Fat Girl in a Strange Land (16 page)

“Our suits were designed by Nike. If we don’t wear them, we’ll lose our corporate sponsors.”

“So?” February said. “When we get back I’m going to get one of my own. I’m sick of not being able to eat a slice of pizza now and then because it might show up on my ass later. This goddamn material shows
everything
.”

Silhouette’s glare bounced between them as her mouth opened and shut. Whatever she wanted to say seemed to catch in her throat. Flux couldn’t tell who Silhouette was angrier with: Flux for introducing the rogue idea or February for to defecting to the enemy camp.

Before she could find out which it was, she took both women by the hand and phased, dropping them all through the roof.

Three stories down their feet hit the carpeted floor. February shot Flux a grin over two thumbs up while Silhouette jerked her hand away.

Epsilon’s voice came over their earpiece. “We have a problem. All communications in the conference room have been cut off. They’ve blocked the security vids. We’re going to have come up with a way to find out what’s going on in there. Any ideas?”

There was silence over the comm until Flux said, “I have one.”

As she explained her plan, she removed her mask and unzipped her leather jacket.

With some help from Calculus, who used uploaded schematics to guide her, Flux found the office right underneath the conference room. Silhouette rolled her eyes at the plan, but Feburary helped her stack the furniture high enough for Flux to climb to the top and phase her head slowly through the ceiling. When she saw that the large conference table shielded her from view, she heaved a sigh of relief and shimmied all the way up.

From her vantage point all she could see were black high heels, expensive Italian loafers and four pairs of out-of-place combat boots roaming the large room. Flux adjusted the tiny camera she’d attached to her shirt and murmured as loudly as she dared, “Are you getting this?”

“Perfect,” Epsilon said.

“Okay, here I go,” she said as she took her earpiece out and stuck it up under the table where she hoped it wouldn’t be found. Then she screwed her face up and did her best approximation of a frightened sob. Maddeningly, it took a couple of tries to catch the gunman’s attention, but finally stomping boots and angry shouts were followed by people scrambling to get out of the way. A rough hand grabbed her by an ankle and jerked her out from underneath the table.

“Who the hell is this?” demanded the man across the room holding the cell phone in one hand and an automatic weapon in the other.

“I swear I checked underneath there before. I don’t know where she came from.”

The leader’s gaze raked over her form and Flux held her breath. “Right. Like she just came out of nowhere.”

Flux figured that it should be obvious to anyone with half a brain that she
had
come out of nowhere; her white tank top and pants didn’t exactly scream business casual. But they didn’t seem to notice, even when the hostages themselves gave her puzzled stares. So she was declared harmless, shoved towards one of the office chairs, and told that if she moved again, she’d get a bullet through her skull.

After that, they forgot about her, the leader returning to his ransom demands, the rest continuing their heavy pacing in a circuit around the room watching the double doors and drawn blind windows. Flux made sure not to draw any more attention to herself when she shifted in her chair to make sure that her teammates got a good look at the room and everyone in it.

Minutes dragged on as the leader became louder and more terse on the phone. The room started to stink of sweat as the mayor, city council and the rest of the hostages picked up on their captor’s anger. Some tried as hard as Flux not to draw attention to themselves; others were crying.

As more minutes passed, it became harder and harder for Flux not to act. She glanced at the table, wishing she’d been able to keep her earpiece so she could at least hear what was going on even if she couldn’t talk. The team should have been here by now, and she figured that they must have run into some unexpected trouble somewhere.

When an explosion shook the building and rattled the windows, she knew that she was right. The leader yelled into the cell phone in a red-faced rage, “You tell those spandex wearing assholes if they don’t back off, we’re going to start killing people.”

There was another rumble in the bowels of the building as though in response. The leader jerked one of the councilmen to his feet and shoved the gun in his face. “Maybe I’ll start right now so they’ll get the message.”

Flux stood and everyone in the room gaped at her. “Let him go.”

