Integration

by J. S. Frankel

  “We all need one,” he said, feeling chilled to the marrow.

  Another voice piped up. “And you should get inside the van, boyfriend. Catching pneumonia isn’t good for fighting crime.”

  It was Angela. She stood five feet away, pointing at their transportation. “You’re cold, tired and we’ve got a meeting with Atwater. Quill, you’re in on this, too.”

  With a quick, sharp gesture of her hand, she motioned for them to follow her. Once inside the van, Paul put his hands to the vent and a blast of heat helped the blood to start circulating again. Quill had opted to get in the back. Angela threw the van into gear, and they motored off to have their meeting. The station wasn’t far and traffic was surprisingly light, so they made good time getting there. They parked the van and headed inside.

  When they were sitting in the Chief of Police’s office, located on the second floor of the main precinct in downtown Manhattan, Paul noticed Atwater didn’t seem very receptive. He leaned against his desk while Paul sat in a seat next to his girlfriend. A pile of reports sat beside him, and he picked up one and glanced at it before speaking. “This is the account I received after what happened in Omaha. It says,” he read from the paper, “that the personnel you were with were overmatched.”

  He put the paper down. “If this account is true, then I’m wondering if it isn’t better to ask the National Guard to step in alongside our regulars and reserves.”

  This was the standard line, and Paul had expected it. Angela wore a frown and Quill was perched on a window ledge in the corner, biting her lip and occasionally glancing outside. “Sir, if you’d seen what we saw,” he said, “you’d know that if regular soldiers couldn’t handle three or four of those things, then what’s going to happen when there are more?”

  “I saw what happened at the base in Omaha,” Angela added with a sober expression. “I was there. We all were. There were over a thousand men and women there. They had weapons and combat training. They knew how to kill the enemy, but those creatures slaughtered them in less than ten minutes. If they can’t handle the problem, then you certainly can’t. We can. Or at least, we want to be on the backup crew.”

  Atwater still didn’t seem to be convinced, as he shook his head and blew out a breath before switching his attention to Paul. “You look sort of different. Less hairy, I mean. Something happen to you?”

  Not wanting to tell the truth, but feeling he had no choice, Paul told him about having his powers stripped. As he spoke, the expression on the chief’s face went from dubious to downright scornful. “So there’s just your girlfriend and this porcupine kid—”

  “My name is Quill,” she interrupted from her position at the window. “Don’t call me a porcupine kid. Got it?” Her dark eyes blazed out the message.

  Atwater bobbed his head in an apologetic manner. “Fine, but as good as you are, Angela, and as tough as you think you are, young lady—er…Quill—there are just the two of you—”

  Three, signed Sandstorm who’d slithered in unannounced. I’m with them.

  “I’ll go with them, too,” Paul said. “I just can’t stand by and do nothing.”

  Darting quick glances at all of them, Atwater uttered a sigh. “Four of you are going to protect this city against the enemy? Sorry, but I need a better plan. I’ve got all my men ready—the reserves as well—and we’ll stand and fight. I took an oath to protect our people and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “How do you know they’re coming here?”

  This came from Quill. “I mean, we saw them in Omaha, Nebraska, but why here?”

  Her question made sense. If the enemy already had the formula, why would they want to make an appearance here, unless…he wanted to make a statement?

  “I saw the video,” Paul said. “Peterson wants the entire western seaboard as his own nation. He also wants New York as the capital.” He stopped, wondering about something else. “Have they been spotted in other cities?”

  In reply to his question, the chief turned his computer around and pointed at the screen. A number of cities appeared—Chicago, Gary, Indiana, and Cleveland, Ohio—and they were marked with red Xs in a few spots. The spots happened to be the most densely populated areas of each urban area.

  “They’ve hit here,” Atwater told him. “Nothing major, but these things like leaving calling cards everywhere they go. They attack only at night, never in the daytime. What I can’t figure out is how they’re getting around the country so fast.”

