Project Northwoods (55 page)

Catalina grunted. “I can always add one more to the list.” She brought her hand up to her ear and began to calmly give orders to her goons, designating drivers and those who would have to direct others on foot.

The elevator slowed to a stop, then opened to reveal the chaos in the front hall. Numerous villains, freshly awakened and mostly unable to use their abilities, were running, keeping their heads low. Flaring lights of all manner of colors zipped by, some igniting against the walls, others crystalizing, others dissipating with no visible effect. An uninterrupted violet beam emanated from somewhere out of sight, carving a long gouge into the building’s interior before fading with a crackle. Punctuating the riot were repeated gunshots. Whoops and shouts attempted to overpower the chatter of machine gun fire but failed. Someone whipped by above the crowd, darting into the mass to pick up a mobster or inmate and hurl them to the floor.

Morgan was gently pulled out of the elevator by Zombress just in time to witness Catalina taking aim at the flier with her rifle. “Bye, bye, birdie!” She pulled the trigger, the gun flaring half a second before the hero fell from the sky and crashed into a wall headfirst. She turned to Morgan. “He didn’t feel that,” she said with a wink before returning to the elevator and pulling what looked like small explosives from her utility belt and throwing them inside.

Her escorts distracted, Morgan took the opportunity to take off running into the crowd, keeping an eye out for any indication of where C-Wing would be… and sure enough, the large red lettering above one of the doors was all she needed. Shoving her way past others, she neared a semi-circle of goons firing into C-Wing. Before she could devise a way to make it through, there was a powerful burst of static. The mobsters were thrown aside, nearly bowling her over. The light briefly blinded her despite her effort to shield her eyes.

She blinked repeatedly, trying to force her vision to return. As her eyes adjusted and collected more details from the world around her, her mother, Electronica, walked gracefully into the chamber. Stray strands of electrical current ran from their homes in the wall into her, coursing up her suit before being absorbed. A goon ran forward to bludgeon her with a pipe, which she deftly blocked. A surge of electricity ran through the metal and into the mobster, stunning him before she elbowed him hard in the face, a blast of sparks erupting from the impact point. Another villain ran toward her only to have a quick blast lock him in place before he simply dropped to the ground, unmoving – no doubt his heart had shut down.

Her mother looked at her. Instantly, Morgan felt like crying out in relief. She took a step toward her. “Mom!”

Electronica leaned backward, cupping her hands together. Morgan stopped in horror.
This… this isn’t… can’t possibly be happening…
The hate in her eyes was total, immense. And she recognized the sneer of disappointment every time she saw it.

Why?

“
Electro
…” she shouted, carrying out the word so it lasted long enough to finish charging the blast using the circuitry in the walls around her.

“Mom, no!” She threw her hands in front of her automatically. It was a desperate action; her hands could not stop the imminent, fatal blast.

“
Beam!
” Electronica’s hand snapped forward and an arcing wave of lightning extended from her palm. In the second the blast would have connected, something jumped in front of her. No… someone.

A short man with curly dingy blond hair was absorbing the blast, shaking slightly as he did so. Tendrils of lightning shot off him, as though he was less a man and more a wall. “Mr. Brown, do it now!” he shouted, straining under the sparking discharge. A blinking, seemingly improvised device was launched from somewhere to the side and landed by her mother’s feet. The thing gave a piercing wail before exploding, sending her mother head-over-feet in the air and crashing in a heap. The man in front of her turned around, slightly charred but quickly regaining his normal complexion. “You okay?”

“My mom,” she said, trying to resist the natural urge to go to her mother’s side as she lay twitching amongst some rubble.

“The best we can hope for is that she’s still in one of the cells,” someone said behind her. She turned, a gangly old man approaching with a gorgeous young woman behind him that she felt almost immediately obligated to hate.

“Dad, we need to get out of here,” the woman said.

“Child, you need to worry about yourself,” the older gentleman said to Morgan, either ignoring his daughter or choosing to not acknowledge her. “I’m sure your mother is just happy you’re alive at this point.”

Morgan turned away from him and looked back at her mother, now rising from her prone position. “Don’t look now, but someone’s getting up on the wrong side of the rubble,” cooed an English accent. She turned in the direction of the voice, but couldn’t place the grey-haired villain who grabbed hold of the other young woman’s arm and was leading her away. “Ariana, I think it’s time to get out of Dodge, as it were!”

Morgan’s rescuer took hold of her, leading her away from at least one side of the carnage. Someone must have sent out an order to retreat, as the goons were directing everyone to fall back behind them. “Tim!” someone shouted, and her escort veered in that direction. It had been Arthur who had shouted above the chaos. “You found… you!” He was pointing at the Englishman.

The Brit smiled even wider as Arthur moved to intercept him. “Hello, Arthur!”

Talia appeared from behind Arthur and yanked him back. “More important things going on, Art!” He continued glaring as inmates ran by with automatic weapons Morgan identified as being the gear Enforcers had… in fact, she noticed a few had some bloodied bulletproof Enforcer vests strapped to them and were running to maintain the line of defense.
Was that one Weston Marsh?

