Small Things (Out of the Box Book 14)

by Robert J. Crane

  I did not see this coming, Zack said, sounding a little disturbed. Who knew there was really an Ant-Man meta?

  I did, Wolfe said, but he sounded surly about it.

  You could have said something, Eve said.

  I convinced him not to, Harmon said quickly.

  “What the hell, Harmon?” I asked, taking flight. I wondered how long it’d take me to get to Sam’s face and give it a good punch, even at supersonic speed. It was possible, given my size, I’d blast right through him and he’d maybe feel a tiny sting. Shit. “You trying to actively sabotage me now?”

  I’m trying to get you off the bench and living your life, Harmon said. At least, as best you can. You know, like that overly sensitive therapist of yours is always suggesting.

  “I don’t think Dr. Zollers intended for you to use that as an excuse to hide materially important information from me in the middle of a case!” I shouted. No one except me and the souls heard it.

  “Dammit all to hell,” Chase said, her voice rumbling like thunder off the mountains. Except there wasn’t a mountain, just her. But she was like a mountain to me. “I can’t just let you murder him.”

  Sam seemed to take that in stride. “Suit yourself. But this here is a man who was deeply involved in the bombing of East Los Angeles last night. Whoever was to come after him … I feel like it ought to be personal. Come from a place of pain. Someone so angry, they’re going to beat him right to death, but not quickly. They’ll want to have a little fun with it first.” God, he sounded like he was going to enjoy himself as he spelled out how Friday was going to die.

  Chase set her feet in a defensive stance, lightsaber at the ready. She had to know she didn’t stand a chance, knowing what he was and what he could do, but here she was, throwing down with this asshole Sam anyway, on behalf of Friday, of all people.

  What a hero.

  “Need some speed,” I said, and jetted up. I was aiming for Friday’s ear, and it took me a few seconds to get there. “Hey! Friday!”

  Friday whipped around, looking for the source of the invisible voice he was probably hearing. “Whuuuuut?”

  “It’s me, you idiot! He shrank me to molecule size!” I shouted directly into his ear, which was not easy because he was moving his head around looking for me like I was hiding behind him if he just turned around a little farther.

  Friday paused, looking dumbstruck. “Really?”

  “Yes, really!”

  Sam was staring at Friday quizzically, then he closed his eyes and threw his head back. “I forgot she can fly. Damn. Rookie mistake. Most people I do that to get stuck on the ground, see. Which leaves them pretty helpless.”

  “He shrinks people?” Friday asked.

  “Yes, like Greg,” I said. “Which was how he could make a Concorde or a weapon or a helicopter appear by magic. He shrank them down and carried them in a pocket, then grew them whenever he needed one of those toys. That’s why he blindfolded Theo—he shrank you all so he could get you on the plane without knowing what he was doing. Then he’d take off, fly out the air vents or whatever, then grow the plane to normal size once he was out. Supersonic transport in his pocket at all times. An arsenal, always at his disposal. And if he really wanted to make someone disappear, looks like Sam figured it out—they would just disappear, too small to affect anything in the world ever again.”

  “That’s so evil,” Friday said.

  “Is she talking to you right now?” Sam asked, peering like he could see me next to Friday’s head. “Now listen up, Sienna—none of this is gonna matter, y’hear? Why don’t you go fly on along and learn to enjoy your new life as a tiny person. Or you could stand back and watch me beat your friend to death here. Either is fine.” He stretched, cracking his back, then started to shrink.

  “What the h—?” Friday started to ask, but I could see what was happening clearer than he could. Sam shrank, not quite to my size, but probably to a quarter of an inch or less. Before he did, though, he leapt off his back leg, launching into a front kick. It was a subtle move when he was full size, probably didn’t look like much of anything, like he was changing his stance. But when he started to shrink, his mass and weight shrank.

  His momentum didn’t stop, though. His momentum carried him forward, but faster because it was applied over less mass and less weight, launching him at Friday like a bullet.

