PART TWO
Warnings: Slight reference to sex, some gore
Chapter Twenty-Three: Sam Rides a Motorcycle
Sam was trying to do homework when the ghosts came. It was biology, which was something she liked, and she was trying to focus. A few low-level ghosts had slipped through the past few nights, despite Danny shutting down the Portal, and the worksheet had technically been due a few days ago. Ghosts were always coming through; the dimensions were close in Amity, especially near the forest. There were fewer ghosts now than there had been before the Empress started conquering the Zone, but she'd still lost too many hours of sleep. Tucker, too.
She was curled up on her floor near her window, letting the last dregs of sunshine light her paper. Pine-scented candle smoke wafted through the air. Her mom called her collection of candles a fire-hazard; Sam considered them soothing. She'd disabled her fire alarm, so it would stop going off, and had refused to let anyone put it back. Dying in a fire is a good way to go, she'd told her mom. It'll be something interesting to put on my epitaph. Pamela had looked appropriately horrified, and Sam had patted herself on the back for offending her mother's over-developed sensibilities.
Most found her room, with its rock-band posters, macabre décor, and dark walls, unsettling and dreary. Sam liked it, and Danny and Tucker thought it was cool. Though she told herself she didn't need anyone's approval, it was secretly nice to get it. Years of rejection had been oddly soothed when she'd first shown her best friends her room and their reaction had been positive.
She knew something was wrong when the ghost radar on her bedside table began beeping incessantly. Usually, for one or two ghosts, it would make a couple noises and stop—this was something different, more like an alarm or siren than anything else.
Sam leapt to her feet and dashed over, her homework falling to the floor. Is this it? she thought. Is it time? She picked up the radar, and it showed dozens upon dozens of unknown ghostly signatures pouring into Amity—some even simply appearing there—from all sides of the city. Sam knew, though she was one day early, that it could be only one thing—the Empress.
Her army was pouring into the city so fast—too fast. Will Danny be able to get the shield up in time? Except, with so many ghosts inside Amity, it might be better to conserve his energy and switch to plan B.
Sam ran to her closet, and from the back she pulled out a duffel bag, filled to the brim with ghost-hunting gear and equipment. She pulled off her skirt, leggings, and tank-top—none were very good for fighting—and donned sturdy gray cargo pants, a long-sleeved undershirt, the specially-made Kevlar vest, and her steel-toed boots, lacing them tightly and double-knotting them.
She could hear the sounds of fighting outside as she strapped a specter-deflector onto her waist. I'll have to remember to take it off when I run into Danny. Onto her outer belt went a Fenton thermos (which Danny had smuggled to her long ago, complaining that his dad wasn't making them fast enough) and two ectoguns, fully charged and warm to the touch. The belt had holsters; it was specially made (courtesy of the Fentons). She kept the safety on—they wouldn't kill anyone, but they might leave some nasty burns. She muted her ghost radar, and it was the last thing to go into her belt.
She went over to her dresser and pulled out the bottom-most drawer on the right. Wedged inside was a small notebook stained with ectoplasm and blood. She took it carefully and placed it in an inside pocket of her vest awkwardly, zipping it up. She had no idea if actual armor-type vests had pockets, but the Fentons' vests did, which she was grateful for.
And now, the Fenton phones—
Her thoughts were interrupted as her door was abruptly opened. There her mom and dad stood, mouths open in surprise. Her mom in particular looked as though she'd caught Sam in the middle of having sex with someone, not putting on a headset.
"Samantha?" she demanded in that voice that made Sam want to chew her own ears off. If only her mouth could reach. "Just what do you think you're doing?" She could always tear them off, she supposed.
"What does it look like?" Sam deadpanned. "I'm about to throw a party. What are you doing?" She knew her mom wasn't as dumb as she looked—why did she have to ask such stupid questions.
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady!" Pamela chided. "Leave that ridiculous equipment here. We're all going to the basement."
Ah, yes. The basement. Two weeks ago, her parents, upon hearing about the invasion, had gone completely doomsday prepper. They'd descended into a full-out nuclear family, in fact, buying things from the Fentons to ghost-proof the room. We won't be stuck huddling at the high school with the whole town. Who knows how long we might be trapped there? her dad had said. They even looked like they might be from the fifties—with her mom's nice yellow dress and her dad's plaid sweater-vest and kakis.
"You go," Sam said, tucking the Fenton phones into her pocket. She had to get out of here. "I'll be fine." She removed her ponytail only to gather up more of her hair and put it back up.
"I don't know what you think this is, Samantha, but you're not a fully-trained ghost hunter." Her dad marched forward, moving to pull off one of the ectoguns from her belt. Sam danced backward easily, and he huffed in frustration. Behind him, her mom crossed her arms. "You're being ridiculous, and you'll get yourself hurt or worse. Leave the Fentons or that Huntress lady to get rid of the invasion."
It was nice to know they cared. Really, it was. But Sam had better things to do than try and convince them she needed to leave; she should've already been in contact with Danny by now.
"Look, I'm going whether you—" She was stopped as one of the ghosts from outside broke in through the window, shards of glass blowing inward. Sam raised her arm reflexively to protect her head and, faster than a striking snake, drew the thermos. The ghost opened their mouth to say something, but she was too quick; she uncapped it, aimed, and pressed the button. The ghost was sucked in before they could so much as fire an ectoblast.
Why didn't they just turn intangible? A part of her wondered. They're here to cause destruction, a different part of her answered.
"Where did you learn to do that?" her mom demanded. Sam ignored her, shoving the thermos back in her belt, and pushing past her shocked father. "Samantha? Answer me!"
Sam glared at her—they were basically the same height now. "Move out of my way, Mom. Get to the basement. I can take care of myself—trust me." And that was part of the issue between them—one drop in a whole sea of things between them. Trust. Pamela didn't respond, so Sam pushed past her, too.
She walked briskly through the hall and down the stairs. One glance out the window was all she needed; the streets weren't about to be clear any time soon. Her car wasn't an option—or it would be a slower option, anyway. She went into the garage, stuck on her Fenton phones, and found her helmet (now would be a terrible time to crash and die, after all). Then, she opened the garage door, climbed onto her Yamaha V Star 250 Raven, and raced out as fast as she could.
"—there? I need you on the other mainstay. And Jazz, you're on the third. Just as we planned. I'll get the last, but first I need to get as many ghosts as I can out of the shield's range." Danny's voice crackled over the headset. He sounded as he usually did in these situations: calm, cool, collected. Two years, he hadn't been so, but there were only so many times a person could panic before the pressure hardened them.
"I'm here, Danny," Sam said as she rounded a corner. A couple of ghosts spotted her and began following. "And I'm on it. My ETA's ten minutes, maybe less." They fired a few shots, and she dodged, swerving dangerously close to the curb. People were running everywhere, trying to make it to the shield. Sam wanted to stop and help, but she had to focus.
If this is just the first part of her army, we need to make sure the shield is up as soon as possible. It might've been better for Danny to teleport, but if he did, he might be too worn out to actually help fight all the ghosts—and that, Sam knew, would be a disaster. She turned on her bike's headlight, and it flared out into the darkness in front of her.
Danny said a couple things over the line, but they were clearly directed at someone else, so Sam ignored it, going as fast as she dared. The two ghosts behind her eventually dropped off to find easier prey, though they probably could've caught her had they been more determined.
"Jazz, do you copy?" Danny again—was his sister still not on? Sam frowned as she turned a corner to find a man about to be killed by a sinister-looking ghost with a spear. She slowed rapidly to a halt and, her legs touching the ground on either side of her bike to steady her, brought up her ectogun, and fired at the ghost's back.