“Italian Mob, fall back!” Catalina shouted above the battle, firing rounds into the air. “We are leaving!”

SINGULARITY

THE RAIN CAME DOWN IN HEAVY SHEETS
as hundreds of inmates and the decimated remnant of the Italian Mob’s force ran into the courtyard. Arthur didn’t care about the fact that he was getting drenched. With death apparently a moment away, a pair of water-logged jeans was certainly low on his priority list. All he hoped for was that everyone he cared about to get out in one piece and that Mollie remain dry in her waterproof case in his backpack.

He could barely see the vehicles ahead and was fairly sure that he only saw the outlines because he knew they should be there. Between the rain and the buzzing in his ears due to numerous close-quarters gunshots, he didn’t hear his earpiece chattering at first. A sudden sharp spike of panic stabbed his gut as someone grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him to the ground. Falling, he heard something much crueler than rain whipping past his face.

The mud barely yielded as he hit it before Mat or one of his clones dragged him away. His world shook as he tried to affix his gaze toward the source of the attack. And then he saw them: bodies on the ground, some twitching, others startlingly still. The hum in his ear was now making sense, no doubt coming from the other side of the armored vehicles: “Snipers in the towers! Get back, they’ve put snipers in the towers!”

Inmates who didn’t have the benefit of an earpiece were cut down, either in a puff of blood or with a quick wail of pain. Arthur was able to get to his feet near Catalina, who had taken to pacing at the threshold like an animal. Allison looked vaguely in the direction of the towers, angry and impatient. Behind them, her men could only hold out for so long before they ran out of ammunition, resolve, or both. It was a rout, with no hope for survival.

“We’re dead, aren’t we, Art?” Tim said from behind him. Arthur turned and felt his heart break at the sight of Ariana, buried in his friend’s chest, her eyes shut. Tim stared at him, determination all but melted away. But in the moment it took to register the despair that no doubt hung over the escapees, Arthur had a plan.

“Catalina, can you see out of the scope of your rifle?” he asked.

She glared at him, Allison cocking an eyebrow curiously. “Why?” the older sibling asked.

“Because he wants me to shoot him,” Catalina answered.

“Visibility is shit, right?” he asked. “So how can they see us through their scopes when we can barely see in front of us?”

Catalina glanced around in the vague direction of the towers, trying to grasp what Arthur was playing at. “Thermal goggles?”

“Exactly.” Arthur turned to Ariana and Tim. “Ari, I need your help.”

“What?” she said, opening her eyes to look at him. Arthur took her arm gently, and she released her grip on Tim.

“Art, you aren’t putting her in harm’s way,” Tim growled, lurching forward.

“No…” Ariana said, turning back to Tim. “I know what he’s planning.” She swallowed, hard, but continued with Arthur. “I can do this.”

Julia had pretended not to hear the order about using lethal rounds. It made shooting people so much easier. Considering she could direct the bullets to any nearby location she wished, she could optionally have decided to just rip holes in people’s feet instead of outright killing them with the standard bullets. The horribleness of it all… the finality of an actual gunshot wound was, at the very least, upsetting.

On her way up to the A-Wing Tower, she had overheard more than one Enforcer talking about either not using the killing shots or purposely missing. It had always been in confidence, and almost universally among the lower ranks. But it still made her feel more like a part of the team when she had such difficulties bringing herself to kill.

Even if someone she may have known had died earlier.

Nevertheless, she had her orders from Arbiter to assist the snipers in Tier One Tower with penning in the escapees. They would wear down the resistance and capture their leaders, forcing a surrender. It would mean the end of all the fighting in New York City for as long as every villain was incarcerated. Not that she could really fathom what that meant.

She finished climbing the steps and opened the door to the tower, the Enforcers there aiming at the courtyard but not firing. The leader of the squad, a sergeant, turned to her and saluted. “Gunslinger, we had hoped to take out the fleeing inmates, but… well…” She scanned the Enforcers, each one darting back and forth as they scanned the area.

“Why aren’t you using the infrared goggles?” she asked as she strode into the room, looking out the windows into the pouring rain which seemed… blacker than normal.

“That’s just it, ma’am,” the sergeant said. Something hit her nose, a pleasant smell which reminded her instantly of late nights at school… and early holiday mornings. It made her feel sensational, if a little wary about its effect on her. “The thermals are acting up. Everything is lit up like the fucking northern lights through them.”

Julia made her way to the window. “What is that?” she asked, intrigued by the smell.

“It’s not the equipment, either.” One of the Enforcers trying to aim through the scope looked up at her. “C-Wing Tower is reporting the same thing.”

Carefully, Julia brought her hand up and touched the streaking rain outside. Immediately, she withdrew it with a hiss: it was hot to the touch. The Enforcers watched her as she brought her fingers to her mouth and ran her tongue along where the rain struck. The taste confirmed her suspicion. “Coffee.”

“Coffee, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.

“I’ll take care of this,” Julia said, feeling an instant gut reaction of anger rising in her. She looked at the two officers flanking her, studying their rifles. One magazine had the blue-striped magazine of rubber bullets. The other, live rounds in the red-striped magazine. She held out her hand toward one of them. “Give me your rifle.”