The leader laughed. “You want to play hero and take his place, fat bitch?” He shoved the trembling councilman to the side and pointed the gun at her. “Fine.”

But people weren’t the only things she could phase. She snapped her molecular manipulation field up, this time not around her but coursing the energy to the floor around his feet. His eyes widened as he slipped through the floor, landing with a muffled crunch below. Then the field went off and the floor was solid again.

There was a heartbeat of unblinking confusion while the other three stared at the spot in the floor and tried to process what they’d just seen. She took the chance to lunge at the closest one, shifting her density again, this time as heavy as she could go. He must not have figured she could move so fast, because he took his sweet time jerking the barrel of his gun up. She landed a punch to his gut followed up with a knee to his jaw. By the time the other two opened fire, he’d already slumped to the ground.

Flux didn’t have time to phase back to insubstantiality, so she threw herself to the ground behind the conference table. Hostages panicked and screamed, some making it to the door, jerking it open and diving through the threshold, others crouching behind pressboard furniture and flimsy office chairs.

Crouching, Flux reached for the two nearest hostages, one that she belatedly recognized as the mayor. She enveloped them in her molecular manipulation field and phased just in time to let the bullets pass through. She hoped to keep the gunman’s attention on her instead, so they wouldn’t open fire on the hostages, but so much phasing in such a short period of time was taking its toll. Flux began to sweat and tremble under the strain and knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer.

So when she heard the click that meant they’d run out of bullets, she pushed herself to her feet. There was only one standing his ground as he fumbled to reload. The other was making a break for the door. She let the one fleeing go, hoping that one of the other team members would snag him before he got away, focusing on the more immediate threat.

Still phased, Flux ran through the table and then dropped her field. With her shoulder low, she caught the last gunman square in the stomach, knocking him off his feet just as he managed to slam the clip into the gun. They both went down on the floor, hard enough to make Flux’s bones ache. The gun, knocked out of his hand, fell to the carpet.

She might have been the metahuman, but one on one he was stronger. He shoved her back with a vicious kick to her chest that knocked the air from her lungs, and grasped the gun.

And then a flash of light left both of them blind. The gunman screamed and then went silent. She could hear his body crumple to the floor followed by February’s voice. “Christ. You couldn’t just blind one of them?”

She’ll be fine,” Silhouette snapped. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. She’s lucky that she got here when we did, considering the mess she’s made of it.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” Flux said, wanting to snap back but too disoriented and breathless to manage it. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Cold hands slipped into Flux’s own and pulled her to her feet. “There were other guards we didn’t plan on, plus a bomb rigged on the ground floor that we had to disarm, but it looks like you did just fine. Now let’s get you back to the base so we can patch you up.”

Once her cracked ribs were taped up and her eyesight had returned, Epsilon made a visit to the med bay. Omega Force’s leader favored her with a smile from a perfect row of teeth so white that she thought she might be blinded again.

“We found the ringleader in the room below. Both of his legs were broken from the fall, but he’ll live.” Epsilon’s lips twitched in amusement. “The mayor and the city council send their thanks, by the way. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about them spouting off to the press anymore. In fact, I think they’d like to give you a medal.”

Flux grimaced. “I’ll pass. They’ve used me enough for sound bites and I think I’ve had enough attention from the press lately.”

Epsilon’s smile faded. “Yes, I saw that. I wish I could tell you that what happened today would make the press back off and never run a story like that again or that the public will change their minds, but I’ve been around long enough to know that’s unlikely. It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”

Flux nodded, meeting his gaze as she waited for him to tell her that she wasn’t working out for the team. Instead, Epsilon rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I’ll understand if you’re put off and want to return to Omaha, but I hope that you’ll decide to stay.”

Flux blinked. “You do?”

Epsilon chuckled. “Of course I do. Especially after how you handled yourself today. This team needs your talent.”

“But what about the team’s image? The brand marketing? The
toys
?”