"Yes," Jazz responded. "I'm on my way to the mainstay on foot. I'll be there in twenty minutes." The ghost turned to Sam, his previous victim forgotten, and, with one hand still holding the gun, she single-handedly brought out the thermos, uncapped it, and trapped the ghost inside.
He was sucked in just as he opened his mouth, and Sam spent a brief second wondering what he had been about to say. Perhaps something clichéd, like, You'll never stop me or We've already won. The man, trembling, took a few steps forward as Sam put her thermos and gun back into her belt.
"You saved my life," the man muttered, looking at her with wide eyes. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. "Who—who are—" Sam waved and sped off. She had a mainstay to get to.
"Has anyone laid eyes on the Empress?" Danny asked. He'd given them all her description, but Sam was pretty certain the ghost would stand out if she saw her. So far, all she'd seen were low-level ghosts—soldiers, minions, whatever. None had even come close to the Empress's supposed power levels.
"Nope," Jazz replied. "No sign of her."
"That's a negative," Tucker said.
"No," Sam answered.
"Alright. The plan is to activate the shield and hold the ghosts off as best we can. Dora and her people will get here eventually to help." Reinforcements. Good. Even if they managed to get the shield up sooner rather than later, there would still be a good portion of the Empress's army both inside and outside Amity. If Dora took out the ones outside, they could get rid of the ones inside. It wouldn't be easy—but it was doable, especially with the Huntress, Danny, his parents, Jazz, Tucker, and herself all focused on one thing.
"Copy that," she said, her voice blending with Jazz and Tucker's.
"Sam," Danny grunted, sounding strained. Probably fighting. "What is that sound?"
"Um," Sam said, unsure of how to admit what she'd done. It was such a rich-person thing to do, spending thousands on a whim. And she would've been ashamed of it, but well… Irritating her parents was worth it. Plus, technically, it had been a present from her grandma. How could she have said no? "So I may or may not be riding a motorcycle."
"What the hell, Sam? Why? How?" Tucker demanded.
"Well, they aren't the greatest for the environment, but my parents hate them. So I learned how to ride one, passed the test and all that, and rode it when they were being especially irritating. I don't do it normally, but I thought it would be faster with the roads being so crowded." All of this was true—while her bike's gas mileage was better than her car's, it also emitted more air pollutants. She rode it sparingly, more to make a point than anything else. Though she couldn't deny she didn't enjoy the thrill of it, the adrenaline energizing her faster and more effectively than even the strongest coffee.
Many of the streets were covered in rubble from the ghosts—debris, totaled cars, or broken streetlamps—buildings on fire and the odd person or family fleeing. On these, there wasn't really a safe way through, not even with her increased maneuverability. So she had to take roads she wasn't used to taking, adding on to her time. She could only think of how much longer it would take Tucker, who was in a car. She got turned around a couple of times, but she knew she was mostly going the right way, which was the important thing.
Tucker's voice crackled in her ear. "Danny, we might have a problem." He sounded anxious, and in turn, anxiety flared in Sam's gut like she'd eaten spinach that had gone off. Is he hurt? Did he spy the Empress?
"We have a lot of problems right now, Tuck—you're going to have be a little more specific," Danny responded. His tone was worried, uncertain; he hadn't like Tucker's ominous words any more than Sam had.
"It's the school—I'm not sure. I just passed it, and something has to be wrong with the shield or something. People are running away from it," Tucker explained. Sam couldn't see herself, but she knew her skin had paled. Something wrong with the shield? It was a terrible time for it to malfunction—and it probably was no coincidence, either. Had the Empress sabotaged it somehow? "I can't see anything from where I am, but I keep hearing a God-awful screeching noise. Should I check it out?"
"No," Danny said, in his I'll take care of it voice. It was one Sam found simultaneously endearing and annoying, though she knew he was the most capable ghost hunter in Amity—possibly the world. "We need to get the shield up as soon as possible, and I may not have enough energy left to fight if I teleport and turn on all the mainstays."
My thoughts exactly, Sam agreed silently. The stretch of street in front of her, dark except for the streetlights, was straight and clear, so she sped up, hoping to make up for some of her lost time. She was careful not to go too fast, however; she needed to keep control of her bike, and she couldn't be going so quick that if something jumped out at her she wouldn't be able to stop in time.
"Got it," Tucker said.
The line was mostly silent after that, broken by talk unrelated to any of them. Sam knew she was almost there when she started recognizing the road names again. It was simply a matter of following them until she reached the mainstay. This part of the city was eerie—completely silent, even though it was still before eight. The windows were dark; no cars on the roads; and there were no people, either.
It was, dare she think it, a ghost town.
Tucker and Danny are rubbing off on you, she thought to herself. You need to step up your game—you used to make better jokes than that, even in your head.
Her momentary distraction was cut off as Danny spoke. "I'm at the school," he croaked. "It's the Empress—she's here." His voice was wrong. It was filled with shock, and a despair Sam didn't often hear from him.
"What's she doing?" Sam asked, urgent. How was she disrupting the shield? Was she truly so powerful that she had the ability to destroy it—somehow? And, importantly, did Danny need some kind of back-up? He said something, but it was garbled, and probably not addressed to them.
Focus on getting to the mainstay. Danny can handle himself. She practically flew down the next street.
The half-ghost sobbed over the headset. And then, not a second later, he screamed—a terrible scream, one only giving hint to the pain he was in. It had almost sounded like one of his wails, but to use one so early in a fight… And for it to be filled with so much agony… After treating almost all of his wounds, she knew what noises he made when he was in pain.
So the only question now was not whether he was hurt, but how hurt was he?
"Danny?" she demanded. "Danny, are you there? Are you okay? What's happening?" The line exploded as Jazz and Tucker joined in, asking what had happened—what was happening. Sam's mind couldn't help but leap to all the times she'd seen Danny hurt and helpless, blood and bruises covering him like clothing. Limbs broken. Burns larger than her head. The most recent example was his fight with Valerie, but an entire host of memories haunted her, in her waking moments and in her dreams. They haunted her more thoroughly than any actual ghost could, stalking her like a shadow, like a pervasive, malevolent cloud hanging over her, choking her.
She couldn't bear to not be there with him, watching his back.
The moments of his agonizing silence after that scream were the longest of her life, time stretching and bending to torture her further. The terror of not knowing, not being there to help. She couldn't stand it.
And then: "We've engaged. Can't talk now." Short and to the point—he had other things occupying his thoughts now. She wanted to ask what the Empress had done to him—if it had, indeed, been the Empress. But there would be time after, once they'd finished this—if they finished this. Regardless, she couldn't let her worry for Danny overwhelm her; she had her own job to do.
Sam hugged her bike as she almost skidded around a corner, attracting the attention of a few ghosts who had been destroying one of the nearby office buildings. They flew after her. Fucking hell, she thought. She was so close to the mainstay—she'd probably have to take care of these fuckwads before she actually turned it on.
They stayed on her tail as she approached the mainstay. There were four of them. Two had blue skin, one had green, and the other had a sort of pinkish-orange, like the color of shrimp, which she hadn't seen often in the ghost world. She was finally moving out of the city, the only illumination provided by her bike. The tree line was dark and ominous, and to either side of her, visible a mile or two away, were massive portals. Ghosts flooded out of them in a constant stream, adding to the already sizeable number in the city.
We have to get this shield up.
She ground to a halt once she was close, cutting the engine and propping her motorcycle up with the kickstand as fast as she could. By this time, the ghosts had surrounded her, laughing. It was hard to see with her helmet on, and she quickly removed it.