  Paul knew the reason and told him so. “Peterson’s been planning this for a long time. He’s able to create other beings from his body. He said he can seed the ground. He has managed to seed the whole country.”

  Atwater stared at him. “I think you need counseling, son.”

  “I’m serious.”

  If anyone had a right to feel aggrieved, Paul did. As wonky as the idea sounded, when you ruled out the possible, you had to rule in the impossible, and for the past year he’d been living in the realm of the impossible. “There’s no other way he could be doing it. He told me. You got that? If he can rig up a chamber to change me back, if he can create clones, then why wouldn’t he be able to figure out something like this?”

  Waving his hands as if conceding the point, Atwater moved around the back of his desk to plop down heavily in his chair. “All right… Say you’re correct. What do you think he’s going to do?”

  Angela stepped forward. “If he does come here, he’ll come at night. He’s always done it. You just said so. That means he wants a maximum scare thing going on. You have to evacuate the city.”

  The chief slapped his hand on the desk, and his eyes narrowed. When he spoke, he sounded right on the edge of anger. “And where exactly am I going to evacuate them to, assuming your seed theory is correct? This city has over eight-and-a-half-million residents in all the boroughs, and there are more than one-point-six million people in Manhattan alone, so do you just expect us to move them out with no warning and no time frame? The police force will be out in force, but you’re going to have to do better than that. Even the National Guard doesn’t have enough members.”

  It all came down to theatrics. Peterson had an ego the size of a football field.

  “Sir, if you were going to put on a show, where would you go?”

  Atwater grunted. “This is a big city. There are lots of places, but all the action is—”

  “Times Square,” Paul interrupted. “He wants an audience. He wants the attention, and he wants everyone to see.”

  The chief’s tone sounded most withering when he asked, “Are you sure?”

  In truth, Paul wasn’t sure of anything anymore, so this was a gamble, but one worth taking. “Pretty sure,” he answered.

  The telephone rang and Atwater grabbed the receiver. “Yes, sir,” he said after a few seconds. “I’ll be there soon.”

  He hung up and arose from his chair. “That was the commissioner. He’s demanding to know our battle plan and, if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to convince him that your plan is the right one.”

  The meeting was over. Outside on the street, a crowd had gathered and the guest speaker was the one and only Lacy Matthews. “Well, if it isn’t the Daycare Center Crew,” she called out in her pseudo-friendly voice. “What’s the chief going to do?”

  Angela started over, shaking off Paul’s hand as she went. “Hopefully, he’ll help us protect people like you,” she answered. “I wouldn’t hang around too long at night. You never know when or where they’re going to show up, but we’re betting on Times Square. Stay out, or you might get hurt.”

  Her warning didn’t seem to faze Lacy at all, who responded with, “This is news, lab-rat, and you’re making it. We’ll be there.”

  Angela’s face tightened, and she took a few quick steps in Lacy’s direction. Paul and Quill rushed forward and pulled her back. It took everything Paul had
to stop his girlfriend from breaking free to wreak havoc. “Call me a lab-rat again,” Angela yelled, “and I’ll show you what my teeth can do to your neck!”

  “We should leave,” Quill urged, pointing to a relatively pedestrian-free area. “This isn’t a good place.”

  Reason prevailed and they soon started off. “I don’t scare easily,” Lacy called out. “I’ll be there.”

  Once clear of the action, Angela shook off Quill’s restraining hand. “I’ve got it under control. I’ll be fine. Let’s go back to the warehouse.”

  An hour of fast walking later, ignoring the cans and pop bottles some citizens chucked at them, they reached their home base, and Paul put in a call to Stander. “Ooze is still working on things,” the colonel said. “He needs more time, says the wiring and other instruments are delicate. How are things there?”

  What could he say? That the enemy was advancing, that the police weren’t interested in help or that he couldn’t be of much help himself? Not having enough time to figure out anything better to say, he replied, “We’re taking care of business.”

