The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes

by Harlow, Jennifer

  “What now?”

  “You actually had me thinking you came here out of the kindness of your heart. That you gave two shits about me.”

  “I-I do!” she snaps, mouth agape in disbelief.

  “No, you just wanted an excuse to come over to get something from me.”

  “Fuck you! Don’t you dare question my integrity and loyalty, not after all these years. I’m not stupid, Jo. I knew Jem was Lord Nightingale, and I know he’s probably Captain Moonlight, and did I say anything? Print a damn word? No, because I wouldn’t do that to you. Because I love you.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I came here because no one had heard from you in a week. I came because we’re all shit scared for you. And with good reason. You’re losing it. I just thought taking down the mayor with me might be a good distraction. That’s it. My only ulterior motive.” Her cell phone begins ringing, and V rolls her eyes. “Fuck! Just…fuck. I have to take this.” She removes her phone from her pants. “Veronica Lilley.” She listens. “Now isn’t a good time, sir. I—” Her mouth snaps shut for a few seconds. “Can’t you send Mason? I’m—” She rolls her eyes again. “Fine. Fine. I’ll get down there. I’m ten minutes away. Bye.” She hangs up and groans. “Your ex is beating the shit out of Gearhead at the Tech Expo.” My stomach clenches. Gearhead can control machines. Jem could be facing an entire army of super robots or something. “I have to get down there.”

  I keep my face neutral. “Whatever.”

  She picks up her purse from the floor. “But we’re not done here. I’m coming back. At least once a day.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “Still doing it. Don’t make me sic Mom on you.” V frowns at me. “Go to a damn meeting, Jo. Get out of this place. Do something. Because this isn’t you.” She tries to smile, but only makes it half-mast. “I love you.”

  I don’t reply. V shakes her head and hustles off to play girl reporter. I plop on the beige couch with a sigh. That was uncalled for. I’ve known V all my life. She’s always been straight with me, always had my back. Like the big sister I never had. Damn my temper. Thankfully she doesn’t hold a grudge like the rest of us Irish. I’ll apologize. Find a way to make this up to her somehow. She has been sitting on the story of the year. For me.

  She knew about Jem. Can’t say I’m shocked. I’m actually surprised more people haven’t put it together. Before he became Moonlight we talked about that eventuality. A hero with similar powers, similar build just appearing in Galilee months after Lord Nightingale “died?” Could happen. We saw the way people studied him. As if he would lift off the ground and fly around the room. Then he’d open his mouth or trip on his own feet, and that would be that. No one who meets him socially or professionally would ever think the gangly, unkempt, monosyllabic researcher is the man currently beating up a supervillain.

  Gearhead. He hasn’t been active in a while. Not since before the Triumvirate arrived. That time Olympia and Geronimo teamed up to stop him, and then Geronimo wasn’t seen for two months after. He’s right up there on the deadly scale with Bruiser and Giagantor. Dozens dead. Always gets away. And Jem’s never faced him before, let alone whatever nasties he’s recruited at the Expo. Who the hell knows what they’re unveiling there. A robot army with nukes? One thought and Gearhead has them doing his biding. Maybe Olympia’s there too. Maybe—

  Shit.

  Doris Jr is on the kitchen counter already booted up. In my more sober or drunk periods I combed the Independence news stories researching Lucy and anyone named Joe associated with her. Fuck all so far on a “Joe,” but a ton on White Knight, the super-strong, super-healing, super-fast hero. I came face to mask with that fucker, even caught a bank robber for him. And what did he do? Chided me. I should have known then. Idiot me.

  I flip on the TV too as the remote connection to Doris Senior boots up. As always the news has trumped regularly scheduled programming. A weekly occurrence in Galilee Falls. And–oh, fuck. The police have cordoned off a city block to keep the lookie loos from becoming further casualties. Smart because the white four-story convention center’s already crumbling. The gaping hole in the roof, in the side of the building, and all the windows on the east side are blown out. Disintegrated. Shit. Fuck.

  “…how many hostages remain inside,” Rick Diaz says to the camera. “People have been slowly filtering out, but it is estimated three thousand people were attending the International Technology Expo. There are—”

  There’s a burst of red light inside at the same time another portion of the roof explodes out. A collective gasp, mine included, escapes all watching this nightmare. Shit.

