They were in a damp smelling meeting room for what Chuck had described as ‘a debrief’ but which had rapidly become apparent was actually ‘a telling off’. He’d been halfway through trotting out some bullshit about responsibility when Sam had taken his swing.
Chuck frowned a little. It was the only indication that he’d even felt the punch.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“You know damn well what that was for!” Sam spat. “You set us up!”
Anna’s eyebrows knotted. “Wait, what?”
“Tell them,” Sam ordered. “Tell them what you did.”
Chuck gave a confused sort of smile. “Sam, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Beef Chief,” Sam spat. “The footage of him killing those people. It wasn’t real.” He turned to the others. “He faked it, like he faked the Doc Mighty stuff on the news. It wasn’t real.”
Anna and Randy both shifted their gaze to Chuck.
“Oh… God,” Anna muttered, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly through her nose.
“What’s that? What’s happening?” Randy asked, his head tick-tocking between them all. “What’s the problem?”
“Chuck had Mari fake the footage of the Beef Chief killing those people at the bank. He knew if we saw it, we couldn’t walk away. He used it to bring us back. To control us,” Sam said. “To send us running off after an innocent man.”
“I didn’t send you anywhere. You snuck out! And like hell he was innocent,” said Chuck. “The Beef Chief has arrest warrants in all fifty states, as well as from the Feds. He’s stolen millions over the years.”
“But he wasn’t a murderer!” Sam roared. He looked taken aback by the ferocity of his own outburst and took a moment to compose himself. “He wasn’t a murderer. He was an old man who just wanted to see his granddaughter.”
“Oh, so we just forget everything he did?” Chuck barked back. “We just wave a magic wand, all is forgiven, enjoy your damn retirement?”
“Worked for Kapitän Nazi,” Randy pointed out.
“That was different,” Chuck said. “He was making amends.”
“And maybe the Beef Chief would’ve too,” Sam snapped. “But now he’s dead. And it’s our fault.” He shook his head. “No. No, it’s your fault. You signed his death warrant when you faked that footage. That Savior guy, he called him a murderer. That’s why he killed him.”
“I saw the news,” Chuck said. “He burned a guy alive for littering. I reckon the Beef Chief would’ve gotten his no matter what.”
“Maybe,” Sam admitted. “But it wouldn’t have been on us.”
Chuck rocked on his heels. “Look, I get your point, and maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have tricked you.”
“Maybe?” Anna spluttered.
“But we got more pressing problems to deal with,” Chuck continued. He beckoned to Mari, who came trundling out of the corner. A map of the city appeared in the air before her.
“This Savior guy has set himself up in Memetzo’s cathedral,” said Chuck. “Got a wall of fire around it to keep people out. Not that anyone’s in any rush to get inside.”
“Speak for yourself,” Randy hissed.
“Why Memetzo’s place?” Anna asked. “Why set up there?”
“We don’t know,” Chuck admitted. “We don’t know much of anything.”
“Guessing you don’t know who he is, then?” asked Anna. “This ‘Savior.’”
Chuck shook his head. “We’re working on it,” was the best he could offer.
Anna clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “There was something familiar about him. The helmet, I think. I’m sure I’ve seen it before.”
Mari’s voice piped up from somewhere inside her. “We are running searches of all available databases. If there’s a match, we’ll find it soon.”
“What about those people he killed?” Randy growled. “Those crimes he’d said they’d committed. They check out?”
Chuck nodded. “We were able to corroborate a few of them, but not all.”
“How did he know any of that stuff?” Anna wondered. “He had names, rap sheets… Where was that coming from?”
“We don’t know that, either.” Chuck admitted. “We also don’t know what these things are, but we’re getting reports of them from all over town.”
The holographic map was replaced by something four-legged and horrifying.
“Jesus, what is that?” Anna asked. “It looks like Godzilla fucked a bear.”
