Chapter 9

"So, what is going on with you and Chris?" Michelle asked as we rode the chairlift to the top of the mountain. "You seem to spend a lot of time with him."

"He's a friend," I replied. "Someone I knew before I came to Arcadia." I didn't want to out him as a Ward and thought that was generic enough.

"Just a friend?" Michelle teased.

I tried to keep my sputtering to a minimum as I moaned, "Like anyone would be interested in a freak like me."

"Alan Hitch seems interested," she replied somewhat warily.

"Hitch is a cape groupie, I think. Or a fame groupie. Something like that. And since the Dallons are either taken or not interested, I'm the next in line."

"Still, he'd take you out, if you wanted." Something in her tone told me she was unusually invested in my answer.

"I don't have time for that," I almost snapped. Hitch was handsome, rich, popular, and a junior – well out of my league except for my new status. His attention was more a painful reminder of how alone I was before the change than a welcome consequence of how different I now was. "What little social time I do have I'd rather spend making actual friends than fulfilling some fetishist's fantasy."

Michelle just nodded and changed the subject. "Normally I wouldn't take a newbie on a long run. I'd start you out on the starter slope. But it's not like you're going to get hurt when you wipe out. So, I figure we'll have more slope time and less lift time if I teach you on the longer runs."

"Less chance of me pancaking a five-year-old when I fall too," I agreed. I was still nervous. It looked like we were going to the top of the world and the only way down was on two thin sticks. I wasn't even sure they'd hold my weight. Still, it was exciting. I had never even been on a ski slope before. It looked like it might be fun. It was certainly helping me keep my mind off the jerks at the PRT. Damn …

The lift deposited us at the top of the mountain. There were several marked trails from which to choose. Michelle started guiding me towards one called the Pushover – I didn't know whether to be insulted or relieved. Before we reached the trailhead, we were accosted by her twelve-year-old brother Julian and another boy of similar age.

"The Pushover! Come on. That's no fun. Take her on something with a little challenge, like the Corkscrew or Havoc."

"Hey!" I defended myself. "Utter newbie here. I'm having enough trouble just getting off the lift." I demonstrated how unsteady I was moving on the relatively flat snow. "I'd rather get challenged after I know at least a little about what I'm doing."

"You go have fun on your challenging slopes," Michelle ordered. "We'll stick with this one for now."

"Whatever," Julian snarked. He and his companion moved away.

"Sorry about that," Michelle offered. "I think he was hoping for the opportunity to show off for you. He's a pretty good skier, at least for his age."

I hesitated for a moment, wondering if he would have been so anxious for my attention before the change. Somehow, I doubted it. "That's alright. He seems like a good kid. I've never had a brother, so I don't really understand the dynamic." Trying to change the subject I said, "Now that we're up here, how are we getting down?"

She started demonstrating the basics of skiing while I tried to stay mostly upright. I don't think I ever really got the hang of it, but it was a fun morning.

We ended the last run at the lodge where Michelle's parents and brother were waiting for us. Mr. Washko was a tall, slim black man with a flattop. I knew he was a BBPD detective but had little dealings with the police so did not know him professionally. Mrs. Washo was a petite Asian woman with shoulder length curly black hair who always seemed to be smiling. Unlike many of the numerous Asian refugees in Brockton Bay, she had no trace of accent, so I assumed her family had been in the country for at least two generations.

The lodge had bench seating at long trestle tables. I was able to find an end seat, so I wasn't crowding anyone else. Before we could even look at the menu Julian started in. "Michelle and Mom said I shouldn't bug you, so I waited to let you go skiing and everything. Now I really want to know. What's it like being in the Wards?"

"There's not really a lot to talk about. It's sort of like how I assume your Dad's job is. I'm just another sort of cop. I spend a lot of time training and preparing and doing paperwork, and occasionally I arrest some criminals."

"But Dad doesn't work with capes," the boy objected.

"I'll be honest, because of my power, I don't work that closely with other capes either. I mostly work with PRT specialists."

"I heard something about that," Mr. Washko nodded. "I know a few agents. Makes sense, given your situation."

"Enough shop talk, Hector" Mrs. Washko interrupted, putting a hand on her husband's arm. "How are you settling in at Arcadia? Changing schools is never easy. My father was in the Army and we used to have to move every year or two."

"It's going ok," I replied. "Arcadia is a much better school than Winslow by almost any measure. But the celebrity thing is a pain. It's hard to get to know people because they mostly want to talk about me. For instance, I know Mr. Washko is on the job, but I don't know what you do." I winced internally at my clumsy attempt to change the subject. Subtlety was never really my thing.

"Oh," Mrs. Washko paused, then smiled. "I work in accounting at MedHall."

"And do you like it?" I asked. "I've heard pretty good things about them as a place to work."

