“Lift me,” he whispered, his tones laden with agony. The pain was coming back. The young Supernaturalists did as they were told, helping Stefan onto the platform.
Faustino’s bodyguard took a step nearer. “Close enough, boy. Don’t make me dislocate a few things.”
“Don’t worry about it, Manuel,” said Faustino, rising onto the balls of her sandaled feet. “Stefan never could beat me on the practice mat. Now I have a couple of quarts more blood than he does and no hole in my chest.”
Stefan knelt on the plasti-glass. Below him was a blue hell. A hell he’d created. An ocean of Parasites undulated beneath him, their eyes dull and glazed.
Faustino knelt. “Is this how it ends, Stefan? A whimper on the floor. You should have stayed in the vat.”
The bodyguard took off his sunglasses. “President Faustino, I’m nervous now. I gotta tell you. And I don’t get nervous easy.”
“Relax, Manuel. Cover the kids. Do you think you can manage that?”
Manuel rested the glasses on the bridge of a nose that had been broken so often it was almost flat. “Yes, Madam President. I got the kids.”
Faustino kicked off her sandals, bouncing like a boxer. “Well, Stefan, do you have one more round left in you?”
Spasms racked Stefan’s chest. “I’m not going to fight you, Professor.”
“Really? Oh come on. I’m the one responsible for your mother’s death, remember?”
Stefan did not rise to the bait. “There’s a better way to get you.”
Faustino stopped bouncing, her smug grin faltered. “And what’s that?”
“Fight from the inside,” said Stefan, his voice barely audible. “Attack from the rear. Remember?”
Stefan’s hands were moving, hidden in the folds of his coat.
“What are you doing? What have you got there?”
“Nothing dangerous. Just my phone. Nothing to worry President Ellen Faustino.”
“A phone? Who can you ask for help?”
“Nobody. I’m not asking anybody for help. Just sending some mail.”
Faustino stepped closer. “Mail?”
“I got a friend with
V News
who would sell a couple of limbs to see the video I’m shooting right now. He’s going to owe me, big-time.”
It took Faustino a moment to realize what was happening, but when she did, her face twisted into a Halloween version of itself. “He’s sending video! If the press gets hold of footage of our reactor before we’re ready, it’s over!” She dived at the injured Russian, clawlike hands digging beneath his torso. She pulled Stefan’s hands out. They were empty.
“Surprise,” he said, wrapping his arms around Faustino in a bear hug. She beat his chest with her fists. With no result. Stefan struggled to his feet.
“Dead man’s grip,” grunted Stefan, sweat collecting in his eyebrows. “The last thing I’ll ever do.”
Anyone with police training knows about the dead man’s grip. If a suspect is dying, and knows it, stay well out of reach, because the last thing he catches on to often goes to the grave with him. It’s amazing how someone with only seconds to live can find the strength to bend metal and snap bones.
The sniper in the rafters transferred the laser dot to Stefan’s head.
Manuel spoke into a mike hidden in his sleeve. “No. Hold your fire. Repeat. Hold your fire. I’ll handle this.”
“I’m not the one shooting video,” Stefan whispered. “It’s Ditto.”
“Get the kid!” screeched Faustino. “The blond one.”
Manuel pointed his lightning rod at Ditto. “You got a phone, kid? Hand it over.”
“Sure, I have a phone. Take it easy, Manuel. I’m just going to reach into my pocket and get it.”
Manuel nodded. “Okay. You do that. Real slow. Don’t make me wrap you.”
Ditto kept one hand in the air, reaching into his pocket with the other. He took the phone out with two fingers. “Look, here it is. No problem. I’m bringing it over.”
“No. Stay where you are. Toss the phone.”
Ditto nodded almost imperceptibly at Cosmo. “You want me to toss it?”
“That’s what I said. What are you? Short
and
stupid?”
“Okay, Manuel, don’t panic. Here it comes.”
Ditto tossed the phone high. Much higher than necessary. One set of eyes followed its arc. Manuel’s. Cosmo and Mona pulled lightning rods out of their belts, and hit the bodyguard with at least four cellophane slugs. The virus spread across his frame, wrapping him completely in seconds.