  Sam hit Friday in the chest with a kick, all that force spread over a foot only a centimeter at the impact. I could hear the bone crack in Friday’s sternum, and he cried, “Ooof!” probably because he hadn’t been hit with the searing pain yet. He was also thrown back a few feet, and Sam appeared again, regrown to full size, grinning at Chase.

  “You sure you want to involve yourself in this?” Sam asked Chase. “I do so hate to hit a lady, especially one I ain’t been paid to hit.”

  “I hate to hit a lady, too,” Chase said, and she swung at him. “But I don’t mind beating the shit out of a cock like you.”

  He shrank and dodged, reappearing when she had missed him cleanly. She didn’t overcommit, though, didn’t swing for the fences, probably because she knew Sam’s ability to dodge was going to be epic. She swung back quickly and actually managed to elbow him in the jaw, knocking him back a step, before she hurled herself backward to avoid a riposte.

  “Well, someone came to play,” Sam said, rubbing his jaw.

  “And you came to play with yourself,” Chase said, coming at him again.

  She did admirably, but I knew this fight was going to end up pretty lopsided, pretty fast if I didn’t do something to change the odds. “Friday!” I shouted and zipped toward him. He was getting back up, clutching his chest, wheezing from the kick he’d taken. I came right up to his ear and shouted. “Friday! You have to get back in the fight!”

  “I … can’t …” Friday said, moaning. “I … don’t know how to fight … that …”

  “Dammit, you giant wuss,” I said, “that woman is throwing herself on a hand grenade meant for you.” Chase was falling back, quickly, against an assault she knew was coming but couldn’t see, because Sam had once again disappeared. “She’s going to die trying to save you, and you’re sitting here rocking in your little cradle. Now listen to me, shitbird—this is war. Stop being an enormous baby, quit filling your diaper and crying, stand up tall, grow your fricking muscles, let your testicles drop, and sound your battle cry.”

  “My … battle cry?” His face was all screwed up, and I could tell he was both confused and genuinely trying not to weep.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to figure out how to rile his dumb ass up for this impossible fight, “your battle cry. Let it ring over the field of conflict. Go to war, Friday. Go fight.”

  “My battle cry.” He sounded stronger, pushing to his feet. Chase was leaping in a back flip as Sam blipped into existence for a second, launching himself after her again. She was doing a masterful job, some serious prequel trilogy Jedi gymnastics skeelz being exhibited there, but Sam was after her like a heatseeking missile, and I knew how it would end if something didn’t change fast.

  “I call to war!” Friday shouted. “I call to war!”

  “That’s not really a rallying cry,” I said, “but okay, get riled. Go after him. Go—”

  “I sound my cry over the field of battle!” Friday shouted, his shirt shredding as he grew his muscles. “Hear me!”

  “Okay,” I said, “now get after him. Make this fight happen.”

  “Hear my battle cry!” Friday said, growing until his muscles looked like they were going to pop, and he took a deep breath before letting out a bellow that they could probably hear in Florida. “DICKS OUT FOR HARAMBE!”

  “What kind of battle cry is that?” I asked. “That’s an internet meme!”

  But he charged.

  I wanted to believe in Friday’s rage, his power, that somehow when he charged in—even after that … that … battle cry, I guess—that it was going to change the course of this fight. That he was going to catch Sa
m at an inopportune moment, pound him in the jaw with enough force that the assassin was going to die right there, a victim of fury … and apparently an internet meme.

  Friday came at him like an out-of-control bus. I couldn’t see Sam, but I knew he was there by the way that Chase was dodging and ducking and generally trying to predict the next attack from what was basically an invisible enemy. She was good, but no one’s that good, especially when your enemy isn’t big enough to generate any real sound.

  Chase caught a hit hard in the side and went down, flipping over as Sam reappeared, looking triumphant. He showed up right in Friday’s path, smirking down at Chase.

  And Friday was only feet away, stampeding toward him.

  Sam looked over in time to see Friday coming when he was a foot from running Sam over. Sam didn’t waste time; he disappeared just as Friday was charging through, and I wondered if Sam was going to take the hit, get launched into the stratosphere.

