Project Northwoods (37 page)

“So fine she and her father aren’t picking up the phone?”

“It could be anything, Tim.” Arthur was trying to sound reassuring, but Tim’s panic was infectious.

“Maybe she’s just taking her time.” Talia shifted uncomfortably. “You know… on account of me.”

Tim dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. “No. It’s much too late for that.” His cell phone began to chime loudly in his pocket, startling the three of them. Tim checked the screen as he brought the phone to his ear. “Restricted?” he muttered. “Ari? Is that…” he trailed off. “Hello?” Arthur motioned for the phone. “Eat a dick,” Tim growled, covering up the receiver. He pulled his hand away. “Ari?” Tim made a face. He pushed the phone toward Arthur. “I… I think I heard your name.”

Arthur took the phone and put it up to his ear, heart slamming in his chest. “H-hello?”

“Arthur?” came the voice of Catalina, first as a subtle hiss. “… Trying… need to get… under…” Her voice fought against the static background before being swallowed completely.

“Catalina? Hello?” The phone issued a high pitched series of beeps, requiring him to yank it away from his ear. The screen lit up with ‘Call Lost’ before dimming slightly. Arthur looked up at the others. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his hands shaking. He went to the computer and packed it up.

“What did she have to say?” Talia asked.

“Did she know anything about Ari?” Tim leaned on the couch to get a closer look at Arthur as he unceremoniously shoved his laptop into the backpack.

He quickly checked his pocket for the mob-issued ID and felt a measure of relief when his hand glanced against the plastic surface. “I don’t know. It’s… I don’t know.” He looked back at the phone. The reception bars went from full to empty in less than a second, followed by a status screen declaring that he was disconnected from the network. “Check your phone!” he shouted at Talia as he swung the backpack on. She nodded and grabbed her phone from the counter as he stood and threw Tim’s phone back to its owner, his agitated roommate catching it between his hands before looking at the screen.

“Shit,” Tim muttered.

“Talia?” he asked.

“Hold on,” she hissed as the phone continued booting up. Panic was clearly infectious. “No signal,” Talia said, looking up at Arthur.

“Alright, we need to get James and get to the Mob.” He started toward the door. “Now.”

“Not without Ariana,” Tim declared, not moving.

Arthur looked at him, then at Talia. “We’ll stop at her father’s house. You know where it is, right?” Tim nodded. “Okay, so…”

The lights snapped off, the hum of the modern world dying with them.

“What’s going on?” Tim asked, trying to sound as calm as possible. Outside, a screech of tires, so numerous that they all blended together in a long squeal, announced the arrival of many, many people.

“We need to go!” Arthur shouted, heading toward the door.

“Whatever’s going on, Arthur, they’re waiting for us outside!” Talia tried to verbally stop him.

He spun on his heel toward her. “Then what do…” He was cut off by the heavy thud of feet in the hallway. Arthur swung his backpack off his shoulder and shoved it innocuously at the foot of the counter, hoping the shadow would conceal it or at least make it look like a nondescript part of the environment.

The door burst open, the latch torn free of its housing and spraying the remnants of the lock into the apartment. Tim instinctively threw his hand over his face to protect it from debris as Arthur fought to move away from the door. Three fully armored and gas-masked Enforcers stood behind two uniformed heroes, both male. One was much younger and terrified, the other much larger and irritated.

“What the…” Tim managed to shout.

“Silence, villain.” The larger of the two, clad in green armor that left his arms exposed, stepped forward as he spoke. “As per Arbiter and the Heroes’ Guild decision, all villains are to be taken into immediate custody.” The noise of shattering doors and pounding boots continued in the hall.

“What have we been charged with?” Talia asked.

The larger man looked at her and sneered. “Attempted insurrection.” He folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Y-you must all come forward to be s-scanned,” came the meek voice of the smaller one. He trembled in his grey-blue outfit, the series of concentric circles on his chest looking less like an emblem and more like a target. He motioned to an Enforcer. The officer came forward with a small PDA in his hand, the device vaguely reminiscent of Catalina’s. “Please, this isn’t easy for any of us,” the small hero said.

