DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (31 page)

Craning my mask around, I saw Khalid sitting cross-legged on a nearby Fjord Fireball. He had changed out of his lab outfit, into a fine green tunic and trousers with some sort of open white garment around him that was half-bathrobe, half-coat. A white hood with pointed corners was pulled up over his head, and the entire thing was trimmed in gold. His sword was at his hip, properly in a scabbard this time. A leather bandolier of vials striped diagonally across his tunic. A pair of black boots completed the picture. He looked dangerous, nothing like the gentle man I'd come to know as the camp's new doctor.

“KHALID,” I rumbled. “OR DO YOU PREFER LAST JANISSARY?”

“When I am formally garbed, Janissary is perhaps best,” he said, reaching into inner pockets of his jacket. He laid something down on the hood next to him, a yellow metal block the size of my fist. Five more joined it, and in the rays of the setting sun they shone like beacons. Each was decorated with something like a stylized shamrock.

“THE MARK OF FALSEHOOD?” I turned them over, found it on every side.

“Yes. I hope you appreciate the risk I take here.” He sighed. “Then again, this entire venture is risky.” He surveyed the heap of parts and turned his gaze to the webbing of ropes and chains I'd stretched between the red-painted vehicles along the roadway. I'd stacked some of the smaller cars on the larger ones.

“What
are
you doing, anyway?”

“PREPARING FOR THE ASSAULT. WE'RE GOING TOMORROW.” I lifted up the end of the rope before shattering the window of a nearby semi-truck cab, and tying it to the wheel.

Khalid watched this impassively, rubbing his bearded chin. “You set a rapid pace,” he remarked.

“WE FACE AN ENEMY THAT'S HAD FAR TOO MUCH TIME ALREADY. NOW. TELL DIRE WHAT ALCHEMICAL GOODIES YOU CAN MAKE IN THIS TIME BEFORE WE VENTURE FORTH?”

He gave me options, and I picked out several likely candidates. As he spoke, I tucked two bricks of the gold away in my armor's compartment. Weighty stuff, for the size of it. The other four I handed back, as per Martin's recommendations.

For a moment we stood looking at each other, before he offered me a tight nod. “Go with God, and we shall await your return.”

“JUST KEEP DINNER WARM FOR HER,” I said, and took to the sky.

Hatman's card had the address of a thrift store to the west of Interstate three. I gave the towers a wide berth once again, and noticed plumes of smoke pouring off of the roof of them. Someone was burning fires up there. I had a sneaking suspicion that my foes called it home, given the gunshot earlier.

Night was falling by the time I landed. The thrift store was in a small strip mall, nestled next to an industrial park. Three out of the four shop spaces there had empty windows, bars on the doors, and highly visible “Closed” signs. The fourth was lit, the first electric lights outside the camp I'd seen in a while. I landed and pushed the button next to the bars over the entryway.

“Yes?” A garbled voice squawked out through the speaker.

“LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TASTEFUL,” I spoke into the speaker, just as the card directed.

A chortle of laughter. “The pass phrase loses something when you shout it out at a hundred decibels, dear. You must be Dire, come on in.” The grating slid aside silently on oiled runners, and I walked in.

Inside, junk lined the walls. Racks of clothing fought for space with fake antiques, broken appliances, and cheap furniture. Bins of toys and random things spilled out where they lay, and a good layer of dust covered much of it. No less than seven large grandfather clocks kept time throughout the store, each one with their hands at a different position.

Behind the counter, a young woman with frizzy red hair and more facial piercings than face grinned at me. Her teeth were uneven, and several gleamed golden in the light. “Heya! I'm Molly. Molly Mayhem, professional maker of havoc and disarray. Gimme a sec, I'll call the boys up. Cog and Techno ain't here right now, but the rest of the crew's in.”

