Super

by Karen Diem

  Zita barked.

  Surprise on her face, Aideen looked at her, and then at the burnt meat at Zita’s paws. Pity filled her face, but she continued on to the cops.

  Hope blossoming, Zita barked again and danced by Jerome, ignoring her pain until another coughing fit made her stumble to the ground.

  Aideen threw her hands up, and dug out the car radio. She hesitated after using it, and then hauled a medical kit to a cop. Picking through it, she pulled out bandages.

  Hang on, amigo. I hope you’re first on the EMT list when they get here. Don’t die—oye, wasn’t bone showing there a second ago? Zita blinked. The awful gasping breaths of her friend were no longer audible. None of his spine was visible, and some of the charred black areas had turned red. His hand twitched. She stared like a ninny. That’s far more useful than uncontrolled animal shapes or a showy nimbus, but disturbing to watch. Still, nice work if you can get it. While her brain could not make sense of the information, things moved inside him, although his overall body only trembled. Crisped—organs, she guessed—plumped and changed colors beneath bone that muscle stretched to cover. Muscles relaxed as things restored themselves.

  Another moan sounded by the cars. Aideen focused on what looked like splints and amateur bandaging.

  Caroline soared overhead. Despite radiating light and wearing only underwear, she had gotten a head microphone unit somewhere. She spoke into it as she passed, but staccato gunfire burst once from one of the other building sides, and she sped there.

  No one was paying attention to the dog or the man near her.

  Her friend groaned. She glanced down at Jerome and then looked at the open stairwell. He remained unconscious, but his body convulsed as he healed. A low whine escaped her. What if someone’s in there?

  She hobbled over and peeked in the stairwell, careful not to touch the melted edges of door that steamed, even in the summer heat. Soot covered the stairwell. Burnt rubber, hot metal, and acrid chemicals clawed at her nose, and she coughed, eyes tearing, chest throbbing. The interior door would never open again. Liquefied substances ran and twisted in puddles and piles like the children’s castles made by dripping beach sand into piles. Scorch marks were dark slashes every place she looked. The stairs were barely identifiable. One set of footprints, bare ones, led to the door. Oye, nobody here needs my help. If anyone’s dead, they’re unrecognizable. I hope everyone else got out through the other stairwell. While I’m still mobile, I should make my escape.

  With the intention of limping off to lick her wounds—not literally—she turned and saw a gigantic black wolf. Blood dripping from its muzzle, it slunk toward Jerome, head lowered, legs bent, and ears pricked. Is that someone like me? The body’s timber wolf, but I don’t know of any wolf breeds that get to… three hundred pounds, give or take a few. She blinked, feeling her body shift again, this time to a timber wolf, though less than a third of the size of the other canine. The wide eyes of the black wolf, intent on Jerome, showed no sign of human intelligence, only feral aggression and hunger. Oh, Hell no.

  Zita hustled back and stood between Jerome and the approaching wolf. She yawned and licked her nose. Her attempt to shoo came out as a whine.

  The gigantic wolf snarled at her, showing teeth. His ruff rose.

  I think I was bigger as the German Shepherd Dog. Her perspective shifted slightly, and she gained a few pounds. Before she could figure out what to do next, her instincts laid back her ears and drew up her back into a painful hunch. I can work with that. Scare him off. She indulged in an explosion of mad barking.

  The other animal crouched, as if to lunge, and then… turned tail and ran.

  Zita straightened. Her ears perked up. Sí, sí, who the—

  It took her a moment to decipher the words that came from behind her. “Yeah, you better run, mutt.” Zita looked.

  Aideen floated, aflame again and smirking. She tossed a fireball from hand to hand. When the black wolf had gone, the flames died down. Nonchalantly picking up the jacket she had tossed on the ground, she donned it and returned to the police cars.

  Right. She is. Zita grumped to herself before returning her attention to Jerome.

  He was twitching now, but his body had filled out again, and smooth, dark skin crawled over exposed muscles. He swore, or at least, that’s what his tone was, and curled into a ball, presenting his derriere to her. Noises sounded as if she were trying to listen underwater.

