The Broken Ones (Book 1)

by Jobe, David

  On the three televisions in the waiting room was the interplay between the four of them playing out on the freeway. It appeared that the "live" broadcast was about half a minute behind by a span of about a minute. He suspected it had something to do with the television station making sure they didn't air anything that would get them sued by someone. Just as they vanished in a blink on the screen, the people in the waiting room started to piece two and two together. "It's them!" people shouted, rushing forward.

  Julian looked over and saw that the Samaritan was on his knees, looking woozy himself. The young man had the strength of will to yell out, "Please, someone, he has been shot!" Before he collapsed on his side, in that final moment pivoting so he didn't land on the former fly man.

  Julian nodded with respect. "You are a true hero,” he told the unconscious man.

  From the medical area of the Emergency room, doctors were rushing out to help. Julian thought about staying here, but it occurred to him that the hospital he had just been in was well aware of his injuries and that the difference in time discovering what was wrong with him might mean the difference between living and dying. If that was still an option. He bowed his head and said another prayer of thanks for being given the opportunity to help someone in need in such a miraculous way.

  Around him, people were shouting asking how this was possible.

  "Through God," Julian said and then felt the white wall of ice slam into him, this time harder. The punch hit harder than the first two jumps. Maybe it was related to distance, he thought.

  Before him, Father Holland and the kind nurse that called him Angel were watching the television. On the television, he could see dozens of armed men surrounding the leather-clad woman, guns pointed. She had her hands up, and the guns were laid around her feet. She stepped back, likely from the officers’ orders. Then she dropped to her knees. Julian decided he felt bad for leaving her there, but he also thought that she should have to answer for her actions.

  "Where did Angel go?" The nurse murmured, holding onto Father Holland, both of their backs to him.

  "I think I need medical help,” Julian said and was ashamed to admit that he was amused when the nurse screamed loud enough to be heard back at the other hospital. "And painkillers, maybe,” he grunted, and found his legs had decided to shut down for the time being.

  Father Holland showed that he was spry for an old man as he caught Julian mid collapse. "I got you, Son." The worry was heavy in his eyes, wrinkles deep around his eyes and mouth.

  The kind nurse had found her composure and started yelling out the door at someone in the hallway. Julian couldn't understand any of it. He thought he heard something about codes and then a series of initials that made no sense to him. After she finished and seemed satisfied that she was heard and understood, she was there with Father Holland as they both struggled to lift him into the bed.

  Julian could feel the dizziness growing in his head like a restless wave, rising ever slowly to consume his waking mind. "I got him to a hospital," he said with a triumphant smile.

  Father Holland smiled down at him, the worry still haunting his eyes. "You did good, Son. God is proud of you. I am proud of you."

  As darkness rose up to claim him, Julian realized that both of those statements were important to him. He hoped that he would be able to wake up soon and tell Father Holland that

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Drew fell to the floor, the contents of his stomach spilling out onto the carpet. He had no idea what happened. One minute he fought Bulletproof behind the bus, and the next he was hit with a sharp pain at the base of his neck and he was back in his room throwing up on the carpet. This was the second time he was kicked out his construct and it annoyed the shit out of him.

  From the front room he heard his father yelling a bunch of words that he couldn't understand. Drew had tried to learn some of the words, but he just hadn't been up to it. He found he just couldn't care about any of that. His family lived in America now, and the whole country spoke American. He had no patience to learn a language that from what he gathered was for the sole purpose of reading and reciting religious text. An activity that he found as appealing as a trip to the dentist.

  From the front room he heard his father throw the word "bitch" out amongst the string of unknown words. Drew pulled himself off the floor, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he did. It took him a minute to collect himself, but after a few moments, he was able to walk out as if nothing happened to him. He rolled up the part of his sleeve that now had a stain on the edge.

  In the front room, his father sat on the edge of his seat yelling at the television. His father's hair was wild and there was so much unchecked anger in his eyes that for a moment, Drew debated going back to his room. Before he could, his father saw him and motioned for him to sit next to him. "That dirt son of a bitch is back,” he told Drew. "You just missed him getting his ass kicked by some woman in a leather outfit."