"What are you doing out here?" the green-skinned one asked. They wore heavy-looking armor and wielded a massive sword, which was longer than Sam was (and she was a very respectable 5'7"). "The others ran the other way." Their voice could've belonged to a man or a woman.
"Maybe it's stupid," one of the blue ones said. They were clearly male—they had a deep voice, a square face, and a beard. He pulled his spear off his back and jabbed it toward her, as if to poke her. "Are you stupid?"
"I'm not an 'it,' asshole," Sam growled, whipping the Fenton thermos out from her belt. She had uncapped it and pressed the button before he knew what had hit him, her aim precise and perfect. The others flew away too quickly for her to suck them in, however, hovering above the ground.
"Watch out!" The other blue-skinned one chuckled. Her voice sounded female. "This one's got claws!" None of them seemed alarmed that their comrade had been trapped, but the soldiers' lack of loyalty wasn't exactly her problem. She hopped off her bike, making sure to keep the three remaining ghosts in her sight. One of them fired off an ectoblast, almost lazily. Sam rolled, coming up to with the thermos raised to capture them again.
The evaded, the pink-orange one circling around so that they surrounded her. Sam sprinted toward where the mainstay was buried—the only cover out here was a couple of lone trees and her motorcycle. She trusted her ability to dodge.
Her trust proved to be well-placed, as she wove and danced around their ectoblasts to make her way to where she needed to be. They seemed wary of coming too close, afraid to be caught in the thermos. They didn't have as much space to dodge up-close.
The green one finally wised up. The only warning Sam had was a shiver up her spine before the ghost came up through the ground behind her, trying to pull her into the air—probably wanting to toy with her. Her specter deflector electrocuted them, and they cried out. Sam captured them easily in the thermos.
With their compatriots gone, the two remaining ghosts treated her with far more respect. They thought it would've been funny to play with a defenseless human before killing her. Sam wasn't helpless, though—far from it, especially when it came to ghosts.
"C'mon," the orange-pink one said, their gender also difficult to determine. "Let's just kill it. No more messing around." The woman-ghost nodded. The two barraged Sam with ectoblasts, singing the ground beneath her as she hopped backward. Their aim was decent, but Sam was practiced at evading ectoplasmic blasts—and the burn scars on her arms, legs, and torso had been excellent motivation to learn. Still, one clipped her boot, and the smell of burned rubber reached her nose. It hadn't hit her foot, however.
She panted, sweat drenching her brow. It was a matter of endurance, now—would she become too slow and get hit, or would they be too tired to fire any longer?
Her stamina proved to be better, and as they rested briefly, she whipped out her ectogun. Its rays travelled faster than the thermos, though they were much slower than bullets. She fired in quick succession, hitting one of the unsuspecting ghosts directly in their core. It was the blue-skinned one, and she cried out in pain, dipping close to the ground. The pink-orange one, tired, and realizing there was no way to beat Sam one-on-one, quickly flew away, leaving Sam to suck their companion into the thermos.
She wiped the sweat off her brow and tucked her weapons back into her belt. She walked to where the mainstay had been buried and kneeled down. The dirt over top of it was loose and easy to brush away. Once uncovered, she quickly activated it. It whirred and hummed and seemed to be working.
"Danny, the mainstay's on," she said into the phones. No response. "Danny?" Nothing. Her voice rose. "Danny! Danny! The mainstay's up!"
"Copy that," he finally acknowledged before shouting something—presumably at the Empress. Sam allowed herself a brief moment to enjoy the cold night air before moving back over to her motorcycle, re-donning her helmet, and climbing on. She flicked the kickstand up with her foot and was off, a dark figure against an even darker night.
Danny was yelling again, but clearly not at them. Sam couldn't say she minded—as long as he was making noise, she knew he was okay enough to fight.
"Anyone need help?" she asked into the Fenton phones. "Tucker? Jazz?"
"I've nearly got it," Tucker panted into the line. She could hear firing in the background. "So I think I'm good."
"It's going to take me a lot longer than I initially suspected to get the mainstay up, but I'm handling it," Jazz said. Sam nodded before realizing neither of them could see her.
"Got it," she said. She'd do her best to fight the ghosts she came across. She wished there was some way to take down the portals, but even if she could, there would be so many they'd easily overwhelm and overpower her. She was better off trying to get rid of the ones already inside the city. But where are they? she thought, racing through the deserted streets. Probably where the people are—which will be toward the shield. Except, hopefully they'd all gotten the memo to stop trying to evacuate there. As she rode deeper into the heart of the city, she saw more and more people.
And more and more ghosts.
She usually sprang up on them, sucking them into the thermos from behind. She stopped two from killing people—but for some, she saw, she was too late. She averted her eyes from the corpses. Don't think about it—focus on the ones you can save. The ghosts had only really come as a trickle before—this was a torrent compared to that. Even Pariah's skeleton army hadn't been as large.
They'd always been there in time, before. Had always managed to save the day before anyone died—but there were just too many—and some part of Sam accepted that. There was only so much four people could do—seven, counting the Fentons and Valerie. Even with the police helping (and possibly whatever was left of the GIW), there were at least two hundred ghosts already in the city, if not more. They had attacked quickly, ruthlessly. Almost unexpected, though everyone had known they were coming.
The upside was Sam could track them using her radar, though it didn't cover the range of the whole city. But they had no way of tracking her. And although two hundred seemed big, in reality this number was spread out in a city like this. Most of the ghosts Sam came across were working alone or in twos or threes. They fought loosely, as most ghosts did, and individually.
They were also not the most powerful ghosts, and Sam could hardly spare a thought to consider where the Empress's more competent allies were. It was a haze of fighting ghosts and rescuing people, directing them away from the school's shield and into shelter nearby. She had to be careful not to get cornered—six or more ghosts against her weren't good odds. The thermos and specter deflector served her well, however. I'll have to thank the Fentons at some point.
A few minutes into her new mission, Tucker's voice echoed in her ear: "Danny! The second mainstay's up—what's the plan?"
"You and Sam need to capture as many ghosts as you can. They're still coming through the portals—we need to make sure we haven't trapped too many in here when we raise the shield," Danny directed. My thoughts exactly. They had no way of stopping the ghosts; their best course of action was to try and get rid of them once they were already here.
"Copy that," Sam and Tucker said in unison. Sam rode onto a street in chaos. She hopped off her bike, immediately ducking behind a car for cover as shots rained above her; if she had moved a second slower, she would've had some terrible burns on her face and neck. She didn't like how her helmet obstructed her vision—it was cumbersome and wouldn't help her aim—so she used the brief seconds of respite to remove it. It clattered to the sidewalk beside her.
The night was lit up with flashes of light: ectoblasts and flickering streetlamps. Screams came from all around—how was Sam supposed to know who needed her help first? The ghosts who had been firing on her moved closer, underestimating her as the others had. She easily solved the issue by whipping out the thermos and sucking them inside; they only had time to offer confused cries before they were trapped.
Over her headset, Danny spoke. ""Jazz? I really need that third mainstay up." He sounded winded—not a good sign. And he must've been getting desperate. Hurry, Jazz.
But no—she couldn't get distracted. Focus, Sam urged herself. Keeping low, she sprinted out from behind the car to another an overturned minivan, closer to a pair of ghosts destroying the front windows of a house. Sam didn't know if there was anyone inside, but she supposed it didn't really matter.
Hidden behind the vehicle, she easily aimed the thermos and captured one of them. The other, however, was too fast, and more powerful than many of the other ghosts she'd been fighting. They teleported away from its beam, appearing closer to Sam's hiding spot. She ducked low; if she could take them by surprise, she could probably get them no problem.
