just across the street, taking cover. He was talking on a cell phone. His attention was on the action down the street and not on me. I climbed on top of the van and opened the case. The rifle and its components lay snugly in their cushioned compartments.
“If he turns his head he will see you,” Carter said. But he wasn’t stopping me.
A crackle of energy caught my attention. A green blast flew into the air, followed by several more. One struck a window just above us and the glass melted. The pedestrians nearby all ducked. The cop got lower against the car.
I craned my head and took a moment to study the scene.
The armored car was parked a couple hundred feet away, its back doors open. Chronos was dodging a volley of energy blasts coming from inside the vehicle, making sharp turns in the air. Whoever was firing was boxed in inside the back of the armored car. A stray shot cooked the air above me.
I only had seconds. I threaded the barrel onto the body of the rifle and slipped on the bipod over the front of the muzzle. Next I slid on the bolt. Chronos was close enough. I wouldn’t bother with the scope. From my pocket I produced a bullet, and I placed it into the breach before closing the bolt.
“Do you have a shot?” Carter asked.
“Shut up,” I whispered.
My hands were shaking as I lay down, pushed the rifle forward, and took aim. It was perfect. I had his back in my sights. Whoever was inside the armored car had stopped shooting. Chronos descended ever so slowly and I followed him until he lit down on the street.
“Jade, the cop…”
I ignored Carter. I thought of my parents and squeezed the trigger.
Chapter Seven
The rifle bucked in my hands and slammed my shoulder and cheek. The thunder inside the weapon shook my teeth and both of my ears began ringing, shutting out everything else. It took a moment for me to focus and get my bearings. I had lost my sight picture.
Had I done it? Had I hit him?
I saw the armored car but I didn’t see Chronos. Movement to my left. Chronos was down on the street tussling with a small man in a costume. They were exchanging blows, with Chronos gripping his opponent’s gun arm so the weapon couldn’t be brought to bear.
I had missed.
What happened? Had I jerked the trigger instead of squeezing? Was I breathing too hard?
Time to reload. But I couldn’t remember which pocket held the bullets. I was fumbling, in a daze. I glanced down the street and saw Chronos and his opponent tumble out of sight.
“No!” I said. From the right pocket of my red jacket I grabbed a few bullets but dropped two of them. They rattled across the roof of the van.
Carter was talking, calling my name. Finally I felt him tug at my pant leg. His expression was frantic. He pointed down the street in the opposite direction. More police were coming, the blue-and-white lights of the cruisers flashing brilliantly as they tried to make their way through traffic.
I pulled open the bolt and slid in the bullet in my fingers. Putting the scope on would take too long. But still I had no shot. Then both of them came back into view as Chronos knocked the other man into the side of the armored car.
I knew his opponent.
The bad guy was a short man wearing a silver-and-green costume sporting a circuit board pattern running along the arms and legs. Mighty Mite. Strong, gadgets, a potent blaster, but not in Chronos’s league. And now Chronos was punching him in the face. He was still moving too much, and only partially visible as he was now obscured by the open back door of the armored car.
I readied myself and touched the trigger.
That was when Carter decided to grab the back of my jacket and yank me off the roof of the van. I fell on top of him and my rifle clattered to the street.
“What are you doing?” I screamed.
He scrambled up and grabbed the rifle case and scope. I tried to climb back up but he stopped me.
“The cops are here,” he said. “We have to go now.”
I got up. Maybe there was time. But a small crowd was forming near the fight, and many of the spectators had their phones out, taking pictures. It was as if they knew the fight was over. Carter was collecting my things. I jerked the rifle away from him and unscrewed the barrel. The police were honking their horns and were close, but we still had the cover of the express van. I looked across the street where the first cop had been. He was standing on the sidewalk now, still on his phone. His uniform was an off-blue, almost purple color. He wore no duty belt, no gun, and his badge looked strange.
“Hurry,” Carter said.
I placed all the rifle parts back in the case. My jaw was set. I felt numb, like none of this was real. I had come so close just to fail.
“We can try another time,” he said.
He tried to take the case but I hung on to it as we marched back to the scooter.