Ditto smiled. “A thing of beauty,” he said, retrieving the phone.
“Idiot!” screamed Faustino, her voice muffled by Stefan’s bulk. “Half-wit!”
“You’re running out of options, Professor,” said Stefan weakly.
Faustino squirmed to face him. “Don’t kid yourself, Stefan. I still have my sniper. He can keep your Supernaturalists off the plasti-glass until you die. That shouldn’t be long now.”
The sniper’s laser dot hopped from target to target. The man in the rafters was uncertain who to cover.
“Give it up, Stefan. There’s no way to win.”
The red dot strayed onto the plasti-glass. Cosmo, Mona, and Ditto ducked behind a string of monorail coaches.
Stefan smiled. There was blood on his lips. “They’re safe now. It’s just you and me.”
“Nothing has changed. It’s still a waiting game.”
Ditto’s voice pierced the hum of the generator. “Don’t do it, Stefan. There must be another way.”
“What’s he talking about?” asked Faustino.
Stefan ignored her. “Sorry, Ditto. All of you. You’re on your own now.”
Cosmo grabbed Ditto’s shoulder. “What does he mean?”
Ditto dropped his head into his hands. “Stefan is dying. That bullet was too close to his heart. He wants his death to mean something.”
“Mean something?” said Mona. “Mean what?”
Ditto poked his head over the top of the coach. “An end to pain.”
With the absolute last ounce of strength in his legs, Stefan struggled to his knees, bringing the pinioned Faustino down with him.
The laser dot flashed across his vision, settling on his forehead.
“I’m going to kill her,”’ he shouted at the rafters. “She killed my mother.”
Faustino tried to call out, but her face was smothered in Stefan’s chest.
“I mean it! I’ll kill her.”
The dot jittered. The sniper was uncertain.
“She’s a dead woman.”
The hidden gunman made his decision. A muzzle flashed high in the shadows, propeling a subsonic bullet from the rod’s barrel, spinning along the length of the laser beam, shedding its coat of gel as it traveled.
Stefan saw the flash. He’d been waiting for it. Counting on it. He allowed his knees to buckle, collapsing to the floor a milisecond before the subsonic bullet buzzed past his ear, drilling straight through the twin layers of plastiglass.
Faustino saw gel bubble through the holes. “No!’ she cried.
The bullet sped into the reactor’s interior, taking a chip out of one of the turbines. The chip spiraled upward, scoring the plasti-glass like a finger through sand. More and more hydro-gel dripped down, scattering any Parasites with the energy to move. Alarm lights flickered on a dozen consoles, automatically shutting and sealing the reactor’s nuclear sections. But the Un-spec four area was irretrievably breached. Cracks raced along the surface, competing with each other to reach the edge. Each crack gave birth to a million more, until there wasn’t a square foot of unbroken plasti-glass left. Hydro-gel dropped in waves, sparking a dozen fires on the floor beneath. Parasites crawled from its path, but they could not flee without clean energy.
Faustino’s cheek rested on the plasti-glass. “Let me go,” she pleaded.
Stefan did so. “It’s too late, Professor,” he said. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing.”
Faustino scrambled to her feet, but before she had taken half a dozen steps the transparent surface collapsed entirely, plunging them both into the belly of the reactor’s central section. Every window in the facility was blown out, hydro-gel dripping from the double glazed panes.
Stefan landed on his back, but there was no pain. There was no pain because a single Parasite had draped itself across his chest. The agony flowed out of the Supernaturalist into the creature.
“Take it,” said Stefan, the words rustling through his lips. “Be free.”
The Parasite pulled out the pain in a rope of glistening silver. In seconds its desiccated heart pulsed vibrantly again. The Parasite’s round, soulful eyes stared into Stefan’s own.
“I understand now,” said Stefan. And one more word after that. A word or a last breath. “Mother.”
The Parasite reached out a four-fingered hand, laying it on the shoulder of a suffering brother. A burst of energy flowed through one to the other, liberating the second. And so Stefan’s pain spread, rationed between a thousand Parasites, giving each one the energy to escape the nuclear reactor and find the energy to free more Parasites. They scampered up the walls, avoiding globs of hydro-gel, and scattered through the lab like leaves caught in a whirlwind.
