DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (8 page)

Sparky straightened up in his chair, and blinked. “Wow. Alright lady, you know your stuff. I think I'm—”

I put my hand on his shoulder, as Roy yelled “Hey!” He froze in the act of standing, when he saw that I was unharmed. A bit of static shock at the initial contact, but nothing beyond a brief snap. I grinned. “The siphon's active. Try one of the heaters now.”

Roy settled himself back down and glanced to Martin, who rose and headed into the sickbay shack. He returned seconds later with one of the heaters, put it on the ground and turned it on. The dozen or so people around the barrel leaned forward... and the space heater hummed to life, as its receiver recognized the transmitted current.

Then came the cheers! The group surged to life, moving to the tents, waking people up and pulling out other heaters, lights, radios...

“Hold it!”

Martin's voice rose above the happy chatter, and the people stilled, looking to him. “Do
not
turn on lights. Keep the heaters inside. Turn that one heater off,
now.
”

Joan put her hands to her mouth. “Martin. You don't need to—”

“Yes I do momma Joan, this ain't no joke. Right now we just got our power back, how many other people in this city don't have that? How many gonna think we have a generator, or something worth taking?”

“I—I—Surely no one would...”

Her voice drifted off. She sounded lost. Roy stood, coughed a few times, and put his hand on her shoulder. “The kid's right.”

I caught a flash of annoyance on Martin's face, but he hid it quickly. “Thanks man.”

Roy nodded. “No lights. If you wanna run televisions or radios or heaters they go inside, and you make sure any glow is blocked as best you can.”

One of the group turned off the heater, and started hauling it back to the shack. But the mood was still good, the people seemed much happier than they had been an hour ago.

Joan moved up next to me, grinning from ear-to-ear. “You fix our showers, you fix our power situation... we're lucky to have you, hun.”

I shrugged. “You gave Dire hospitality. It's really enlightened self-interest, she sleeps here too.”

“Maybe so, but we still owe you one.” She embraced me, before I could react. Blinking, my arms stuck awkwardly out, I folded them around her back and tried to ignore the smell of the woman.

I relaxed into her embrace. It felt good. I hugged her back, patted her shoulder awkwardly.

She let go, smiled. “You remind me of my sister.”

“That's good, Dire hopes?”

“Oh yeah. Only one who stood by me after... well, after some bad times.” Her smile faded, and she stared off into the darkness. “Haven't seen her in years. She calls now and again, but I... ah, you don't need to worry about any of that.”

“If you say so,” I said.

“Here. Minna and I will take care of the dishwashing, don't worry about it. That's something nice we can do for you.”

“All right.” I watched her go, and as I turned my head back to the fire, I caught Martin staring at me from across it, his eyes white, with the rest of his dark face lost in the shadows. He looked worried.

I raised an eyebrow, and he shook his head, but I felt his eyes on me throughout the hour that followed, as the stars rose beautiful and beyond number without the city lights to hide them. As time passed more and more people headed in to shelter, and Roy pushed Sparky into the sickbay, after confirming with me that the siphon was safe to leave on him overnight.

As the camp grew quiet, the noise from the city grew. Gunshots, distant screams, and once an explosion that sent a plume of fire into the sky from the towering buildings downtown. Worse than it had been last night, and I frowned as I listened to the sounds of a city driven to chaos. Why? It made no sense.

“You got a weird look on you,” said Martin. I looked up, to find him moving closer, scooting around the fire to take the lawn chair that Minna usually occupied. He settled about ten feet away, moving slowly the whole time. I noticed that we were alone out in the flickering light of the fire.

I gestured toward the tall buildings to the southwest, and the smaller, older structures of the Brownstones neighborhood north of it. “Trying to figure it out. This is the second night, and it's no worse than the first. One would think the disruption would be less, not more, as people come to terms with it.”

He shook his head. “Ain't how it works,” he said. “Kind of the opposite.”

“How so?”