"We've been voted the best place to work in New England three out of the last five years." Mrs. Washko sounded like a loyal fan. "I'm hoping to get Michelle into one of the intern positions this summer."

"I'm not sure the whole corporate drone is really my future," Michelle started.

"All the better reason to explore the possibilities personally rather than relying on prejudice and misinformation," her mother rebutted quickly. From the way Mr. Washko and Julian rolled their eyes, I could tell this was a recurring argument.

"ClearPlay has a summer digital apprenticeship program," my friend started again.

"We've talked about that," Mrs. Washko snapped. "They're in Boston and we're not ready for you to spend the summer in another city. MedHall has a digital media department."

This time it was Mr. Washko's hand on his wife's arm that stopped the dispute. "Why don't we order? I'm starving." He turned to me. "I always work up an appetite on the slopes. I think I burn all my reserves just trying to keep warm. How about you?"

"I can always eat," I said. "It's one of the side effects of my change. I eat five to ten times as much as I used to."

"Whoa!" Jordan exclaimed. "Have you ever eaten a Challenger?"

I nodded with a smile. "That's pretty much a normal meal for me." I turned to the parents. "Which is why I insist on paying for lunch."

"Oh, we couldn't" Mrs. Washko started.

"You're our guest," Mr. Washko said at the same time.

"Really. It's my treat. Or rather, it's on the PRT. Part of my contract with them is they have to feed me. I doubt they'll notice if I order ten meals instead of seven." I grinned.

"As a CPA I can tell you that's not the way it works," Mrs. Washko said with a smile. "But we accept." I thought when I put it in numbers, they might change their mind.

After lunch Michelle and I hit the slopes again. The rest of the Washkos were going to be spending the afternoon in a seminar on snow scouting or something. Mr. Washko was a scout master of some sort. Michele was grateful for a reason to miss it.

"Sounds like your mother really wants you to work at MedHall." We were riding the lift back to the top of the mountain for the third time that afternoon. I was finally getting comfortable going downhill, even making slow turns. Stopping I was still working on mastering.

"Yeah. I think part of it's the traditional 'I want my kid to follow in my professional footsteps' and part of it is her concern that I'll want to follow in Dad's footsteps," Michelle said with a sigh.

"And she doesn't want you to become a cop?"

"No way," she replied. "It really bugs her that I've been shooting with Dad since I was six. She's worried that he's grooming me for a badge. Which is silly. I get a kick out of competitive shooting but have no desire to shoot anything but paper or clay pigeons. No hunting and certainly no shooting people."

I goggled. "Michelle the iconoclast is not who I expected to be a competition shooter."

"Yeah, yeah. But it's a fun way to spend time with Dad. And it's a great way to break stereotypes. You should see the expression on the Bubbas' faces when I win." She giggled.

"No, it's Justin who Mom really needs to be worried about.," Michelle continued. "He's the cop fan. He spends all his free time on tactical courses, paintball, and laser tag. Even his computer games are either detective mysteries or first-person shooters. I think he's aiming for the PRT so he's going to be bugging you about that now he knows you work closly with them."

BOOOM!

An explosion rocked the mountainside, followed quickly by screaming in the distance. It came from behind us. Both Michelle and I turned to find smoke billowing from the far side of the lodge at the foot of the slope. We could see movement, but it was too far to make out any details. Something large threw a car in the parking lot into another, causing a second explosion. The blasts were causing some of the snow to shift on the slopes. The lift jerked to a stop. Someone must have hit an emergency switch, or it triggered automatically.

"Capes!" Michelle yelled. "It has to be." She turned to me. "You have to do something. My family's down there."

"Right," I said, quickly thinking. I glanced down; it was probably twenty feet to the snow. We were lucky we were not over trees or rocks. "I'm going to jump. You can stay here and …"

"I'm coming with you," she demanded. It wasn't safe to take her to the lodge, but I couldn't leave her dangling up here for who knows how long. She could freeze. Once I got her on the ground, she could ski to safety somewhere other than the lodge.

"Alright. Drop the skis and poles. I'll carry you and try to soak the landing. If I slip in the snow, try to roll away from me." Part of me was saying how stupid this was. But I wouldn't put it past her to try jumping on her own if I left her behind.

She kicked off her skis and tossed her poles to the side. I followed her actions. Then I grabbed her into a bridal carry, rocking the chair on the cable. I grabbed onto the metal frame on my corner and dropped to dangle from one hand. Once the chair stopped swinging, I let go and fell. My knees were bent when my boots dug deep into the powder. I flexed my leg to absorb the impact and lightly tossed Michelle into the air. I slipped before I could catch her, and she planted face-up into the snow.

"You ok?" I asked.

"Not the best landing, but it worked." She replied, trying to sit up.

I grabbed my skis and laid them side by side in the snow. I then sat in the middle, where the boot bindings were.