  “There-There appears to have been another explosion,” Diaz says.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…

  The program finally boots up as there’s another explosion. Godddamn it. Two clicks and the video feed pops up. When I commissioned the Moonlight suit I had them install four pinpoint cameras: one in his forehead, one on each arm, and one on the back of his neck. A 360 degree view. And right now that view is chaotic. I don’t know where to focus first. Thousands of terrified people run around, some bleeding and others crying, but all trying to find cover from the flying black drones firing beams of light I think are lasers. Tech displays are consumed in fire or blown to pieces when the light connects. The roof caves in in two locations, large chunks of burning masonry raining down like brimstone. Henchmen dressed in brown leather outfits with gears adorning their clothes guard doors with automatic weapons. They’re nothing but window dressing with the drones and the ten foot tall bi-pedal metal man with lasers on its thick arms firing right at Jem. At least the Gatling guns on the monster’s shoulders appear inactive. Lasers are deadly enough.

  Jem lifts off the ground and veers right, barely clearing the latest laser shot. He can’t see that right behind him one of the drones changes course. Jem zooms toward the metal machine, dodging left and right to avoid its laser blasts. The drone behind him mimics his every move. And gains. Shit.

  I dash to the box and retrieve the headset and microphone. Jem’s almost at the giant, as close as the drone is to him, when I plug in. “Drone, six o’clock, ten meters.”

  “Copy,” Captain Moonlight says over the comms.

  The hero continues as he was, winding mid-air toward the giant, but slows. The drone doesn’t. Oh hell, not this again. It only works 2/3 of the time. “Eight meters,” I say. With about five to the giant. Jem slows further. “Seven…six…” The drone fires its lasers as the giant does the same. Right, left, right, left like a leaf on the wind, Jem dodges them mid-air. “Two…” He flies down all of a foot off the floor, gliding straight. He has to time this perfectly. “One…”

  Jem sails between the giant’s legs without incident. The drone isn’t so lucky. That’s the problem with machines, no imagination. It locked onto Moonlight and forgot all else. In a burst of plastic and fire, the drone collides with the giant’s legs. The giant fares better but not by much. The drone acts as a bomb, blowing off one of its legs at the joint. It’s enough. As Moonlight changes course, the giant totters then collapses on its side with a loud thunk. Down but not out. Moonlight touches down beside the machine. He grabs hold of one of its arms, yanking it from the socket.

  The henchmen finally spring to life.

  The five closest dash from their posts, machine guns in hand, toward Moonlight. “Five incoming with M-16s.”

  “Have you spotted Gearhead?” Moonlight asks.

  “He likes to hide in the crowd or as a henchmen,” I inform him. “Nine o’clock.”

  Moonlight tosses the arm to his left. The henchmen raising his gun gets hit right in the face with the hunk of metal. Unconscious. Four left. Arm still outstretched, Jem fires the blaster on top of his wrist. A recent addition, one on each arm, emitting an energy blast that targets the inner ear, instantly rendering the target unconscious before they even hit the floor. Lasts about ten minutes. A prototype from Pendergast. I will miss having access to everything cutting edge from weapons t
o medical breakthroughs. Moonlight takes out the guard at eight o’clock, then raises this right hand to take out the third.

  “Remind me,” says Moonlight as the third hits the dirt.

  “Early forties, shortish, brown hair, thin. Five o’clock.”

  Moonlight spins around and blasts number four, but not before the henchmen gets a shot off. The hero groans in pain as his body jerks from the impact to his shoulder. “I’m okay,” he tells me without prompting.

  My stomach still won’t unknot. I’ve watched that man take more bullets than I can count, and it never gets easier. Even now. At least the fifth henchman wises up, suddenly sprinting toward the exits like the smarter civilians. They should all be running now. They—

  “The second drone,” I say.

  “Where?”

  “Don’t see it. And they’re retreating.”

  I glance up at the neglected TV screen as Diaz points up to the sky before the cameraman zooms in on a black speck growing smaller. “Shit! I think he flew the drone out.”