  Zita blinked. Philosophically, she decided on an action. I’ll get him a blanket so he can cover that fine dark chocolate ass.

  Her injuries grew more painful as her adrenaline began to subside, but she wobbled her way to the cop cars. She averted her eyes from the gruesome remains in and on the white van. Aideen had left the car trunks open, and she poked her head in one. Spotting a blanket, she reached in and seized it between her teeth. A few hard, if agonizing, pulls had the blanket crumpling on the ground.

  Overhead, a sonic boom sounded, and something obscured the sun. A hoarse whine escaped her. A few seconds later, the reverberating boom of thunder followed a piercing chirp, and a downpour erupted. The noisy hum of helicopters broke rhythm, and the sound receded. She shook herself and dragged the blanket toward Jerome.

  Zita! Oh, Goddess, where are you? Wyn yelled.

  Caught by surprise at the volume and clarity, Zita tripped and almost fell. She shook her head and looked around, but didn’t see Wyn. She barked once and then barked out the shave and a haircut sequence in case her friend hid nearby. Her own barks sounded muffled, but Aideen stopped splinting, grabbed her sidearm, and looked around. Oh, right, people are scared of big dogs, even adorable half-dead ones.

  Wyn’s voice sounded again, this time at a normal volume rather than a shriek. You’re a dog now?

  After a moment, Zita wagged her tail.

  Aideen did a quick reconnoiter of the area by the cop cars, darting from cover to cover in textbook style. Finding nothing and fumbling with her medical kit, she returned to her labors. She dug through the box and complained to herself.

  A wheeze escaped her abused lungs as Zita towed the blanket to Jerome. The now-sodden blanket pooled at her feet. She lifted her injured foot; it was swelling impressively, she noted with dismay.

  Oye, Wyn, where are you? I don’t see you, Zita thought.

  Jerome sat up as she reached him. He rubbed his head and made a face, not looking at her. “I should sue that truck,” he mumbled. His voice sounded wrong, but if she concentrated, she could make out the words.

  With a laugh she could not voice, she dropped the clammy blanket in his lap.

  Jerome yelped and swore, yanking the blanket away from his waist.

  Gritting her teeth mentally, Zita sat, tail thumping as weight came off her injured paw. She gave him an innocent look, letting her tongue drop out the side of her mouth. The rain and wet dog smell just add to my charm, she told herself.

  He snorted and stood. “Good boy,” he muttered at her. Tying it around his waist in a practiced move, he surveyed the area.

  I’m talking in your head. Andy and I are on the roof of the building that’s not on fire and doesn’t have any holes yet. What happened? It looks like a bomb exploded. Wyn’s mental voice held more questions.

  Zita took a moment to think about Wyn’s comment. Slanting her head up, she scrutinized the nearby buildings as she waited to work up the will to move again. Two dark heads poked over the edge of one. Ah, there you are! Hesitating, she summarized: Those creeps had Jerome and his woman hostage. What’s her name, the lawyer with the kid? The cops and the bad guys had a firefight, and she got away. The police lost. Aideen lost her temper, Jerome was hit, but the bad guys lost that one, and ran or died. Jerome got better. Now Aideen is playing EMT. Oh, and Caroline Gyllen blew up a helicopter and is flying around like a porno lightning bug.

  “Aideen, what’s going on?” Jerome called out. Her hearing was getting better; his voice was distorted, but intelligible without effort.

  Aideen pointed
at him, surprise writ across her face. “Where did you—never mind! Get over here and help with the injured,” the cop ordered, “The EMTs can’t get through until they clear out the last pockets of attackers. What were you doing, taking a nap?” The rain lessened to a steady fall, now that it had soaked those reeling from the sudden battle.

  “Man can’t get any respect around here, boy. You got my back, right? Us against them,” Jerome confided to Zita as he headed over toward Aideen. Smooth, perfect skin covered muscles gliding in untroubled movement.

  I don’t know whether to laugh at his cluelessness about animals or to bite him.

  Wyn’s late reply interrupted her deliberations. We’ll need the detailed version of that later, but we have to move. The cops have an outer perimeter, and they’re pushing inward. You could run off; they’d never guess a human hid under the dog fur.

