Sanctuary (36 page)

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Couldn’t stop him if we wanted. Got his hands on too much firepower.”

“Can’t we-”

“We’re not public defenders, boy. There’s six of us. And he’s got hundreds. Can’t play defense. We’ll go offensive in Houston. Plan hasn’t changed. Cut the head off the dragon.”

“We need a better plan.”

He shook his head, and his fists flexed in his pockets. “Not open for debate.”

“Because you’re the boss?”

“Because I’m the boss.”

“The boss of what, Carter?” I snapped. “You’re the boss of nothing. Your team barely knows each other. And collectively you accomplish zilch. Tell me one good thing you guys have done in the past ten years.”

“We take care of our own-”

“No you don’t! You bully them into doing what you want. Else you kill them. You recruit new members into a disjointed team used to further your personal shadowy operations.”

He did not like being interrupted. He boiled quietly for a moment, and I made a note to let him finish next time. No reason to get my teeth kicked in.

“You know nothing about me, hero,” he spoke through a clenched jaw. “Or how I use the Infected.”

“Shouldn’t use them at all.”

He grinned, a wicked twist of his bloodless lips. “If Martin gets his hands on you, you’ll develop a new understanding of
being used
. You’ll be used to kill thousands. Maybe millions.”

“No chance.” I spoke confidently while shivering on the insides. Millions.

“His biochemists and DNA scientists have made incredible leaps in DNA transference. You’ll have new mental processes
implanted
. And all will be lost. Which is why you need to be with us.”

“I agree. Stay with me. Here. And help.”

“You have one hour. Then we’re gone. And Shooter is coming with us.” He turned and stalked back to his truck.

“She’s staying here,” I called.

“Nope. She changed her mind.” He slammed the passenger door and the truck rolled away. I was tired of watching his tail-lights.

Puck texted me.

>> Puck was listening. It’s true. samantha is already at the airport. she decided 2 leave

Why???

>> dunno

And Croc?

>> he’s there 2. every1 is leaving

Well…………not me.

I called Dad on the way to school, to warn him about the eminent attack. He already knew. Thermal imaging picked up increased heat signatures within the Chemist’s aircraft hangar. He estimated the attack would begin tonight.

Great. That gave me just enough time to finish my homework before getting killed. A great empty chasm replaced my stomach.

Today. It was all happening today.

In Science, the two seats behind me remained empty. No Croc. No Samantha. Like most of last week.

I couldn’t focus in English, not even on Katie. She was watching me with renewed interested, enjoying the Outlaw secret. I twisted and shifted in my chair, wondering if Katie was safe out here in Glendale. Probably. Hopefully.

At 10:15 am, Puck texted me. It was a doozy.

>> attack beginning now

>> all chemists attack vehicles spinning up

>> america can’t launch missile strike tho.

>> still protected by innocent civilians

>> navy will scramble fighters soon

>> this will b bad

Craaaaaaaap. Already?? Not even lunch time. Ugh.

>> carters plane taking off soon cant reach him they r all gone

I grabbed Katie by the hand and pulled her out of class. The startled teacher watched us go, gaping as her prize pupil stumbled after the class dummy.

In the hall, I whispered, “I have to go. The Chemist is attacking.”

“Where?” she asked. She was a goddess. Her hair was up today, with a pencil stuck into the stylish pile of perfect brown twists. Her green shirt turned her eyes hazel, and everything about her was bright and golden.

“No one knows what he’ll do. I probably can’t help. But. I’m going just in case.”

“I understand.” She pulled down the zipper of my hoodie a few inches, enough to reveal the red thread of my Outlaw vest. “Come home with your shield, handsome. Or upon it.”

I blinked. Huh?

She said, “Spartan women used to tell their lovers that. Before battle.”

“Pretty gruesome.”

She wrinkled up her cute nose and mouth in thought. “Then how about…come home in one piece and I’ll give you extra kisses?”

“That’s a deal.”

“Could you be hurt doing this?”

“I
could
be. But I’ll try
not
to be.”

She kissed me lightly on the lips and said, “I’m in love with a maniac. I guess this is part of the job. But please come back to me. You’ve been mine for only twelve hours. And I require much more than that.”