  Drew blinked. He didn't remember any chicks in leather. The only chick he had seen was the Henchwomen and Miss Fire. He plopped down next to his father and watched the television. On the screen they were doing a repeat of what had transpired a minute ago. There was his creation, getting trounced by Bulletproof. Behind his creation came the woman in leather, sporting a huge gun. She didn't even pause to shoot. She just walked by and took him out, like some slow motion shot from an action flick. She paused to talk to Bulletproof, but then walked away.

  The scene cut back to live, showing her standing over Miss Fire, who was knelt and part of her arm was removed. Drew thought this was rather graphic for a live news feed, but then it got worse. The leather-clad woman pulled two handguns and pointed them at Miss Fire. The camera feed shut off, but before they could cut it the sound of gunfire erupted from the television.

  Fade to black, Drew thought. It was like all the pg-13 movies he had seen, where the villain draws down on the innocent victim, and then the screen goes black yet you hear the gunfire. Drew knew that Miss Fire had just been executed on national television. Odds are, her murder would be up on the internet within seconds, immortalized for however long the internet lasted.

  "Good ridden to bad rubbish," his father growled next to him. Leaning back in his chair as if the winner of American Idol had just been announced and it was all over but the credits.

  Drew discovered that he didn't know what to think of what just happened. Miss Fire was dead, of that he was sure. He was also confident that whatever she had known about him went with her to the grave. Drew was in the clear as far as he was concerned. He continued to watch the news, curious about the fate of the three Henchwomen that he had hired. The details were sketchy, but he got the feeling that all three were also now corpses on that freeway. All the loose ends were tied up. He too relaxed back in the chair, looking over at his father.

  There were tears in his father's eyes as he watched the television.

  Drew was reminded of how it felt to watch the end of a rather enthralling video game. Now he would sit back and watch the final cut scenes to see who got the fair maiden, and if all your side quests amounted for shit in the final story. He figured this time that they would. He turned his gaze back to the television, watching as Bulletproof joined the leather-clad woman and what he soon discovered was the downed body of the flying fat man. The one the news was calling The Cherub. Looks like someone had clipped his wings good. As they watched in silence, he watched an older black teenager about Bulletproof's age limp up to the scene. Drew saw the leather-clad chick draw down on the new guy, and part of his hoped she would pull the trigger. Not because he cared one way or another about the dude, but because he was pissed off at the woman and hoped she would prove that she was no hero.

  After a few seconds, the woman dropped her guns and Bulletproof, who now carried no longer floating fat guy, stepped up to the new guy. In the blink of an eye, all three vanished, leaving the leather-clad girl all alone. For the longest time she just stood there as the chopper circled her po
sition, picking her up from every upward angle. By now the area that belonged to the body of Miss Fire was edited on the fly with pixilation to block her out body. The red pixels were real enough for him.

  Out of nowhere, police started moving in around the woman, guns drawn and looking serious, even from the angle the helicopter filmed. Deep down he hoped they would open fire on her. Maybe even have it where her body fell next to Miss Fire. That would be poetic justice to him. Granted, his whole mission was to erase Miss Fire as an issue, but once he had found her and seen her, he had hoped for a less lethal approach. Now, he found it mattered, even if just that Miss Fire had to die. He admitted to himself that he didn't care about what happened to the Henchwomen. They were expendable like members of fantasy group that you knew were starter filler for your quests, but would be replaced. Non-player characters that he no longer need for his adventures.

  His father stood up, smoothing out his wild hair as he stared at the screen.

  "What's up, Dad?" Drew was still laying back in his chair as if ruler of this castle.

  "I'm going downtown, son. Tell your mom when she gets home."

  Drew sat up straight. "Why?"

  "Because that woman is going to need representation in court, and I owe it to my fallen friends to make sure she has some. And good representation.

  "You are going to defend her?" His tone came out more shocked and angered.

