Project Northwoods (70 page)

Illuminated by the moon, Arthur leaned around the alley’s corner, checking for trouble one way, then the other. Across the street, the convenience store stood devoid of occupants, the door ajar. Short of breaking into even more abandoned apartments, it was the closest and most viable option for sustenance they had. He looked back down the alley, Stair watching him intently.

“I don’t feel right about this, Arthur. Mr. Dadani was a friend of my pa’s.” Her voice cracked from either the cold or unease. He didn’t answer as his eyes skimmed the streets again. “Do you think there’s food in there?” she asked.

“I hope so.” He looked back at the storefront. “The Enforcers have just been here, so we have about ten or fifteen minutes. You…”

“Stay here.” She huffed in annoyance, an action which was becoming more and more common. “When I say you can’t leave me behind, I don’t mean just in the apartment.” He grunted as he pushed off the wall and sprinted across the street. “I can take care of myself!” she shouted, the words echoing dangerously off the empty buildings.

Arthur stepped into the building, glass crunching underneath his shoes. The place had been ransacked, but there were a few canned goods and candy bars left. He picked a plastic bag off the floor and set to work, plucking the few items off the shelves and floor that he could stomach. Stair was a trickier proposition, as she wasn’t too keen on most foods, another reason why he hadn’t brought her. Incessant whining about the lack of fruit or bread was beginning to take its toll.

The thought of being annoyed with her made him feel guilty again. Guilty because she had opted to go with him, to follow him, even after he had given her every reason to run away. He sighed, then trekked to where they had the health food. At least what passed for health food, anyway. A slight smile parted his lips when he saw a few fruit-and-whole-grain bars on the shelf. There wasn’t enough light to see what flavors they were, but pureed fruit all kind of tasted the same to him.

“What the fuck are you doing here, man?” someone shouted. Arthur whirled toward the entrance.

Six burly teens stood near the doorway, watching him, their pale skin lit up in the moonlight. It didn’t take long to notice a few were carrying makeshift weapons: two of them with chains and one with his hands wrapped around a baseball bat with nails worked into it. No answer he could give seemed like a good response. “Shopping?”

“You asking or telling?” the one in front asked. Arthur found himself moving to the back of the store, prompting his guests to walk further in. One stood in the doorway, blocking it with his scrawny, though somehow intimidating, frame. “See, I don’t think any neutral would be in this part of town without a couple of buddies.”

“And no self-respecting bum would be caught dead with this many Enforcers running around,” another member said. Arthur had no idea who these people were, but they weren’t heroes and they certainly weren’t villains.

“What do you think, boys?” The leader turned to the rest of the group. “Do you think that the heroes mind if they find a busted-up villain in here?” Sinister mutters of agreement made Arthur feel violently sick. They began to spread out, one per aisle, boxing him in. Maybe he could make it to the side door which would take him to the back room… and then what? These neutral hoodlums were clearly more physically fit than he was. They’d run him down in the street.

The neutral by the door was tackled to the floor. Stair wasted no time rising to her feet and running toward Arthur. The others turned toward the noise. “Having a seizure, ya damn ballsack?” one of them shouted as Stair neared another kid. He had been laughing, only to squeak in surprise as the girl shoulder-rammed him into an empty rack. Before he had even hit the ground, he immediately relaxed, as though falling over had been his own fault.

“What’s going on here?” one of them shouted, turning to Arthur. “Shit!” he shouted and pointed at him.

“Bestowed!” another screamed, backing up.

“We can take him!” the leader shouted, turning to the others as Stair leapt at Arthur. “We can…” Her arms wrapped around him and Arthur staggered to the floor as her touch made ice spread through his heart and brain. The bag of food left his hand and crashed to the floor as the world went stark black-and-white, the neutrals now leaving dim, colored trails of symbols in their wakes. The leader seemed to visibly relax. “Get up!” he laughed, throwing a bag of potato chips at the still floored member of his gang in the aisle. “I told you there wouldn’t be anyone here.” His voice was a million miles away, yet comfortably resting in Arthur’s ears.