"Danny!" Jazz's voice crackled through the Fenton phone. "I've got the mainstay! Only yours is left!"
Good job, Sam congratulated Jazz in her head. She didn't want to clutter the line with anything unnecessary. Only Danny's mainstay was left—and that would be easy, seeing as he could teleport. Then the city would be safe, and they would hunt down the ghosts remaining in the shield. This whole mess would be put behind them.
Well, kind of. Assuming everything went that well. But, seeing how things had gone so far, Sam didn't think luck was on their side.
She prepped the thermos again, and just as she began to poke out from behind the minivan to aim, green lights arced out from where the mainstays were and formed an impressive dome around the city. Sam took advantage of the distraction and sucked the ghost, who'd been watching the shield form in shock, into the thermos.
"You did it!" Tucker cheered over the line. Sam felt a similar elation, buoying her upward and flooding energy into her tired limbs. Was it over? Had they succeeded? Danny said something to the Empress, but Sam didn't think the ghost was still inside the shield.
She rose completely out of her crouch. The air smelled like smoke and blood and battle, but the shield overhead provided an odd sort of false daylight, softly glowing above the city—almost like the Zone's sky. Sam kept the thermos out as she padded down the street, trying not to alert any ghosts of her presence. Strands of hair that had come loose from where it had been pulled back blew softly across her face.
"Guys," Danny said over the phones, "I'm not sure we're done yet." A shiver of foreboding crackled through Sam's muscles like electricity.
"What do you mean?" Jazz asked. "She can't get through the shield."
"She's doing something—and listen, I figured something out." He paused. "The Empress—she's Pariah Dark's older sister. He locked her up and made everyone forget her, somehow. It's not super clear. But she's bat-shit insane. She was—she was killing people. With impunity." His voice broke. Her best friend sounded almost sounded as though someone had hurt him physically, fractured a limb or cut him up. Sam knew the feeling of a smarting, invisible wound; the bodies she herself had seen were summoned to her mind's eye unbidden. How much worse would it have been to watch them die, rather than simply see them lying there motionless?
"Oh, Danny…" Sam trailed off. "It's not your fault." It would do nothing to ease the deep guilt she knew lurked inside him, dark fissures opening wide in his psyche. But she could only provide superficial comfort, now. And she knew he needed any comfort she could give, no matter how shallow.
She could barely process the information that the Empress was Pariah's sister—it was frankly bizarre. Though she guessed she could see the resemblance in their need for domination and control.
"I just want to know where the hell Dora and her freaking army is," Tucker said. "Did she take the scenic route?" He had a point, though Sam knew Dora probably had her reasons. Unlike many of the medieval kings and queens she knew from history, Dora had a deep sense of duty toward both her people and her allies. She wouldn't abandon them when they needed her help so badly.
"Wait, something's happening." Fuck, Sam though, is the Empress breaking through the shield somehow? Are people trapped on the other side? She waited, anxiety and anticipation whirling through her like storms colliding.
"You know those 'great beasts' Dora mentioned?" Danny said. His answer did nothing to calm this tempest, though Sam was glad she at least knew what they were up against. But if she's going to use them at all, why only bring one? And why now, after most of the battle is already over? She didn't know, and this probably wasn't the time to ask.
"No, don't tell me," Tucker said. Sam agreed with the sentiment, even as she waited to hear more. Dora had made the "beasts" sound horrific, straight out of one of Sam's nightmares. Or maybe one of Danny's. "Really. I don't want to hear."
"It's fucking huge," Danny whispered. "Like seriously big." He sounded overwhelmed, and Sam couldn't blame him. In fact, of all the people Sam could blame in her life, Danny was so far down the list he might as well have not existed on it at all. And Sam herself was overwhelmed—completely and utterly. This was bigger than they could've imagined, and while they'd managed to get the shield up, it just seemed to be getting worse, spiraling further and further out of their control.
Sam was distracted from her train of thought as an ectoblast buzzed past her head, singing her hair. Acting on instinct, she ducked and rolled, avoided at least five more shots. They were coming from somewhere above her head and to the left, so she ran right, the thermos clutched tightly in her hand.
She hurled herself beneath a huge Ford truck, landing on her stomach under its front part, which was more likely to block ectoblasts than its bed. She gripped the thermos tightly in her hands, peering carefully out from underneath. She didn't see anything—the ghost was obviously flying—and she couldn't hear anything either. Damn it, damn it. There was no chance the ghost hadn't seen her hide here, but they weren't firing. What—
Her thoughts were cut short as the ghost flew down through the truck, intangible, Sam yelped in surprise, the angle not good for using the thermos. But as the ghost grabbed her, hands lit with heated ectoplasm to melt her skin and kill her, the specter deflector sent a terrible shock through him—up close, they were clearly a him.
Sam scrambled out from under the truck as he fell on top of her, dazed. She whirled around, still on her knees, and trapped him in the thermos. As she made to stand, the shield high above her crackled and boomed deafeningly. She covered her ears just as it stopped.
"What the fuck is that?" she asked, struggling to her feet. Somehow, her hands had gotten scraped in the fight, and they stung and bled. The pain was inconsequential.
"The creature," Danny responded. He sounded almost like he couldn't believe what he had seen, and Sam tried to imagine the size a thing would have to be to cause that much of a reaction from the shield.
She found she couldn't.
Sweat stung her eyes, and she wiped it off with one hand, smearing blood across her forehead. If my parents saw me now… They would probably demand that she stop right this instant, that this sort of thing was best left to professionals, not young socialites. Never mind that Sam was basically a professional herself and her only two friends were Danny and Tucker—not exactly "socialite" material. She didn't particularly get along with the other rich kids.
"Dora and her army are here," Danny said. He sounded stronger, and Sam supposed that if she saw an entire host of allies coming to her aid, she'd also sound a little stronger. But she was pleased nonetheless; the ghosts outside the shield would be less of a problem, letting the ghost hunters focus on the ones inside Amity, who posed the greatest threat to everyone.
"I'm going to help her fight it," he told them. They started protesting, but he spoke over them. "You have to get Amity clear of ghosts—start making your way here, but take out as many as you can. We need it to be safe—no more deaths."
"Alright, Danny," Sam said softly. She could see the bodies, and she knew Danny was thinking the same. "No more deaths." His plan was a good one, anyway, even if she still wished desperately that she and Tucker were there with him, watching his back.
Bad things happened when they weren't there.
Sam made her way back to her motorcycle and dropped helmet. Safety first, she thought sarcastically as she put it on. But if a ghost attacked her on her bike, the last thing she needed was her head cracking open. She'd die alone on the road, useless.
Over the line, she heard Danny say something. She ignored it, as he didn't seem to be addressing them, but then—wait. It sounded like—like he was talking to his parents.
But he's on the inside of the shield! she realized, eyes widening. And there's no way he has the time to wait ten minutes until they're out of sight. Was this it? Was this the moment her best friend's secret was revealed to the two people he had simultaneously most wanted and been most afraid to tell? He stopped talking, and Sam immediately spoke into the phones.
"Danny? Was that your parents? Are you okay?" There was no response. It's like last time, she assured herself. He's just busy fighting the ghosts. "You guys heard that, right?"
"Yeah." Jazz sounded faint. "He was definitely talking to Mom and Dad."
Tucker made a small worried hum. "I hope he's okay." The words made it clear he didn't know what else to say—and what could he say in a situation like this? With their best friend by himself, confronting everything alone. She could only think of how injured he'd been after his encounter with Valerie.