  "If she will let me," his father said, turning to smile at him. "Granted, I am used to being the one sending people to jail, but I think that makes me qualified enough to give her excellent counsel."

  Drew bought back the response that threatened to bubble up and erupt from his mouth. To let his father know that it was that woman that had just shot his son's creation not five minutes ago. "Okay," he managed to squeak out.

  "You okay, son?"

  "Yeah," Drew lied. "Is just a little overwhelming is all. So much death. For what?" He started to worry that he oversold it.

  His father nodded sage-like, "It's not like in your video games, is it?"

  "No, I guess not,” Another lie that tasted like bile on his tongue.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lanton stood amidst the carnage, watching as teams of police officers went about the work that was required of them after such a tragic crime as this. Since the battle on the freeway had been without a doubt the work of Altered, the task of working the case belonged to him. It would be a cut and dry case as far as proving the guilt went. Everything was on video, from the helicopter reporter to a slew of personal camera phones. He was notified that even now, no more than twenty minutes after the battle, videos was uploaded to all the usual spots that showed every vicious murder. The total count dead was eleven dead; six agents for Homeland Security, four criminals and one innocent bystander that had caught a round from the sniper on the overpass. Eleven deaths that he could have, no, should have prevented. Chris had tried to warn him, but Lanton had just gone on working his other case without thinking about doing anything for the dire warning that Chris had given him. In a town going crazy with super powers, Lanton had opted not to truly believe the man that perhaps he too had some sort of power.

  Now blood and bodies littered the roadway.

  Lanton realized that his hand was on his service pistol again. He made a point to stick it in his pocket. That was the second time he had to suppress the urge to just draw his gun and end his life, right then and there. Not only had he failed to stop this avoidable deaths, but now he was one of the infected. He had drank the poison, and now he was one of them. Granted, he didn't have great big wings, black or white, and he wasn't sporting scales of any color, but he was still one of the people he was now expected to keep in line.

  After having arrived on the scene, he had seen every death played backward in slow motion. Every graphic detail was exploited for him, and all at once. Before him lay a blood-soaked feast for the eyes that tore apart his soul. He wanted nothing to do with this power.

  His hand was the gun again.

  It occurred to him that maybe these suicidal thoughts were not his own. How many people had he come across that had discovered they had power, and then turned around and offed themselves? There seemed to be a high number of suicides going around in recent days. He had heard it remarked on in the locker room, and even on the office floor. The department was called out to more suicides than ever. Some had visible indications that they had become Altered. Others looked normal, though Lanton began to wonder how many of them harbored a secret like he did. Had that been part of the mixture that had infected him? Was it a side effect?

  He knew that he wasn't allowed to kill himself. Not yet. He had to track down the cause of this spreading epidemic and put an end to it. It was his job to find the guilty party and make sure they stand before the judge for their crimes. It made him wonder. Was this an intentional thing, like so many years ago when someone had poisoned the headache pills with something lethal? Was it an accident of a mixture the company used? It was up to him to start looking into it. The problem was that he wasn't sure if he would have enough time in between all this deaths that were consuming the city. The Chief had told him that he would have to build some sort of team to work the investigations. He supposed that he would have to start there. Maybe if he was clever enough, he could delegate some of these tasks and work on the bigger picture. It was new to him, but deep down he knew that he had to do something.

  "Detective Lanton," a young officer with short cropped blonde hair approached him. "The girl is on her way to The Hills, and they found the overweight one at North being patched up from his wound."

  "Is he going to make it?" It was one horrific a wound. Lanton had odds on the kid dying before they could get him repair the damage. Gut shot like that, and then the fall. If the kid pulled through, it would be a miracle.

  "He is in surgery right now. Docs aren't making any promises. It was a pretty bad shot."

  "Yeah," Lanton agreed. "I applaud the kid for trying, but he should really leave the police work up to the police."

  "Of course," the officer said, but didn't sound like he believed it.

  "You don't agree?" Lanton peered at the officer's nametag. "Officer Jefferies."

