by Ekeke, C. C.
“Get some sleep.” Greyson headed to his quarters before either could reply.
Chapter 15
“Quinn?” The voice came through a dreamlike tunnel, firm and feminine, as someone gently shook her shoulder.
She opened her eyes, blinking away grogginess and looked around.
Not much had changed since Oscar moved Therese to a proper bed last night. The vigilante remained comatose, dark-brown hair pooling around her ashen and bruised face.
A sleeping beauty. Quinn had kept watch at Therese’s bedside until fatigue pulled her under.
Instead of Oscar, she found someone else entirely.
“Whoa, whoa.” She almost fell out of her chair.
“Good morning,” Lady Liberty greeted warmly, standing beside Quinn. The superhero’s famous crimson unitard costume flattered her statuesque figure, the silver diadem atop her head. Even standing still, Lady Liberty appeared effortlessly regal.
Quinn suddenly grew self-conscious of her own blood-stained clothes. She turned from Therese, then back to Lady Liberty. Panic launched her out of her seat. “Is something wrong with Therese?”
“She’s fine,” the hero replied, one hand raised in assurance while the other remained behind her back. “Better, in fact, from what Oscar told me.”
Quinn glanced at Therese. Her heart throbbed again painfully, recalling the vigilante's dire news. “Did Hugo tell you—” She couldn’t say it. “What…happened?” Geist’s death remained an open wound.
Lady Liberty’s face spasmed, replaced quickly by an inflexible mask. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Hugo and I are investigating later. I also talked to Clint. You should, too.”
Lady Liberty and Hugo on this case granted Quinn some peace. While making a mental note to connect with Clint, she eyed her watch. Half past ten in the morning. “Good Lord! I’m late for work!” She had assignments due, updates to give the Spotlight Team, an N3 segment later...
Then she glimpsed at Therese in bed, so vulnerable and wounded. All those priorities dissolved. How could Quinn leave her like this, especially with Geist dead? “Crap!” She clutched her kinky afro, unable to decide.
Lady Liberty placed hands on Quinn’s trembling shoulders, a calming presence. “My associates will watch her,” she stated. “If anything happens, we’ll contact you.”
Again, Quinn appreciated Lady Liberty’s cool decisiveness. She’d seen Hugo react similarly last night. Another worry bubbled up. “I forgot my purse at home. It had my keys and cell—”
Lady Liberty handed Quinn her purse. Quinn accepted it, slack-jawed. “How—?”
“Hugo remembered that your door was unlocked,” Lady Liberty explained in amusement. “He got your purse, locked up, and drove your car to my parking lot.”
Quinn sighed, a hand over her heart. “He’s a great kid.”
Lady Liberty’s smile grew more affectionate. “I know,” she replied. “Elevator’s at the end of the hall.” The superhero pointed over Quinn’s head to the hallway outside this room. “Go to the top floor, walk through the lobby, and head out the back.”
Hopefully this one-on-one encounter with Lady Liberty wouldn’t be Quinn’s last. “Thank you,” she said, hastily departing.
This place was in a small Paso Robles shopping square. Quinn drove home on autopilot, consumed with Therese and whatever Team Geist discovered in Shandon. It wasn’t until she reached her apartment that the reporter remembered the bloody mess inside.
She steeled away her nausea and unlocked her door—
Quinn entered and stared. The apartment was spotless.
Wondering if this was the right apartment, she inspected her place twice before comprehending. Hugo must have cleaned when getting her purse and car. “His parents raised him right,” she said with a shaky laugh.
After a quick shower, a quicker breakfast, and two cups of coffee, she was more awake. Quinn threw on clothes and a sports coat before dashing off for work.
When Quinn reached her floor half past eleven in the morning, something felt off. From how many fellow journalists scurried about in mild panic to the hushed murmurs she’d catch while walking.
Once near her desk, Quinn almost ran into Creed Samuels and Jensen Clarke.
“There you are!” Jensen hugged her fiercely. “Did you get our texts?”
Quinn reluctantly pulled away, stunned by how much she needed the embrace. “Sorry. Haven’t checked yet.”
Creed rubbed his hands together, meaning he had some gossip. The entertainment writer had dressed more stylishly of late, his long braids recently interwoven and tight. Jensen’s influence, naturally. “Michael Hale quit last night.”