Stefan’s heart had stopped beating, but he had just had time to watch them go. And in the middle of all that blue, there was something else. Someplace else. Somewhere different.
Cosmo and Ditto were leaning over the lip of the reactor’s central section. Ditto seemed like an actual child, with tears streaming down his face.
“You had to do it, Stefan,” he sobbed. “You had to be the big, stupid hero. Nothing else would do.”
Cosmo, as usual, couldn’t believe what was happening. “You mean he goaded that sniper?”
“Of course. A bullet was the only way through the plastiglass. He was waiting for the muzzle flash. Slow bullets, you see.”
Parasites whirled all around them, hunting for energy. Already some had returned through the shattered windows, carrying energy to free the others. A single Parasite hovered by Cosmo’s shoulder, its head cocked expectantly.
Cosmo stepped back. “It senses something.” A red dot appeared on his chest.
“Oh, no,” said Ditto. “The sniper is still up there. Don’t move. I’ll try to negotiate.”
Ditto raised his hands, turning toward the source of the beam. “Faustino’s finished!” he shouted at the shadows. “You don’t have to do this. We have money.”
There was no reaction for a moment, then the familiar
whup-whup
of a cellophane slug being fired and striking. Mona stepped from the blackness, high up in the rafters. “I took advantage of the confusion to wrap the sniper,” she said holstering her lightening rod. “It’s what Stefan taught me.” She paused for a second, working up the courage to ask. “Is he gone?”
“Yes,” replied Cosmo. “He’s gone.” And so was the hovering Parasite.
Mona was quiet for several moments. Cosmo thought he saw her slender frame shake. After that she pulled herself together. “Then we had better be gone too. There are alarms going off all over the building. The paralegals will be here any minute.”
It was true. Cosmo could already hear sirens in the distance. He took one last look over the edge, then hurried toward the stairwell, and freedom.
Utopian Acres; Satellite City suburb, two weeks later
Incredibly, Ellen Faustino survived to be brought before the Myishi Chairman. As soon as her skin grafts had taken, she was choppered out to Mayor Ray Shine’s estate in Utopian Acres.
Mayor Ray Shine, who also happened to be Chairman of Myishi Industries in Satellite City, cut short a golf game especially to talk to her. Ray was a flamboyant character who did not believe in dressing down for any occasion. Today’s outfit was a yellow-and-pink checkered sweater with matching peaked hat, tweed breeches, and Argyle socks.
The mayor parked his massive girth behind a desk set on ivory legs, and poured a glass of purified water, leaving Faustino to squirm. He drank deeply, belched gently, and sighed. “Ellie, Ellie, Ellie, what have you been getting up to out there in R&D?” His voice was gentle, but Faustino knew him to be the most ruthless man she had ever met.
“Ray, Chairman Shine, with respect, you know exactly what was going on. I told you.”
“You did?” said Shine innocently. “I can’t seem to recall that conversation. And there doesn’t seem to be a record of it. No, I’m afraid you’re on your own this time, Ellie. A pity the press got hold of that video. Developing a nuclear reactor, what were you thinking?”
Faustino bristled. “I was thinking that I could save this company. You saw the figures, I would have done it too . . .”
“I know, if it hadn’t been for the naturists running around with no clothes on.”
“The Supernaturalists,” said Faustino, through gritted teeth. “And they are a lot more dangerous than you give them credit for, even with their leader gone.”
“Yes, well, maybe I’ll keep an eye on them. Anyway, you don’t need to worry about that, you being dead.”
Faustino’s heart jumped into her throat. “Dead? Really, Mr. Chairman, there’s no need for—”
Shine silenced her with a wave of his hand. “Not
dead
dead, Ellie. Press dead. We had to give the news crews a scapegoat, so you’re it. Fortunately, the body was too disfigured to identify, and I don’t think there’s any chance of your being recognized, not with your new face.”
Faustino blushed, something she hadn’t done since she was a schoolgirl. “So what does Myishi have planned for me?”
Shine leaned back in his chair, until it creaked. “The fact is, Ellie, that your reactor was our best hope. I don’t know how you did it, but somehow your test figures showed promise. Your Un-spec four creatures sure were doing the business.”