Sam straddled her motorcycle and started the engine. "The universe kind of has a way of fucking us over in these situations."
"I would've thought it'd had fucked us enough by now to be satisfied," Tucker responded. Sam snorted and rode off. She'd check up on Casper High's shield first, see if they needed help with the ghosts. Then, she'd head for the last mainstay, which was probably closest to where Danny was.
Jazz huffed, and her microphone crackled. "Could we stay on task, here?" She sounded exasperated. It was oddly out-of-place—Amity was overrun with ghosts, her brother's secret had possibly just been revealed, Pariah Dark's sister was here, and she was complaining about a sex joke?
Well, it was probably just her way of coping.
"Tucker, can you see the school on your radar?" she asked. Wind tugged at her clothing, and she gripped the handles of her bike tightly. Now that she wasn't fighting, the night air seemed bitterly cold. I should've taken my gloves.
"Yes. Why?" Well, I can't exactly pull my own radar out when I'm speeding down the road at forty miles an hour.
"Are ghosts clustering around it? Or any place near it? That's where I'm going—I'll check on the evacuation and people inside."
"Er, it does look like there's a lot of ghosts nearby," Tucker said. "Do you need back-up?"
"You and Jazz should head to other clusters if there are any. Unless—how many ghosts are at Casper exactly?" she asked, scanning the street signs as she whipped past them. Dogwood Lane, Washington Avenue… To either side of her, ghosts ransacked buildings, destroying homes for seemingly no other reason than enjoyment. Sam wondered how many families would come back to their houses or apartments and find them completely ruined.
"Twenty—maybe thirty. And there are some other clusters. A big one, near your location, Jazz. There's at least fifty there. I'll come help," Tucker said.
"Copy that," Jazz agreed. The line went quiet. Sam noticed more and more ghosts as she got closer to the school—but not a lot of people. She stopped once or twice to catch the ghosts by surprise and trap them in her thermos. How I am going to catch twenty to thirty ghosts? They'd realize how competent she was after she took out a few of them—and there would be so many that they'd easily be able to gang up on her.
Maybe I can use the school's shield somehow—
Suddenly, the ground beneath her shook, and she was thrown from her motorcycle, skidding hard across the ground. It smashed onto its side, sending up sparks. In the sky above the shield, she could see lightning, and the wind suddenly picked up. There was a wretched noise—the way she imagined an erupting volcano might sound, only a thousand times worse. There was nothing she could do but lie there as the earth around her continued to move.
Buildings collapsed everywhere, debris and clouds of dust flying into the air. A pole crashed down next to her, crackles of electricity arcing from torn wires. Cars were crushed, their alarms blaring. Concrete and asphalt cracked, minute fissures opening up like a million hungry maws. Even the ghosts who'd been causing mayhem nearby stopped momentarily—looking… pleased.
The Empress did something, Sam knew. She caused this—whatever this is—somehow. It had to be her—this was no normal earthquake, and their reactions weren't normal, either. This had been planned; this was deliberate.
Oh, God. The shaking stopped, but Sam still felt like her world was falling apart. Danny would've done everything he could've to stop the Empress. He would've fought until he was bleeding—dying—what had she done to him? Had she simply been too fast, too efficient, or had something happened to him?
"Anyone there?" she asked into the Fenton phones, pulling herself to her feet. Her arms and legs, scraped raw, were bleeding, but she was in one piece—she was lucky she hadn't broken anything. She shuffled awkwardly over to her bike, wondering if it was still salvageable. "This is Sam."
"Tucker here." Her best friend coughed into the line, dry-sounding. Sam made it to her bike and heaved it up, grimacing. She wasn't sure it would survive. She looked past the rubble toward the school, which was still at least two miles away.
"I'm okay," Jazz said. The three of them paused a moment, waiting. The silence hung between them ominously.
"Danny?" Sam begged, desperate. "Are you there?" Nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the wetness building there. "Danny. Danny, please." He couldn't be dead. Please, don't be dead. She should've been there with him. Her and Tucker and Danny, all together, fighting the Empress.
Instead, she was here, and Tucker was across the city, and who knew where Danny was? She didn't know what shape he was in, whether he was okay—anything. He wouldn't have simply let this happen, though; she knew that much. But if he was still fighting, why wasn't he answering?
"He's not dead," Tucker said. His voice was higher than normal, almost hysterical. "He's not. He can't be. We'll find him—patch him up." Just like we did when he was in the parking garage, Sam thought. He wasn't dead. Danny was too—too stubborn to be killed by someone like the Empress, some crazy, world-hungry fuckwad.
"Oh, God…" Jazz whispered. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat, and it settled like a stone next to her heart, a lifeless, motionless thing. He wasn't dead. He wasn't. The thought spun around and around in her mind, and the world outside swayed. It wasn't real. She stumbled away from her bike, letting it crash back to the ground. She wasn't getting enough air. Nothing was real—this wasn't—wasn't real—
She gasped, wrenching off her helmet and breathing in cold air. It tasted odd—dust and ozone and ectoplasm mingling in the back of her mouth and stinging her nose. She coughed. He's not dead. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. He's not. He's not! She wouldn't believe it until she saw his body. And even then—
She'd seen his body before, and he hadn't truly died. Not then—and not now. He was alive. He had to be. There was no other option, no recourse. She'd only been friends with him for a scant five years, and yet he'd had more impact on her life than anyone else combined, except, perhaps Tucker and her grandma. He couldn't be dead. They were a unit, the three of them.
"What do you think happened?" she said into the lines. She couldn't think on it any longer—instead, she let it fester in the back of her mind, like an untreated sore. She dropped her helmet, letting it crash to the ground; she'd make her way to the school on foot. "That wasn't a normal earthquake." She forced herself into a slow jog—she could make it to the school faster if she ran, but she didn't want to tire herself.
"You're right. It wasn't," Tucker agreed, the words wobbly. She could tell he was breathing shakily, but he took the opportunity to discuss something other than—than the possibility of Danny's… She couldn't finish the thought. "It was the Empress—had to be."
Sam pulled out her radar, though she kept it on mute. She could see the group Tucker had been talking about hovering around the school, and she counted twenty-four ghosts, give or take. They showed up as tiny dots—red for ones with unknown signatures, blue for ones with known signatures. There was a way to select a red one and give the ghost's signature a name, just as there was a way to select a blue one to see the signature. All of the signatures currently on the screen were red. There were a few ghosts who were close by, but Sam knew people would still probably be trying to get to the shield, even after the whatever-it-had-been.
A haze settled over Sam's mind as she moved toward the school, sweat forming and cooling on her body in cycles. She focused entirely on the task in front of her: getting rid of the ghosts. Everything else blurred, like the background of a photograph. If she could just do this one thing, the world would keep turning. But if she couldn't—if she stopped now and dwelt on what might've happened, what could be happening—the world would stop, and she didn't know if she'd be able to get it turning again.
The Fenton phones in her ears emitted a low whine. What the hell? "Ghost child's friends and sister?" an obnoxious voice asked into her ear, far too loudly. No fucking way. What was he doing on their line? "Are you there?"
"Technus?" Tucker said, incredulous. "How are you even—"
"Hacking these communication devices was a simple matter," Technus told them dismissively. "Feel free to be impressed regardless." His ego grated in a way it usually didn't. Sam felt rubbed raw, emotionally, mentally, and physically. The last thing she needed was this ghost making it worse. For all that he claimed to be on Danny's side, she would never forget what he'd done: destroyed thousands of dollars in property damage, hurt innocent people, and exposed her best friend's deepest secret. The one she had sworn to herself, long ago, to protect by whatever means necessary.
