Nighthawks (Children of Nostradamus Book 1)
Page 3
She tried to hide her distaste. She would tell her superior her squad was a well-oiled machine, moments like this made the saying all too true. She walked down the line, tugging on their tethers as she passed the soldiers. She reached the rookie and pulled at his line.
The man’s face looked deathly ill as he realized his commanding officer was staring him in the eye. He brought his weapon against his chest like the soldier in front of him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had run hundreds of live simulations before joining the Paladins a month ago. It was the first mission their commander had greenlighted.
“What do we do with fresh meat?”
“Feed it to the wolves, sir,” they replied.
His eyes went wide as she punched the release above his head. A screeching filled the air as the lights began to flash red. The floor under the man-boy vanished and he was falling. All the soldiers reached up and hit their releases. The floor broke open underneath each of them, dropping them from the plane. The soldiers whooped and hollered as they fell from the aircraft.
“Paladins are in play,” she said.
“We have visual confirmation,” a voice replied in her earpiece.
“Mack, hover us,” she said.
The commander turned around, walked through a small door, and slammed it behind her. As the room got dark, blinking lights fired to life. Holographic displays began to appear around her, six monitors suspended in space. Each of the monitors projected images from the optic cameras, showing the ground fast approaching the soldiers.
The largest screen showed the view of the streets several thousand feet below the jet, the scene littered with small parachutes.
“Murdock, Vazquez, take the roof. Sims, Belletone, take the alley on the west side. Our target is on the other side of the block. You know what this means, Vlad.”
“Working the meat market,” a voice chimed in over the comms.
“Keep the fresh meat alive.”
She pressed spots on each of their screens. As she pinged their monitors, their eye pieces were lighting up, directing them where to land. The large hologram in front of her cast a faint red glow. She reached up, grabbed the hologram, and pulled her hands apart, zooming in on the street.
There was a car turned over in the middle of the street, the back of it engulfed in flames. She spun the image again and noted the several dozen people hiding behind vehicles and in doorways. In her earpiece, she heard each of her team touch down with a grunt.
“We have civilians at all points.”
“Do we have a visual on the target?” asked Sims.
“Negative, the computers are running facial recognition and tracking the target’s path,” said a foreign voice in her ear.
She didn’t like the people at Operations. She didn’t like how they would jump in on her mission and take control. Her team trusted her with their lives. Several states away men in ties who had never seen combat were bogarting her mission whenever they felt it was appropriate. They wanted her expertise, until they didn’t.
“Jasmine, we should have that within the next twenty seconds.”
She leaned into the hologram and zoomed again until she could read the faces of several women huddled together, clutching each other in between two parked cars. They couldn’t be much older than forty, their plastic bags in shambles as fresh fruit and packaged meat lay in the street. Each of the women was cowering, but all their eyes were pointed in the same direction, on a narrow doorway leading into a building.
“Murdock, Vazquez, follow the line of sight of the civvies. I think we have our target.”
Both Murdock and Vazquez zoomed in with her implants. Reaching 20x zoom, they were looking at the faces of the civilians. Murdock’s ocular implant directed his eye to a small alcove nearby.
“I have visual on the man,” said Murdock.
“Wait until computer confirms,” replied a tech.
The man was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He began to run, charging the vehicles where the women were hidden.
“Take your shot.”
“No,” said the tech.
“Murdock, take it.”
A familiar fwap fwap sounded over the comms. The man staggered backward. Dark red circles began to show just above his heart. Jasmine held her breath to see what would happen next. The man reached up to touch his chest, covering his hand in blood. He began to scream.
Another man stepped out from the doorway, holding his hands up in the air like he was surrendering. Jasmine turned from the bleeding man to the other. “We have another player on the field.”
“We have visual,” said Belletone.
The new man turned to where Sims and Belletone were hidden, just around the corner of a building. He walked slowly, his eyes staying fixed on one of the cameras mounted to a traffic light. “He knows we’re watching.”
“Uploading his file.”
Jasmine watched as information about the surrendering man flashed across her screen. Her team was processing the data being sent directly to their cortex implants, she didn’t have the luxury. She didn’t look at the file for more than a moment before she saw his previous address.
“Bellevue resident. Extremely dangerous.”
She took a step back from the screen as she watched his arm begin to burn.
“Jasmine,” Vlad yelled, “we have a mentalist!”
Before she could bark out a command, the first perp jumped behind a car parked on the side of the road. He lifted his foot, placed it on the trunk of the car, and kicked. As if it weighed nothing, the car impaled itself on the vehicle in front of it. The screams of the middle-aged women ended as they were crushed to death between the vehicles.
“Vlad and Rook, light him up. Vazquez, direct him away from the civvies.”
The strong man grabbed another vehicle and ripped off the trunk. He held it up, blocking the shot from Vazquez. She could see the cameras for the other two men closing in on his position. She turned her attention to the second assailant, whose arms were completely engulfed in flame.
“Non-lethal only,” said one of the technicians.
