21. Cole

Several days of draining cars and shooting soda cans had left my powers more refined. I could drain from farther away and had tighter control. But I was bored, antsy. Zeke never grew tired of watching me juggle voltage, but the light shows weren't doing anything to help anyone. I'd dealt with the group with the spike strip by picking them off one by one from the relative safety of the rooftops but there was always more where that trash came from. The thought of Trish being followed in the streets made me restless.

So I'd taken to running patrols in what Zeke was beginning to call "Our Quarter" of the Neon District. Mostly I'd zap a few Reapers from a distance or scatter small groups of them by landing in a showy fashion. Whenever I took down a Reaper or a thug from one of the other, dwindling gangs, I remembered the old war veteran dying in the alley. He'd had such a bleak smile. I didn't like looking for trouble but it felt good to have vengeance. I wonder if I wear his bleak smile now.

This morning had been dull. With no Reapers in the immediate area, I was sweeping in wider and wider circles around Zeke's place. I had reached the business district, where the run-down apartments and warehouses gave way to banks and skyscrapers. A faint shimmer along a rooftop caught my eye. I crouched, wary of snipers.

Just visible over the lip of the skyscraper's high roof was a flagpole without a flag. Something was glowing at the top. The city hadn't had electric power for so long that the small glimmer of light stood out, strange and different.

I walked along a cable strung between the buildings like a tightrope, moving to investigate the sparkle. The streets below were quiet for weekday afternoon. I might have been busting heads, but there were still thugs running rampant and scaring the common folk.

The shimmer atop the flagpole was harder to see from below, but it remained, a shifting blue-purple. Surely the Reapers couldn't have orchestrated a trap? It would be more their style to use humans as bait, not shiny things.

I scaled up the side of the skyscraper, grip strong despite a crosswind. My muscles were smooth and didn't tire. I reached the top floor, pulling myself onto the roof with a grunt. Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I moved to the base of the flagpole. I craned my neck. There was a jagged shape embedded in the lightning rod at the top of the pole. It was just a twist of scrap metal, somehow electrified. The glow of the shard winked in and out slowly.

"Huh," I grunted. It would be a simple matter to climb up to it, but I didn't like the idea of getting caught with a nasty surprise at the top of a flagpole, nearly invulnerable to falling damage or not. I emptied my hands of their lingering electricity so I could search outward for a charge. I narrowed my eyes, inhaling as I pulled in all directions.

The shard flashed brighter and echoed my pull. It was a source of electricity far stronger than any of the batteries I'd drained. The echo chaotic, more lively than the electricity I had drawn from the hospital equipment. It felt strong.

Hand over hand, I scrambled up the flagpole to snatch the glowing scrap. When my fingers closed on the metal, a strong electric surge flowed into my hand. An oddly comforting rush of energy flowed through me, pushing against the limits of my body as I tried to contain it. My muscles spasmed in waves and I slid down the flagpole.

By the time I'd landed, it was over. For a second, I worried that the shard had somehow taken my powers, leaving me to a long hike back to Zeke's place. But I summoned a handful of sparks with a thought, as cooperative as electricity would ever be. There had been no pain. In fact, if anything my reserves felt more fluid, somehow expanded.

The metal had been strangely cold at first, but now it was warm and no longer glowed. I tried sending out a pulse toward it to see if I could draw more, but there was no electric echo. It was dead, just another inert shard.

"Huh," I said again. I dialed Zeke.

"Zeke, something weird just happened."

"Hey, man. Glad you called: there's some people protesting at the Army recruitment office over on Ninth Avenue, saying they want real news about what's going on. This might be your chance to play hero. I'm heading over there myself."

"You think the Reapers are going to crash the party?"

"Sure do."

"Fair enough. I'm heading over to Ninth now. Can you think of any place where I'll have a good vantage point? Somewhere high?"

"Aren't you the expert?"

"I don't know where the Army recruiting office is, Z. Unlike you, I don't stake out government buildings watching for conspirators. Is it near the Fox Commerce Building?"

"The 'Weasel Cheating Building' as I like to call it?"

"Whatever."

"It's just a block north of there. Head up to the east wing of the Weasel Cheating Building. There's a balcony, with cover."

"How do you know?"

"Satellite photo."

"How did you get your hands on satellite photos of the Neon?"

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Cole. You're a little late, but I'm sure you'll catch on just fine. We have these things called cell phones that come with GPS and the satellite maps. I can even see my apartment! Or... where my apartment was, before... You know."

"Where is the cover, Z?"

