Shades of Gray (26 page)

No, he surely cannot.

A growl in his throat, Garth lunges for the phone and calls Terry. This time, Garth won’t take no for an answer.

The Latent Network must be raised, before all of New Chicago falls into madness.

CHAPTER 31

VIXEN

3224 exceeds every expectation. What 1102 showed me was but a shadow of what this child can do. Such wonderful things he shows me. Even corporate is pleased.

—Matthew Icarus,
observation notes of Subject 3224, aged 7

V
alerie had never gotten any lullabies as a child—she’d been training for the Squadron since she was five years old, and they fell asleep to learning audios, not singing.

But she tried, often making it up as she went along, and Callie nuzzled against her stuffed toys when Valerie laid her into the crib.

The door to the nursery swished open as she was tucking a blanket around Callie, and Valerie pressed her finger to her lips. “She just went down, Les.”

Belatedly, she saw he was in his costume and his face was drawn sharp and hard. “Les,” she said, going to him. “What is it?”

“Hal escaped the Mental wing about twenty-four hours ago,” Lester murmured, mindful of the baby. He gripped Valerie’s hands, pressing them between his palms. “He went to New York … they’re overwhelmed … there are hundreds of people hurt …” Lester dropped his forehead to his chest. “I have to go.”

“I’ll come with you.” The words flew from her mouth before Valerie had a chance to consider them. “I’ll call a Runner for Callie …”

“No,” Lester said. “Val, you know what he’s like. Since he … since he lost his mind.”

“I do,” Valerie said. She could still hear the screaming from the day Hal Gibbons had snapped. Nobody knew exactly why yet—Lester thought it had something to do with the comlinks Corp made them wear. Valerie thought, privately, that Hal had always been crazy and just stopped trying to hide it. “That’s why I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Luv,” he said quietly, “you’re still on maternity leave. They won’t let you.”

Of course. They. Corp. Corp, who thought it was perfectly fine to leave her a single mother as long as it looked good to the public face to have the Hero of New Chicago swooping to the rescue.

“If he hurts you,” she whispered, “I am going to kill him. Whatever it takes.”

Lester pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He left the nursery, and Valerie pressed her hands over her face. In her crib, Callie woke up and began to cry.

CHAPTER 32

ANGELICA

Still trying to determine whether the Mental breakdowns were caused by the comlink, or if the earpiece simply sped up their inherent decay.

—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #111

N
ew York City might have once been the epicenter of the Americas, the place to be if you were anyone worth being, but that had been a long time ago. Way before the Manhattan Quarantine.

“He’s taken over the Tompkins Square Projects,” Major Victory shouted through the comm. “Ten buildings on the block, all low-income residential.”

“Civvies, got it.” Blackout grinned over at Angelica. “I love saving civilians.”

“I still can’t believe Hal’s doing this,” she said, feeling like she was underwater and trying to break through to the surface. Since they heard about Hal’s escape from the Mental wing at the Academy, everything had felt dreamlike, unreal. And then word came he’d burrowed himself somewhere in New York City … and the casualty count had begun. Just thinking about those poor people made Holly feel sick. She wished Valerie were with them instead of home with the baby. “He’s not well.”

“Angelica, the mistress of understatement,” said Luster, snorting. “He’s acting like a textbook psychopathic megalomaniac on a bender. What’s the count up to?”

“Fifty-three confirmed dead,” Night said, his voice flat. “More than four hundred hospitalized.”

Holly squeezed her eyes closed.
Oh, Hal. Why?

“Come in via the police station on C and Eighth,” Victory instructed, his voice breaking up with bursts of static. “Roof’s equipped for hover and cruiser landings.”

“On it.”

Holly grimaced; Blackout sounded like he was loving this. In that crystalline moment, hearing the excitement in her husband’s voice as they prepared to capture her former love, she hated George, hated having his baby inside of her. She gripped her armrests tightly as the cruiser dropped in free fall.

Another screech of static, then Victory said, “Lady Liberty’s waiting for you. She’ll brief you. Victory out.”

“Bloody hell,” Luster muttered. “Took New York hours before they decided to swallow their pride and let New Chicago in. Now they’re going to fucking chaperone us while we rein in one of ours gone bad?”

“He’s not bad,” Holly said. “He’s off his meds, that’s all …” She shut her mouth when Luster shot her a disgusted look.

“He’s killed fifty-three people, Angelica,” Luster said coldly. “Made them play in traffic, or take knives to their wrists, or put guns to their mouths. And those are the ones who got off lucky. If that’s not bad, I don’t know what is.”

She bit back a sob and said nothing.

Team Alpha rode in silence until the cruiser landed. As soon as the door opened, Blackout vaulted out, followed quickly by Luster and Night.

Holly Owens Greene closed her eyes and whispered a prayer that, somehow, they could stop Hal without hurting him. Then Angelica opened her eyes and joined her teammates.

Lady Liberty was, shock, another Lighter, using a fake torch as a power focus. She looked ridiculous in her long toga and pointed crown. And if she was going sleeveless, Angelica decided, she really needed to shave her pits. If Vixen were here, she probably would have said the same thing. Aloud.

Liberty didn’t bother with introductions. “Police evacuated all of Alphabet City, and most people actually left, which is something. We’ve got Hypnotic pinpointed in the Projects, but we can’t ferret him out to see which of the ten buildings he’s calling home. His henchmen are making it all but impossible for us to get any reconnaissance.”

“Henchmen?” Angelica asked, blinking.

“Innocents he’s brainwashed into doing his bidding,” Liberty said. “Hundreds of them.”

Oh Christo.

“Why don’t you gas them out?” Luster said.

