Night Legions

by Jeremy Flagg

  A man took advantage of her distraction. His arms wrapped around her chest, sending both of them to the ground before she could react. The neck brace cushioned her head as she slammed onto her back. The man’s weight held her legs in place while he braced a hand on her chest and pulled back the other, balled in a fist.

  Ariel saw the burst of fire from Jonah’s gun. The attacker froze. Unseen hands held him in position. He followed her eyes to the small piece of copper shimmering inches from his face.

  “The proper response is thank you,” she growled.

  She hurled the man backward, skidding along the ground. Ariel hovered toward him as he attempted to flee. She feared the ambience of shadows dancing on her face along with wild hair made her even more menacing than usual. The effect was not lost on her as she pinned the man with her telekinesis, his contorted face giving away his fear.

  “You’re one of them,” he said. It took a moment before she realized he must only be a year or two older than her. Despite his youth, his face held enough scars to show there had been more than one rumble in his past.

  “One of who?” she asked.

  “We knew there were more of you.” The expression on his face made it apparent he spoke of her abilities. She lifted him into the air, making sure to pull the two-hundred-pound man’s feet from the ground. As he struggled, she could feel his muscles working against her telekinesis, but she smiled, amused by the unfair competition.

  “How did you know?”

  “Rumors, I swear.” He panicked as Jonah approached. “I swear, no, don’t kill me. I have kids.”

  The gun in Jonah’s hands never lowered as Ariel observed the scaffolding around the upper floors. “We have been ordered to eliminate all domestic terrorists.” He yelled the words, making sure anybody within earshot could hear.

  “They’re not terrorists,” Ariel whispered.

  Arturo knelt down next to her. “Not trying to rush you. But bad guys and here you are, standing out in the open.”

  “Goddammit, Ariel,” Jonah said.

  “I’m in control of the situation,” she hissed to him.

  Gunfire sounded at the end of the room. She didn’t flinch as the bullets zipped past. She brought the man to within whispering distance. “Who is in charge here?”

  “We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” Jonah said.

  “Do you see any terrorists here? ‘Cause so far all I see is a terrified man. Arturo, kill the lights.”

  “But…” he started.

  “Kill them.”

  Jonah nodded. The room vanished as the pillars of fire dispersed into nothingness. The moment the darkness swept over them, she noticed the man’s breathing on her cheek. The panting betrayed his intense fear.

  “What is this place?” she whispered.

  “I…” He paused. “We live here.”

  “Why?”

  Shouting erupted from the far end of the turbine. The residents of the power plant were hunting them down. Feet scuffed as Arturo ran toward the fighting. In an arm-wrestling match, she would win every time, but her surrogate brother found a way to make himself formidable.

  “If you don’t answer me, people are going to die.”

  “You’re going to kill us anyways.”

  “I have you suspended a foot off the ground. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking. I don’t want people…”

  “Liar.”

  “Permission to engage,” Arturo said over their headset.

  “No, Jonah,” she begged.

  “Granted,” he said.

  “I don’t think you’re terrorists. But if you don’t tell me what’s going on, a pyro is about to take out your offense.”

  “Offense? We’re just trying to survive.”

  “Huh?”

  “We live here,” he said. “The walls are the only thing protecting us from radiation poisoning.”

  “I don’t buy it,” Jonah said.

  A flare lit up the room. Men shouted as fire erupted and guns exploded. As quickly as the small fireballs appeared, the room returned to darkness. Unless they discovered where Arturo was hiding, he’d be more than capable of picking them off one at a time.

  “Leave them, take me,” the man said.

  “How many people?” she asked.

  “Over a hundred.”

  More bursts of fire. The hot embers in torches all around them were weapons for Arturo. Someone fired into the darkness. It wasn’t Arturo she worried for. If the man in front of her was right, he about to slaughter the masses.

  “We need to help Arturo,” Jonah said.

  “Is there somebody in charge?” she barked. “People are going to die if you—”

  “I am.”

  She touched the small mic protruding from her ear. “Arturo, I need light, a lot of it.”

  “No,” Jonah said.

  Before he could react, she yanked the weapon from his hands. Both she and the man lowered until they were standing, her eyes level with his chest. Every fire in the plant came to life, large circular waves of flame rising to the ceiling and lighting the entire room.

  “Call them off,” she said to the man.

  “You’ll kill us,” he spat back.

  “If I wanted everybody here dead, we wouldn’t be talking.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger.

  “This is treason,” Jonah said. “We have a mission—”

  “To stop terrorists,” she said, “not kill innocent humans. We are not murderers. Think for yourself, Jonah. They lied to us.”

  Ariel reached into her ear and pulled out her earpiece. She tossed the device onto the ground. With a quick tug of her powers, she wretched Jonah’s earpiece from his head. Arturo remained hidden in the room as a dozen armed men and women circled them.

  “Tell your people to stand down.”

  “When it comes to the safety— “

  Eleven guns, three knives, and a baseball bat were hurled across the room without so much as a blink. The residents seemed confused as she persisted. Pulling at their belts, she dropped their pants, leaving them exposed to the room.

  “I’m not asking anymore,” she hissed.