Quinn, just logging in, gawked at her friends. “What the…WHAT?”
Creed nodded, eager to spill. “He’s managing editor at Newsworthy. And took seven writers with him.”
Quinn struggled to process this as Jensen listed the seven reporters. Rumblings of Michael Hale being unhappy had persisted for months after Helena had removed him from Superheroes. But poaching seven writers was an open invitation from Newsworthy.com to anyone unhappy under Helena’s regime.
“Oh, there’s more!” Creed said with a Cheshire grin.
Quinn rolled her eyes while skimming through emails. “What else?”
“Jono filed a sexual harassment complaint, against Helena.”
Quinn guffawed at the joke. But Jensen’s and Creed’s stone-sober faces said otherwise. Her hatred for that low budget Colin Farrell roiled. “You’re kidding! Him?” Her outrage drew stares from nearby cubes. Quinn didn’t care. Jono sucked donkey balls. “When?”
“Yesterday morning,” Jensen stated, running fingers through her hair to thread the snarls out. “Guess they aren’t getting back together.”
“Here’s hoping,” Quinn retorted, grabbing her laptop. The Spotlight team had a meeting in ten minutes.
“Same here,” Creed added. “Lunch conversations with Jono finally won’t start with ‘So I was fooking Helena last night…’” the last part spoken in a perfect Jono imitation.
“Babe…no,” Jensen scolded in disgust.
Quinn nearly lost her breakfast. “Way too early for those visuals.” She headed through the maze of cubicle islands. “Where’s Helena?”
Creed shrugged. “An all-hands meeting with the senior editors. Probably to lay down the law.”
“I’ll find her later.” She was about to head for the elevators when Creed caught her arm.
“I know you and Helena are tight,” he said. “Tell her to button up. She’s been a mess.”
Quinn shivered. “Noted.” The trio then parted ways. It annoyed her that Helena hadn’t mentioned these happenings last night. She had to find the Editor-in-Chief later today.
Worrying over Helena and Therese consumed her thoughts, even during the Spotlight meeting.
“Bauer!”
The sharp call jarred her back to the real world. She glanced around the small office room. Boyd, Pablo, Maureen, and Lenny Dano stared at her. Even Doyle, handing out Subway sandwich orders, watched in concern. “Sorry, what?” Quinn asked fuzzily.
Boyd sighed impatiently. He hated repeating himself. “Did you hear back from your clinic source?”
“Oh…” Quinn had forgotten to review Hugo’s findings. “I didn’t.”
One could hear a pin drop. Pablo looked annoyed. Maureen flinched. Lenny exchanged looks with Boyd. “You said last night your update would be ready today,” the bald reporter ranted. “We’re reaching the endgame, Bauer. Which means you need to focus on this and not your news show appearances.”
Quinn stiffened under Boyd’s reproach and her coworkers’ disapproval. Her brain was fried from lack of sleep, anxiety, and now this. Part of her wanted to just take the critique. But since her screwup was tied to this assignment, she couldn’t keep quiet. “A source was casing Paxton-Brandt’s Shandon facilities and almost died. I was at their hospital bed all night.”
That drew sharp gasps from the room. Doyle covered her
horrified mouth.
Blood drained from Boyd’s face. “Oh my God.”
“Are they gonna make it?” Doyle asked.
Quinn gave a limp shrug. “Dunno. Whatever they found must’ve been huge.” She met Boyd’s guilty eyes. “I’ll find out what I can today and get you details on the clinics.”
Boyd nodded mutely. The meeting continued for half an hour more as other team members presented their findings. Boyd added them to his large touchscreen filled with connected leads and stories tying to Paxton-Brandt’s dirty deeds.
The screen had more resemblance to a spiderweb. Which it really is, Quinn realized. Kidnapping. Superhuman trafficking. Illegal experimentation. Murder. All under the guise of a benevolent megacorp saving the planet. Bullcaca…
From the corner of her eye, Quinn saw Doyle’s attempts to exit the room with the trash. Jono McGowan was blocking the door, laying on the smarm while snooping for a meeting recap.