“Media’s calling them ‘Magma-Mutts,’” said Chuck, wincing in a way that suggested he didn’t approve. “On account of their skin being all cracked and… well, magma-like. And how they kind of look like dogs, assuming you’ve never seen an actual dog before.”
“Have they attacked anyone?” Anna asked. She gestured to the creature’s spiked spine, deadly claws, and slavering jaws. “I mean, that’s what they’re for, right? Look at them.”
Chuck shook his head. “Not that we know of. Not yet, anyway. But we think it’s only a matter of time. The military is on standby but, well, you saw what he could do. That’s why we need you guys to—”
“Jesus. Will you listen to yourself?” Sam said. “You need us because you don’t know if the entire US military is capable of stopping this guy. Are you out of your mind? Look at us. We’re nothing. We’re nobody.”
“Again, speak for yourself,” Randy growled.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, sorry, Randy. I forgot—you’re the Butterfly King. You’re awesome! You could probably beat this guy single-handed, right?”
“Damn straight!”
“And good job, too, because I notice your butterflies didn’t show up. As usual.” Sam snorted. “And, I mean… what if they had? What then? He turned those people to ash, Randy. He killed Kapitän Nazi by pointing in his general direction. You think a few butterflies are going to stop that?”
Randy narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Sam wasn’t letting him off that easily, though.
“And, I mean… why? Why all this?” He gestured to Randy’s cape and goggles. “What’s wrong with you? You’re a joke. We’re all jokes, even Doc Mighty and the others. Hell, especially them. You almost get yourself killed every time we step outside. Why do that to yourself?”
“Because I care about justice!” Randy snarled.
“Bullshit. That’s not it!” Sam countered. “You could go be a cop, but you don’t. You dress up. You play… fucking… pretend with a cape and a gravelly voice. Why? Why are you so into all this stuff?”
Randy took a few seconds to answer. His voice, when it came, was devoid of any growling, hissing, or snarling. It was just his voice. His real, actual voice.
“What else do I have?”
Sam opened his mouth to snap back, but no words came out. Randy was still much taller than Sam was, but he seemed to be shrinking before Sam’s eyes.
Instead of arguing, Sam turned away. “Savior was right. I mean, not about the killing people, but the rest. The Justice Platoon didn’t care about us. They could’ve kept the supervillains locked away, gotten some of them the help they needed, but they didn’t. They needed the villains so they could keep playing at being heroes.”
He sighed and looked to the ceiling for a moment, biting back the anger that he could feel building. “I can’t do this anymore,” he told Chuck. “I won’t. I’m out.”
“What? No. We need you, Sam,” Chuck said. “We need all of you. Now, more than ever. You guys can make a difference.”
“We’ve already made a difference,” Sam said. “A man is dead. All those people are dead. That was us. That was the difference we made.”
He scowled. “Or is that all fake, too? Is Savior another trick to keep us doing what we’re told?” He felt his throat tense, but managed to keep his voice from cracking. “I can’t be a part of this. I never should’ve tried.”
Chuck bristled. “You destroyed a multi-million dollar supersuit owned by the US
government,” he said. “You don’t get to just walk away.”
“Send me the bill,” Sam said, calling his bluff. “I’ll pay in installments.”
He stepped past Chuck, only to find Mari blocking his path. Her digital face looked sternly at him. Sam forced himself to hold the robot’s gaze. “Mari, get out of my way,” he told her. He held a thumb and forefinger up, pinching them together so they were almost touching. “I am this close,” he warned, and the shape in his head twitched into life.
Mari raised her eyes to Chuck, who must’ve given some sort of signal for her to step aside. Sam stormed past and marched out into the corridor in victorious triumph.
Ten seconds later, he stopped, and sheepishly made his way back. “Uh, can someone tell me where my regular clothes are?”
Sam stood by the elevator, dressed in his work shirt and suit pants, his tie rammed into the pocket of his jacket beside the soft toy he’d bought for Corey. He rubbed the stuffed animal’s fur with his thumb while he waited for the elevator to descend.
