Firefight (9 page)

“His
weakness
,” Prof prodded as another flare blasted in the night.

“His true weakness is unknown.”

“Damn.”

“But,” I added, “he’s nearsighted. That’s not related to his powers, but we might be able to exploit it. Also, when he’s in danger, his teleportation kicks in and sends him away. That protects him, but it also might be something we can use, particularly since I think his teleportation powers have a cooldown of some sort.”

Prof nodded. “Good job.” He tapped his mobile. “Tia?”

“Here.”

“Abigail just appeared to me,” Prof said. “She’s brought Obliteration to the city. He’s causing the destruction.”

Tia’s response was a series of curses over the line.

I glanced at Prof, looking up from the scope of my gun. Though the sky was dark, all of this spraypaint—glowing around me on the bricks, wooden bridges, and tents—lit Prof’s face. Were we going to move against Obliteration, or fade away? This was obviously some kind of trap—at the very least, Regalia would be watching to see how we handled ourselves.

The smart thing to do was to run. It’s certainly what the Reckoners would have done a year ago, before Steelheart. Prof looked at me, and I could read the conflict in his expression. Could we really leave people to die?

“We’re already exposed,” I said softly to Prof. “She knows we’re here. What would running accomplish?”

He hesitated, then nodded and spoke into the line. “We don’t have time for the wounded right now. We have an Epic to bring down. Everyone meet in the center of the first burning rooftop.”

A flurry of confirmations crackled over our line. Val and Prof started across the swinging rope bridge toward Tia and Exel, and I followed, nervous as I stepped on the bridge. The planks had been spraypainted alternating neon colors. That only helped highlight the darkness of the water staring up at me from below. As we walked, I took my mobile and zipped it into the shoulder pocket of my jacket—that pocket was supposed to be waterproof. Not that I’d tested it beyond the normal Newcago rains.

The water below reflected the neon lights, and I found myself gripping the rope side of the bridge tightly. Should I mention to Prof that I couldn’t swim? I swallowed. Why had my mouth gone so dry?

We reached the other side, and I calmed myself by force. The air here smelled strongly of smoke. We jogged across the
rooftop and met up with the others, who had been joined by Mizzy. A nearby tent had been
melted
to the ground; it outlined the bones of those who had been trapped inside, their flesh vaporized in a flash of destruction. I felt nauseous.

“Jon …,” Tia said. “I’m worried. We don’t have enough of a handle on the city or the situation to take on an Epic like Obliteration. We don’t even know his weakness.”

“David says he’s nearsighted,” Prof said, crouching down.

“Well, David is usually right about such things. But I don’t think that’s enough to—”

Another flare of light. I looked up, as did Prof. Obliteration had moved, probably by teleporting, and was now two rooftops away from us.

Screams sounded from that direction.

“Plan?” I asked urgently.

“Flash and bump,” Prof said. It was the name of a maneuver where one team drew the target’s attention while the other team surrounded them. He reached out, taking me by the shoulder.

His hand felt warm, and now that I knew what to look for, I felt a slight tingling. He’d just gifted me some shielding power and some ability to vaporize solid objects. “Tensors won’t be of much use here,” he told me, “as there isn’t much tunneling that we’ll need to do. But keep them handy, just in case.”

I glanced at Exel and Val. They didn’t know Prof was an Epic; apparently I’d be expected to keep up his ruse in front of them. “Right,” I said, feeling a whole lot safer now that I had some of Prof’s shielding on me.

Prof pointed toward a bridge linking this rooftop to the next one. “Cross that bridge, then make your way over toward Obliteration. Figure out a way to distract him and keep his attention. Val, you and I will use the boat—motor on, no use
trying to hide from Regalia now—to come up behind Obliteration. We can plan more as we go.”

“Right,” I said. I glanced at Mizzy. “But I should take Mizzy to cover me. Obliteration might come for Tia, and you’ll want someone with more experience covering her.”

Mizzy glanced at me. She deserved a shot at being in on the action—I knew exactly how it felt to be left behind during times like this.

“Good point,” Prof said, jogging off toward the boat. Val ran behind him. “Exel, you’re guarding Tia. David, Mizzy, get moving!”

“Going,” I said, sprinting toward another rope bridge leading to Obliteration’s latest explosions.