Quinn had a knee-jerk reaction, her veins flooded with rage. A full body NO.
She marched over immediately. “Hi,” she snapped, invading his space.
Jono stepped back, giving Doyle the chance to flee the room. Jono had let his hair grow shaggier in concert with his expanding waistline. Neither flattered his bland handsomeness. He recovered. “Hey, Black Irish. Just asking Doyle how her internship was—”
“You’re lurking,” Quinn interrupted. He was so obvious it bordered on insulting.
Jono’s smile waned. “No, I’m not.”
“Leave,” Quinn ordered, flat and fierce.
Jono straightened up to emphasize the minimal height difference. “I’m an editor, lass.” He resembled a petulant boy. Fitting. “You don’t talk to me that way.”
Quinn was unmoved by his dick-measuring. “I just did. Now leave.”
Jono almost replied heatedly, until Boyd appeared beside Quinn. “Don’t make her ask twice, Jonothon.”
The Irishman leveled a withering stare at them before stomping off.
Quinn mouthed “Thank you” at Boyd. He rolled his eyes in understanding. Jono wasn’t well-liked around SLOCO Daily.
The rest of the day blurred by, including the panel for the N3 show Daily Double. She barely recalled the panel or what she’d said. But the host seemed impressed.
Once Quinn got a break, she fled to her car and called Clint on her encrypted cellphone.
He answered after one ring. “Quinn?” The young man sounded relived.
“Hi,” was all she got out before nearly breaking down. She covered her mouth to staunch the weeping. At least Clint was safe at the Geist Lair.
“Lady Liberty told me about Longshadow.” Worry filled his voice. “Did something happen?”
Quinn shook her head even though he couldn’t see. “No change.” Lady Liberty would've contacted her. “What about Blackjack or Domino?”
“They’re in one of Geist’s safe houses,” Clint said. “Domino’s pretty banged up. Blackjack’s right leg is broken. Lady Liberty’s doctor guy is going over today to fix them up.”
That thoroughly unsettled Quinn. She knew these vigilantes risked their lives nightly. But witnessing the consequences still struck hard. But she couldn’t dwell. Clint was Geist’s eye in the sky. He must have seen the attack on Team Geist. “What happened last night?”
Clint divulged about the mission in Shandon, a faraway suburb in eastern San Luis Obispo County. Team Geist had headed there on a tip Quinn received about Paxton-Brandt experimenting on superhumans in the US. That would've been a slam-dunk in exposing Paxton-Brandt’s domestic crimes.
“They got five levels underground through some bodacious encryptions I cracked,” Clint continued. “They found over twenty occupied stasis pods.”
Quinn perked up. A positive from this tragedy. “Did you get recordings from anyone’s suits?”
“Not good ones, thanks to static interference down there,” Clint replied. “I did download a couple terabytes from their systems, which is still decrypting.”
Better than nothing. Quinn’s larger concern remained. “What went wrong?”
“My fault. I thought I’d accounted for all the security and alarms.” Clint exhaled in frustration. “That place had an army. But the team beat them and almost escaped.”
“Then what?” Quinn hastily connected the dots. “A super tore through them?”
“Two.” Clint sounded unsettled. “Very powerful. Very fast.”
Quinn shuddered. “Cheese and Rust…” Two speedsters against four non-powered vigilantes. The winner would be obvious to a blind person.
“Domino and Blackjack didn’t get a look,” Clint added before Quinn could ask.
“Did you?”
“Kinda. Longshadow hit one super with an explosive arrow. But they shrugged it off, blasting her and several pillars near Geist. That collapsed the whole ceiling on him.”
Quinn closed her eyes, cursing her vivid imagination. “Maybe he escaped.”
She could almost see Clint shaking his head of wild blond hair. “I searched the city and the feeds at all Geist’s safehouses countless times.” He delivered the killing blow. “Geist is only human. And no human could’ve survived that collapse.”
Chapter 16
“That was…underwhelming,” Greyson remarked as their SUV jostled from another bump.
By Saed and Rikki’s unhappy expressions across the passenger section, they agreed. “The long drive or Diablo not taking the bait?” the latter inquired.