Arthur looked at Stair, her eyes shimmering as she glared at the punks who decided to celebrate their isolation by trashing the place more than it already was. “We need to get out of here,” Arthur said.

“Don’t touch any of them,” Stair ordered. She inhaled in a sharp burst as she shifted her weight, releasing him from her grapple in favor of holding his hand. “I don’t quite know how to control it.”

Arthur didn’t want to argue. In all the excitement of the last week, he had never asked her how her ability worked. It seemed silly now, but there was a lot more on his mind when he was trying to focus on the world at large versus mere survival.

One of the neutrals produced a can of spray paint and walked toward the front windows. He shook the can and began to paint in wide, slow arcs. “Hey, Picasso!” the closest creep to Arthur and Stair shouted. The duo stopped at the noise as the painter turned around, his eyes large and wet. The one who had yelled walked down the aisle, clearing a way for the two villains. “Make sure to spell it right this time.”

“I have dyslexia, dick,” Picasso muttered as he returned to painting.

Stair led the way down the aisle, her hand tightening around Arthur’s in a death grip. The neutral she had knocked over darted in front of them at the center walkway. Stair stopped suddenly, Arthur almost smashing into her. In the vandal’s fist was a wad of off-brand strawberry twists which he greedily shoved into his mouth. Once he had wandered far enough off, she looked back at Arthur and jerked her head to indicate she was going to move forward and he wasn’t to fall behind.

Something flashed in Arthur’s mind, causing him to look back. Behind them, the bag of purloined groceries had spilled onto the floor. “Stair, I dropped the food.”

“Leave it,” she whispered back harshly.

He considered going against her command, but thought better of it. “Damn it.”

They made their way up another aisle, the vandals occupied with their various shenanigans. The doorway loomed tantalizingly close. Stair reached toward it as they neared, only to snap her hand back and skid suddenly to a stop. An armored Enforcer filled the doorframe, shouldered rifle sweeping over the convenience store. “Alright, punks, hit the floor!” she ordered, her voice a carrying bark.

“Shit,” Picasso said, dropping the spray paint can and falling to his knees.

“My mom’s going to kill me,” another grumbled.

“You’re damn right,” a second Enforcer growled, following the first one’s lead when she walked further into the convenience store.

“Just stay still,” Stair whispered.

“What are you even doing in here?” the female Enforcer asked. Yet another one entered the store and started down the aisles, drawing perilously close to Stair and Arthur. “You think it’s a good idea to deface hero property?”

“There’s still villains around here, man!” one of the neutrals shouted. “We’re helping you by scaring them out!”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” the first Enforcer hissed, knocking one of the kneeling teenagers to the floor. “It’s not like Arbiter trusts us to do this on our own anyway.”

“Relax, Austin,” a towering hero said calmly as he entered the doorway, adjusting a glove resting over his right hand. In a moment of heart-stopping recognition, Arthur realized the man was his sister’s sword-bearing counterpart, the one he had seen next to Arbiter weeks ago and the one who had attacked him after the explosion that killed his father. Stair’s grip tightened around his hand as Arthur stepped forward to get a better look. He looked back at Stair, her mouth slack and eyes rapidly flicking over the hero. She recognized the man, too. “No need to bad mouth the High Con…” he trailed off as he looked up. His eyes fixed on Stair and Arthur, losing their glimmer and becoming sharklike. “No…”

“He can see us?” Arthur said breathlessly.

Stair yanked on his arm, hard, pulling him violently toward the exit. “Run!” she screamed as an afterthought, shoving her way past the stunned hero. They hit him at speed, knocking him to the side and into the door frame before continuing down the street.

Arthur had no idea how long they were running before Stair stumbled to the ground and hissed in pain. He overtook her as she got back up, allowing him to angle their path toward an alleyway. Once there, he let her go near an intersection, rounding the corner so they could duck out of sight. She heaved air, gulping it down as she collapsed. “How could he see us?” he asked, looking around the corner.