Mizzy ran behind me. “Thanks,” she said, sniper rifle over her shoulder. “If I’d gotten stuck on guard duty again, I think I’d have puked.”

“You might want to wait to thank me,” I said, leaping onto the rickety bridge, “until
after
we survive what comes next.”

12

I
shoved past fleeing people on the narrow rope bridge, rifle held high over my head. This time I kept my eyes
pointedly
off the water below.

The bridge sloped gently upward, and when I climbed off it I found myself atop a large roof crowded with tents. People huddled inside their makeshift homes or at the periphery of the rooftop. Others fled through waterways below us or across bridges onto other buildings.

Mizzy and I ran across the rooftop. The ground had been spraypainted with a sequence of yellow and green lines that glowed with a phantom light, outlining pathways. Near the middle of the roof we passed a group of people who, strangely, weren’t hiding or fleeing.

They were praying.

“Trust Dawnslight!” shouted a woman in their center. “Bringer of life and peace, source of sustenance. Trust in the One Who Dreams!”

Mizzy stopped, staring at them. I cursed and yanked her along after me. Obliteration stood on the next rooftop over.

I could see him easily now, striding among the flames, trench coat flapping behind him. He had a narrow face with long, straight black hair, spectacles, and a goatee. He was the exact sort of person I’d learned to avoid in Newcago, the sort of person who didn’t look dangerous until you saw his eyes and realized that something vital was missing in there.

Even for an Epic, this man was a monster. Though he’d originally ruled a city like many top-tier Epics, he’d eventually decided to
destroy
his city completely. Every single person in Houston. He was an indiscriminant killer. I was beginning to think some Epics might be redeemable, but this man … not a chance.

“Take up position over on that ledge,” I said to Mizzy. “Be ready for instructions. You do demolitions for the team?”

“Sure do.”

“You have anything on you?”

“Nothing big,” she said. “A few brick-oven-blenders.”

“A few … What?”

“Oh! Sorry. My own name for—”

“Whatever,” I said. “Get them out and be ready.” I lowered my rifle and sighted on Obliteration.

He turned to glance at me.

I shot.

He teleported in a burst of light—as if he’d become ceramic and then exploded, shards of his figure spraying outward like a broken vase and scattering along the ground.

Preemptive teleportation. Worked just like I’d read.

Mizzy ran the direction I’d pointed. I knelt, rifle to
shoulder, and waited. The rooftop where Obliteration had stood continued to burn. His primary power was heat manipulation. He could drain anything—people included—of heat with a touch, then expel it either in an aura or by touching something else and transferring it.

He’d melted Houston. Literally. He’d spent weeks sitting in the center of town bare-chested like some ancient god, drawing heat out of the air, basking in the sunlight. He’d stored heat up, then released it all at once. I’d seen photos, read the descriptions. Asphalt turned to soup. Buildings burst into flames. Stones melted to magma.

Tens of thousands dead in moments.

Well, from what I remembered of my notes, I should have a little time before he could reappear. He could only use his teleportation powers every few minutes, and—Obliteration appeared beside me.

I felt the heat before I spotted him, and I spun that direction. Sweat prickled on my brow, like I’d stepped up to a trash can fire on a cold night.

I shot him again.

I heard half a curse from his lips as he again exploded into shards of light. The heat vanished.

“Be careful, David,” Tia said in my ear. “If he gathers heat and pops up right next to you, that aura could overcome your Reckoner shield and fry you before you get a chance to shoot.”

I nodded, scrambling away from where I’d been before, rifle still to my shoulder and sights lined up. “Tia,” I whispered over the line, “do you have access to my notes?”

“I’ve pulled those up, along with notes from the other lorists.”

“Aren’t his teleportation powers supposed to have a recharge time?”

“Yes,” she said. “At least two minutes before—”

Obliteration popped into existence again, and this time I caught him coming, like light coalescing. I had a bullet heading that way before he’d even completely formed.

Again the teleportation saved him, but I’d known it would. I was just a diversion. In truth, I had no
idea
how we were going to kill him, but at least I could inconvenience him and prevent him from killing innocents.

“My notes are wrong,” I said, sweat trickling down the sides of my face. “There’s barely a few seconds’ delay between his teleports.” Sparks. What else had I gotten wrong?