Liberty rolled her eyes. “Gosh, thank you so much for the suggestion. We never would have thought of that, or already pushed through the request to have it sit on the mayor’s desk for hours while he reviews the P&L of matériel and man-hours versus nonconstituent lives saved.”

“Squatters?” said Night.

“Some. Mostly those who have better things to do on Election Day than vote.” Liberty sniffed. “They got the ‘unwashed masses’ right, I’ll give them that much. You ask me, we should let Hypnotic have them, just get us the hell out of this shit-hole island. But the governor will pitch a fit if we don’t end this thing, immediately.”

Angelica wanted to
push
her, bliss her out until she was a zombie, then shove her off the roof. She thought she showed remarkable restraint.

Less so, her husband. “So why’re we wasting time with you?” Blackout flexed his fists. “Point the way, Libby, and then get out of the way.”

Liberty narrowed her eyes. “Listen, you Shadow freak—”

“Children,” Luster growled. “Behave.”

The woman glowered at them all. “One block up Eighth will bring you right to Tompkins Square. Try not to get killed.” She stormed off, yanking open the roof door and letting it slam behind her.

“Start spreadin’ the news,” Blackout sang, rubbing his hands gleefully. “We’re leavin’ today.”

“Christo, shut it.” Night spread his arms wide, threw back his head as if trying to catch the sun’s rays. Angelica’s breath frosted, and she wrapped her cloak around herself. A river of black pooled beneath him, spreading out into a wide circle. “Hop on.”

Angelica held on to Blackout’s waist, and Luster put a hand on Night’s shoulder. The four of them zoomed down, almost too fast for Angelica to take in the burned smell of the air, the thickness that threatened to suffocate.

“Black and White, back in action,” Blackout said happily.

Night growled, “Please. Shut up.”

Tompkins Square Projects loomed before them, concrete slabs that spoke of misery and abandoned dreams. “Blackout,” Luster shouted over the rush of wind, “do your ghosting and report. Ignore the civilians. Hell, ignore the New York Squadron. Just go in, find Hypnotic, and report back.”

The gleeful look on Blackout’s face made Angelica’s stomach pitch.

Blackout used the technique Night had coined Shadowsliding: He effectively transformed into a ghost, temporarily becoming part of the Shadow. As he ghosted into one of the buildings, Angelica and the others ushered off the civilian casualties—the entranced humans who were like movable dolls. The heroes loaded up person after person onto ambulance stretchers, and Blackout went into a second building, Shadowsliding, intangible, hunting for Doctor Hypnotic.

And then a third building. And a fourth.

Before he moved into the fifth, Angelica stopped him. “George, you’re bleeding.”

Blackout grinned at her as he wiped the trickle of blood from his nose. “Just greasing the works. It’s nothing.”

“It’s hurting you,” she said. “Stop. Rest. One of us can—”

“Can what?” he snarled. “Walk through walls? Be invisible? Not even our precious Night can do that, now can he?”

One of the others said something, but she tuned him out. Smiling to offset Blackout’s coming rage, she put her hands up in surrender. “You’re right.” She
pushed,
just a smidge, to blunt his anger.

His eyes widened, glazing, and his mouth opened in a surprised O.

Someone spun her around roughly. Night. She stammered, “What’re you—”

“Stop it,” he hissed. “He can’t touch the Shadow if you dope him.”

“I’m not
doping
him, you idiot. I’m
calming
him.”

“We don’t need him calm. We need him to Shadowslide. Which he can’t do if he’s seeing visions of Light, or whatever your bullshit power is.”

Behind her, Blackout said, “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Angelica turned, but too late. Her husband was already gone.

Four minutes later, they all heard the scream from somewhere inside—an agonized scream that cut off abruptly.

CHAPTER 33

LUSTER

I know they’ll ask me if I knew they were making these children into weapons. I know they’ll ask about the missing parents, the experiments, the in vitro fertilization. I know someday, somebody will drag this into the light and they’ll ask. I guess I’ll lie.

—Matthew Icarus, diary entry dated 1991

L
uster strobed the door to bits, and Night and Angelica went through the hole, colliding with dozens of Hypnotic’s victims. It was like an old zombie movie, Lester thought, and didn’t have time to think again before he started throwing strobes.

They had very little effect, and Angelica did little better. “This isn’t working!” she screamed. “Do something!”

A slither of Shadow wrapped the nearest group of people in black, and after a few muffled screams, they went to ground.

“As always,” Night said, his voice colder than his power against Luster’s skin, “I will take care of this.” He snapped another trio of creepers out at the crowd. “You two keep them off me.”

Luster went back to strobing, aiming them at the floor rather than the people, throwing up a cloud of dust and concrete chunks that kept a radius between the heroes and Hal’s victims.

Damn Hal to hell. How could he go so wrong, so quickly? Luster heard his own heartbeat in his ears, but he could also hear Hal’s screaming the day they dragged him away.

He should have known then that Hal wouldn’t just go away, fade into a shadow of himself as Moore and the Therapists ripped his mind out.

Luster should have known this day was coming. But he hadn’t. And now …

“Hostiles!” Angelica screamed. Luster whipped his gaze to where she pointed and saw a trio of costumed heroes coming toward them—or flying, in one case. The New York Squadron, eyes white on white.

Night’s breath was sawing in and out behind his mask. “I thought everyone in the NYC Squadron was down.”

“Down but not out—duck!” Luster dropped as the leader shot a bolt of electricity at him. Night rolled the other way and Angelica darted around the man and strobed the largest of the three, a woman who had a good head and a half and two stone on Luster.

The woman shook off the strobe and slammed a punch into Angelica’s gut. Angelica let out a cry before she retaliated by snapping the woman’s wrist.

Just for a moment, Luster felt the unnerving hum in his head fade, and the members of the New York Squadron blinked as their eyes returned to normal.