  He held up his hands, signaling her to stop. “Everybody stand down, they’re not here for us.”

  “They killed Mac and Gunny,” yelled a woman reaching for her dropped slacks.

  “We were sent here under false pretenses,” she shouted.

  “Ariel.” Jonah rested his hand on her shoulder. “What you’re doing is going to get us court marshaled.”

  She shrugged off his hand. “I don’t work for you, Jonah. And if the military has a problem, they can try to stop me.”

  “They call themselves Outlanders,” said a young man with vacant stare. “When the nukes went off, New England had plenty of residents who couldn’t make it out in time. We’d be dead from radiation poisoning if it wasn’t for this plant.”

  “Is there any nuclear waste?” she asked, eyeing Jonah.

  “No, they must have taken it after the blasts. I assumed they didn’t want to leave anything behind that could cause another Seabrook.”

  “She killed—” Ariel froze the woman’s mouth, holding it shut.

  “You’re a mentalist,” said the man.

  “Yes, I’m on loan to the government at the moment. We were told—” she held Jonah’s mouth shut before he could speak. “We were told terrorists were threatening to take the power plant.”

  “’Terrorist’ must mean something different now.”

  At the Facility, people spoke about her in hushed whispers, and when speaking at her, maintained a level of fear. Everybody had seen the videos of her disassembling the military’s weapons or tearing apart robots. The moment people understood the power at her beck and call, at best they stared with scientific curiosity, at worst, they ran from the room terrified. The man standing next to her either didn’t understand what she was capable of, or he simply didn’t care as he extended his hand.

  “Ariel.”
She gripped his arm, giving it a shake.

  “Roderick,” he said. “About my people…”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  2033

  The back of Conthan’s hand had a scar over the knuckle leading to his pointer finger. Dwayne’s thumb rubbed over the scar, familiar with the slight bump on otherwise perfect skin. For the thousand times he had studied the scar, he never thought to ask how it came to be. Dwayne assumed it was a kitchen accident, probably while showing off a lack of culinary skills. He wondered if normal couples recounted battle scars. Probably not ones acquired by killer robots and sociopathic telepaths.

  Dwayne snorted a bit at the thought. If Conthan hadn’t passed out from overextending himself, he’d have given a toothy grin. “Normal,” he whispered, “I don’t think I know the meaning of the word anymore.”

  “Do any of us?” Alyssa asked from the doorway.

  Shaking his head, Dwayne rested Conthan’s hand on the unconscious man’s chest, slightly under one of those blankets you find at the hospital. He couldn’t tell if it was from use or the poorly lit interior of the subway tunnels, but the pristine white fabric had a tarnished look. The damp musty smell permeating from the stone reinforced they were far beneath the streets.

  Setting aside his modesty, Dwayne leaned over Conthan’s face and kissed him on the forehead. He found himself mad at the argument they had before parting. Not a fight, but Conthan setting aside his feelings while Dwayne railroaded the situation. Conthan would tell him to forget about it and move on. The kid had the ability to ignore Dwayne’s bad habits.

  “When we save the world,” he whispered in Conthan’s ear, “I promise you a real date. Fine wine, candles, and you’ll tell me how you got that scar.”

  Dwayne turned around and walked toward the door. Alyssa leaned against the doorframe bolted directly into the cement. “Sorry,” he said reflexively.

  “For what?”

  “Uh…” Wanting a normal life with another man? Wanting a simple evening out with Conthan? Being human?

  “We’ve been living in a small house for the last three months. You think asking him on a date is the most embarrassing thing I’ve heard?”

  “Shuddup,” he said, walking past her.

  Wires hung along the ceiling. As Dwayne passed under a light spaced every ten feet, they flickered, the filaments threatening to overload and burst from the glass. The subway station had long since been condemned, but nearly a hundred people called it home. As they walked from the hallway into larger rooms, people stopped and stared.

  “Alyssa,” Dwayne whispered, “do you get a weird feeling?”

  “That they’re staring? Yeah. I wish Vanessa was here to tell us if any of them are Children.”

  “I expected something—”

  “Flashier?” asked a woman. She was of Asian descent, almost exactly as tall as Alyssa, but at least twenty years her senior. “You expected a hi-tech operation fighting the government, is that right?”

  “No,” Dwayne said.

  “You’re lying,” she said quickly. “We have plenty of tech, it’s just not flashy. What are you bringing to the party?” Dwayne didn’t like her aggressive tone.

  “What do I bring to the party?” Before she could reply, he opened his hand, fingers spread wide. Electricity jumped from one fingertip to the next. It wouldn’t be long before he needed to discharge.

  “Impressive, sparky.” Her voice had a dismissive tone. Dwayne could tell she was anything but impressed with his abilities.

  “Needles wants to speak with you,” said their guide.

  “Are all these people part of the resistance?” asked Dwayne.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Dwayne caught Alyssa rolling her eyes. “Children?” he asked.

  “Some.”

  The woman studied Alyssa, her eyes darting back and forth. Dwayne recognized a Child using their gifts. Each of them had an advantage over humanity, making them cocky. For some, it came as arrogance, others, confidence. This woman had the former. He didn’t care for the former.