  Please, and leave you two? I’m the one who almost got you killed. We all get out together, Zita replied. Not to mention, I’m not up to a run. She hobbled toward their building and looked up the face of it.

  Concern laced Wyn’s words. We’ll be right down. Andy’s, ah, opening the door now.

  Zita crawled over by the door, around the corner, and under the shelter of a bush and column. I’ll just lay behind that big pillar. Have a little nap, maybe. Time went fuzzy.

  The next thing she knew, hands smoothed over her back. Pain! Zita yipped.

  Andy greeted her. “Hey Zita. Probably Zita anyway.” His lips pressed tight.

  “It’s her,” Wyn said. “Goddess, you’re a mess!” She lifted her hands and sat back on her heels.

  Praying it would work, Zita pictured herself. Encouraged by the rough brush of the ground and prickling branches, she crawled out from under the bush. Even in human form, the caustic smells made her nose crinkle in rejection.

  “Uh, yup, Zita,” Andy mumbled, averting his eyes and backpedaling.

  With a mirthless smile, Wyn gave a finger wiggle with one hand. Dark blood spotted a makeshift sling, the same blue as her wet jumpsuit, on one arm. Diamond raindrops formed a sparkling net on windblown hair, with more drops accenting her hazel eyes like makeup. Her glasses and the arms of her jumpsuit were missing. Otherwise, she seemed uninjured.

  Andy was untouched by anything, completely bare save for red dust puddling at his feet and…

  “Are you wearing a diaper? A blue diaper?” Zita croaked. Is it National Clothing Malfunction Day already?

  “It’s a kilt. My clothing ripped. You’re naked again. Your hospital gown was too small for me, and everything else got dropped,” Andy said, fidgeting. He stared at the people moving around the corner, although his olive skin was tinted red, including the tips of his ears. Water dripped off his nose and dribbled from long strands of hair, now free of the ever-present braid. The rain lessened, from a shower of silken torment to a sticky mist.

  Zita ran her good hand over her head. Small pieces of glass or pavement adhered to her soggy dreadlocks. She glanced down at herself. Black streaked her body and little flakes stuck in patches of what she suspected were blood, ash, and sweat. Soot ran in midnight rivers down her body, streaked by the rain, and a small bit of debris fell as she looked. None of it sufficed to hide her nudity. Genial. I continue to be the class act around here. “Well, I don’t want your man-skirt back now, that’s for sure. Wyn, how badly hurt are you?” she said. She seized Wyn and hugged her, avoiding injuries as much as possible, and then grabbed Andy, pulling him in. They returned the squeeze, though he kept his head turned away.

  “It’s of no consequence. How serious are your injuries?” Wyn asked. She gave a little whimper when someone bumped her bad arm. They separated.

  Zita tried the stoic shtick. “You know me, more agile than a turtle,” she joked. Her friends waited while she struggled to return to human form. She cleared her throat. “Lousy shot, I guess. The back blast from the fire caught me.” She stopped to cough. “If you had any doubts, smoke inhalation sucks,” she finished.

  With his head turned away, Andy looked into the sky. He jerked his chin to the west. “We have problems. How do we explain all this?”

  Zita eyed the rapid approach of helicopters and police lights. She swore and then closed her eyes. Mamá will kill me if I am nude on television. Miguel will have a coronary or ten since he’s always been an overachiever. I really don’t want to become a research subject and disappear forever into the bowels of the government, but I can’t hide my problem. “Maybe Wyn can talk you both past the police. They won’t hear about you from me.” She exhaled, opening her eyes again. Unless they torture me. Everyone breaks eventually. I can’t run in this condition; then again, if they give me enough time to get better before they lock me down too hard, I might be able to escape.

  Wyn drew in her breath sharply.

  Stop eavesdropping, then. Zita would have laughed if her throat permitted it.

  I can’t help it. You and Andy have distinct brain patterns, and if I focus on one of you, it’s easier to ignore the rest of the world. It hurts if I listen to all and sundry for any significant time. Wyn’s mental voice was mournful.