“I’m not overly concerned about the team’s image. And as for the uniform, both February and I are tired of the spandex. I just approved a new budget for a redesign, so Silhouette will just have to come around. That just leaves you and the question of whether or not you’ll stay with us.”

Flux was silent as she considered it over. Finally she said, “Well if you’re changing your uniform just for me, it seems pretty churlish not to stay.”

He let out a breath of relief followed by a laugh. “We’re changing it for all of us. Spandex is evil stuff. And all of the other metahuman teams are getting rid of it anyway.” He turned to leave and then paused on the threshold and said, “Welcome to the team, by the way.”

And for the first time in days, she did feel welcome.

Nicole Prestin
lives in the not so sunny state of Michigan where she’s a full time mom with a license to practice law that she almost never uses. She stumbled into writing as a lark and kept at it to keep her mind sharp while surrounded by her spawn. It has now, to her great chagrin, become an obsession. She has a blog at
http://prisoner–24601.livejournal.com
.

Davy

by Anna Dickinson

Tol bought me the painting. One of those helpless, expensive gifts he was bringing now, trying to fix whatever was broken.

The painting didn’t fix me, any more than the flowers had, or the necklace, or the pretty watch with the gold link strap. I stared at the floor and mumbled, “Thanks,” because I knew he liked it when I spoke, and I still cared just enough to try to please him.

As Tol hung the painting, Davy woke, howling in fury at whatever was wrong this time — the heat, the cold, his nappy, his stomach. I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep. Tol, murmuring nonsense, took him away.

Without Davy, though, I couldn’t sleep. I ached. Lying still was awful; moving was worse — all my empty flab, shuddering at the smallest movement. Too many chocolate bars when I was pregnant — did you know babies like chocolate? The rush of sugar makes them kick. At first, it’s like butterflies, and then, later, a good whack to the ribs can resonate through your whole body so you vibrate like a tuning fork. Keeps you connected, reassures you they’re safe. And when I was pregnant all I cared about was Davy being safe. So, too many chocolate bars and all that fuss with Tol trying to feed me up, pleased and nervous and proud of himself, and before I knew it, I hit a terrifying number on the scales. I’d hoped it would go after Davy was born, but no baby weighs four stone.

Losing weight would have been easier, of course, if I’d gotten out of bed. Before we’d had a baby, when I was still sucking up the chocolate bars and dreaming, I’d imagined going out walking within hours of the birth, chatting with other mums, the sunshine in my hair. I’d even bought a cute yellow pram with tiny swivelling wheels. It was sitting in the hallway. Tol was the only one who took the baby out. I hadn’t washed or brushed my hair for days; I was too busy staring into nothing.

When I woke up, Davy was back and Tol had gone. It wasn’t his fault — he had to work sometime, but it felt like he was leaving me when I needed him.

At least Davy was asleep, his breathing snuffly and soft. I felt a stir of… something. The love I was supposed to feel, maybe. It was easier when he was asleep, his warm body curled in the blanket, one fat little fist up by his head. Guilt made it hurt to look at him, so I turned to the painting instead. That painting. What had Tol been thinking?

I mean, I like landscapes. When Tol had hung the painting I’d thought it was a sunlit forest, pale green, pale yellow — anodyne but pretty, and soothing, which I suppose was what he was hoping for. Now when I looked at it, it had changed, become eerie. Spindly trees growing unevenly towards a distant light, not a pretty sunlit forest; a wood that went on forever, tangled and malevolent.

I’d have taken it off the wall, but that meant effort. So I lay there and stared at it. The longer I stared, the more I wondered if the things in the painting were meant to be trees at all: they didn’t have leaves or branches, just grey shadowy trunks. What an odd picture. I couldn’t stop yawning; all this thinking exhausted me.
Sleep while the baby sleeps
, they said, and sleep was all I ever wanted to do.

I woke to humming. So many strange things happened in my head that humming felt comparatively benign. Davy’s eyes were open; the first time he’d woken without screaming. He could hear humming too.

Tol cooked. I ate without tasting, watching Davy, waiting for him to scream.