“Hey, wait up,” said Anna, hurrying along the corridor to join him.
“I’m not staying, Anna,” he said, not turning. “I can’t.”
“Huh? Oh, no. I know.”
She appeared beside him, dressed in her green dress and holding one high-heeled shoe. “If you’re getting out, I’m getting out.”
“Oh. OK.”
They stood together in silence. The elevator trundled to a stop, then the door slid open. Sam gestured for Anna to go first, before following her in. He pressed the button to take them up, then stood across from Anna, his back against the opposite wall, his gaze fixed on the floor.
“Can’t believe he did that,” Anna said. “The fake footage, I mean.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Makes you wonder what else they’d do.”
It was Anna’s turn to nod. “It does.”
The elevator trundled upward.
“Randy OK?” Sam asked, raising his eyes from the floor.
“He’ll live.”
“Do you think I was too hard on him?”
Anna smirked. “What, when you told him he was a joke and then crushed all his hopes and dreams? Nah.”
Sam winced and went back to looking at the floor.
“He’ll be OK,” Anna said. “Pretty sure he’s been through a lot worse.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, although this didn’t make him feel any better. He shuffled awkwardly. “Listen…” he began, but then the elevator stopped and the door slid open.
Anna looked at him expectantly. “I’m listening.”
“Hmm? Oh, uh,” Sam blushed, the moment passing him by. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
He stepped out into the reception area of Bland, Inc. The reception lights were off, but the light streaming in from the windows was more than bright enough to see by.
The front door unlocked at their approach, clicking off the latch and swinging inward in time for Sam and Anna to pass through. It waited a few moments once they’d left, perhaps hoping they might change their mind, then swung closed with a mildly offended clunk.
The street outside was quieter than normal for this time of day. The acrid tang of smoke set up camp in Sam’s nostrils in a way that suggested it had no intentions of moving on any time soon. They couldn’t see Memetzo’s cathedral from here, or the wall of fire that apparently surrounded it, but dark smoke clouds hung heavy and ominous in the air, suggesting the flames were still burning.
Helicopters buzzed around high overhead, out of sight behind the tall buildings. Sirens wailed in various directions, but other than that, the city seemed muted, like it was holding its breath and waiting to see what was going to happen next.
Anna puffed out her cheeks. “So… I guess we’re ruled by a tyrant now.”
“I guess so,” Sam concurred.
“That sucks,” Anna said. She jabbed a thumb vaguely along the street. “Want to go get a drink? Or several?”
Sam nodded and shook his head at the same time, a battle raging inside him. “I’d love to,” he said. “But I can’t. I should go check on my son, make sure he’s OK.”
“Oh. Yeah. Totally. I mean, of course,” said Anna. “You should definitely do that.”
She swept a strand of loose hair back over an ear and began to back away. “So, I guess I’ll just…”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I guess that’s… Bye.”
Anna stopped, shuffled back, and they exchanged an awkward hug. “Listen, it’s been… We should catch up again,” she said. Sam glanced down as a business card was pressed into his hand. “Call me, OK?”
Sam nodded dumbly. “OK. I’ll call you.”
Anna’s face brightened into a smile. She pecked him on the cheek. “Make sure you do,” she said.
And with that, she turned and walked, barefoot, around the corner, and was gone.
Sam studied the card. It was a cheap, flimsy thing, probably printed at one of those machines at the Cityopolis airport. It had Anna’s name, a phone number, and an address that was only five or six blocks from Sam’s own place.
Emblazoned across the front in bold black type were the words: Homeopathic Allergist.
Sam looked in the direction she’d gone, half-hoping to find her there waiting. When he didn’t, he slipped the card into a jacket pocket, patted the soft toy to make sure it was still there, and set off on the long walk to see his son.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Laura kept the door held against her shoulder like she was worried Sam might be about to force his way in.
“What are you doing here, Sam?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to call first. You know that.”