She looked me up and down, then hopped over the counter with an easy leap and a boost from one arm. She was wearing a dress that literally clinked as she moved, and when I switched to thermal vision, I could see that the fabric was lined with what looked to be bits of metal. Lots of them. Unless that was light stuff, she had to be pretty strong to carry it all and move as she did. I stood still as she circled me, peering at the various fittings and attachments I'd added on to the armor.

“Sweet. Dunno about that hoodie, though. Y'need a proper cape.”

“GOT A SPARE?” I asked, joking.

To my great surprise, she took the question seriously. “Yeah! Gimme a sec!” She darted into a back room, and emerged again with a drape of shining red. It took my breath away as she unfolded it, shining like a ruby in the dim lighting from overhead.

“THAT,” I said, “IS A CAPE.”

“It'll look totes baller on ya. C'mon, let's try it on!”

“AFTERWARD. BUSINESS FIRST.”

“Aww. Well, yeah, guess I should call 'em. One mo.”

She picked up a phone that had to have been from somewhere around the turn of the last century. The damn thing even had
wires.
“Hey, remember the lady who beat you guys up today? She's up here, and wanting to talk! I think. Hey, are you here to talk or fight?” She asked me.

“YOU BUZZED HER IN WITHOUT KNOWING THAT?”

“Eh, figured it'd be fun either way.”

“WELL. TALKING IS ON THE MENU TONIGHT.” I tilted my head. “PERHAPS PAYMENT, IF NEGOTIATIONS BEAR FRUIT.”

“Ooooh. Let's aim for pineapples, I like those.”

“WHAT?”

“Fruit! Though pineapples are kinda hard to bear, I'd guess.” She put her hand to the side of her mouth, and whispered “Chafing, you know?”

“NO. NO SHE DOES NOT. AND IS RATHER GLAD FOR THAT.” What the hell kind of madhouse had I stumbled into, here? And yet, I found it rather refreshing. I'd spent the last few days desperately scrambling to keep people alive, up against a foe that had no compunctions about killing, or worse. This was the opposite of that.

There was something to be said for whimsy. I'd have to look into that, once things got less troublesome.

A groaning came from the northern end of the shop, and I saw what I'd taken to be a closed-off doorway shudder and open. An elevator door, judging by the small room beyond. It was full of machinery.

Then the machinery moved. Pipes, pistons, brass and steel took the form of a squat man, who unfolded into a tall and bulky man once he got out of the elevator. His proportions were off, with arms bigger around than his head, and legs that were as big around as traffic barrels. His eyes were glass, one green and one red, and he looked me over with a grin that showed steel teeth.

“Hello cutie,
” he ground out, with a voice like ratcheting gears.

“FLATTERY WILL GET YOU NOWHERE,” I advised him. He blinked.

“That voice. I'm in like.”

“Not love?” Hatman's voice floated out of the elevator, followed by the man himself. He'd switched to a different outfit. Fair enough, the garage we'd fought in had been rather grimy. This getup was even more foppish than the last, all purple and frilled with lace. “The amount of joy you got from our tale, Stanley, I thought you'd be wooing her the second you saw her.”

“Eh. The night is young.”

Molly flounced over to them. “Y'met Hatman. This here's Stanley Steamer.”

The metal man in question puffed a gout of vapor from twin stacks on his back.

“GOOD. SHE'D LOVE TO SOCIALIZE, BUT—”

“Who would?”

“SHE WOULD. DIRE WOULD.”

“Ain't you Dire?”

“YES. IT'S A LONG STORY. AT ANY RATE, YOU'RE FIGHTING THE BLACK BLOODS. DIRE'S BEEN FIGHTING THE BLACK BLOODS. SHE'S GOING TO HIT THEM TOMORROW. SHE WANTS TO END THEM, AND SHE WANTS YOUR HELP WITH IT.”

The three of them looked at each other, and back at me. Hatman sighed, swept his top hat from his head. “Well, I did ask them. And I'm sorry, but the answer was what I expected. No.”