  “You don’t like me, do you, Mr. Ayer?”

  Dwayne ignored attempt to drag him into a heated discussion. Men and women walked about with firearms strapped to their hips, more than one rifle slung over a shoulder. He wished Conthan were awake. Dwayne had to admit the kid had been right, there was an army hidden out there. If they could work together, the odds of stopping the Warden from closing his fist on America increased.

  “How many Children?” he asked.

  The woman paused, reluctant to share the information. He raised an eyebrow, the sparks between his fingers igniting. “A dozen or so.”

  “Class I’s?”

  “Six.” She paused again. “After today, four.”

  “Shit,” he replied. It nearly doubled their ranks. Dwayne didn’t want to double their ranks; he wanted to see an army itching for war. Right now, even with the firepower slung around their shoulders, they were little more than a nuisance against a man who lead the most advanced army in the world.

  “Follow.” No question. No debate. A single word from her lips stopped the conversation and they continued down the hall.

  The men guarding the door didn’t have their guns in hand. As Dwayne passed, the safety switches gave him an uneasy feeling. In this abandoned city beneath the streets of New York, the resistance didn’t even know to have their safeties off. He swore under his breath. They needed an army, not a bunch of humans playing commando.

  “Dwayne.” Skits threw her arms around his chest. She leaned in close to his ear. “He didn’t let anything slip.”

  “Needles, I presume,” Dwayne said to the man sitting opposite them at a table made from cinder blocks and a wooden door.

  “Dwayne,” the man said with a slight nod.

  “I’m here to speak with you about enlisting your Children.” Dwayne cut to the chase. Pomp and circumstance grated his nerves. The man sat like a king summoning his subjects for an audience. Dwayne didn’t want to play the political game.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen”—Needles waved his arm—“we are running low on super powers.”

  “Too busy sending them to their deaths?” Alyssa asked.

  Needles wasn’t frail, not exactly, despite what his lean body might suggest. Dwayne recognized the tight muscles of a runner. Underneath the purple button-down, the man most likely had a well-toned body. He sat upright, his back not touching the chair, tense as if he might need to jump to his feet at any moment.

  “We aren’t here to cause problems,” Dwayne said. Sitting down opposite of the man, he held his hands out, palms down on the table, trying to appear as benign as possible.

  “You could electrocute me before my men even knew what was happening—”

  “I could have killed them, you, and brought down the roof on this place, if we’re being honest.”

  Needles smiled. “I do appreciate honesty.”

  The woman who lead them into the room stood next to Needles while Alyssa and Skits took a side behind Dwayne. It was obvious the man had an agenda. Dwayne secretly wished Conthan was beside him, cutting through the red tape and getting straight to the truth. The kid had a knack for disarming and doing away with pageantry.

  “We need your help,” Dwayne said.

  “And what do you bring to the table?” Needles asked, the smile fading as he leaned forward. “I want to hear about the Children on this team of yours.”

  * * * * *

  Conthan pressed his back against the wall into a small alcove. The wall had a damp quality, a mixture of cool stone and stale air left his hands feeling as if they were wet. He heard steps approaching. One foot scraped along the ground. Muscles tensed as he prepared to lunge, if needed.

  A person passed, a basket of what smelled like food in hand. Along the corridor’s ceiling, cords hung suspended, a light every few feet illuminating the way. Since he awoke in an infirmary twenty minutes ago, he'd seen few people, no windows, no exits. The cement halls with
steel ceilings led him to believe he was underground, far away from sunlight and fresh air.

  At any moment, he expected an alarm to go off or a voice to bellow over speakers that a prisoner had broken loose. He had at least another couple of hours before his body recovered enough to use his abilities. If he could open a portal, he could use the split second his mind left his body to make sense of where they brought him.

  “Who,” he corrected himself quietly.

  Dwayne could sense where the electricity in the wires originated, and Vanessa could listen to thoughts and know the layout of the bunker. Even Skits probably had some useful gift that would help them. Right now, the only thing Conthan had was the element of surprise.

  If it hadn’t been for his hurt feelings, they’d never have been captured at the club. The first time he attempted to lead without supervision and he fucked up. Pulling the hood over his head, hiding his face, he stepped out into the hallway and followed the scent of warm bread.

  The hall was just wide enough that he couldn’t touch both walls with his arms spread. Every so often, it opened on either side, the spaces filled with personal belongings. One held a cross, another, photos taped side by side. Two cots occupied each niche. The corridor took a sharp turn right and he reached massive metal doors. The dull thud from his knocking knuckles confirmed the blast doors were indeed as thick as they appeared.

  Gears turned and hydraulics hissed the two panels separated. Conthan backed up, balling his fists in anticipation. A small person in an oversized jacket and loose-fitting jeans walked between them, passing him without so much as a glance. Conthan squeezed through the partially opened doors,

  He had never seen the place before, but he recognized the surroundings as a subway station. The flat walls didn’t have tile, so the project must have been abandoned long before it had been finished. The metal tracks had been laid, but by the layer of rust, they hadn’t been used in decades. Underneath New York, dozens of similar stations existed, parts of great expansions that lost funding or simply fell by the wayside.