Faustino perked up. “So, you’re not canceling the project?”
“Of course not, but we will have to be a lot sneakier.”
“How sneaky?”
Shine smiled. “The South Pole.”
Faustino almost objected, but she knew all too well what happened to people who argued with Ray Shine.
“Is that okay with you?”
Ellen forced a smile. “The South Pole. Isolated. No interruptions. Fine.”
Mayor Ray Shine stood, straightening his chequered sweater. “Good. There’s a chopper waiting to transport you to our Antarctic facility. Have a good trip.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Mayor.” Faustino rose with the aid of a crutch, hobbling to the office door.
“Oh, and Ellie?”
“Yes, Mr. Mayor?”
“You only get one second chance. Mess this up, and you may need some of those Un-spec four creatures yourself. Are we clear?”
“Crystal, Mr. Mayor.”
1405 Abracadabra Street
There wasn’t much left of the Abracadabra Street warehouse but windows and walls. And most of the windows had holes in them, where the paralegals had cut through. For two weeks the Supernaturalists cleaned, fixed, and grieved, trying to repair the damage done by Myishi. There was still a long way to go.
“We still have our bunks,” said Mona, putting a brave face on it at the end of a particularly tiring day.
Ditto kicked the ruptured remains of the refrigerator. “Well, whoop-de-doo. Bunks, thank heaven for that. No food though.”
Cosmo was trying to connect a salvaged hard drive into a gutted computer. “Mona brought some pazzas back earlier. She left them on the Pigmobile’s engine. Maybe you’re not interested in pazzas anymore, after the HALO incident.”
The Bartoli baby rubbed his hands together. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t hold a perfectly good foodstuff responsible for my weak stomach,” he cackled, heading for the elevator. “Pazzas and bunks. What more could a young man ask for?”
Suddenly a deep weariness settled into Cosmo’s bones. He righted a chair and settled onto it. But sitting down didn’t seem to help. He’d barely had four hours sleep in a row since they had lost Stefan. Sometimes it all seemed so pointless.
“What do we do now?” he asked Mona after several minutes silence. “Without him?”
Mona shrugged. “Day by day, like we have been, like everybody else. There are big changes coming to Satellite City. More and more people living outside the footprint. In a few more years, there may not even be a Satellite. We’ll have to make our own way. At least we’re alive. At least we have friends.”
Cosmo wasn’t ready for comfort just yet. “But he kept us together. He kept us going.”
Mona cleared her throat. “You know, Cosmo, technically, back there in the laboratory, I did save your life.”
Cosmo was still staring at the floor. “That’s right. With the sniper. I meant to say thank you, but it all happened so . . .”
Cosmo suddenly remembered a conversation they’d had on the roof.
Maybe next time you can save me,
he’d said to her.
Then I’ll owe you a kiss.
He looked up. There were tears in Mona’s eyes, but she was smiling. He stood slowly, suddenly wondering if the plate in his forehead was sticking out. “I owe you a kiss.”
Mona pointed to her cheek. “That’s right. You do.”
Cosmo’s knee plate began to itch. “I’ve never actually . . . I mean . . .”
Mona smiled mischeviously. “Maybe we should forget the whole thing.”
Cosmo nodded. “Maybe.”
Then he kissed her.
Of course, Ditto chose this moment to return with an armful of pazzas. “Oh spare me,” he said, throwing an empty wrapper in the recycler. “Now I’m going to have to put up with you two making doe eyes every time we go out hunting supernatural creatures.”
“Creatures?” said Cosmo. “What creatures? The Parasites are friendly, remember?”
Ditto began tinkering with the back of his favorite TV. “Parasites? Who said anything about them? Let me tell you, there are a lot worse things than Parasites. Just because you two can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I’m sensitive, remember. A Bartoli baby. Nothing hides from me.”
Ditto took a huge bite from his second pazza. “Believe me,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, “the Supernaturalists’ work is far from over. But we do need some equipment. What do we have left?”
Mona pulled a starter card from her pocket.
“We have the Pigmobile.”
Ditto nodded. “It’s a start.”