“SHE IS PREPARED TO PAY FOR THE ASSISTANCE.”

“Forgive the impertinence, but I see neither a dump truck, nor even a briefcase full of currency. Even so, I doubt we could—”

I opened the storage compartment, pulled out a gold brick, and put it on the counter. The dull thud echoed through the shop, as they went still.

“Ooooooooohhhh...” Molly came up, hefted it. “Hooooly crap. This is, uh, this is pretty heavy.” Her manner of speech was different, now. She'd lost the accent. For some reason I felt vaguely disappointed, like I'd seen a Smackbrawl heel in full rant stop and order a sandwich.

“MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM,” I said.

Stanley clunked forward, and Hatman followed, leaning over the counter to stare at it. Hatman pulled out a small knife, and dug into the brick. His face lit up, as the knife slowly sank in. “It's... this is near pure.”

“IT IS PURE.”

He exhaled. “I, I, I won't say we're not tempted. But, honestly dear lady... this isn't enough to risk our lives. We've managed a solid defense against Barbatos, but trying to expand on that would leave us open. You give that madman one opening, he'll take your head. Sometimes literally.” He rubbed his neck, and winced.

“YOU'VE GOT A GOOD HEALER, THEN.”

Molly grinned, flashing her own gold. “Eh, more or less. Destruction, reconstruction, it's all good.” Her accent was back, I noticed. “But I gots limits. And y'can't buy stuff when yer dead, dearie.”

“ALL RIGHT. HOW ABOUT A DISTRACTION, THEN? OR AN ASSAULT WHERE HE'S NOT?”

“That'd work, except for the part where it wouldn't. He's good at being where you don't want him to be.”
Stanley's tone was sour, I thought.

“OH, HE'LL HAVE HIS FULL ATTENTION ON DIRE. HE'LL HAVE TO. SHE'S GOING TO CONQUER HIS TERRITORY.”

Hatman blinked, and his lips twitched into a smile. “Well, you're certainly ambitious. We might manage a distraction, if we can trust you to supply the true pain. But, er, how shall I put this...”

“If he shows we go,” said Molly. “One night only, limited performance, no encores.” She popped her lips.

“And of course, we'd need...” Hatman lifted the gold brick, nearly dropped it at the unexpected weight of the thing, and put it back on the counter. “Well, we'd need more.”

From that point on, it was merely a matter of dickering. They settled for four bricks, half up front. I asked them for information, and was gratified to hear that my guess on the towers had been correct. Rictus had taken them over. Once a somewhat worn public housing project, everyone still in them had been kicked out, and the Bloods were using it as a main base for their push on Icon City's Northside. It looked like I wouldn't have to go far to force the issue with the Black Bloods.

It also meant that they were closer to the camp than I wanted. Definitely needed to take a few precautions before we set out.

“NO IDEA WHERE BARBATOS LAIRS?”

Hatman shook his head. “He's a slippery one. Doesn't show himself without good reason. Absolute murder with those cleavers when he does, though.”

“THEN HE WILL COME TO DIRE.”

“Ah. And you're sure you won't send up the signal until...”

“UNTIL HE IS ON THE FIELD, YES.”

They relaxed. “Then I think we're done.” He stuck out a hand, and I shook it.

Molly tried an awkward hug, stretching her arms around my bulky armor. “Oh! Before you go...”

“WHAT?”

“Let me bag this for ya,” Molly grinned. She held up the shining red cape.

I rolled my eyes, but... well, it
did
look pretty awesome. I accepted it with silent grace, and when she buzzed me out I took to the sky with it stowed safely in my armor's compartment.

Probably a good thing, since I'd barely made it two miles before the missile slammed into me.

CHAPTER 18: The Eve of Destruction

“Of course we had faith in her. There's no emotion as addictive as hope, and she was everything we could have asked for. Strong, smart, she had a plan to fight and she'd been out there more than any of us, beating them up and fending them off. She was brave, and her words that day... they resonated, you know? She said what we were all feeling. So when she called for us to follow, we damn well followed. None of us knew... none of us figured it'd turn out like it did. God help me, none of us knew...”

