Firedrake - Volume 1

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Firedrake - Volume 1 Page 18

by T. Mike McCurley


  “Rockets!” Soundstage shouted, a second before three more missiles spewed forth from her shoulder mounts and detonated in the face of the giant. The concussion seemed to stun him for a moment, and Drake took advantage of the distraction to sweep wide and come in from the monster’s right side. He attached himself to the side of the giant’s head, anchoring his position with the sharp points of his talons. He spoke in a clear voice into the wax-encrusted ear he was facing.

  “Stop moving, slick, or I’ll blow a hole through the side of your head,” he commanded.

  “Get your ugly ass off my head!” roared the giant, swinging up a hand to swat Drake as if he were no more than an insect. Diving aside, Drake allowed the man to slap himself in the head.

  “I’m ugly? Seen a fifty-foot mirror lately?” Drake taunted, bringing his wings in close and building speed as he raked a set of talons across the man’s face. Foot-long lacerations appeared in the oily skin.

  Soundstage proved she was back in the fight with another focused sonic attack that was horrendous enough to make Drake wince. He looked over to where Sangre stood. The black-clad booster nodded in understanding as he shouted his request.

  “Restraints!” he yelled, sweeping an arm forward toward the massive man.

  As though Drake himself was commanding their motion, yards of twisted debris slithered across the ground and wrapped themselves around the legs of the giant, looking for all the world like colossal metal snakes. They intertwined and rolled on themselves in a fluid motion that nonetheless carried with it horrific creaking sounds as the tortured metal bent to the magnetic forces Sangre manipulated.

  “You stupid son -” the giant began, but he never finished. He was trying to move forward, and the ropes of steel ensnared his feet. He fought for a brief second in an attempt to regain his composure and balance, but failed. A terrified scream rent the air as he began to fall, arms flailing aimlessly in a futile attempt to right himself.

  “Clear the area!” Soundstage bellowed through her speakers. Any of the emergency crews that had not already fled dropped what they were doing and started running in a desperate attempt to get out of the way before the building-sized booster landed atop their positions.

  The ground shuddered as the enormous figure slammed face-first onto the pavement. Two fire trucks and an ambulance vanished beneath his bulk. Clouds of dust billowed up from the concussion of his impact, and what few windows remained in the surrounding city block cracked with the transmitted force. The nearby police cars leaped six inches into the air and crashed back down. His head slammed into the front of the cigar store through which he had earlier thrown a stop sign, and brown eyes the size of televisions rolled back in the sockets as consciousness fled from the behemoth. Drool ran from his mouth in a veritable river.

  “That’s got him,” Sangre reported from her vantage point. Her arms dropped back by her side and she slumped against the blue frame of a mailbox as her efforts caught up to her.

  Drake dropped unceremoniously to the ground beside her, slipping a strong arm beneath her thin frame and lifting her to her full height. He looked at the emerald eyes that peeked from within her mask, winking at her as he saw that she was all right.

  “Let’s go kick him while he’s down,” he joked, easily lifting Sangre into his arms. In the street beside the fallen giant, Soundstage was touching down on screaming jets of energy. She looked as though she had been in a blender, but ignored her own appearance long enough to check on the emergency crews. Those that had been injured were being tended to by those who had not, and she was content to go examine the body of their opponent.

  The man had begun to shrink, and Soundstage wondered aloud if his ability was only functional while conscious. It took less than a minute for him to reach the size of a normal human. Drake slipped a pair of durite cuffs from his belt and cinched them down tightly onto the hairy wrists.

  “What was his problem, anyway?” he asked of the surrounding officers. Across the street from him, the reporters that had arrived to film the battle were beginning to move in. They seemed reluctant to approach Drake, and he had no problem being pleased about that.

  “Had a thing about the bank. Word on the initial call is that he was causing a disturbance inside. We got here and he went nuts on us. When we tried to hook him up, he started growing. Tore right out of his clothes and kept on getting bigger. We figured it’d be best to get some help in here,” said one of the officers. He had a foot-long tear in his uniform shirt, and a rapidly-swelling black eye.

  Most of the reporters and police circled around Soundstage and Sangre, the two boosters with whom they were familiar, and many actively avoided the reptilian booster that towered above them. Drake, in turn, freely ignored them and returned his attention to his prisoner. He snagged a blanket from one of the EMS crews and covered the man, then knelt on the pavement and waited for the first flicker of consciousness to show on the dirty face.

  “My name’s Drake. I’m a Federal Agent,” he said to the man when the eyelids began to flicker open. A low moan made its way from the man’s throat in response to the quiet voice.

  “Here’s the deal,” Drake continued. “I put my cuffs on you, slick. They’re made out of durite, so if you try to grow again, you’re gonna cut your hands off. Now I don’t know how pissed off you really are, so if that’s what you want, then go ahead. But I wouldn’t recommend it. That’ll make it real hard to hold a fork in the prison cafeteria.”

  “Want….want to go home,” groaned the man. Tears ran from his eyes as he spoke.

  “Well, that’s gonna be a problem,” Drake said. He stood and motioned to the officers. “These gentlemen are going to take you somewhere to get you checked out and then we’ll be transporting you to a Federal holding facility.”

  The man sounded confused when he asked, “Facility for what?”

  “For people who eat bank managers,” Drake responded with a smile. His tone was patronizing. “It’s okay. There’s a bunch of folks there. You’ll make lots of new friends.”

  Turning away, he rolled his eyes and made a snorting sound. He left the crying man in the custody of several police officers and walked over to drop a heavy hand on Soundstage’s shoulder as she provided a statement to the reporters that had thronged around the boosters and police following the incident. She turned to look at him, the crystal eyes as impassive as always, though Drake could practically feel the smile on her face beneath the helmet. He guided her away from the clamoring media presence to speak alone with her.

  “If this is how you spend your days, kid, I think I’m going back to work,” he said.

  “Aww, come on. It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

  “Hey, I was supposed to be on vacation,” he replied with a chuckle.

  “Yeah? Why do I get the feeling this was the closest you’ve ever been to one of those?” she asked.

  “Well, it has been a while,” he admitted.

  “Tell you what,” she offered, holding up a chromed index finger. “Lady Justice Day is coming up. I’ll take you out for some real Texas barbecue if you’ll hang around through then.”

  Drake made a show of looking up, as though he were thinking hard on the offer, then broke out into a grin. “Sounds like fun. It’s a deal,” he said. He then leaned in close, whispering so no one else could possibly overhear. “Partly ’cause I like the company, but mostly ’cause I wanna see you try to eat through the helmet.”

  More to come in Volume Two and Three!

 

 

 


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