Paranormals (Book 1)

by Christopher Andrews

  "Get away from me ..."

  "Sir, you need treatment—"

  "I said get away from me!"

  Michael turned to see Mark shoving a medic away. He sat on the edge of the ambulance’s open rear, but that was as close as he’d come to accepting medical assistance. The horrible gash on his cheek had begun to bleed again, but he seemed oblivious to this fact.

  Michael took one step closer and called over, "Let him help you, Shockwave."

  "I’m fine," Mark glowered.

  "No, you’re not. Now let him help you. That’s an order."

  Mark looked up sharply. However, upon meeting Michael’s eyes, he relaxed just a bit. "Aye-aye, Ensign. Or is that ‘acting-Captain?’"

  Michael did not respond, but he knew what Mark meant. Captain Jarrah was gone; Commander Brase was gone. Hell, every ranking P C Agent for a hundred miles or more was gone. Even though the synod itself had only catered to thirty-some-odd agents, there had been a number of other important meetings going on this morning.

  For all intents and purposes, Ensign Takayasu was in charge.

  Police activity was thick, and they were expecting the National Guard any time now. But the real work was being performed by the fire department, medics, and paramedics ("paramedic" taking on a whole new meaning these days). The death estimate had already surpassed six-hundred, casualties were guessed over one-thousand, and Michael expected both numbers to go much higher before the day was over.

  I’m not the only one on borrowed time, he thought. McLane. McLane is also on borrowed time. He just doesn’t know it yet ...

  A bark pulled his attention to the left. An old Labrador was carefully making its way through the rubble of yet another building, with his controller — an agent by the codename of Canine — not far behind. Incredibly, the woman was also accompanied by a Boston Terrier and a Pug.

  When the woman was closer, Michael gestured to the two little dogs. "Wouldn’t bloodhounds be more ... appropriate for this kind of work?"

  Canine shrugged. "I’m in contact with fourteen other dogs at the moment. All kinds of breeds. But these here are my kids, so ..." She shrugged again.

  Michael accepted that. "Anything?"

  The tall, plump woman sighed and shook her head. "Not a thing. No survivors in these ruins, either. The only bright spot is that most of the employees were away on a company retreat. Fate was on their side." She shuddered. "And if Winston here hadn’t been slow-going this morning, I wouldn’t be around to help you look. I was supposed to be at that meeting, too, Ensign."

  Michael nodded.

  "If ..." she hesitated.

  "Yes?"

  "If I may ask: How did you survive, Ensign? Are you paranormal?"

  "No, but my partner is." He gestured over his shoulder.

  She glanced that direction. "Shockwave, right?"

  "Right. He showed up just in time to save me."

  "But ... how exactly did he—?"

  Michael was already turning. "It’s about time I asked that question myself." He headed for the ambulance. Canine and her kids followed.

  The medic saw Michael coming and stepped away from Mark, who now wore a simple bandage on his face. "Sir," the medic said, "he needs to be taken to a hospital. He needs stitches in several areas, and that facial laceration will require staples. And the chances of infection are—"

  "Understood," Michael cut him off. "If you could please give us some privacy?"

  The medic swallowed his obvious frustration and stomped away. Hell, there were plenty of other people in need — Michael let him go.

  "Feeling any better?" he asked his partner.

  Mark started to nod, but it morphed into a shrug instead. "I’m alive. And so are you. That’s all I cared about."

  "And I appreciate that, Mark. I really do. But ..." He touched Mark’s shoulder, careful to avoid the ugly bruise showing through his dirty, torn T-shirt. "I have to know how in the world you saved me. Since when can you fly, man?"

  Mark shrugged again, but this time it seemed put on. A smile, however slight, curled the edges of his swollen lips. "I didn’t know that I could. It never occurred to me before ..."

  "Tell me," Michael urged. Even Canine edged forward to hear better.

  "I had a visit from some rogues of our acquaintance last night."

  "Silver Eyes?"

  Mark nodded. "Her. A putty woman. And the clawed dude from the bank."

  "The claw— oh, my god!" The gash on Mark’s face suddenly made sense.

  "The bitch froze me, Mike. I couldn’t move a muscle, even when the sick bastard started playing with me." That ghost of a grin returned. "Then I realized that I wasn’t completely paralyzed — I could breathe. So when the dumbass leaned in real close to enjoy his handiwork, I exhaled a shockwave out through my mouth and shoved one of his eyeballs right up into his skull."

  Steering clear of the image involved, Michael observed, "I didn’t know you could do that, either."

  "Never have before. Haven’t felt anything like it since my first days of going paranormal. I just suddenly ... knew I could do it. Eventually the bitch’s hold on me began to weaken, and she wasn’t around to renew it. I was all alone with my clawed friend ..." He shook his head. "I gotta admit, Mike, if I hadn’t taken him out with that first shot, I might’ve enjoyed some playtime, you know what I’m sayin’?"