  “Which direction?” Jem asks, lifting off the ground.

  “Toward the river, but he has a massive lead. And—ceiling!”

  A huge chunk of concrete and metal the size of our bedroom falls right where panicked people flee. Off like a shot, Moonlight zooms toward the smoldering debris, stopping its descent like a strongman with a barbell, holding it above his head with shaking arms. “Move!” he bellows to the people below. They obey, giving him wide berth as he lands and gently places the debris on the floor. “Gearhead?”

  “You probably wouldn’t have caught him anyway,” I offer.

  Police officers, EMTs, and firemen finally rush inside the Expo center. The cavalry. On the TV screen I watch as more, practically a third of the police force, swarm the place. A few stray henchmen get wrestled to the ground. What morons. The pay can’t be that good.

  “Any way to track him?” Moonlight asks over the comms.

  “Maybe. The drone might have GPS or satellite feed. That’ll take time though. The henchmen might be a better option.”

  “I’ll take the latter, you the former?” he suggests.

  Shit. This isn’t what I wanted. I didn’t consider this possibility. Further involvement. “I, uh…think you have it all well in hand. He’s uh, all yours Moonlight. I have to go now.”

  “Guardian…thank you. It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” I lie. “Good hunting. Guardian out.”

  I cut the feed and yank off my headset. A week. I couldn’t even go a damn week without talking to him. Without watching his back. But it felt good. For all of three minutes I forgot everything but stopping that supervillain fucker. But I didn’t do it for the civilians, I did it for him. He was in danger, and I had to make sure he made it out alive. Maybe I can separate business and personal. Just because we’re not a couple doesn’t mean the work has to end. Babies and bathwater or whatever.

  I stare at the TV screen as Jem carries out a crying woman caked in blood and dust. A familiar surge of pride and love spreads like warm tentacles through my body. Fuck. He sets the survivor on a gurney but she sobs unheard words and clutches onto his hand. He squeezes it to reassure her, I’m sure with a smile behind that mask. “Fuck!” I shut off the TV.

  No. No half measures. Not with him, and not with alcohol. I can’t trust him. Right now I can barely trust myself. Cold turkey. From them both. I grab my jacket from the chair, take a deep breath, and step out of my cave. Time to rejoin the human race. One foot in front of the other, Jo. Because quite frankly where I’m going can’t be any worse than where I’ve just been.

  *

  “You look like hell.”

  “Oh Ryder, you always say the sweetest things to me. You always perks me right up.”

  Supervillain James Ryder aka Alkaline, the scourge of Galilee, sits in his cell on the other side of my computer screen, pale handsome face scrunched up in concern. Genuine concern or as much as a psychopath is capable of producing for someone other than himself. A year and a half ago he was trying to kill me, now the monster cares about my well-being. Probably more to do with the fact if something were to happen to me not only would his limited access to the woman he claims to love vanish, but so would the only human contact he receives in the form of our weekly chats. Life’s pretty dull when you’re stuck in a cell all but two hours a week. That’s what he gets for breaking out of prison, raping, murdering, and generally being evil incarnate. I was happy to let the fucker rot but his inside knowledge of Galilee’s underbelly has proven invaluable to our investigations. Plus the sight of him no longer makes my stomach churn. That’s something.

  “Would you rather I lie to you?” he asks.

  For some reason this question makes me laugh. Chuckles become full guffaws as the ridiculousness of those words coming from his mouth hits me. “You know the most fucked up thing in the universe? You are the only person who has never lied to me. Never. Even when you were trying to kill me, you were upfront about the reasons. A psychopath who wanted me dead is the one person I can trust to respect me enough to always be honest. That is so…fucking…sad.”

  Ryder’s mouth sets straight in displeasure not of me but for me. “I take it you and the doctor have hit a rough patch.”

  “We hit an atomic bomb.” I pause. “We’re done. We’re over.”

  “Care to share what happened? Did you finally uncover the fact he was Lord Nightingale? I figured you’d already sussed that one out but I could have been wrong.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. He knew? Jesus, does everyone know? “How—”

  “Don’t worry, that secret is safe with me. There’s no gain for me to harm him. I have no quarrel with him.” He pauses. “Unless you want me to have one.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He obviously hurt you. Perhaps it might make you feel better if you returned the favor. It always made me feel better.”