"You're already there?"

"Yea."

"Damn man, you don't waste any time. Just south of that big, square-ular thing."

"The what?"

"Maybe an A/C unit? I can't tell from the angle of this image. The big blue box."

"What the hell is 'square-ular'?"

"Square-looking. Like rectangular, only... square."

I dropped down onto a catwalk and walked over to a large air-conditioning unit, blue paint long faded. "Some eye in the sky you are. Just tell me when you get here."

Zeke hadn't led me astray. Twenty storeys below I saw a crowd of perhaps forty people, holding signs and circling in the street in front of a low building with an Army-green awning. Given the height of the balcony, it was too windy to make out the words of their chanting, but I suspected it was something along the lines of "F- you, Army Guys." My heart cheered them on. My girlfriend and best friend lived in fear because the military was holding the whole city captive. I was spending my days and nights fighting the gangs that should have been the government's job to handle.

Apart from the occasional car, the streets were clear in all directions. Nobody was answering the door at the recruiting office. I settled back into a crouch and waited. The protesters would probably get hungry and go home after a few hours.

Forty-five minutes later I noticed a battered white pick-up arrive in an alleyway. Zeke called as it came to a lurching halt.

"Had to take some side roads," he apologized, "Abandoned cars on Main made me think of an ambush."

"An ambush? Any Reapers?"

"No, no. Didn't see anybody. How's the view?"

"Boring. This a great lookout spot but all I'm watching are people walking in circles and waving signs."

"Don't knock it – protesting is how we mere humans get ourselves noticed and make change. Can't stick it to the man with lightning like some people."

I bit my lip. "Look, I'm coming down."

"Oh, man, I love this part. Wait just a second, lemme get my binoculars. Okay, go!"

I dropped from the balcony, wrapping myself in loose sheet of electricity. It was a long drop and the sound of the wind whistling in my ears was comforting. Zeke had meant "mere humans" as a joke, but it still hurt to hear him say it.

I directed my fall to an alley, as out of sight as human meteor could be. As I fell faster, static charge built up, energizing me. Landing in a tucked roll, I sprang to my feet, shut off my glowing hands, and jogged from the alley onto Ninth Avenue.

Zeke met me halfway, laughing. "Damn, man, but that was cool."

I grinned. "I know; I was there."

"Still, you should see yourself." We turned and surveyed the protesters. Mostly it was college-age kids, but there were some older folks, even a few families. I saw a dad pushing an infant in a stroller, two small children walking behind. A pregnant woman with an angry face and a strident voice was leading chants of "Let us out!" The windows of the recruiting office were dark and empty, like dead eyes.

"They're not getting much accomplished, are they?"

Zeke shrugged. "It lets them vent frustration. And look at that – the Voice of Survival guy! He's got a camera and everything. I be he's broadcasting live. People on the outside will be seeing this."

Zeke was grinning, but I wasn't so sure.

Zeke slipped his blunt pointer fingers in his mouth and whistled enthusiastically, grinning when the camera panned our way. He gave two ham-fisted thumbs up before elbowing me in the ribs. I waved weakly.

After twenty minutes of interviewing the protesters, the Voice of Survival and his one-man camera crew left, claiming they had to sort the footage before airing it. They encouraged us to keep an eye our TVs as well as our rights. Clichéd, but Zeke and the protestors ate it up. People need something to hope for, someone to believe in. If Zeke and the others felt less crappy about the situation they were living because they thought they were being heard, I wasn't about to take that hope away from them.

After the Voice Van (yes, it was really called that - spray painted on the side of an old plumber's van) drove off, Zeke turned to me.

"When you called, you said something weird had happened. Anything that tops being an walking power outlet?"

I explained about the electric shard I'd encountered and absorbed.

"That's pretty cool. I wonder if that metal bit had anything to do with the blast?"

"Now that you mention it, there was something familiar to the feel..."

"Holy shit!" Zeke yelled, reaching for his pistol. "Get down!"

Gunfire rang out, echoing off the storefronts. The protesters screamed and scattered. I crouched, charge surging into my hands.

"Cole!" Zeke yelled, shoving me to the left before taking cover behind a parked car, "Move now!" He was looking up the street. Three Reapers had appeared on the street corner, all wielding shotguns. They advanced, laughing and bouncing on their feet.

Zeke's gun fired in quick bursts of two as I scurried to his side. The Reapers turned toward us. With a decisive hand gesture, the Reaper in point position motioned for the man on the left to continue firing at the civilians. The Reaper on the right and the point man jogged straight for our hiding place. Zeke was reloading and they must have guessed I was unarmed.