  Michael thought about Richard McLane, and all the destruction, pain, and death around him. "Yeah, I know what you’re sayin’ — damn straight I do."

  "Anyway, Silver Eyes took pleasure in hinting about something goin’ down here this morning. I knew I had to get here, get to you, and fast. I’d never thought about throwin’ a kinetic bolt with my lungs ... so why not the bottoms of my feet? Took me a while to get goin’..."

  "But you did, and you got here in time. You saved me."

  Mark sighed. "If I’d been a little faster, recovered a little quicker—"

  But Michael shook his head firmly. "No. We still have no idea where the bomb was located, or what it was even made of. We’d never have found it in time. Hell, you didn’t even know for sure that there was a bomb, right?"

  Grudgingly, Mark nodded.

  "Sir," Canine stepped in tentatively, "if you have no objections, the kids and I’ll be getting back to the search now."

  "Absolutely, Canine. Good luck."

  She blinked back tears as she returned, "God willing," and moved away with her dogs.

  "So ..." Mark straightened, stretching his back with obvious discomfort. "I miss anything at the meeting?"

  Michael snorted. "Yeah. We confirmed that one of McLane’s hideouts is a recording studio after all. But the bitch of it is that things all went ka-blam before I read the location. I know it’s somewhere in the metro area, but that’s it. It’s under surveillance, but with all the chaos from this, I have no idea how to go about—"

  "Mister! Hey, Mister!"

  Michael glanced over his shoulder. A young boy, no older than ten, was making his way toward them. It was yet another sign of how disorganized the whole situation was that a civilian, let alone a civilian child, had made his way this close to Ground Zero. "You really shouldn’t be here, son," Michael heard himself saying, but he couldn’t quite find the right tone of voice to make it a scolding.

  "Are you Michael ... Takewasu?"

  Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, Mark trickled out a good-natured chuckle. "Sure, that’s me. Can I help you?"

  "This is for you."

  The little boy held out a folded piece of paper. Mark rose shakily to his feet, moving over to join his partner as he took the note in confusion. He eyed the innocent-looking boy a moment longer, then unfolded it.

  We need to talk, now more than ever. Just you and your partner, alone. I am in the alley behind the Salvation Army building. Be careful of all the glass.

  That was it. Written in a hurried, simple print, no signature.

  Michael glanced toward the indicated building — he
could just make out the Salvation Army logo from where he was standing. "Who gave you this, son?"

  The boy’s face lit up. "Your friend."

  " ‘My friend?’ "

  "Yeah. You know, the guy in the black-and-gold Halloween costume ..."

  Michael crumpled the note into a tightly clenched fist ...

  PCA

  Steve shifted from one foot to the other. He reached up and adjusted his mask once again, followed soon after by another flap of the cape.

  This was the first time he’d worn his uniform outside in broad daylight. He’d known it would be hotter, but he was surprised just how much stuffier it was. Alan had warned him, but then, Alan was freaking out so much over this latest turn of events that Steve had been forced to tune him out: They’ll arrest you, Steve! Especially now, with the bombing, they need to arrest someone, and you’re walking right into their hands!

  And maybe Alan was right. But Steve was betting that Takayasu was more open-minded than that.

  He heard some rustling around the corner, and he crouched lower behind the dumpster. But then he saw that it wasn’t Takayasu or his partner — it was a dog, a Boston Terrier. The little black-and-white pooch shuffled along, sniffing at the ground and occasionally marking territory. Steve didn’t know that female dogs did that as much as the males, but there she was.

  Maybe Takayasu’s not coming. Maybe it was a bad idea to trust that kid with the note.

  But the boy had seemed so awestruck by his flashy costume, he’d felt certain that ...

  The Boston Terrier spotted him. She cocked her head to one side, then came trotting over to him.

  "Hey, girl," he whispered, reaching out for her ...

  "You make one move and we’ll drop you where you stand."

  Steve froze. The Boston Terrier looked up at him a moment longer — if Steve didn’t know better, he would have sworn she had a devilish "Gotcha!" look in her eyes — then retreated.

  "Stand up. Very, very slowly."

  Keeping his hands open and out to his side, Steve rose. He started to turn toward the voice—

  "Nope. Keep facing that way."

  "Yeah," came another voice, this one a bit thick, as if the man had a mouthful of food. "We hear you’ve got looks that can kill."

  Steve kept his hands open, but he lowered his arms slowly. "Takayasu?"

  "Yep," the first man confirmed. " ‘Vortex,’ I presume?"

  Beneath his mask, Steve smiled a nervous smile. "In the flesh. We need to talk."

  "So your note indicated. But I’d like you to give me one good reason why we shouldn’t haul your ass in right now."

  Steve sighed — he didn’t have any reasons to offer, especially not any "good" ones. Were he in Takayasu’s place, he wouldn’t be terribly inclined to trust an unknown paranormal right now, either. So he figured, rather than continue this particular dance, he would just lay his cards out on the table.