  Jefferies swallowed hard and had the look of someone who had just been singled out by a comic known for lambasting the crowd. "Well, uh, sir. Six Homeland Security wearing some pretty advanced gear got taken out pretty quickly. Unless we have a SWAT team capable of combating stuff like this, it might be we need their help."

  "This isn't like the comics," Lanton replied, looking over at two bodies that were still smoking from the fire that had consumed them.

  "No, sir," Jefferies admitted. "Though it doesn't mean we can't take a page from them and start looking into who in our ranks might have something they can add."

  That caught his attention. "What do you mean?"

  Jefferies swallowed hard again. "Um, well. Well, the way I see it is that there are a lot of citizens suddenly displaying powers. I heard this morning that one of our own was discovered with wings. That means that whatever is causing this, is most likely widespread and not very particular about who gets it. My bet is that those among us that might get something are keeping it under heavy wraps. Either out of fear of what might happen or because they don't understand what it is."

  "Do you have a power, Officer Jefferies?"

  Jefferies laughed, though it sounded too forced. "No, Sir. Just spit-balling is all."

  Lanton nodded, and found his hand was still on his gun. "I want you to come by my office in the morning. I think I have a job for you." He saw Jefferies' skin become pale and his eyes grew wider. "This isn't some McCarty era shit, son. I just think you have the right mindset for the team I am building. Let me know who your supervisor is and I will bring you both up to speed." It was half true at least.

  "McCarty Era, sir?"

  Lanton looked over at the bus and realized that someone sat in the driver's seat. The driver had died on impac
t, and was nowhere near the front seat. Lanton moved to take a closer look. "Back before your time, there was this big communist scare. McCarty was a nutjob who was in charge of sniffing out commies in our midst. It was a bad time to have a different idea or be someone's enemy. I have no intentions of starting a new era witch hunt." He saw Jefferies nod. Odd how something as old as witch hunts the kid knew, but recent history like the McCarty era he knew nothing about.

  Jefferies appeared to have gotten that he was no longer needed and decided to move off to perform whatever task he was assigned.

  As Lanton neared the bus, his cell began to ring. This time the number came up as the hospital. He answered it before the third ring, figuring he was about to get reamed by Chris, and rightfully so. "Lanton."

  The voice on the other end was panicked. "Slow down."

  Lanton approached the side of the bus, moving toward the side door that would allow passengers on and off the bus. "He did what?" The bottom of his world dropped out. He peered through the door's window. The figure in the seat was lost in the shadows, but the silhouette revealed that the person had horns. "I am on my way," he said in a monotone voice. The figure in the driver's seat leaned over to open the door to let him in, and as it did, the light fell across their head. A red-skinned demon beckoned him to enter the bus, a sly smirk on his black lips.

  Lanton realized his hand was on the gun again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Tears stained Chris's face. He hadn't been awake long when the horrific news started on the television. He knew as soon as that blue bus showed on the screen what he was about to see. Soon, his vision played out in detail on the screen, each report explaining another aspect of what he had seen. He watched in silent horror as people died, though the camera always cut away before any death, he knew he watched good officers dying. Part of him wondered why the teacher was the main component of his vision. In all regards, she seemed the most deserving to die out of all of them losing their lives on that highway. Why would the vision focus on her, to allow her to have voice in his dream and not one of the men and women who had sworn to protect this country with their lives, and had? He was a police officer for years before his disgrace, and he knew the gambits that the police ran just to serve and protect every single day. Yet this mysterious power had sought to focus on the one person who was the vilest of those being murdered. It didn't make any sense to him, and that served to piss him off the more. Tears of sadness were mixed with tears of rage. Here he was, confined to his bed because of his cowardice, while good men and women died needlessly. He was reminded of the line that all evil needed to succeed was for good men to do nothing. Here he was, doing worse than nothing. He had turned his back on them. Sure, he had asked the nurse to notify Lanton, but why shrug the duty off onto him? How was this Lanton's job? How could he blame a man who was out there trying to fight the monsters in the streets?