--Interview with Tamara Lane, survivor of the Y2K crisis, and the Longlane Mall Massacre.

At the time I had no idea I'd been hit by a missile. Something collided with me, faster than I could react, and the heat in my armor jumped straight to boiling, the shockwaves throwing me backward. I was shaken around so badly that for a moment I couldn't see straight.

I snapped out of my daze in time to see the ground coming towards me. With a curse I pulled up on the gravitics, trying to ignore the searing pain in my newly healed arms. Khalid's ointment had fixed the burns, but now my skin was slow-cooking again.

As I pulled up I caught a glimpse of lights in the sky. A rattling sound filled the air. Then a flare of light, and a puff of smoke as I realized that a contrail was growing from it and towards me. That was when I knew what had happened, and that I had only seconds before another missile drilled me. I wouldn't survive if it did.

I threw myself into a frantic dodge, and saw the contrail start to curve. Thinking fast... heat. Had to be tracking me by heat, since my electronic signature was minimal.

I triggered the flamethrower, and went into a spin. It was a gamble, but it worked. The thing roared by me with perhaps twenty feet to spare. I killed my forcefield and started venting heat. It was slow, but it was that or be cooked alive.

I flew down, let the flamethrower ease up, and hit the ground running as the missile I'd evaded detonated in the distance. I glanced up at my attacker, and a whimper escaped my throat as a flash and a third contrail  heralded another damned incoming warhead!

Enough was enough. I activated my universal remote, and text popped up on the screen. Not many options for missiles, but it did have “early detonation” The explosion lit up the sky, revealing the helicopter for the first time. It had two small rotors at weird angles, and what looked like a collection of pointed legs, rather than landing skids at the bottom. The front of it was flared, more like the front of an attack plane than a helicopter's traditional nubby cockpit. Then the missile's light faded, as the lights of the helicopter zig-zagged right, and lined themselves up above me.

Rapid flashes erupted around it, and the sound of an automatic gun reached me a second later. Chips of concrete sprayed around me as I ran. Occasionally a car jerked and spun to the side as it caught heavy-caliber rounds. I itched to put up my forcefield again, but if I got hit now I'd die from my burns. Adrenaline lent me clarity and agility, and I scrambled and dodged to get below the helicopter and out of their line of fire. While I ran I tried the remote, but the text it pulled up flickered, and devolved into nonsense characters and scrambled images.

ECM ACTIVE
my mask informed me. Lovely. I cursed under my breath and a car exploded behind me, as a round found its hydrogen tank. I stumbled, almost lost my feet as the force of the explosion rolled over me, but kept going. To fall now was death.

And finally, I reached the point where I could kick the gravitics in again. I was under their arc far enough that they couldn't shoot me, and I spurred skyward at a diagonal angle. They tried to pull up but I pushed for speed until my inner ears throbbed with pain. It seemed like an eternity, as the helicopter fought to get me in its firing vectors, and I raced to close the distance before they could.

And then I was on them, past the missile pods on the sides, ignoring the swiveling minigun slung under as it tried to track me and fire. I grasped for its legs, taking note of the symbol on its side. Crosshatched lines in a loosely spiral pattern.

WEB.

I growled low in my throat, as the helicopter juked and tried to shake me, and I surged forward as they shook in my direction, leaping onto the door and digging my gauntlets into its light frame. They had hounded me from my lair and they had either stumbled across me or followed me to the dealer's house days ago. That had turned into the rolling clusterfuck of heroes that had wasted so much time, and caused me such grief. And now they had dropped in out of nowhere, to try and blow me the hell up. Really, enough was enough! I ripped and tore, and wires sparked and snapped as I scooped out handfuls of metal. I had my hands on my tormentors, and I owed them payment!