“Fuck you,” she replied.
“Taking the shot.” Murdock fired his gun at the man ablaze, sending a single bullet through the air. The pyrokinetic held up his hand, which was bright white, stopping the bullet’s trajectory and sending it to the ground.
“Incoming,” yelled Belletone.
Metal from the trunk flew over the pyro’s head, sending the two soldiers to the ground in the alley. They scuttled backward until they were out of the line of sight of both targets. Belletone leaned around the corner, holding his gun up, ready to take a shot. As he pulled the trigger, a burst of fire engulfed his weapon, causing the magazine to explode.
“Belletone’s down,” yelled Sims as he watched his teammate fall.
Jasmine didn’t like how the fight was going. Vlad walked by a vehicle, his gun raised. He pulled the trigger and several more bullets pierced the strong man. He was stronger than any of them, even with their enhancements. The bullets tore through his skin, but they appeared to do little other than make him angry.
“We have a drone with a synthetic at your destination in two minutes.”
“I’m going,” she said.
Flames spewed onto an overturned vehicle came to life and washed over Vlad. He backed away from the fire, letting loose a volley of bullets at the muscular target. The rookie took a small cylinder from his vest and shoved it into the barrel of his weapon. He fired it at the pyro. The man lifted his hands, raising the flames up like a wall, the intensity burning brighter as the ammunition struck it.
The world flashed white for a moment.
Jasmine threw open the door in the small room and crossed her hands over her chest as she jumped through one of the openings in the craft. Wind whipped past her body as she plummeted toward the ground below. With a well-rehearsed motion she turned around in the air until she was speeding headfirst toward the fight. There was yelling th
rough her comm but the wind was making it difficult to make out the words. She heard the cry of “man down,” and knew it was time to intervene.
She brought her hands to her waist and let the metal cuffs around her wrists graze her belt. A magnet clicked onto the bracelets. As the clank of metal on metal reverberated through her hands, she threw her arms out wide. Fabric pulled out from her belt, creating cloth wings between wrists and her waist.
She spun through the air as she approached the ground. She was falling a block from the fight. As the ground threatened to crash into her soft, vulnerable flesh, she arched her back. Flying parallel to the street only a few feet from the pavement, she sped toward the strong man threatening her team.
The strong man grabbed the car covered in the dead women’s blood and took several steps into the road in the path of the flying woman. He pulled the car back and braced himself like a batter at home plate. “Kirk, we’re almost done here,” the man yelled to his fiery companion.
“We were here for money, not killing humans.”
“Consider it a perk.”
Jasmine’s eyes watered from the wind but she could still see the punk preparing to clobber her with a SUV. She didn’t have any weapons on her. She had no way to land this close to the ground without crashing against a wall. Her men had been prepared to take on a brute with super strength, but a pyrokinetic—a fire maker—that was beyond their pay grade. She had been trained to take on superpowered beings, but this was a first for her.
She concentrated on the platinum wrapped snugly around her wrists. As she thought of the cold metal, she could feel her skin pulling at the cuffs. To date, she couldn’t accurately describe how her epidermis would reach out, study the metal, and begin to mimic it. She screamed as her powers learned the material. The pain washed through her body and it felt like the worst cramp imaginable as her skin became as dense as platinum.
The bad guys weren’t the only ones with powers.
With the density came a shift in her weight. She sped toward the ground. She braced herself, slamming into the pavement and breaking through the surface of the street, sending rock in all directions as she continued skidding toward the man.
The man raised an eyebrow as the woman sent pavement flying into the air. His deep, hearty laugh was cut short when she sprang from the pavement and sailed through the air. Her fists were in front of her, speeding straight toward his face. He swung the door, knocking her into the wall.
“What the hell?”
Jasmine broke through the brick and landed in the kitchen of a small cafe. The pain started to leave her body as her muscles began to adapt, growing stronger to compensate for the new epidermis. She stood up, shaking her head. She made eye contact with the man, his expression wide in disbelief that she was still moving.
She began charging, jumping out of the kitchen onto the street. She picked up speed, and as he swung the door again, she threw up her arm, deflecting the blow. Her fist connected with his face. He spun and fell to the ground. She knew he wasn’t used to being the weaker fighter.
“You’re the one who hunts her own kind.”
She held her fist in the air. The statement stung more than any punch he could throw. Before she could react, heat washed over her skin. The pyro was walking closer, his hands held out, fire flooding the street. She grabbed the door and threw it at him.
The pyro rolled out of the way. She didn’t flinch as the strong man slammed his fist into her chest. She took a step backward from the blow, her stance barely wavering. The man howled as he cradled his hand. It was the look of a man who had crushed every bone.
“We want them alive,” said a voice in her ear.
She grit her teeth at the command. She was sent to stop these Children from wreaking havoc in the city. She was sent to terminate them if they were a threat. Now she was an errand girl, collecting samples for some ass in a lab coat. She grabbed the man’s fist and squeezed, sending him to his knees as he screamed.