“Both,” Greyson answered. Tonight, the trio had sat in one of three black SUVs flanking a truck dropping off tons of unprocessed product at a far-off processing plant. Two identical SUV and truck caravans delivered product at two different processing plants. Each caravan had a detection system to track Diablo’s energy signature should he approach. The plan was to draw Diablo out to at least one location, where a small platoon of mercs would take him out.
Greyson had secretly hoped Diablo would pick their caravan. But their run had gone without incident. Now they headed back to the cartel’s main compound through wild forests.
Hernando Delgado sat beside Greyson, brutish and pock-faced in a too-tight shirt. The other SUVs carried his crew, all veterans of bloody cartel wars. Greyson felt a tremor of fear whenever locking eyes with any of these men, despite his powerset.
Hernando clutched his walkie-talkie with intense frustration. “Diego. Anything?”
“Nada,” Diego said over the comms from another caravan. “All’s quiet at Papillon plant.”
Hernando switched channels on his device. “Memo?”
“Nothing at the Cuidad Victoria plant,” said Memo from the second caravan.
Hernando slammed a fist on the window, swearing.
Greyson scowled. All this pent-up energy with no outlet left him edgy. “Does Diablo take nights off?”
Hernando stared, pulled out of his feverish rage. “Never,” he answered. “For months, he’s hit at least one delivery nightly.”
“Then we flush the bastard out,” Rikki added, as if discussing a bug swarm.
Hernando laughed. “Good luck.” He clutched his paunch. “We’ve tried with other superhuman mercs before. He always destroys whoever we send after him.”
Hernando’s unwavering glare forced Greyson to glance away. He immediately wanted to kick himself. That slipup was as bad as exposing his own belly.
Saed leaned forward to catch Hernando’s attention. “Those previous mercenaries weren’t us.”
Hernando looked Saed over with disdain. “Sure.” His clipped reply held zero trust.
Greyson stared at his feet. Do I have the stones to stop these superheroes from ruining this world? “Diablo didn’t take the bait,” Greyson spoke after a lengthy silence. “What now?”
“Patron!” Diego barked on the walkie-talkie. An explosion raged in the background. “Help!”
An equally stunned Hernando snatched up the device. “Diego. What happened?”
“Diablo!” Diego cried
. “He avoided our tracking system somehow and…AHHHH!” The line cut out.
Rikki and Saed were alarmed yet thrilled. Greyson tried not to smile.
“Patron!” Memo cried on Hernando’s walkie-talkie. “We’re gonna end this bastard!”
Greyson’s heartrate accelerated. That’s what Diablo wants. He grabbed Hernando’s shoulder. “Have him stand down!”
Hernando jerked away. “What?” He drew out the word.
“Stop the car and order Memo back,” Greyson demanded, catching Saed’s supportive nod.
“Are you stupid?” Hernando barked defiantly. “Our combined firepower can end this fucker tonight!”
“Hirsch’s right,” Rikki cut in. “Diablo is drawing everyone into an ambush.”
Hernando looked close to erupting from impotent rage. But he ordered their transport to stop before telling Memo to stand down.
“How far out is Diego’s transport?” Saed asked
Hernando pulled out his phone, opening a GPS device. “Six miles northwest,” he stated. “What now?”
Saed smiled, revealing crooked teeth. “You stay put. We three will end Diablo.” The unwavering confidence in his voice bolstered Greyson’s. This was what he’d trained for all these months since his vow back in Amarantha.
Greyson stepped out of the car in darkness and brush. Assurance filling in his chest chased away all fear. He was ready. Rikki and Saed followed suit, grabbing their firearms.
“Rikki. Saed. Get close,” Greyson ordered.
Rikki frowned in bewilderment as they did so. “Why—AHHHH!”
Greyson tethered their gravity to himself and negated the earth’s pull. In minutes, they hovered miles above the forest blanket, the transports below looking like toys. Greyson recalled the first time he’d flown, to save an East St. Louis youth center. A significant moment from another life. He gazed northwest. Yellow radiance flashed from a spot in the forest canopy. Greyson propelled himself, Rikki, and Saed forward.
He took a sharp plunge, and Saed swallowed a shout, landing within the forest thicket.
Rikki stumbled back, eyes glazed over.
Saed leaned against Greyson to gather his wits. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he whispered.