  "Davison Electronics was attacked again last night," he began, keeping his back to them as ordered. "I stopped them, but I also learned something interesting. At least one of McLane’s cronies — a super-strong paranormal — is being forced to act rogue, to work for McLane. This man, who also wears a mask and uses a codename — Powerhouse — told me that McLane has his younger brother and sister hostage."

  Again, the second voice, "And you believe him?"

  Must be Shockwave, Steve thought before answering, "Yes. He has to act like he’s doing as he’s told, but, given a chance, he could be our inside Ace, if you follow me. He told me where they’ve been meeting..."

  Takayasu blurted, "A recording studio?"

  Steve was so surprised, he almost turned around. "... yes. He gave me the address. He says he doesn’t know where McLane is keeping his brother and sister. That suggests to me that they aren’t being held at the studio. If we hit them, hard and fast, and with Powerhouse ready to jump in on our side when he gets a chance ... we could end this, before there’s another God-awful catastrophe like today."

  Silence. Steve hoped that was a good sign.

  "After this morning, you need all the help you can get," he pressed on. "McLane has to be stopped, now, before his group and every other rogue bursts from the woodwork to take advantage of this blow to the PCA."

  Still silence.

  Finally, Steve began to feel something else creeping through his tension — impatience. "Look, am I making any headway here, or am I just wasting my breath?"

  Yet another pregnant pause. Then, "Turn around. Slowly."

  He did.

  Steve was surprised. Takayasu was there, his tazer aimed at Steve’s chest. Another man stood beside him, his fists also pointed toward Steve — he could see an occasional blurred ripple, not unlike his vortex wave, crawl across the man’s knuckles, and assumed that this was Shockwave. He looked like he’d seen better days — he’d been roughed up pretty bad, covered with cuts and a large bandage on his face that the blood was already soaking through.

  But Steve had already figured out that those two were present. He was not expecting the black woman, or the dozen or so dogs sitting around her, most of them of different breeds — some of them were pretty damned big — and all of them waiting in eerie silence.

  Despite it all, Steve found himself wanting to smile again. "You, uh ... you didn’t come alone," he pointed out lightly.

  "No, we didn’t," Takayasu returned coldly, but his tone wasn’t quite as intense as it had been moments ago. Then, after a long hesitation, the ensign lowered his weapon. "I don’t completely trust you, Vortex. But ... you’re right. We need all the help we can get. You really know where the hideout is?"

  Steve nodded.

  Takayasu sighed, then glanced over at his partner. Shockwave relaxed his fists. "Well ... I don’t know just how much the three of us can accomplish—"

  "Four of us," the woman interjected.

  Takayasu shook his head. "No, we’ve taken you away from your primary task long enough."

  "Ensign—"

  "Canine ... Patricia ... there could be dozens, maybe hundreds of people still trapped or hidden from view, all of them hurt or dying. Now what better use will your dogs serve: As trackers for the medics, or as cannon-fodder for some Class One rogues?"

  When the woman, Canine or Patricia or whoever she was, lowered her eyes, Steve knew that Takayasu had won the short-lived debate.

  "Go on, now. Thanks for your help, but those people need you more than we do. Tell Ensign Vasquez to take over until further notice." When Patricia and her pack of four-legged friends left the alley, Takayasu turned back to face Steve. "All right. We pool our resources, for now. But if you make one suspicious move—"

  "I know, I know. Shockwave will tear me in half, right?"

  "That’s the basic idea." Now he holstered his weapon and stepped forward. He stared into Steve’s masked face, into his eyes, very intently.

  It made Steve nervous. "Um ..."

  "Don’t mind me," Takayasu said. "I was just admiring your eyes. Your blue eyes."

  Steve froze, said nothing, did not breathe, did not move.

  Takayasu held his gaze meaningfully, then broke the silent standoff. "We need to get you out of sight. One look at that outfit of yours could freak just about anyone out right now, and I assume that you wouldn’t be willing to take it off, am I right?"

  "Uh ... no, not really."

  "Right. Well, we can’t stay here any longer, and we can’t meet at our headquarters, obviously. Any ideas, Shockwave?"

  "Don’t look at me," his partner said with a shrug. "My place is completely trashed."

  Michael snorted. "I guess that leaves my place, then. I’m going around to get our car. Shockwave, would you be so kind as to keep a watchful eye on our new ally here ... if you know what I’m sayin’?"

  Shockwave chuckled ...

  PCA

  Mark was aching so badly, especially his cheek, that he could barely take it. But Mike was counting on him, and he wasn’t about to let him down.<
br />
  After his partner slipped away, an awkward silence hung between Mark and the vigilante. They just sort of stared at each other, and it was all Mark could do to maintain his macho facade — what he wanted to do was lie down, curl up in a little ball, and go to sleep.