Sam sighed. “I came to see if Corey’s OK,” he said. “I just… After what happened the other night—”
“You mean when you almost got him shot and killed?”
“I didn’t almost… That’s not how… Look, is he there? Can I talk to him?”
The door didn’t budge.
“Please, Laura. I’ve had a crazy couple of days, and I just… I need to see him. You know?”
Laura tutted. She stiffened, like she was preparing to slam the door, but then relented. “Fine. Five minutes. That’s it.”
“Thank you. Five minutes,” Sam said, exhaling with relief.
They found Corey in front of the TV, the firelight from the screen flickering in his eyes. Memetzo’s cathedral was right in the center of town. Sam had caught a glimpse of it between a couple of tower blocks on the walk here, but was only now seeing it in its full glorious horror.
The cathedral had stood for decades as one of the great architectural landmarks of Cityopolis, with its pointy bits, knobbly parts, and tall twisty things. Sam wasn’t really clued up on the technical jargon, but that was a fairly accurate summary, all the same.
Now, the whole place, from the pointiest point to the twistiest twist, had been scorched and blackened. Even the great stained-glass window that took up a full third of the front had been tinted to shades of charcoal and gray.
Flames encircled the whole building like a moat, cutting the place off from the city around it. Eight or nine of those Magma-Mutt things padded around behind the wall of fire, like an extra line of defense protecting the murderer inside.
“I told you not to watch that, honey,” Laura said, bustling with the remote until the screen went dark.
“Sorry, mom,” Corey said in that automatic response way kids do, with no real sincerity behind it. He noticed Sam and jumped up from the couch. “Dad!”
Sam dropped to one knee in time to receive the flying hug. Wrapping his arms around his boy, he pulled him in tight, savoring those few moments where everything was right with the world.
“Hey, buddy,” Sam said. “You OK?”
Corey nodded, his face rubbing up and down against Sam’s. “I thought you were in jail,” Corey said, his voice wobbling. “I didn’t think they’d ever let you out. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again!”
“H
ey!” Sam laughed. “You think I’d let anything stop us seeing each other? No way!”
Corey unhooked his arms and stepped back, but stayed close. “Why did they take you away, Dad? You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?”
“No. No, of course not, son. It was a mistake, that’s all,” Sam assured him.
Corey bit his lip, his eyes wide and watery.
“What’s the matter, buddy?” Sam asked.
“So… Savior isn’t going to come for you?”
Sam frowned. “Savior? No. No, of course not. He’s… Look, you shouldn’t worry about that stuff. We’re OK. We’re all OK. You, me, your mom.”
Corey sniffed. “Brian?”
Sam hesitated. He could feel Laura’s eyes boring into the back of his head. “Yes. And Brian. We’re all going to be just fine.”
“OK, that’s five minutes,” Laura announced.
Sam and Corey both turned to her, wearing matching wounded expressions.
“Kidding,” she said. She crossed her arms and slouched her weight onto one hip. “I’m making coffee. You want one?”
Sam couldn’t keep the smile from his face. “Won’t Brian mind?”
Laura motioned toward the door.
“Kidding,” Sam said. “I’d love one. Thanks.”
“OK.” Laura headed for the kitchen. “You look like shit, by the way.”
“Thanks again,” Sam called after her.
Corey lowered his voice to a whisper, not wanting his mom to hear. “Are you sure everyone’s going to be OK?” he asked.
“Of course, buddy. Why?” Sam whispered back.
There was some anxious shuffling. Corey’s bottom lip wobbled. Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Silent tears trickled down Corey’s cheeks. His words, when they came, were a whispered babble. “It’s just that Mom told me not to, but I saw the news, and that man who went on fire, and they said he had dropped litter and, well, I drop litter sometimes, too, even though I know I shouldn’t, and now he might come and—”
“Hey. Hey,” said Sam, pulling him in close. “That’s not going to happen, OK? He’s not going to come for you. They’ll fix this, OK? They’ll take care of this.”
The Sidekicks Initiative Page 24