  Nope.

  Friday hit something, all right, right in the gut, and it was like seeing that a train derail. He crashed, his forward momentum stopping like he’d run into a wall, and then his ass and feet backflipped over and Friday went flying off like gravity had ceased, into the air like a punted football.

  “And the field goal is good,” Sam said, reappearing as Friday soared above a hundred feet, hitting the apogee of his arc and flying onward, crashing down to a landing somewhere in the forest beyond the lumberyard. Sam made a clucking sound of amusement. “Well, looks like there goes your champion. Sad to say, since he’s the one I’m here to kill, we’re going to have to wrap this up—” And he reared back to hit Chase.

  “Shit!” I said, gunning my speed to supersonic as I flew at him. I might make it in time, but what was I going to do when I got there? Wolfe strength might allow me to smash through him, but I doubted the efficacy of the effect given how small I was. A bullet would have been the size of a house to me right now. My light nets were useless, my mental powers—well—

  “Bjorn!” I shouted.

  No effect, Bjorn said. Nice try, though.

  “Harmon, does that go for you, too?” I asked.

  I can read his mind, but affecting it while this small is difficult, to say the least, he replied, and then added a very uncharacteristic, Sorry.

  “Bastian, if we go dragon we’ll be—”

  The size of a pillbug, maybe, Bastian said. Still too small.

  “Shit,” I said, almost to Sam, “that leaves—”

  Gavrikov.

  In a lumberyard? Bastian asked, sounding like he was in disbelief. Did your brain fall out of your head when you shrank?

  “Why? What’s wrong with using my fire powers in a—”

  Sam was reaching back, about to leap at Chase, and I knew from what he said that he intended this to be a killing blow. My time was out, and I had one play available to me.

  “Gavrikov, NOW!” I shouted, about to crash into Sam. My only hope was that I could burn him enough with a maximum blast of fire to distract him, maybe hurt him when he shrank.

  I lit off like a candle, propelling an explosive blast of flame off my body, my skin, letting it sweep outward in an unstoppable wave. It was big, comparatively, it was bright, probably even large enough that an observer could have seen it, looking like a firefly lighting up in the middle of the day.

  My flames reached out for Sam, catching him as he was shrinking. I heard his agonized scream as they caught him, big enough to actually do some damage to him. He twisted and writhed as he flew, his momentum carrying him forward—

  And he slammed into Chase’s arm, which she’d somehow covered by bringing down her lightsaber and turning it into a shield that protected her from forward attack. She knelt behind it, head down, forearm out and blocking her as tiny Sam, a little nova of fire, slammed into the shield and bounced off, Chase absorbing the blow like a Spartan in the battle line.

  “Yes!” I shouted, exultant. “Got you, you little basta—”

  No, no, no, Bastian said, causing me to have a moment of doubt. You shouldn’t have done th—

  “Why can’t you play with fire in a lumberyard?” I asked, looking down at where Sam had fallen, somewhere far below, out of sight. Something was glowing, sparking, going brighter, along his trail toward the earth, like a meteor streaking up from the ground. Which was weird, because Sam couldn’t fly, but—

  The flame twisted and grew, moving in a sort of slow motion, like synapses on a brain scan, expanding outward. It took me a second to process that I was watching a chain reaction of some sort, and a second more to realize—

  There were wood particles floating in the air around me. Huge, in fact, the size of little floating lanterns.

  And way more flammable.

  A wave of fire washed over me as the wood particles ignited. It was somehow worse than being caught at the edge of a nuclear blast, mainly because I was small and caught in the middle of this massive combustion event. “Gavrikov!” I shouted, turning on my flame absorption from pure instinct when the fire came rushing for me, howling like a living storm, an inferno consuming every particle of wood that permeated the air around me.

  It took a few seconds for it to reach its crescendo, and I took in a lot of fire during those seconds, absorbing the heat and trying to stymie the growing explosion. When I felt like I’d taken in all I could, I opened my eyes, thinking maybe—just maybe—I’d headed this thing off before it got bad.