  It sounded like a good sound bite, and Stander offered an appreciative grunt. It seemed to be his standard way of saying ‘yes’. “What are you going to do?”

  “Help out if I can.”

  After offering his answer, he broke the connection and hoped his friend would be able to complete his repairs in time. Angela headed over to the refrigerator and withdrew a vial and an injector gun. “This will have to last me for a few hours,” she said, as she took her shot.

  Quill stared in amazement. “But don’t vampires drink from people?”

  Angela didn’t seem bothered by the question. “Not me. I only drink from my boyfriend, but this will fix me up.”

  Her answer got a nod from Quill, and Paul walked into his room. He felt tired and figured the rest would do him good. Angela came in a few seconds later. “Tired or depressed or both?” she asked.

  “Both.”

  She offered a humorless laugh. “Quill’s lying down in my room. She needs to rest, too.”

  As she spoke, Paul wondered if he should mention the shortened life span to her or to Quill, but he decided against it. It wouldn’t help things, and if Quill knew, it might sap her confidence. He held out hope Ooze would be able to repair the chamber in time. Both would benefit.

  Angela asked, “Thinking about something,” as she slipped onto the cot to face him. “You’ve got a thoughtful look on your face.”

  It happened to be the first time she’d ever mentioned such a thing. “How do I look when I’m being thoughtful?”

  “Your eyebrows scrunch together and your mouth twists.” She demonstrated the expression and it looked so ridiculous that Paul had to laugh.

  “I look that bad?”

  She whispered, “It doesn’t bother me,” and a second later, kissed him. “This is going to be tough, so stay ready.”

  Comment made, she snuggled against him and soon fell asleep. Paul held her, knowing he had to rest, but also knowing he couldn’t, not with the enemy so close. Eventually, though, fatigue caught up to him, and he felt the darkness settle over his eyes.

  ****

  “Hey, wake up,” a voice said. “It’s time to go. Quill’s in the van.”

  Paul blinked, sat up and stretched, and found that his body didn’t feel as tight and sore as before. “I’m ready.”

  No he wasn’t, not really, and a sudden rush of fear caught hold of his guts. With powers, he could at least hold his own, but now that he was like everyone else… He shook off the thought. Get it done. Get them. Finish it.

  It was past eight at night, the air cold and crisp with only a hint of wind. Paul shivered as he got into the van. Angela handed him a hoodie. “Keep warm.”

  With her order, he struggled into it while she took off and motored on to their destination. Times Square was empty, save for around five hundred uniformed police on the streets. Atwater stood with them. Only a few curious onlookers stuck around, even though a policeman was blaring through a megaphone “For your own safety, leave this area immediately!”

  Along with three other news crews, Lacy Matthews also happened to be there, her people busily working the cameras and getting shots of everything. One of the policemen tried to get her to leave, but she yelled out, “This is news! We’re staying!”

  The cop ran over to Atwater and told him. Paul heard him clearly grunt out, “It’s her funeral. The National Guard is going to be late. It’s just us.”

  Speaking of funerals, Paul heard the clump of shambling feet. “Company’s coming,” he said.

  “I hear them,” replied Angela with a look of determination on her face. “Quill, you’d better get ready.”

  “I’m not sure what to do,” she said, licking her lips with a nervous pink tongue. Her body shook, perhaps from adrenaline or maybe from fear.

  It was probably both, Paul decided.

  “Hey, you’re going to be okay,” he said, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. “They’re not going to play fair, so you don’t have to, either.”

  Her expression showed uncertainty. “Do you… Do you think I can do this?”

  Angela soared aloft and pointed. “You did it before. You can do it again. Now, here’s your chance. Paul, get your butt to the sidelines and sit this one out.”

  Not wanting to, but also knowing he had no choice, he ran to the side of the road and crouched down behind a mailbox to observe the unwanted guests.