Never mind that Danny may have gone and revealed himself to his parents anyway.
"What do you want?" Sam demanded coldly, beginning to move again. "We're kind of busy here." She jumped over a downed pole and dodged through the remains of buildings. Some still stood, but many had fallen. She wondered how many were trapped beneath, either dead or dying…
Technus made a low hissing noise. "I'm trying to help you, fool. Whatever the Empress wanted to accomplish, she has succeeded at—the earth-shaking signaled as much. And I am trapped in this city of yours—I can't pass through the shield. I will help you until the ghost child returns." Until the ghost child returns… Sam almost felt that dead lump next to heart rise again, almost felt the tears forming in her eyes—but then the haze was back, clouding her almost-grief and her almost-terror into something manageable.
"We could probably use it, technology ghost," Jazz said. "We—"
"The hospital," Tucker announced suddenly. "There's no way the electricity's working. They should have back-up generators, but I have no idea how long those last. Or how long until we get the power lines back up. And if part of the building is damaged, could you help repair it?"
Sam recognized the good idea at once. Technus's expertise was in technology, but he was highly skilled with telekinesis, too. Being able to go intangible and lift and remove debris would be invaluable. And the equipment that may have been destroyed he might be able to help repair. Amity had a few hospitals, but Sam had the feeling Tucker was talking about the largest one in the area—Multicare, she thought.
"I could," Technus said thoughtfully. "And I could defend the ailing humans and doctors from the Empress's soldiers." He seemed to like the idea, at least.
"Will they let him?" Jazz asked doubtfully. "He's not exactly known for being helpful. And what if they don't need his help? It might be in better shape than a lot of other places."
"Tell them your Phantom's ally," Sam instructed. "The other ghosts attack right away—there's no reason they shouldn't believe him, especially when he actually starts helping. And if the hospital doesn't need it, the university might. There's also the middle and primary schools."
"Precisely! Um—" Technus paused. "Where is this 'hospital'?"
"It's the Multicare hospital—on Hill Street," Tucker replied. "Do you need the other—"
"Perfect!" And with that, the ghost was gone, taking the whine with him, seemingly vanished from the line, as though he had never been. It had been a surreal moment, an odd break from this horrible night.
"That was so weird," Jazz muttered. The line went quiet again.
Sam kept moving, her boots and breathing the only noise except for the odd yell or ectoblast. She was so focused she almost didn't realize when she was coming up on the school. Once she did, she stopped jogging and dropped low into a crouch, ducking behind a bit of roof for cover. She pulled out her radar to see where all the ghosts were.
They had surrounded the school's shield and were doing their best to break it. When Sam peered out from behind her hiding spot, she couldn't see any people—and she was relieved to note that the school seemed to be structurally intact. She decided she'd take out the ghosts at the back—she'd draw them to her, leaving the front clear for people to get inside.
She noticed the bodies littering the ground, but she tried not to focus on them. Instead, carefully in place, she activated the Fenton thermos's beam and sucked three ghosts in simultaneously before the others realized what had happened.
Once they did, all hell broke loose.
They came for her, and her world narrowed as it transformed into a smear of ducking and hiding and shooting. She'd had the element of surprise, but that was gone now, and she felt outmatched. She couldn't fly or make shields or teleport or become invisible (though this power was easily thwarted with a look at the radar). Still, she wasn't helpless, and these ghosts were inexperienced. Perhaps, wherever they'd been while the Empress had been gone, their skills had rusted. Or maybe the Empress had recruited fresh ghosts with limited battle experience.
Regardless, Sam fought at the direction of her instincts, which had been taught to her by the hardest teacher of all: experience. She had to be careful not to let herself get surrounded—she spent her time hiding and weaving between covers. She saw people making it into the shield—she saw people watching her from inside the shield.
If they know me, they'll know who Danny is, she thought, but she didn't have the time or focus to care. Only the fighting mattered now, and fight she did. She lost count of how many ghosts she captured—they blended together, almost monotonous, repetitive. Every second passed quickly, but slowly at the same time, dragging out for an eternity.
Sometimes, to get at the ghosts flying high above her, she leapt across the tops of dented cars. Other times, she ducked below or behind them. Her arms and legs grew heavy as the fighting continued. Sweat glued her clothes to her skin and stung her eyes and the scrapes along her arms. Her ears rang from the sound of so many blasts, and all she could smell now was blood and decay and ectoplasm.
More ghosts showed up, perhaps drawn by the sounds of battle—Sam didn't know. She collected burns on all parts of her body, and her muscles ached. She saw Valerie swoop overhead once or twice, picking off a few of the ghosts, though the Huntress never came close enough to see Sam's face—she was probably busy with other ghosts up in the air. It was good to know she'd made it, even if Sam kind of hated her.
Eventually, Sam had captured so many ghosts that the thermos refused to take anymore. She clicked the button, but no beam shot out—she'd reached its limit. She had to throw herself to the side to avoid the ghost she'd been trying to trap, drawing her ectogun and firing.
Sam didn't believe in killing, but she believed in not-dying more. So she buried the part of herself that protested, the part of herself that said the ghosts were sentient, that they didn't deserve to be wiped from existence. It was the same part that had made her want to go vegan, the same part that had made her rescue the frogs freshman year.
And she buried it. Buried it deep, deep down, so deep she didn't know when it would surface again, submerged in violence and grim death—for that was what this was. They may have already been dead, but she couldn't lie to herself: she was killing them. But she saw the bodies littered on the ground, and she didn't stop, even as they proved themselves inexperienced and naïve in fighting the likes of her, who had had two years of close to constant fighting to perfect her skills.
The ghosts were on the wrong side. They might have killed Danny, something dark whispered deep inside her. Their leader might have killed Danny. She could not bear the thought, and she aimed for their cores. She burned their green and blue and purple skin, broke through their shields, and she hated herself for it but she could not stop. She believed in mercy, but they did not.
Days could have passed. Hours. Weeks. Years. Seconds. She didn't know—it was all jumbled in her head, like wires that shouldn't have been crossed. The light from the shields—one above and one next to her—bathed her and her surroundings in green—a toxic, pulsing green.
The color reminded her of Danny's eyes.
The anger was always there, sizzling below the surface of her skin. It was always, always there—it had been there as long as she remembered. Fury at her parents, at the world, at everyone. But right now—it was fury at the ghosts, fury at what they had done to her friends and her city. Sometimes she screamed as they fell to the ground, dissolving. She hardly noticed when they were all gone, either captured, dead at her hand, or fled, and she'd fallen to her knees, just outside the shield, staring at the ground, at nothing.
Slowly, she rose from her stupor, like a diver coming up from the sea, disoriented after so long in the water. She stood and tucked her ectogun back in its holster—it was nearly out of shots. She'd have to switch to the other one, she thought dully. A cut on her forehead bled into her eye, and she wiped the blood away.
Did I really just…
No time. They might have killed Danny. They supported a monster who tried to conquer not just their home but mine.
It might not have been right, but it was what they had deserved. Maybe.
She pulled out her radar and looked at it: there weren't many red dots, though she could see a blue one. Was it Technus? She could think of no other ghost inside the shield when it had gone up. But what was he doing so far from where he'd said he'd be? She selected it, and three words came onto the screen. Signature Registered: Phantom.
Thank fuck. "Guys." It took her a second to realize she was speaking too quietly for them to hear. She cleared her throat, feeling parched. "Guys. Danny's signature—he's inside Amity. Maybe a mile away." As quickly as it came, the blue dot disappeared. Sam sucked in a breath, making note of the direction, shoved the radar away. Even though the streetlights were all either out or knocked over, she could see by the light of the shield above.