“Stop.”
The pyro was standing close enough to her teammates that he could send the soldiers into a fiery grave without much more than a thought focused on his hands. She stepped behind the beefy, muscular man and wrapped her hands around his head. The pyro paused as she threatened to kill his associate. He looked down to his hands and the flame began to flare.
It was a tactical advantage. Killing the Child was a means to an end. As she spun the man’s head, snapping his neck, all she could think about was the furious look on the researcher’s face at home base. It was her team, her terms, and she wasn’t going to be a lackey to some ruthless humans looking to poke and prod her kind.
She hurled the corpse at the pyro and charged the man as he jumped back from the body. Before she could connect her metallic fists with the man, a searing pain shot through her. Every muscle contracted at the same time, sending her to the ground. She screamed out in pain as her body began to convulse from the electrical current running through her body.
“She’s down,” said the man in her comm. “Synthetics are being deployed. Murdock, switch to suppression fire. We take the man alive.”
“He’s a pyro,” said one of the soldiers.
“Alive,” the man said in a tone that didn’t leave room for negotiating.
Jasmine could make out the pyro from the corner of her eye. He was confused at what was happening. The instigator was dead and now he didn’t know what to do. She watched his body jerk as a bullet connected with his collarbone. The fire vanished as the man cried out and toppled to the ground. He lay only a few feet from her on the ground. She could see his eyes shaking in fear. The last thing she remembered was the tears rolling down his cheek. The world went black as she gave in to the pain.
Chapter Three
March 20th, 1992 8:37AM
March 20th, 1992
Mr. Davis,
I knew curiosity would get the best of you. It was only a matter of time before you opened this letter. I know you are asking yourself many questions about the events that have unfolded since our final encounter. First I must thank you. You have unknowingly been part of a plan that will someday rectify a series of events sending the world into dark times. I ask that you remember me as you do your grandmother, and rest assured that the events transpiring are part of grander plan bestowed upon me by a higher power.
You are asking yourself, did I offer to tell you about your mother as a kind gesture or as part of a plot to win your confidence? I am glad that your mother is doing well; enjoy the expression on her face as you tell her about the conception of your first child. He will be healthy and born into a loving family. But to alleviate your doubts, I cannot say whether my offer was or was not part of a master plan. I continue to question my gifts and if they reveal the possibilities of a people with free will or possibilities fate navigates for us.
As to what was contained in those letters you hesitantly mailed…They are the words of a woman uncertain about the future for the first time in many years. While you question what the future holds for you, I have always seen my future as a vivid movie played out in my mind. These ghosts of what might be have appeared since I was a child. However, I see possibilities disappearing into a void. There is a darkness on the horizon and I see it engulfing the world. What it brings, I cannot say. For once I understand how each of you leads your life. I am scared of the unknown. Where my powers are faltering, I will rely on my gifts of intuition and push forward.
Do not get caught up in the details. I have had a lifetime to understand time in a nonlinear fashion. And yes, I was aware you would be the last kind exchange I had with another individual. I am grateful it was with you, as I felt a kindred spirit in that single touch and know you have the heart of good man. I knew when and how I would die that day. I went knowing my actions were those of a woman trying to do right. I would not change my fate.
Be well, Mr. Davis. Once you realize your hopes and dreams, I assure you the world will react kindly.
With Regards,
Chapter Four
May 16th, 2032 4:30PM
She tried not to move; moving made the cuffs cinched around her wrists hurt. The straps crossing her breasts in an “X” kept her from shifting in her seat, but her arms were sore from being restrained for hours. The truck leaned to one side as it made another right turn. She knew where they were going, but she had no idea how close they were to their destination.
The Danger Zone.
As they drove, her skin crawled. She knew it was her imagination, but her skin crawled as if she could feel the radiation penetrating her body. The bomb had been detonated in Portland, Maine, but the fallout spread throughout New England. She could only think back to seeing pictures of Hiroshima as a teenager. The devastation must be immense. As the truck took another turn, she tried to push away the thoughts of her future.
She had been given a choice when they caught her: avoid trial and be banished or potentially receive a death sentence. The blood covering her naked flesh and the knife clutched in her hand had been all the evidence they needed. Before the police arrived, she shifted her ripped blouse in an attempt to cover her bare breasts. As they stormed through the door she began to cry. She made no arguments when they asked her if she was guilty. She had killed the man and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him again. If given the option, she would push the blade slightly to the right, missing his lung; that way she could watch him die slowly.
Her lawyer thought they would be able to plead it down to justified homicide, but she didn’t dare risk spending time behind bars. After living with the man for two years, she decided she would rather take her chances beyond the Danger Zone. Her final years would be her own.
“There’s enough of us,” said the man next to her. “We can take them.”
The man was large. He either spent more time at the gym than not, or his body had been augmented with technology. She couldn’t tell just by looking at him. She could, however, tell that he had been in more than his share of fights. Scars littered his body, down the side of his arm, across his face, and she assumed they continued behind his clothes.