“It wasn’t a cop across the street, it was a security guard,” I growled as I strapped the case to the back of the scooter. Then I climbed on, wheeled it about, and took off, leaving Carter behind.
***
He kept calling.
My phone was on mute and I had six messages by the time I put it into my locker at the gym. The rifle wouldn’t fit. I didn’t trust the maintenance people any further than I could throw them, so I took it with me to my yoga class that I was running late for. I put the case in a corner of my classroom. Eighteen women in leotards and workout pants were already in their opening stretches as my assistant talked everyone through their movements.
I thanked her and rolled out my own mat. My brain wouldn’t stop racing. But I got the class on track and soon enough we were all stretching, twisting, and moving in unison.
The scene kept replaying in my head. Chronos in my sight picture. The rifle dead steady on its bipod. My head placement on my shoulder and my finger squeezing. I hadn’t blinked or jerked. I was certain. But what if I had? Perhaps my preparation had gone out the window in that split second of time and I’d made every mistake possible to rob myself of my revenge.
I was moving faster and faster through the poses, not holding long enough for some of my less advanced students to match my movements. After twenty-five minutes, a few of the students had given up entirely while others were clearly irritated. They were used to me guiding them through each step, being encouraging and instructive. The ones who were still with me looked spent.
“Is it always going to be that hard?” a newcomer asked.
“This is an advanced class,” I said. “You’re expected to keep up.”
Some of the other women were waiting their turn to talk to me after class. I wasn’t in the mood. I took my rifle and went to take a shower but decided I couldn’t leave the weapon unattended. I got dressed and was gross and sweaty for my scooter ride back home.
Carter was waiting for me, parked in front of my building, as I pulled into the garage and cut the engine. He trotted inside as the security gate to the garage closed.
“I’ve been calling and texting,” he said.
I unstrapped the rifle case and shouldered my bag. He wasn’t getting out of the way so I maneuvered around him. He almost tripped trying to keep up as I strode to the elevator.
“We would have been arrested,” he said.
“If it meant we nailed Chronos, it wouldn’t matter.”
“It looked like you missed and there were too many people around for another clear shot.”
“I might have found one.”
Our voices were echoing through the garage. I didn’t see anyone around, at least. At that point I didn’t care. My skin itched from dried sweat.
&nb
sp; He said, “We were in the middle of the street where everyone could see us, including him.”
I spun on him. “I was the one with the rifle. It was my risk to take, not yours. You’re not involved. And frankly it would be easier if you weren’t anymore.”
“What do you mean? We’re in this together. I want to help, but we have to be smart.”
“Being smart means knowing that sometimes we’re going to be taking a risk getting caught. If we ever want to nail him, it means taking chances. That might have been the best opportunity I’ve ever had. And you ruined it.”
I made it to the elevator and stabbed the button with a finger. When the door didn’t instantly open, I began pushing the button repeatedly, willing the elevator to appear so I could get away from Carter.
“I’m willing to take the risk,” Carter said. “I just don’t want to be stupid.”
“Play it however you want to. But you’re going to be doing it alone. I’m going to keep doing it my way.”
The elevator doors rumbled open. I stopped him from following me.
“We can get him if we work together,” he said lamely.
“I would have gotten him if I were alone.”
As the doors slid shut, he said, “Jade, wait! How do I get out of this garage?”
I sent the elevator down so he could take it up to the lobby. I half expected him to come knocking at my door, but mercifully he didn’t. I showered and settled in for a late afternoon of brooding. I wasn’t hungry and wasn’t sleepy. My head was too full of what-ifs.
There’s solace in cleaning a weapon. The solvent and gun oil have their own acrid fragrances. Each piece of the rifle has its place. Taking it apart and meticulously scrubbing and wiping down each component helped me drown out the sounds coming from my neighbors’ apartments. Several of the window air conditioners rattled. Pipes inside the walls shook, as the laundry room was in full swing. People talked, argued, played music, and watched television. I could hear Rufino’s kids raising hell. As it all blended into background noise it became comforting, like I was somehow part of each of their lives while remaining separate, a monster under their floorboards leeching off their normality while I pondered murder.
Blood of the Masked God (Book 1): Red Wrath Page 5