  Andy offered with no enthusiasm, “I could try the bird thing again, I guess, but I’m not certain how. We could end up anywhere. It was like it wasn’t me.” He rubbed his hands against the outside of his thighs and his shoulders twitched.

  Shouting issued from nearby, and they peered around the corner. The area swarmed, with men in several different variations of official uniforms, as they ran up, handguns, shotguns, and assault rifles at ready positions. Jerome took one look, got down on his knees, and put his hands in the air. Caroline flew up, carrying an ambulance over her head, and then set it down on the ground.

  “Cars aren’t built like that. She shouldn’t be able to do that. The physics...” Andy muttered beside her, sounding personally offended.

  Someone must have given a command. A few seconds later, the blazing lights and noise of multiple ambulances filled the air. The three escapees pressed against their building in mute agreement. As the vehicles disgorged EMTs, the flash of scrubs mingled with the darker police uniforms. Aideen still wore the jacket and pointed a lot. Jerome, surrounded by cops, shrugged in whatever he was telling them. A pair of policemen lifted one still form, carrying it to a dark panel van parked by a corner of the battered hospital. Her stomach churned. The hum of helicopters sounded, increasing as black specks resolved to the distinctive forms of the aircraft. Caroline flew in and out of view between the buildings, but did not approach them.

  Wyn voiced what they were all thinking. “They’ll notice us soon.”

  Andy followed Caroline’s progress, as multiple emotions chased themselves across his face and were gone. “I don’t think I can go back in there again, or wherever they move people to,” he said, his voice scarcely audible.

  She rubbed his bicep. “We’ll figure it out,” Zita said. I hope.

  Wyn touched an uninjured spot on Zita’s shoulder. We will, her mind voice promised. You could turn into something and escape.

  I’m not leaving you behind, Zita sent back. Even if I could.

  Their time ran out. A man in a suit gestured in their direction. All of them swore, and three pairs of frantic eyes met. Her hand on Andy’s arm, Zita squared her shoulders. She yearned for her apartment.

  “Oh, Goddess help us,” Wyn murmured, her physical voice not as certain as her mental one had been. Her fingers tightened on Zita’s shoulder, sending pain streaking through as she touched a burn.

  Then the world changed around them again.

  Chapter 6

  “Well, I guess I can postpone that panic attack until the occupant here comes after us,” Wyn said, looking around, her hazel eyes wide. Her intact hand dropped from Zita’s shoulder and rubbed above the makeshift bandage on her own injured arm. Despite her words, fear trembled in her voice.

  Andy pressed his lips together and folded his arms over his chest.

  Once the warm tangerine paint r
egistered, the color racing down the hall toward the two bedrooms and bathrooms, she knew where they were. “It’s my place, so little chance of that,” Zita said, although each word made her throat burn. Her apartment had that empty, shut-up smell, and she hurried to open windows. Wyn and Andy seemed to need recovery time, so she granted it while she struggled to open the windows one-handed. The nubby taupe carpet was a welcome change from the rough rooftop surface on her feet. Something still reeked. Opening the balcony door, she stepped outside, gliding between the vertical blinds without opening them. The late morning sun gave the metal panniers and metallic paint of her motorcycle an impressive sparkle, glinting through gaps in the reserved parking carport. As she returned, she slid the screen door shut behind her. Coughing stole a moment, and dizziness claimed another. Not good.

  When she recovered, both her friends stood by her side. Andy half-carried her to a white dinette chair in the dining room while Wyn kept pace alongside.

  “Zita? You’re more hurt than you said!” Andy reprimanded her.

  Her reply was terse, but honest. “I’ll survive.” Tension dissipated as Zita surveyed her place from her seat. With more color and verve than money, her apartment suited her far better than captivity had. Her wallet, keys, utility knife, and phone spread out across the dinette table. “Sweet! Quentin brought most of my belongings home so I didn’t lose my wallet or phone!” she exclaimed, scooping the phone up and checking it. She plugged it in to charge. Forcing herself to act casual, she moved the other items with a finger. When her father’s Saint Jude medal did not appear, she bit her lip. Things to do, Zita, keep moving, she reminded herself. Set up your friends so they can run before you have to turn yourself in for medical help.