She began to sprint.
"Jesus Christ," Tucker swore, but she could hear the bright relief in his voice. "He made it."
Over the line, Jazz laughed. "He's okay. He's okay!"
"Do you still have your car?" Sam panted. "If he's injured, I'm not going to be able to move him by myself."
"It's banged up, but it runs. Where?" Tucker asked.
"It looked like it was close to the museum." She pushed her aching, wounded body forward. It felt like she was moving a ton of bricks. "I'll let you know when I know for sure—he's disappeared off the radar."
"He must have turned human," Jazz surmised. None of them considered the other option, which wasn't an option. Sam had not spent hours fighting so many ghosts just for Danny to—to not be there. She hadn't.
He's alive.
Her breathing came harshly, terribly, in her chest—the cloudy air couldn't be good for her lungs. Still, she pushed herself, tripping a few times on debris or newly-formed cracks in the road, but she never fell. As the adrenaline faded, horror at what she'd done tried to cloud her mind, but she found herself shoving that down, too.
Get to Danny, she thought. Get to Danny. It was like a mantra, like her food and her water and her oxygen all at once. They depended on each other—she on him, him on her, and Tucker there too, somewhere in the middle. And Jazz, though she could never understand what had formed that night between the three of them, when Sam and Tucker had watched Danny go into the Portal and emerge—changed. She tried, but she couldn't.
Her body hurt. It hurt so bad she wanted to cry, but she didn't. She wouldn't. Get to Danny. She was nearing the museum, where she'd thought Danny's signature had been closest to. The museum itself—which focused mostly on an idealized version of the settlers who'd come to Amity, making no mention of its previous native residents—was in shambles. She could see no sign of Danny, and many of the other buildings were ruined.
No, he has to be here! Had he moved? Had she miss-judged the radar? She ran down the street until she got to the intersection—Lincoln Street, Maple Lane, the knocked-over sign read. And to her right—there was someone there. Danny? She almost called out, but then she saw that white, white suit, greenish in the light. Instead she ducked back out of sight.
An agent? What the fuck is he doing here? It couldn't be a coincidence. Had he been tracking Danny too? And he'd been bending over something—or someone? An injured ghost? An injured person?
Danny?
She didn't know, but the fury that she had felt before surged upward like a bonfire that had just had kerosene poured on it. The flames lapped at her heart and her throat and her head, unseen but not unfelt. She withdrew the fresh ectogun from its holster. If he makes a move, I'll burn his fucking face off. The thought should've disturbed her, but it didn't.
She'd had to make much worse decisions that night, after all.
How did he even manage to escape jail? She realized it was a stupid question; agents had been watching Danny's house up until the invasion. Only the higher-ups had been arrested, and technically the agency hadn't been disbanded, even though the president had talked about overhauling it entirely. Even if lower agents were being investigated, it was probably a lengthy process to figure out whether so many people had broken the law or simply been acting under their superior's direction.
She crept forward, keeping to the shadows created by the massive piles of debris. The agent was murmuring something, too softly for Sam to hear at this distance. She was careful of her boots as she snuck closer and closer, making certain not to shift anything. She wasn't as good at sneaking as she was at fighting, though, and it was slow going. Her mouth itched to tell the others what was happening, but she had to stay quiet.
When Sam accidently stepped on a piece of metal, it clanged, just audible. She froze, but whatever had the agent's attention kept him from noticing. As she approached, she was at last able to see what the agent was doing—and who he was doing it to.
Danny. She was elated—his chest was moving gently, and he twitched every so often. Alive. He was wounded, she could see: the angle of his right arm was wrong, cuts and bruises littered his exposed skin, blood pooled underneath him, and his abdomen looked oddly swollen.
But this elation turned swiftly to a dark rage. This agent—whoever he was—was scanning Danny with something. To the side, he had an open notebook and pen lying on the ground, as well as three vials filled with blood and an ectogun. Danny's blood. The tiny pinprick in his arm was bleeding.
She could hear what he was muttering, too. "Despite its weakness, its ectoplasmic signature fluctuates to higher levels before returning to normal. This phenomenon appears to be sustained." Is he talking into a fucking recorder or something? "It is unknown how badly the subject is injured or whether it survive. I have collected blood samples and will be collecting tissue samples before attempting to move it, in case it should expire while I do so. Once at the lab, I oversee the more invasive procedures, beginning with its tolerance to extreme conditions. From there, it will be partially-vivisected to determine its anatomy."
That's enough.
Convinced he wasn't going to be paying attention any time soon, she moved cautiously forward, careful to stay out of his line of sight. Steadily she gained ground—ten feet, five, three, two.
One.
She pressed her ectogun to the back of his head. He might be able to tell it wasn't an actual gun—ectoguns were warm and other guns were not. It whined softly in her hand, like the warning growl of a lioness before she struck. "You're going to do exactly as I say, you piece of fucking shit," she said lowly. He froze, and his muttering stopped. He tried to turn his head. Sam pressed the muzzle firmly into his skull. "And first thing is you're not going to move."
"Who are you?" he asked. His voice was slick like oil. It made her skin crawl.
"None of your fucking business," she snarled.
"I am a government agent, operating under the law—"
"Don't lie to me, scumbag. And I don't care who you are—police, hunters, government officials, or fucking God himself—if you ever come after Danny again, I will personally make sure you are locked up for the rest of your fucking, miserable life. Are we clear?" she snarled. From behind, she could see him tense, though she couldn't see his face.
"So you're the half-ghost's friend. The girl one." Sam shuddered at the reminder that they'd been watching he. "Tell me, do you really thing something like that could ever really be human? It's all a front, a façade in order to—"
Sam raised the gun and hit him in the head once. He scrambled to get away, slumping sideways, but she didn't let him. Two-handed, she brought her gun down again on the disoriented man. Again. He fell over, bleeding. Sam was breathing heavily, the force of her rage coursing through her veins.
She kneeled next to her friend, remembering just in time to remove her specter deflector. He looked much worse close up: his cheeks were flushed, though the rest of his skin looked bloodless. She pressed her hand to his face; he was warm. Not good.
"I found him," she said into the Fenton phones. She could hear someone—maybe Jazz—gasp. "Some—some GIW agent got to him first, but I knocked him out. Danny's hurt badly." She felt his pulse, and it was ragged and weak. She placed her hand over his chest, to check his core, and frowned. The area was swollen and oddly balloon-like, as was the rest of his torso, and she couldn't feel any vibrations.
"Did the agent do anything to him? How badly is he hurt?" Jazz asked frantically. Sam pressed her ear to her friend's chest, and she could just barely make out a faint purring noise. Okay. His ghost half's okay. Not great, though.
"Bad. Worse than I've maybe ever seen him. There's a lot of blood, but I can't tell where it's coming from yet. And something's off about his core—it almost looks like internal bleeding. How close are you, Tucker?" She began to try and locate the source of the blood, which was easier said than done; Danny had a myriad of minor—well, minor for him—injuries, none of which could've bled this much. She found burns from where ectoblasts had hit him, along with bad bruising, and scrapes everywhere. Finally, as she tried to roll him onto his side, he whimpered, low in his throat. Sam shushed her friend.
"Close," Tucker said. She could see the wounds now—one on his back, made by some kind of blade, and another on his head. He probably had a concussion, too. She eased him onto his stomach, careful of his broken arm, and made sure he could breathe properly and was relatively comfortable before looking for something to apply to his wounds.