The Enforcer held the scanner up to Tim, who blinked away the scan. With a bleep, the device registered the identity. “Timothy James McFadden, Tier Three, zip-tie and cuff,” he recited off the screen. An Enforcer from the hall came forward, pulling the requested items from her utility belt. It took only a moment to realize this one merely possessed a high-caliber pistol, and a moment longer to acknowledge this as a cold comfort.

“Back the fuck off,” Tim growled. All eyes found their way to Tim. The man with the scanner took a step back.

“Sir, your cooperation is necessary for the safety of your friends and neighbors,” the woman with the restraints said.

“Your backing off is necessary for your own safety,” Tim threatened.

“Tim.” Talia put her hand on his shoulder. “Please.” She took a step around him. The Enforcer scanned her retina.

“Well, shit,” he muttered. He looked back at the heroes. “Talia Gregor Illyanovich.” His eyes went back to her. “We thought you skipped town.”

“Stop flirting,” the large hero grunted. “Recommended transport?”

The Enforcer coughed a laugh. “Tier One, zip-tie.” The remaining Enforcer stepped from the hallway and procured the restraints. The scanner found its way to Arthur, who seemed to have a harder time blinking away the scanner’s flash than the others. The Enforcer watched the screen, then scanned him again. “Nothing.” He turned to the others. “He’s a neutral.”

“Pathetic.” The green-clad hero pushed himself off the wall. He walked toward Tim and leaned down to the much shorter man. “You two have two minutes to gather a change of clothes.”

Tim moved so quickly that everyone present didn’t notice him administer the headbutt, but certainly noticed the hero collapsed on the floor with a gushing nose. “I slipped.”

The hero looked up, touching the blood on his lip and looking at it drip off his fingers. He smiled and glared at Tim. “Thirty seconds. Now.” Talia went to Arthur’s room, probably to change into something more suited to travel than a bathrobe. Tim remained motionless, defiant. Arthur went to follow Talia, but the younger hero pushed him back.

“Y-you’re not going anywhere,” he stuttered. “We’re doing this for your own protection,” came the firm, rehearsed excuse.

“I’m every bit a villain as they are,” Arthur said.

The Enforcer shook the scanner. “Not according to this, wannabe. Be thankful for that.”

Talia returned, fully dressed in her clothes. It had been a rush job, to be sure, but she managed. “Apply the cuffs and let’s move out,” the large hero ordered, heading toward Tim. “Hands behind your back,” he snapped.

Panicked, Arthur threw himself in front of the man. “You can’t…” He was cut off by the forehand strike to his face. The blow was strong, strong enough to send Arthur hurtling over the back of the couch and crunching into the coffee table.

“Arthur!” someone… Talia… yelled.

She’s muffled. Why is she muffled?

“Zip-tie secure, move out,” came a masculine voice.

“Zip-tie and fist-cuffs secure, move out,” came a feminine voice.

Red and white danced in front of Arthur’s eyes. It was a nauseating feeling, complicated by the sharp pain spreading through his skull. “Let the neutral be an example to you and do as I say,” the large hero said as the world faded into shadow.

“Before the night is over, I’m going to break this thing on your face,” was the last thing Arthur heard Tim say before blackness overtook his senses, and he swam in a sea of night.

LOCKDOWN

 “YOU’RE ALRIGHT,” A VOICE SAID TO ARTHUR,
breaking the high-pitched squeal that persisted above the sudden quiet. It was a familiar voice, but alien at the same time. “You’re alright,” she insisted. Somehow, someone had broken into his head and was chanting in slow rhythm, assuring him of his safety. “You’re alright,” Julia, or more appropriately, Julia’s voice, soothed.

“Julia?” Arthur muttered, the stress hurting his dry throat. Like a switch, his subconscious shut off the hallucination, and his sister’s voice melted away into a buzz of plastic on wood. He flipped onto his stomach and fought back the urge to vomit as he shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The buzz grew no more or less insistent, but continued, unabated, as his eyes forced themselves open and took in the darkness of the apartment.