  “It also got you life in prison,” I point out.

  “Doesn’t mean you will meet the same fate,” he counters. “Come on, Joanna. I know the thought has crossed your mind. I always thought you were one step away from crossing into the dark side. Maybe this was the push you needed to join us. It’s far more liberating on this side. No rules. No ties. No judgment. Beholden to nothing and no one. There’s something to be said for pure, unadulterated chaos.”

  “Sounds more like being lost.”

  “You’re been walking the straight and narrow all your life, and you’re telling me you’re not lost right now?”

  I want to parry back but can’t think of a single comeback. Because he’s right. I haven’t been this unmoored since Pop died. I almost threw myself off a damn bridge because I couldn’t see a way out of the misery. Not only was there no light at the end of the tunnel, I’d fallen to the depths of hell so there wasn’t even a damn tunnel anymore. Even when Justin “died” I had Harry. My job. Of course I lost them as well, but I had Justin’s legacy, Pendergast, and Informant 794 to keep me sane. As long as I had a breath left in my lungs I would continue what he began. For him. For the man who sacrificed himself for me. Who loved me. Who I thought loved me. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, Ryder,” I whisper. Goddamn it here come the tears again. I will not cry in front of a supervillain. I will not. “You’re right. I am…lost.”

  “No. What you are is Joanna Fucking Fallon,” he says angrily, as if I’ve insulted him. “The girl who crawled out of the hellscape of Diablo’s Ward using her wits and pure determination. Who held her head up high as the upper crust tried to tear her down. Who faced two of the most dangerous men ever to live and bested them both. That woman doesn’t fall apart over a man. She kicks that bastard in the family jewels, smiles down at him, then walks into the sunset with her head up, never looking back.”

  “It’s not just Jem. It’s—”

  I could tell him. There’s even a part of me that wants to. The look on Ryder’s face would be priceless. But ev
en at my worst I’m not that vindictive. Or that stupid. I have no doubt, despite this whatever we have now, if he knew Justin were alive, this psycho would cut my head off and wear it like a hat just to spite his nemesis. He escaped from that prison once, and though I’ve taken every measure to ensure it doesn’t happen again, I’m not willing to bet my life on it. I don’t underestimate the man before me anymore than he does me.

  “It’s…” Ryder prompts.

  “I quit my job. I lost my fiancée. I lost my faith in the world. Where the hell do I go from here?”

  “Wherever you desire, Miss Fallon. What brings you pleasure, Joanna? True pleasure? What is your raison d’etre?” he asks as if he already knows the answer.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Why do you still submit to these little video chats of ours? Every week like clockwork. I killed the man you loved. I raped your friend. Suffocated a child. Why would you subject yourself to my company week after week? Why?”

  “Because you help me.”

  “I help you what?” he prompts.

  “Stop people like you from turning others into people like me. Into victims. Into broken things that never truly get reassembled.”

  “If that’s not a reason for living, I don’t know what it,” Ryder says with a smile. He slowly drops it. “So stop your pathetic whining and get on with it. I saw on TV that Gearhead got away today.”

  “Any thoughts to where he might be holed up?”

  “One or two,” he says with mirth. Then he grows silent. I raise an eyebrow and glare. He chuckles. “There she is. I was getting worried.”

  Me too. Me too.

  *

  Albert Ross, aka Gearhead, you have been a blight on my fair city far too long. Time to go down, asshole. I’m coming for you, or at present your fence. Seems Gearhead isn’t in the random havoc game like so many others. He’s nothing more than a common thief. He creates as much destruction as possible to conceal which gadgets he’s stolen. The owners just assume their latest microchip/weapon/next big thing is amongst the rubble and write it off with the rest. Clever. I so prefer mayhem with a purpose as opposed to violence for its own sake or worse for a ridiculous principal. I like my motives concrete. Tangible. Makes them easier to thwart. Know what a person wants and you’re three fourths there. It’s the believers that scare the shit out of me. There’s no reasoning with them.