Sam's impromptu and undesired dive into the world of medicine had been haphazard and unorganized. She hadn't even realized that it would be needed at first, until Danny's fourth or fifth fight, when he was burned so badly Sam didn't think she could treat it. She hadn't known what to do—cover it so infection didn't get in? Clean it somehow? Did she use alcohol? Hydrogen peroxide? Warm water? Anything? His skin had been blackened and blistered and glistening and raw.
He'd laid down on his bed, in his room, his parents just down the hall. He was trying not to make any noise, though they'd locked the door. Tucker was at Danny's desk, unable to look and trying not to be sick—he'd gotten better since then, but he wasn't good with blood, hospitals, anything. It had been up to Sam.
She gave her friend the maximum dose of ibuprofen he was supposed to take, not having anything stronger, and had stood there, panicked. She'd retrieved gauze, warm water, a washcloth, alcohol wipes, burn ointment, hydrogen peroxide, but she didn't know how to use any of it. The Internet wasn't exactly helpful—she couldn't take Danny to a hospital, and the rest of the websites were filled with weird survival articles and she didn't know what to do. She'd done her best, first removing bits of debris embedded in the burn with a pair of tweezers she'd sterilized with alcohol. She decided against using the wipes and the peroxide, but she didn't know if using ointment on such a bad burn was okay—in the end, she decided against that, too.
She cleaned the area around it thoroughly and basically hoped for the best. In retrospect, if Danny hadn't been half-ghost who healed faster than a full human, he would've died. The burn had been large, second or third degree, and after doing more extensive research later, she knew, typically, he would've needed a skin graft, antibiotics, an IV, and a whole lot more. She had been inadequate.
So she'd asked her parents for classes in first-aid training—life-saving trauma, CPR, everything and anything. They'd been horrified, even as she'd covered her interest by expressing a desire to become a nurse or a doctor. They'd said, Those aren't skills a young lady like you needs to learn. That's what medical school is for.
So Sam had done odd jobs around the city—not in her neighborhood, which was too rich to want anything less than professional help. But she scored a gig as a baby-sitter, and she helped a few old couples mow their lawns, and with a hefty donation from her grandma, she'd paid for the classes herself. Her parents had been furious when they'd found out, but she hadn't cared. This was Danny's—and perhaps Tucker's and her own—life on the line.
She wrote down what the teachers taught in the classes religiously, far more attentive than she'd ever been in school. Some of the people she took the classes with thought it was cute a fourteen year old was taking them—and taking them so seriously, too. She shared what she learned with her friends, making it through despite Tucker's green face.
And so she'd splinted broken limbs, treated burns, lacerations, contusions, concussions. She'd learned, through practice, how to stitch a wound close (there were some pretty odd training tools out there for doctors). She knew what she could do to treat burns, and though she could never manage to get her hands on pain medicine, they figured out it didn't exactly work anyway—nothing seemed strong enough.
So now, faced with her friend's extensive injuries, she didn't panic, though she wanted to. He was hurt very badly. She didn't have any supplies with her, but she needed something to stop the bleeding. The wound continued to gush as she walked over to the agent. Kneeling next to him, she removed his suit jacked, which wasn't very clean now that he'd been lying in the dirt, and tore his shirt, which was much cleaner.
Moving back over to Danny, she used the shirt to staunch the bleeding, holding it firmly with both her hands. Then, she took a moment to examine the back of his head. It was swollen and, when she touched it, hot—definitely a concussion. But why was it so warm? Usually Danny's ghost-half kept everything a lot cooler than normal, even injuries. Swelling and inflammation were generally kept minimal, and bleeding stopped sooner rather than later, even for large wounds.
Does it have to do with whatever's wrong with his core? She wished Frostbite were available—the yetis were geniuses with advanced medical techniques, especially for ghosts. And Sam didn't think there was anything specific wrong with Danny's human half except for the obvious. But something was definitely wrong with his ghost half.
"Tucker," she said into the line, "where should we take him? We don't even know if—if—" Our houses are still standing. Were her parents okay? Her grandma? She felt guilty that she hadn't thought of them before, but in her defense she'd been rather busy. Besides, they have the basement. That thing's reinforced with steel. It might take a while to dig them out, but they'll be fine. I know Dad stocked that thing with enough food and water to last a month.
"I know, Sam," Tucker said softly. He was worried about his family, too—and he actually liked them, so possibly more worried.
"Fenton Works is still standing," Jazz interrupted. "I can see the lights from where I'm at. We could take him there."
"Lights?" Tucker asked. "Last I checked, there was no electricity." Sam went back to Danny. She looked at his broken arm, which was at a terrible angle, though thankfully the bone hadn't broken through the skin. She began examining things around she could use to immobilize it until they could get somewhere with more supplies.
"Mom and Dad installed back-up generators." Jazz sighed, a usual reaction to her parents. "And barring that, they have it so the Portal can generate energy from the Zone. Though I don't know if that will work, given that the Portal is still off." Blood, and a substantial amount of ectoplasm, more than normal, pushed between Sam's fingers.
I didn't find you just so you could die now, she thought, pressing firmly.
"We'll go there," Sam said decisively. "I'll start patching Danny up, and you can find your parents, Tucker. And you, Jazz." Her voice sounded more confident than she felt—inside, she was shaking, trembling. What if she couldn't just "patch Danny up"? What if this was beyond her capacity to fix? He'd never had internal bleeding before. Bad bruises, yes. Broken bones, yes. Cuts, yes.
"I can check up on yours, too, Sam," Tucker told her. "Though they might throw something at me." The last time her parents had seen Tucker, he'd been sneaking through her window at midnight. They'd gotten entirely the wrong idea.
"I'd appreciate that," Sam said distractedly. The bleeding just wouldn't stop—normally, even deep wounds like this had mostly stopped bleeding by now. But it wasn't even blood coming out; it was most ectoplasm. It was warmer than it should've been. Much warmer. Oh, God, what do I do? She didn't know how to treat a ghost, not really. Danny usually transformed so soon after an injury, and he healed so quickly because of his ghost half… "Jazz," she said urgently, "is there any way you can get to a car? And maybe another thermos?"
"I'm close to home now, so maybe. Why?" the girl responded. "Is Danny going to be okay?" Sam closed her eyes, bright green ectoplasm staining her hands. She held in a sob. What do I do? He'd fought the Empress, survived all that he had, for this?
"I don't know." It came out calmer than she was expecting. "I don't know. I think there's something—something really wrong with him." He's bleeding ectoplasm in human form, and the agent… Didn't he say something about a fluctuating ectoplasmic signature? What is wrong with his ghost half? "Dora's army should still be outside the shield, right?"
There was silence on the line for a brief moment, then Tucker spoke, "I don't see why they should've left already. They're probably tired—they might camp out there for a while. Sam, what is this about? Can you tell what's wrong with Danny?"
"Jazz, I need you to get a new thermos, get in your car, and find Dora's people. One of them has to know something about ghost anatomy. Find them, explain to them what's going on, and bring him to Fenton Works using the thermos. Whatever is wrong with Danny, I'm pretty sure it's his ghost half, and I have no idea how to treat it."
AN: First Sam POV :) Lots of fun. I did some research on motorcycles for this chapter, but I'm no expert. If you are, feel free to correct me. Also, I did my best to match up this chapter's dialogue with the previous chapter's, but if you notice any inconsistencies, please let me know. Congrats to ellameno for basically predicting what would happen. Thank you all so much for the response! Questions: What do you think of what happened to Danny? Did you find the chapter boring (I know I re-hashed the invasion, but I thought it was important)? What about Sam's breakdown(s)?