  Nope again.

  The air around me was hot, dry, the logs in the pile and on the conveyor where Chase had been working when Friday and I had arrived were on fire, along with some of the machinery. Other piles elsewhere in the yard were similarly aflame. A forklift blew up about a hundred feet from me, its propane tank combusting and the concussive wave of the explosion driving me what felt like a mile backward, toward the edge of the yard, flipping through the air.

  When I righted myself again, I had a good view of what I’d done.

  The whole place was aflame, the sky already black with choking smoke, and the flames were rising higher and higher, consuming the lumber piled everywhere. It was like I’d been dropped right into a vision of hell, everything burning, the hot, dry air wafting off the rising conflagrations. I blinked my eyes against the raging heat, afraid to look away from the spectacle, orange and red light dancing in all directions as the flames continued to spread.

  And that, Bastian said, is why we don’t play with fire in a lumberyard.

  47.

  Augustus

  With what felt like all the energy in the world shooting at me, I started to panic a little bit. Neon green glowing beams of light came at me from the right, a fiery red beam from this attacking meta’s eyes came at me from the left, sandwiching me between a, uh … well, a red place and a green place. It was a Christmas of laser-esque death, except this was the kind of gift you wanted to pass along to someone you really hated. Like Charles Manson, or Roman Polanski.

  But neither of those bastards were there to take the hit for me, and I was about to be neatly bisected by energy beams, so instead I went back to the well and grabbed at the first thing I did have control of.

  Which happened to be the concrete beneath our feet.

  My control over concrete is imperfect, because only about twenty percent of the elements in a slab fall under the scope of my powers. That made seizing a chunk of it somewhat difficult, like trying to hold onto a human being who’s been oiled up and is trying to slip your grasp. Not that I’ve ever tried, uhh … You know what? Never mind.

  I focused my attention on the ground beneath my enemy’s feet. I couldn’t even see him behind the glare of his powers cutting toward me, he was just a shadow in the distance. Lifting a hand, I seized the twenty percent of the concrete I could control in a three-foot circle around where he stood and six inches below …

  And lifted it as hard as I could, ripping it out of the ground.

  It wasn’t a perfect move. It broke apart as soon as I got it cle
ar of the factory floor, but it also ripped the footing right out from beneath my opponent, sending the green beam and the red laser jetting up into the air. He sliced a segment out of the catwalk behind me and I heard it hiss and then drop, clanging as it hit the ground.

  I pulled the ground from beneath him like it was a rug beneath his feet, but when I finished, it was flaking like crazy, all the earth elements hanging in my floating grip and all the chaff busting off in a powdery cloud. I came at him with what I had and concentrated it together tightly, throwing it at his face like a punch.

  It dusted him hard, knocking him back, but it didn’t put him down. I threw it forward again, working on another segment of concrete, trying to sift it a little better so I got more of what I could use and less of the crap that I couldn’t. I kept up my attack, and my opponent didn’t like that much. He lifted a hand and it started to glow blue, plasma wafting off it in a burn of heat so intense I could feel it ten feet away from him.

  He lifted his hand as I came at him again with my gravel punch, and met it in midair. There was a crackling noise like a skillet spitting a little dot of butter straight to a boil—

  And suddenly, I couldn’t feel that gravel fist anymore, because Mr. Energy had reduced it to its base elements, which were out of my sphere of control.

  “Dayum,” I muttered, already working to rip up more of the floor. I wanted to rip deeper, get to the earth itself, but the slab was way thicker than it would have been in a normal warehouse this size. They must have built it industrial strength because of the weight of the chemical vats.

  “Move!” Reed shouted, blowing our attacker back a step, launching him around a vat. Our opponent shot a parting blast at Reed, who threw up a hand to block his face. The green energy beam caught him right in the wrist, a glancing blow that filled the air with the smell of something being burned. Reed cringed, and when he turned I saw his sleeve had been burned away and there was an inch-long gap where his skin looked like it had just disappeared, revealing muscle tissue beneath.