A bullet ricocheted from my mask, as I tore the door open. I ignored it, grabbed the pilot's arm and twisted his gun away from him. Bones broke in the process. He had one of those red-eyed masks on so I couldn't see his face, but his anguished wail was music to my ears. Behind him, I saw a flash of red from back in the cargo area of the helicopter. Eyes. More masks, at least four of them. I saw weapons coming up, and the pilot shrieked “No! Don't—” Whatever else he might have said was lost in a hail of gunfire. I threw myself backward as the pilot jerked and splattered, his own men shooting through him to get to me.

Ricochets spanged off of my armor, and I darted under the helicopter as it slewed sideways. I dug my gauntlets into the fuselage, trying to get a grip to slow it as it fell. With no pilot it was going down fast, and I had questions, dammit!

I put the brakes on, reversed the gravitics, and tried to exert pressure. Tried to stop it from crashing... and the fuselage gave way in my fingers. I ended up ripping out double handfuls of it, and lost my grip. I watched in helpless fury as it slewed, spiraled down, and exploded in the middle of a mass of abandoned cars.

A look at the roaring mass of fire and smoldering metal that it had become convinced me that there were no survivors. It had been quick for them, say that at least.

I took stock as best as I could, flying down to a nearby rooftop to flex my arms, and test the pain. Minor, compared to what it had been on the beach. I should have gotten a garment with sleeves the last time this happened, though it still wouldn't have helped my hands. The gauntlets were too sensitive to work well with gloves. If I'd had time, I could have designed a better system. But I didn't have time. When I wasn't fighting WEB, I was fighting the Black Bloods. When it wasn't the Black Bloods, it was WEB.

Were they working together? Couldn't rule it out, though I couldn't see why.

All I knew for certain was that I had lost another chance to get answers. I turned my head away from the flames in grief and frustration, and sighed. I couldn't care about the past, now. Too much to do.

I made my way back to camp, and as I did my certainty grew. That had been no random meeting. My destination had been different than my last trip. Someone had told them where I would be.

I landed, finding the fires going full on, the burn barrels full of wood. The night was the coldest yet, and a lot of enthusiasm had gone out of the newcomers. They were watching the darkness, and huddled together for warmth. I saw a few smiles of relief as I came in for a landing, and a few murmurs of dismay as the new scars on my armor became visible. Abernathy strolled out of the women's tent, and gaped at me. “Holy shit. Uh, hey boss.”

“HELLO YOURSELF. DID YOU GET A GOOD NAP?”

“A bit, yeah. Been trying to dig up more spare parts and supplies.”

“WELL, HOPEFULLY YOU GOT ENOUGH SLEEP TO STAY UP LATE. WE HAVE HOURS TO DAWN AND MUCH TO DO IF WE WANT TO LAUNCH OUR ATTACK TOMORROW NIGHT.”

Murmurs from around me as people heard that, and no one saw me smile under my mask.  Abernathy grimaced. “That's gonna be tight. Okay, let me grab the tools. You need some basic repairs, on top of those upgrades you wanted to do.”

I moved the armor into the laundry, and decanted. Abernathy followed. The pile of electronics that I'd salvaged earlier shrank as did the layers of metal I'd stripped from the more robust vehicles. And the armor grew, as we peeled it apart and remade it. I didn't have the wherewithal for more advanced weaponry, and I hesitated at putting guns on the thing. That would bring me more trouble from heroes, if I ran into any more of them before this thing was done. Instead of guns I installed better heat sinks. While it wasn't perfect, I figured I'd improved the force-field's effective safe usage by about two hundred percent, give or take a few points. Bullets would still be a problem, but now it would take more of them. I'd also upped the armor, at the cost of slowing down mobility.

The end result was a lumbering behemoth of a suit, that stood a full foot taller than the old suit. Instead of a pure black shell, it was a mix of black, gray, and silver, now. And instead of that torn, bullet-holed red hoodie that I'd been wearing from pretty much the beginning, I swapped in the shining ruby cape that had been Molly's gift to me. The armor was heavier, looked meaner, and the venting spikes were clustered in patterns that brought to mind deep-sea shellfish.