The door must have remained open, for the distant echoes of vehicles and orders being shouted freely entered the apartment. Occasionally, a shout or scream would pierce the night, but there were no other sounds of overt violence. Had he blacked out so long that he had missed some sign of resistance? Or did most go along without a fight, fearful of retaliation?

The buzzing had stopped long enough for him to notice it when it resumed. Following the sound, he reached under the sofa and swept his hand on the dusty floor. At first, he found a rubber-gripped rod, which he removed. It appeared to be a heavy and retracted telescoping baton of some kind. He set it on the floor and tried again. His hand closed in on the vibrating thing, pulling an earpiece insistently flashing blue. In the lack of light, the paper tag dangling from it labeled ‘wear me’ seemed more foreboding than cute. Swallowing to hold back nausea, he brought the device to his ear and hooked it in.

He hit a button with his finger. “Hello?”

“Arthur Lovelass?” came the feminine voice on the other end. The woman sounded slightly familiar, but the hiss of computer modulation made placing exactly who she was out of the question.

“Who is this?”

“That doesn’t matter,” the woman insisted. A dull ache in his neck agreed with the voice. “I’ve got to get you to safety.”

“But…” Arthur winced as the full muscle memory of his face getting power-slapped returned. “My friends… I have to save them.” He started to rise, then fell forward. The world was swimming as he pushed himself up again.

“You have to save yourself,” the woman said. She clearly had no time for selflessness. “There should be a stun rod there, too. Do you know how to use one?”

He picked up the baton. Determining it had to be the ‘stun rod,’ or whatever, he clipped it to his belt. “I can figure it out,” he grunted.

“Use it as a last resort only,” the voice warned. “Do you have any location that you can get to and stay secure in?”

Arthur was on his feet. He clambered toward where he had set his backpack to rest. “We were headed to the Italian Mob.”

The pause on the other end betrayed the woman’s annoyance. “Fine. It’ll have to do. They can hold out against the heroes for a while, anyway.”

Arthur hefted the backpack, the weight of it throwing him even further off balance. “What about my friends?”

“Right now, Arthur, you can’t worry about them,” the voice said, growing impatient.

“Why not?” he snapped. He left the apartment behind him, but had to immediately rest against the wall. Arthur gasped for air. “What’s so important?”

“If you die tonight, everyone else dies with you.”

The answer was unexpected and horrifically curt. Arthur felt his heart stammer at the response. “Ariana…” he said, his eyes finding their way to the floor. He was surprised that’s who he thought of first, but there it was. Arthur swallowed. “What’s going on?”

“Shit!” With that, the feed audibly cut.

“Hello? Hello?” There was no response. “Damn it!” He shivered in the cold hallway and pondered the merits of returning for a sweater. His internal debate was cut off by a sound. Subtle, but it was there. Arthur, hand on the wall, walked toward it. It seemed to emanate from within Dervish’s apartment, the door having been knocked off its hinges.

Arthur moved inside the moonlit living room, noticing the lack of disarray apart from the door. He mentally set the scene, Dervish groggily exiting his bedroom at the sound of the door being kicked in, poised for a fight but realizing quickly he was outmatched. And his daughter…

His heart stumbled again when the noise he had heard from the hallway resumed, and he recognized it as someone wailing. Stair wailing. He jogged to her already ajar door and pushed it open further.

“No!” came a mix between a whimper and a yell, but Arthur couldn’t see the source. “No, no, no!”

“Stair, it’s Arthur,” he said, making sure to try to sound as reassuring as possible. He entered the room and cast a glance around, eyes struggling between the heavy shadows and meager light filtering through the window. The sight of a bloody hand print on the wall startled him, and he moved toward it. Arthur stopped immediately when he saw Stair, curled in the corner, crying and clawing at her wrists. She had already broken the skin, working up enough blood to mark the wall earlier. The girl was shying away from the sound of his approaching, convulsing as she did so.