The Outlaw flew down the 5 on his silent motorcycle. Traffic was already backing up. Awful days always start this way.

Puck related the news to me. It wasn’t good.

Once again, the Chemist struck first. Twenty minutes ago, as the George Washington aircraft carrier prepared to scramble its F/A-18 Hornet fighter jets, a lone AV-8B Harrier Jump Jet lifted off from the Chemist’s hangar and raced towards the aircraft carrier parked ten miles offshore. Radar identified the threat, and the carrier’s Combat Air Patrol immediately swooped in and neutralized the enemy Harrier. However, before being blasted apart by interceptors, the Harrier released four air-to-surface AGM-65 Maverick missiles. The missiles were inexpertly launched; two of them splashed harmlessly into the water. But two of the Maverick missiles struck the massive carrier, detonating against the hull and damaging millions worth of equipment, including (among other things) the elevators and catapults. It would be hours, if not days, before another fighter jet could launch.

In other words, the Navy could only provide the two patrolling F-18 Hornets as protection for Los Angeles. Not good enough.

By sheer luck, I found my dad. His car was parked at Exit 3A of Interstate 101, barricading the downtown entrance, hopefully outside the killing fields. He and a handful of cops were glaring south and west, into the towering glass canyon. A mandatory evacuation had been dictated, and the Los Angelenos fled, but not fast enough. Dad and his crew helped orchestrate the stampede.

“Whoa…holy hell, it’s the Outlaw,” one of the cops blurted. The crowd of motorists noticed and began to cheer.

Dad glanced sharply at me. “What are
you
doing here?”

I parked my bike and jumped on top of his car for a better view. “What?! Is this not Santa’s parade route??”

“Hey Richard,” one of the guys laughed nervously. “Aren’t you supposed to arrest this guy?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he barked.

It was one of those days where the blue sky rose forever. The distant clouds piled high and deep, like the surface of another planet just out of orbit. Clear skies except for the grey birds-of-prey screaming overhead. The two remaining Hornets, sixty million dollars of ugly steel death, were encircling the city and ravaging our ear drums. Those two fighter jets were temporarily the only thing keeping Chemist aircraft grounded.

While police officers watched the air show, Dad tapped my foot and whispered, “You need to go home.”

“I cannot, Detective Jackson,” I replied.

“Why not?”

I crouched so we could speak. “A wise man once told me that we need to stand between the world and the monsters.”

He glowered, not enjoying his words used against him. “That’s my job! Not yours.”

“
Our
job. I live here too.”

“Please, son. Don’t do this.”

One of the onlookers blurted, “Here comes the cavalry! Those are Air Force Pave Hawks!”

A small squadron of six green helicopters thundered in from the north, moving ridiculously slow compared to the Hornets. State-of-the-art Pave Hawks, bulky and powerful utility choppers. It was the best America could muster on short notice; all other nearby vehicles,
hundreds
of them, had been destroyed, captured, or couldn’t lift off. Perhaps America’s most humiliating moment…ever?

The Chemist had twelve helicopters, at least. And several Harrier jets.

Dad took my shoulders in his beefy fists and held tight. “This is too big. He’s too strong. He’ll kill you.”

“I would die to keep you safe, Dad.”

“No!” He was shaking me and blinking back tears. “You’re the only good part of my life. You’re my
child
.”

“How many people are downtown, Dad? A million? How many in those towers? I’d guess a hundred thousand. I figured it out on the way here; the Chemist bought himself a few hours of destruction. That’s what he’ll do. Destroy the towers. He told me he was going to tear down our high places.”

“Let the military handle it. Please.”

As if on cue, the Chemist struck again.

Sinister hisses and bright streams of fire erupted from three Los Angeles skyscrapers, including the US Bank Tower and the Aon Center. Like firework launches. Dozens of vapor trails snaked off into the sky.

The gathering crowd of stranded motorists gasped and aah’ed.
What’s going on??!

“He’s clearing the way for his attack,” I growled.

The two Hornets had no chance. One or two surface-to-air missiles could be out-maneuvered by modern fighter jets, but not dozens. The Hornets evaded desperately, curving and ducking across the sky, but the SAMs were numerous and dogged. The fighters were bucked by near misses, the pilots tossed sideways, disoriented, and then, contact.