  It wasn’t just a few unwanted guests, though. They faced a horde. Zombies led the pack, followed by things that resembled centipedes, but man-sized and far uglier, with goat-like faces and sharp looking unicorn horns. They flopped along the road, crushing anything in their way. Behind them were more creatures that made Paul think of bowling balls with legs and arms, enormously fat with the texture of a rhino’s skin.

  They marched. Quill’s body shook harder…then she yelled out, “Eat this!” With a primal scream, she flung her arms wide. A volley of barbs six inches long and wickedly sharp flew from her and nailed every zombie through their heads. They collapsed in a second. “Holy crap, I did it!”

  No time for congratulations, although a few brave onlookers clapped and shouted. The horde didn’t pay any attention to them, though. They kept advancing then broke into a run. Angela blew the first wave back with gusts of wind while Quill tossed her barbs with unerring accuracy from her body and tail. She zigzagged all over the place and kept flinging left, right and center. As for the police, the officers stood in well-formed lines, Atwater at the front. “Fire at will,” he yelled. “Take them down!”

  Volley after volley of shots rang out. Screaming from fright, the onlookers scattered to find cover. The lead zombies fell, but more creatures took their place. This time, they didn’t shamble forward but ran full speed into the police, biting, slashing and ripping limbs off and torsos apart. The cries of the wounded were both pitiful and terrifying as well.

  Knowing he couldn’t sit by and do nothing, Paul searched around for a weapon and found a heavy iron bar. With a bellow of rage that temporarily overrode fear, he waded in, smashing anything and everything within range. The police, initially shocked, also joined him, and Quill and Angela took down their share as well.

  “Get in closer,” someone yelled.

  Looking off to his left, Paul saw that Lacy and her crew had run in to get close-ups of the action. All the other news crews had taken flight, but no, she just had to stay and get her story.

  “Hey, get out of here,” he screamed then cut through the enemy to stand by her side, his weapon at the ready. The shots from the police kept ringing out and the sound of automatic rifles kicked in. The cold air filled with the sounds of yells and cries for aid, as well as the smell of smoke and blood. Thick and redolent, it made him feel sick, but this was no time to get queasy.

&nbs
p; “Out of my way, freak,” she sneered and directed her cameraman to keep filming, as a group of zombies and bowling ball creatures advanced in their direction.

  “Uh, I think we better do as he says,” the cameraman said nervously. “I mean, they’re coming, Lacy, and—”

  “Shut up and keep filming,” she commanded, then a look of horror crossed her face. “Oh, sweet Jesus—”

  She didn’t get another word out as one zombie snatched her cameraman off the ground with a massive hand, bit into his head, spit out a mass of bone and skin, then started to feed on his brains. Paul swung at him and knocked him down, then barely managed to dodge a bowling ball creature. It stopped and spun around, and through a slit of a mouth said, “Happy to see us?”

  Paul caved its head in with one smash from his weapon. “No.”

  One down, but there were a lot more to face off against. In the heat of battle with all the bodies around him, he lost track of where Lacy was, but then he heard a horrid cry.

  Whirling around, the horde had trampled over her and her crew, stomping them without mercy. Paul did his best to beat them off, but a zombie snatched him from the ground, and he stared at death.

  From out of nowhere, a barb cut through the air and nailed the zombie in its right eye. It let go, and Paul brained it. Without a sound, it sank to the ground and dissolved. “Thanks, Quill,” he muttered then continued to fight.

  Neither side gave quarter, but the numbers of the enemy soon began to diminish. They either retreated or stood in place to get shot. Paul flung his arms up in triumph, but something hit him on the back of his head, and he pitched forward to the ground, semi-conscious.

  It was cold, and he felt his heart beating wildly but saw nothing. The only sound he heard before fading out was Angela’s voice. “Hey, stay with me. Stay with me…”

  Chapter Eleven

  Aftermath

  Paul came to a few minutes later and sat up, holding the back of his head. He felt a lump begin to form behind his right ear and he had a massive headache, but otherwise, he figured he’d survive to get thrashed another day.