“First night everything's dark, power's off, maybe some places have water maybe some don't, but it's like oh, we've been through this before. Just gotta wait for the authorities to fix shit. Then it'll be fine.”

“But they didn't,” I said.

“Naw, they didn't. Can't, maybe. This why-two-kay thing people was afraid of looks like it came true, so maybe they won't fix it for a while. Maybe months. Maybe years... Probably not gonna be that bad, but some people gonna think that.”

“Why Two Kay?” I asked. “Second time Dire's heard that term. Or something like it.”

“It's  Y-2-K, stands for year two thousand. It's like a flaw that was built into old computers. Ones that are too important and too limited to change. Folks said that when January first came, the computers would shut down, and everything they ran would crash until the computers were replaced.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Pretty sure that's not how it works. At worst you'd have to adjust time-stamps, maybe do a few hard reboots.”

“But here we are, and it started on midnight on January first, so who knows?” He shrugged. “You ask me maybe it's some supervillain pullin' shit. But no one asks me, so hey.”

I looked at the dark city again. It had fallen silent, during our conversation, a lull that almost made it seem like the looming, dark buildings were listening. Waiting for any sign of weakness.

Then came a series of stuttering gunshots somewhere in the distance, and a roar of engines, and Martin shook his head. “Yeah. First night, people be all like eh, this'll pass. Second night? No power? Starting to sink in that fresh food might be a while coming? Well, now people are gonna start thinking stuff like shit, I gotta survive. Gotta feed my family. They're gonna hit the convenience stores, the grocery stores and restaurants first, go from there. Maybe grab extra blankets cause it's getting colder, too. The ones that ain't desperate will try to pay at least, but the ones that can't or think we gone full on apocalypse are just gonna take. And some of them, the bad ones, are gonna think 'shit, it's the end of the world and I can party like it ain't nineteen-ninety-nine are gonna do the shit they always wanted to do, cause why the fuck not?”

“That's a rather bleak outlook,” I said, tossing a chunk of old planking into the barrel. The fire set it smoldering immediately, and I rubbed my hands in the heat.

He shrugged. “I know people. Joan or Roy, they told you I deal, right?”

“If you mean being a drug dealer, then yes.”

He nodded. “You meet a lot of dumbasses in the trade. Folks who can't think more than a few hours ahead of shit. Course you meet some smart ones too, but they just don't want to think past the next high, cause they so smart they see it's just gonna get shitty again. But the thing of it is, it's all about desperation. People get desperate, they stop caring about shit like acting civ-i-lized, like trying to be brave when the lights are all off and there's strangers in the dark, and they got things they want and need but can't find a way to get. They do shit, they deal with the consequences later. Now, what do you think happens when you throw superpowers and magic and shit into this mix?”

I shrugged. “No clue.”

“Same thing, just weirder and harder to get a handle on. More chaos. Costumes are people too, lot of folks forget that. Though I doubt you gonna see someone like Crusader or Doc Quantum raiding a camping store for winter-weight bags. No, the real good ones are gonna be busy as shit keeping the dumbass villains like Hardware or Groundpounder from doin' shit when the city's off the grid and the cops are busy keeping the Lord of the Flies shit down.”

“Lord of the Flies?”

“It's a book. I got a copy if you want to borrow it.”

“Sure.”

He looked at me again, and his eyes narrowed. “I got a reason for bringing up costumes. Powers.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You got them, don't you? Some kind of inventor bullshit?”

I shook my head.

He waved a hand in the air, sending the smoke from the barrel swirling away as he laughed. “No, don't bullshit me. You put together that harness thing in like an hour from a bag of scraps and a busted TV. That thing ain't never nohow in the world been tried before, I'm pretty damn sure. But you did it without even breaking a sweat or checking a book. That. My lady. Is powers.”