"Guess again," I snarled, stepping out from behind the car. Alternating hands in a pumping motion, I shot a flurry of electric bolts at the point man. I'd sacrificed precise aim for quantity, but it was a good bet. The Reaper jerked like a poorly-coordinated puppet as a dozen darts of lightning impacted his chest and shoulders. He collapsed on the spot.

The second-in-command avoided the lightning leaping off his leader's body by darting sideways. He brought his shotgun to bear, raising the stock to his shoulder. I pivoted at the waist, stream of electric bolts carving a swath through the air.

Zeke had resumed firing somewhere to my right. The terse rat-a-tat of his six-shooter was pitiful in comparison to the boom of the third Reaper's shotgun.

The windshield of the parked car beside me exploded inward, glass shards sparkling. I hit the shotgunman in time to throw off his aim, but he was still standing, knees bent. Protestors screamed as they fled or else whimpered and cowered in corners.

I snarled and charged the Reaper. He shifted his weight, jerking muscles struggling to swing the gun's muzzle in my direction. Too slow. I stepped inside his guard. My hands ached with power. I grabbed the shotgun's barrel before he could club me with it, reaching my free hand to slap his chest with a hundred-kilowatt "hello."

Sparks flickered down the barrel and the shotgun exploded in my hand, knocking us both off our feet. The Reaper slammed into a parked car and slumped to the ground. I landed on a pile of soft cloth, hand stinging. I cursed under my breath. Curling my fingers into a fist was excruciating.

The pile grunted. I had landed on the point Reaper - I thought it smelled funny. Guess it wasn't my own burnt flesh.

As my red and squishy footstool groped for his gun, I shifted my weight to my knee, pinning his sternum. Then I fried him with my good hand. The sooner this fight was over, the better.

I stood with my back to the downed Reapers, gaze sweeping the street. The few remaining protesters cowered in a doorway. I didn't bother making eye contact. I wiped my uninjured hand on my thigh and met Zeke halfway to the sidewalk.

"Z, where's the third guy?"

"Down for the count." He spun the cylinder on his six-shooter before reloading. "I see you handled these two."

"Those Reapers followed you?"

"Hell if I know. They're here now. Better check and see if we're in for any more surprises." He nodded to the roof.

After pulling some juice from a car battery, my hand loosened up. I climbed to the top of the recruiting center. Parked behind Zeke's truck on the side street was one Jeep, painted black with a red skull on the side. It was empty. There were no more Reapers or similar vehicles in sight. Miraculously, it looked as if only one civilian had been shot. Zeke's warning shout had saved the day for most of the protesters.

I jumped to the sidewalk and jogged toward the sole victim. Zeke was already kneeling at the woman's side, clamping his hand to her shoulder. Blood had seeped out into a small pool.

My shadow fell across them both. "We're clear for right now," I said.

He nodded. I glanced up and down the block again, especially the rooftops. My hands flared and twitched. The woman's lips trembled. Her breathing was reedy.

"How's she doing?"

"She's unconscious but the pellets missed her heart." He frowned. "Probably. Think it's safe to move her?"

"Let's not stick around here any longer than we have to. I'll get her to your truck. You radio ahead to the hospital. "

I crouched down next to Zeke, careful to pull the energy in my hands back into my body. As I leaned over the woman, my head reeled. Vertigo blurred my vision and I had the sense of being in two places at once. I fell backward and shook my head. I heard a faint voice, chanting names. It was the woman. Her lips were moving, forming voiceless names. I closed my eyes to fight the nausea and saw faint ghosts of faces, one for each name. They were only kids, as the woman remembered them. Matilda wore her hair in pigtails. Holly had cute dimples. Joey, beautiful Joey, he never cried.

I cursed, standing. My hands were sparking again. "You have to carry her."

Zeke looked up at me from his crouch, eying my hands. "Maybe... maybe you could give her some of that energy you have. Heal her like you heal yourself."

"You want me to electrocute a gunshot victim?"

"Alternative medicine, electroshock therapy, all that..."

"Look, Z: I might heal her. Or I might send her into an epileptic fit. I might give her amnesia. Or I might fry every nerve and muscle in her body until she's a vegetable. None of that sounds like a way to help. Electricity is electricity. It's my body that's different about handling it. You need to get her to a hospital, now."

"And what about you?"

I rolled up my sleeves, pushing the dying woman's thoughts from my head. "I'm going to deal with this mess."