I smiled, and clapped Abernathy on the back. “Finish up here?” I asked.

“Um. Oh-kay?” Her voice rose plaintively, as she swayed in place. “I... it was all I could do to keep up with the changes you were making at the end, there. You, jeeze, I don't know. That's your power at work? Fast, and no mistakes, or false paths. You don't need blueprints, you just figure out what you want and go for it. I guess I can maybe finish it, but it'll take me a while.”

“Do it,” I commanded. “Dire needs to talk strategy with the others.”

“I should be there for that,” she protested. “I, I mean...”

“All due respect, Dire's got this. She'll let you know if anything comes up that needs engineering.”

“Uh. Yeah, thanks.” She rubbed her head, chuckled. “Can't believe how invested I got in this.”

I paused, at the entrance to the laundry, and turned to look at her. “Why did you, Dire wonders? What's your story, Abernathy?”

She smiled. “My friends call me Abes.”

I smiled back. “Abes, then. Who are you? What drove you to join in on this?”

She swallowed, and looked at the ground, her eyes distant behind her glasses. She really was short, I noticed. It made her look like a child, especially standing next to the hulking mass of steel and plastic that was the suit.

“It's a depressing story,” she said. “With debts, bullies, and not enough choices. Too long and I'm too wiped to tell you now. Can we talk about this later, if we survive?” She raised her eyes to catch mine, looking hopeful, and somehow wistful.

I nodded, and smiled. “Of course. After we've won.”

“Of course,” she said, and got back to work.

I walked through the camp, with the fur coat thrown over my shoulders and a proper sleeved shirt itching against my lightly-scorched arms. No putting this off, and I felt the smile slipping from my face. The next part would be crucial, and if it didn't work, then this entire venture could fail.

Finally, I stood in front of Martin's tent. From the light and sound escaping from it, he'd found a new television somewhere. I scratched at it, and called softly. “Martin? Tooms?”

The flap folded aside, and Tooms looked me over, nodded. I crouched and entered, finding Martin sitting on a crate, staring morosely at an animated film. A cartoon rabbit chased a cartoon fox with an oversized hammer, and violence occasionally happened. I didn't see the appeal but sat next to Martin, watching it with him without saying a word. After a minute, he turned to me. “I found the shit for Khalid.”

I nodded. “Didn't have a doubt on that front.”

He glanced over to Tooms, nodded. Tooms slipped out of the tent, closing the flap behind him with a soft whisper. I looked back to find Martin staring at me, and couldn't read the look in his eyes.

“Things go okay with the Steampunks?”

“Bargained them to four bars total. Bringing two worked out, like you said it would.”

He smiled, but his face was nervous. Why? “Knew you could,” he whispered. And then he wrapped his arms around me.

I looked at them. “What are you doin— Mff!”

He'd leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. Now he was trying to lick my teeth? I glared at him, and when he opened his eyes and saw my annoyance, he let go and backed up immediately, releasing my mouth with a wet 'pop!' “Oh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, sorry. I thought... shit. Sorry.”

I mopped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What was all that about?”

“I just... y'know, evening before the big battle. Thought you was here lookin' for something else. Real fuckin' smooth of me. Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head. “To be honest you been givin' me mixed signals for days now.”

“You know that Dire has no idea what you were going on about, right?” He was acting embarrassed, and the awkwardness was making me embarrassed.

“It uh, yeah, forget I did that.”

“Done.” I puffed my lips out, and blew a breath in exasperation. “No, Dire didn't come here for... uh, whatever that was. Remember that bad idea we discussed a few days back?”

He closed his eyes, as his face fell.

Five minutes later, our yelling could be heard across camp.

“No! Fuck no! No way in hell am I doing that!”