I drummed my fingers against my thighs, scratching the denim as I frowned. There's a certain point where stubborn denial becomes stupidity, and I was approaching it. Not an appealing option. I lowered my voice before responding. “You may have a point,” I said. “The mask, and a few behavioral mannerisms seem to hint at Dire being a villain.” I scowled, raising a hand as he opened his mouth. “For the record, she is not. Villainy requires crime, and she's done nothing of that. That she remembers, at any rate.”

He nodded. “I can see it, maybe. But it don't make much difference to me. You acting mostly like a hero anyway. Though, far as I can tell the difference ain't big. Hero, villain, the difference seems to be mainly how selfish they are.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is the difference really so slight? Dire hasn't known any... 'costumes'. Saw some last night, but didn't have time to observe them for long.”

“Way I see it...” He leaned forward, grinned. He really did have better teeth than most of the other people here. “It's kayfabe. It's aaaaaallllll kayfabe. The fights, the fucking up of the scenery, the gadgets, the feuds and shit... yeah. No way all that's real.”

“Kay Fabe?” I asked, confused. I didn't see the significance of the name. “Who is he? Or she?”

He laughed. “Naw, naw. Kayfabe's not a who, it's a way of putting on a show. Look, uh, best way I can think... you ever watch pro wrassling?”

“Probably not, no,” I responded.

He tilted his head back and forth a bit, debating internally. Finally, he shrugged. “Got a TV and VCR in my tent. Up for watching some Smackbrawl?”

“She has no idea what that is.”

“Don't worry, I ain't hitting on you.”

“Well of course you're not. You're talking with her.”

“Shit. You sure you're for real?”

“Well, yes. You're starting to make less and less sense, here. Are you tired?”

“Nevermind. Look, come on, it's Slamburger versus F-Bomb. Title belt match. And it'll show kayfabe easier than I can explain it”

I shrugged. Cold night, and I wasn't particularly tired. Might as well humor him, he'd been friendly enough so far.

I followed him to a tent on the outskirts of camp. Heavy canvas, a bit better made then the others, and larger. Martin tapped at the flap, and someone inside drew it back.

“Got a guest.”

Someone craned their neck, and I caught a glimpse of a shadowed face. “Huh. Want me to go out for a walk?”

“Naw, ain't like that man. You know where Smackbrawl 97 is?”

“Maybe. Need a flashlight to find it.”

“S'cool. Hey Dire lady, come in already so we can button down. Don't need no light or sound escaping.”

I followed, and after the tent flap was pulled shut a flashlight clicked on. The man holding it was one of the faces I'd seen around camp, a fat man wearing a bathrobe and stained white clothes under it. He had a shapeless knit cap jammed over his balding scalp. He studied me for a second, and put the crowbar in his other hand down.

Martin nodded. “Simms here watches my shit while I'm out, and I watch his back and share my shit with him. It works out.”

I nodded. “Sensible. Someone like Tugs would not scruple to steal from you.”

Simms scowled in the half-light. “Don't get me started on that little turd. Hey...”

He looked me over, small eyes glittering. “You the one that took down Rick?”

I nodded. “Not by choice, but he left her none.”

Simms thought it over, looked down. “Damn fucking shame. Fuck Tugs. Just... Fuck that guy.”

“No sense dwelling on spilt shitstains,” Martin said. “Time for some fuckin' classic entertainment.”

He popped the tape into a VCR, fiddled with a remote. The television attached to the VCR hummed to life, and we watched in silence as a roaring crowd heralded two scantily-clad men entering into a ring, for some sort of ritualized combat.

I watched, and as I did, more and more discrepancies started to arise.

“He has an opportunity there to finish his opponent off. Why does he not take it?”

“If he did that now, it'd be over too soon. He gots to play the crowd, give them their money's worth.”

“Even if he loses because of it?”

“Even so. Especially so. That shit makes for a good story.”

“Story? They're throwing each other around, beating each other to a pulp, and that one's barely holding back a killing rage! How would a story enter into any of this?” I was aghast.