I closed my eyes. The sound of detonations reached us soon after the bright flashes. Hornets breaking apart. The sounds of war.

The nearby helicopters, new Pave Hawks, had been hovering two hundred feet in the air over Korea Town, a half mile from the towers. They responded to the new threat, their noses pointing skywards and climbing, closing the distance. They were going to engage the enemy on the towers.

Their shadows fell across Natalie North’s building.

Natalie!
I hope she’s out. No time to text her.

I said, “Those choppers are toast. I’d bet my allowance he’s got Infected waiting for them. I gotta go. Get on the radio and get the people out from the towers. Those are his targets.”

I saluted him. He finally let go and I Jumped.

But it was already too late. In order to reach the taller peaks, the Pave Hawks first had to pass above smaller ones, like the Century Plaza Towers. The Chemist’s men were there and ready.

His monsters lifted off into the sky. Dozens. Maybe more, Jumping from the lower roofs, aiming for the helicopters as they flew past. Their leaps carried them farther and higher than humanly possible, bodies slamming into the unprepared Pave Hawks. Like swarming parasites, the Infected climbed aboard, easy ingress provided by the open gunner doors. All six helicopters were boarded in less than twenty seconds. The furious battle between crew and Infected caused one Pave Hawk to spiral out of the sky and crash into Pershing Square Park. Two others collided mid-air, metal shrieking, blades breaking. They plummeted out of our sight.

Downtown Los Angeles is not very big in comparison to other cities like New York or Tokyo. Most of LA is flat, not tall. City planners built the city horizontally instead of vertically, and arranged the few high-rises in a relatively tight cluster. Other cities have a hundred skyscrapers stretching to the sky; Los Angeles holds only twenty within its downtown area.

During periods of high stress and adrenaline, I could jump between many of them.

As I moved, the institutions in my mind broke down and gave way to the virus, to anarchy, to the unimaginable. I went up the twin California Plaza towers, leaping between them using both arms and legs, like a panther scrambling up boulders. My shoes squeaked like trumpets on the glass. I’d marvel at the feat later; right now, the swelling urgency was too great.

Puck’s voice came into my trusty bluetooth headset. “Oooooooh no, Outlaw. Where’re you going, dummy? You’re making me nervous.”

“Get’cha war paint, Puck!” I cried, throwing myself up and across the airy void between the two glass-sided vertical mountains. I was out of breath already. “We got work to do!”

On top of Two California Plaza, I landed in the midst of three men dressed in faux Outlaw masks. They weren’t Infected; their bodies were thin and flimsy, and they struggled to rearm two shoulder-mounted rocket launchers. I took a well-deserved deep breath, and then incapacitated all three with one swoop of the heavy rod, their skulls clunking like pumpkins. Their faces were dusted with a thin coating of the Chemist’s super drug.

“Chase,” Puck scolded me. “You can’t win this.”

“Neither can the Chemist,” I panted. “He knows he’s got only a short timeframe to get these towers down. We just need to stall until help arrives. WOW I’m up really high.”

“How do we do stall?” His voice was sad, already resigned to my fate, my march towards death.

“No idea! But I need every eye you got!”

I leapfrogged buildings, moving southwest and surprising henchmen at each landing spot. I broke weapons and tried not to permanently damage feeble bodies. The earth was only a distant concern far below.

Puck said, “Evacuations are ramping up. Apparently the explosions in the sky were unsettling.”

“I bet!” I called, landing on the City National Tower.

All three remaining Pave Hawk helicopters were now piloted by the enemy. One of them hovered just off the tower on which I landed. The attack began with a roar. Both miniguns blazed to life, rattling the edifice and pouring .308 shells into City National Tower windows. The surface exploded, filling the sky with thick glass fragments. Anyone inside would be killed within seconds.

This was happening too fast.

I dove off the ledge of the tower, headfirst. Not my brightest move, but I had abandoned reason. Some deep surging madness craved near-death adventure.

The Pave Hawk was ten floors below me, enough time to regret the free fall towards spinning razors. With both hands I brought the heavy rod down in a tomahawk chop that connected with rotor blades just milliseconds before my face did.