“Jon,” Tia said over the line. “We’re going to need a plan. Fast.”

“I’m thinking of one,” Prof answered in a staccato voice, “but we need more information.” Across on the other rooftop, where Obliteration had been attacking before teleporting to me, Prof climbed up and took cover behind some rubble. “David, when he ports, does he automatically take everything touching him, or does he have to specifically choose to bring things like his clothing?”

“Not sure,” I said. “Information on Obliteration is scant. He—”

I stopped as he appeared beside me, reaching his hand out to touch me. I jumped, swinging around, feeling a wave of heat wash across me.

A gunshot fired, and Obliteration ported just before he touched me. As before, he left a glowing outline hanging for just a second behind him. The figure exploded into fragments that bounced off me, then vaporized to nothing.

As the flash of light faded from my eyes, I saw Prof on the other rooftop lowering his rifle. “Stay alert, son,” Prof said over the line, voice tense. “Mizzy, get some explosives ready. David, is there anything else—anything at all—you can remember about him or his powers?”

I shook myself. Prof’s energy shield had probably saved me from Obliteration’s heat. He’d just saved my life twice over, then. “No,” I said, feeling useless. “Sorry.”

We waited, but Obliteration didn’t reappear. Instead I heard screams in the distance. Prof cursed over the line and gestured for me to follow the sounds, and I did, heart thumping—yet it was accompanied by the strange calm that comes with being in the middle of an operation.

I passed abandoned tents on one side, people swimming in the waters nearby on the other side. Following the screams led me to a taller building. Thick with vegetation glowing inside the broken windows, the building rose some ten stories or more above the surface of the water. Light flashed inside one of those upper stories, and I saw Obliteration pass in front of an opening. I sighted on him with my rifle and saw that he was smiling, as if in challenge. I fired, but he’d already stepped out of sight deeper into the building.

People continued to scream from inside. Obliteration knew he didn’t have to come to us; we’d go to him.

“I’m going in,” I said, jogging toward a rope bridge that ran to the taller building.

“Be careful,” Prof said. I could see him moving onto his own bridge, heading the same way. “Mizzy, can you cook up a mother switch on something dangerous?”

“Uh … I think so.…”

Mother switch, short for “mother and child.” A bomb that would stay dormant as long as it was receiving a regular radio signal. When the signal stopped, the bomb went off. Kind of like an electronic dead-man’s switch.

“Clever,” I whispered, crossing the rickety bridge in the night, dark water beneath me. “Stick the bomb to him, make him port with it. Blow him up wherever he goes.”

“Yeah,” Prof said. “Assuming that works. He takes his
clothing, so he can obviously teleport objects he’s carrying. But is it automatic, or can he consciously choose?”

“I’m not convinced we can even stick something to him,” Tia said. “His danger sense might trigger a teleportation if you even reach for him.”

It was a good point.

“You have a better plan?” Prof asked.

“No,” Tia said. “Mizzy, make it happen.”

“Got it.”

“Work on an extraction plan, Tia,” Prof said. “Just in case.”

I gritted my teeth, still on the bridge. Sparks. It was impossible to ignore that water down there. I moved more quickly, eager to reach the building, where at least the sea would be out of sight. The bridge didn’t lead to the rooftop, but to an old broken window on the story where I’d seen Obliteration.

I reached the window and crouched down before going in, careful of the profile I’d present. Just inside, glowing fruit bobbed from branches and flowers drooped, the petals colored like swirled paint. It was a full-on
jungle
in there; the gloom of shadowed branches and phantom fruit cast an eerie light. Discomforting, like finding a three-week-old sandwich behind your bed, when you swore you’d finished the darn thing.

I checked over my shoulder. Mizzy had moved into position at the other side of the bridge to give me fire support, but her head was down over her pack as she got the explosives ready.

I turned back and, rifle at my shoulder, stepped through the window and checked to each side with a quick motion, looking through my scope. Vines hung from the ceiling and ferns sprouted up from the floor, displacing the carpeting of what had once been a nice office building. Desks—barely
visible through it all—had become flowerbeds. Computer monitors were overgrown with moss. The air was thick with humidity, like the understreets after rain. Those glowing fruits were barely enough to illuminate the place, so I moved through a world of rustling shadows as I poked forward, making my way toward where I’d last heard screams—though those had stopped now.