Stair took a few more breaths. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He was yelling at her in a whisper, harsh yet quiet.

“I mean I don’t fucking know!” she snapped, glaring at him. Her chin began to quiver, and she broke eye contact in favor of looking down the alley.

The pause was unbearable. “I’m sorry,” he said. She refused to look at him. “I don’t even know what you can do… my mind has trouble processing it.”

The pause may have well continued unabated. Finally, Stair quietly muttered, “Everyone’s does.” She hissed in pain and began to massage her ankle.

Arthur went to kneel by her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped again as Arthur was in mid-stoop. He immediately straightened. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re Bestowed, there’s hardly anything…”

“Yes!” she snarled. “There is.” She shook her head and looked down the alley again. “Even by Bestowed standards, I’m a freak.”

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes, found it too difficult, and leaned around the corner again to prevent her from seeing it. He would kill to have something peculiar about him rather than his penchant for getting people… well… killed. “I don’t think we’re being followed.” He leaned against the building and slid down opposite his companion. “Tell me about it.”

Tears were streaking down the girl’s face. “I should have died with my mom back in Ireland. But somehow… ‘that’ happened.” She folded her arms across her chest. “When I get nervous or scared, it can happen. It’s like… people can’t see me, but something more.”

Arthur nodded. “They forget you were even there.”

“Exactly.” She rolled her shoulders and shivered. “I hate doctors… so every time I’ve been scheduled for a test, I just vanish from time. Like I never existed.” She looked back at Arthur. “No one’s really been able to work with me to make me control it… so it just comes and goes with my emotions.”

“Why didn’t you just… I don’t know…” he trailed off.

“After what happened to my mother, my pa didn’t want me to become a villain. He was thrilled that I wasn’t Bestowed.” She held herself tighter. “It was my secret.”

Although he didn’t understand why she’d willingly do such a thing, he nodded in agreement. A thought crossed his mind. “So how come I can see you?”

Stair smiled and licked her lips a little. Arthur could have sworn she turned a shade redder, but that was probably the moonlight playing tricks on his senses. “Some people just… see me. Like they’re immune to it.” She looked up at him. “Like you. You’re always going to see me.”

Arthur suddenly felt the same nervous repulsion he had always felt around her prior to the whole world going crazy. “Lucky me,” he said, trying not to sound uncomfortable. “Do people you touch see you?”

She thought about his question for a few seconds. “I’ve had a few people do that. Others are just clueless.”

He swallowed hard, his heart finally ceasing its heavy beating. “And that hero?”

She turned away. “He saw me at the Fortress. He and my dad got into a fight.”

Arthur perked up immediately and leaned closer to her. “Did he…”

“No.” She blinked rapidly, fighting back more tears. “The Enforcers did it. Stabby McGee back there actually killed one of them… and then they sh… shot my…” She trailed off before breathing deeply and composing herself.

It took a moment to process what she said, but Arthur was still confused. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Stair half-snapped. “I’ve given up trying to piece it together.” Her legs stretched out in front of her, and she winced with exertion.

His eyes immediately went to her ankle. The already dirty sock grew darker with blood. “Stair! Damn it!” He scrambled over to her.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“It’s not fine,” he responded. “I’m going to get you back to the apartment.” He moved to her side and slid his arm behind her. “Up.” It took a moment for her to gather her strength. “I’m sorry for this mess.”

“This is bigger than you, Art.” She complied with his earlier order, grunting as she put her weight on her badly twisted ankle. “I should kill you for going into that convenience store alone.” Her words came out a little drunkenly, the mental exhaustion of using her ability catching up with her.

He laughed. “And let you pass up a chance to kick some ass?”

She smirked as they started down the alley, their path shaky. “I was pretty awesome, wasn’t I?”

“The best.” Her weight on his shoulder grounded him, made him feel like he was a part of something important. Then, the sudden fear of losing her made him feel more helpless than he had ever felt before.