"What are you doing?" Michelle asked.

"I need to get down there fast. I'm not good enough at skiing so I figured I'd sled down. You should find someone from the ski patrol and find out where the emergency shelters are." I ordered.

"Screw that," she said as the stepped into her skis and started racing downhill.

"Crap," I said as I lay back on my skis and started after her. The makeshift sled worked, but not well enough for me to catch her. When I got to the bottom she was already in the lodge.

Inside was a disaster area filled with crying and injured people, smashed walls and furniture, and dripping green goo covering it all. Michelle ran up to me.

"They took them. They took my family." She was pointing towards the parking lot where a large tour bus was weaving drunkenly out onto the highway, leaving a line of smashed cars in its wake.

"Stay here. Call the Police and the PRT. I'll go after them."

I didn't have any of my gear with me. I'd even left my PRT phone at home. I'd been angry and didn't want either Hollis or Dad being able to contact me. I had left a note saying I was spending the weekend with a friend, so Dad wouldn't completely freak. Now I realized how big a mistake that was.

I saw Michelle grabbing her phone as I took off after the bus. The road was covered with a layer of dirty slush over ice, offering little traction. Whoever was driving the bus was ignoring the danger and the speed limits. I was trying to catch it, but the slick surface prevented me from getting anywhere close to full speed, especially in ski boots. I almost kicked them off but realized running barefoot in the snow was a bad idea, even for me and I had no idea where my Rockport's might be found in that mess back at the lodge.

The bus careened over mountainous roads, quickly leaving the highway behind as it climbed towards another peak. As the road rounded a long curve, I decided to take a shortcut, leaping across the bend to get in front of the speeding vehicle. I landed awkwardly, slipping on ice. The bus bore down on me and I tried to brace myself to stop it. The driver was wearing an elaborate filigreed armor of some sort that was lit from within. The face was completely obscured by a metal effigy. He swerved to clip me with the corner of the front bumper, sending me sliding over the edge of the road. I plummeted into the trees far below.

By the time I climbed back to the road, the bus was gone, but it had left tracks that were easy enough to follow.

They led to the Danby Quarry. According to a sign posted on the open gate, it was a marble quarry that had closed shop in 2003. Someone had smashed the chain on the gate. The bus was parked on a walkway leading to what appeared to have been the main entrance to the underground mine.

The paved road ran up to what appeared to be a castle portcullis. Marble blocks were stacked to form a medieval gateway. There were two wooden doors behind a metal barrier. Above the gateway carved in gothic lettering was, 'All Hope Abandon Ye Who Enter Here'.

"Someone's a Dante fan," I muttered. The perils of having a literature professor for a mom.

"Taylor!" Someone yelling from behind me. I turned to find Michelle pulling up next to the parked bus. "Have you found them?" she said as she got out of her parents' SUV.

Quickly looking into the bus, I saw it was empty. "They're not here," I replied. "They must have been taken in there."

"Right," Michelle said. She opened the back of her vehicle and, after a moment rummaging, came out with a shotgun and a tactical vest. She laid the weapon down and started strapping on the armor.

"What are you doing?" I said, a note of hysteria in my voice. This was not the cool artsy chick I had been hanging with the past month.

"I'm going after them. You're more than welcome to come along."

"No. You should stay here. I'll go. You wait for the PRT." I couldn't stand the idea of her getting hurt.

"The police are busy. The lodge was not the only target hit. And they're not going to tangle with slime monsters. The PRT can't be here for at least three hours. I'm not leaving my family in there for that long. Who knows what is happening to them while we wait."

"It's a lot safer if you wait here. I'll find them."

"You can't do it alone. You don't have your gear. You don't even have a flashlight." She said as she flipped the light strapped to the underside of the shotgun barrel on. "You can definitely go in first. I'm no fool. You lead. I'll be your backup and ranged damage."

While I tried to think of an argument she would buy, she started stuffing the pockets of her vest – ammo, two more flashlights, batteries, flares, first aid kit – I had no idea what half of it was. She finished before I did. "Ready?" she inquired as she racked the slide on the shotgun.

I gave up. Unless I left her here bound or incapacitated, something I wasn't willing to do, she'd follow me anyway. She'd already proved that. I had a better chance of keeping her safe if she was with me than if she was on her own. I was still wearing my rented snowsuit with the helmet and ski boots. I took them both off and left them in the SUV. If it came to a fight, I was better off barefoot. "Alright but stay behind me. And watch your back."

"Great!" She reached into the back of the SUV and pulled out one of those big, club-like maglite's. "You might need this."

I nodded and tucked it into my belt. Looking at the portcullis I saw the workmanship was poor. The blocks of marble were only loosely mortared. I lifted the gate and pushed one of the blocks inward until it pivoted enough to block the track and propped the gate in its raised position. The doors were locked but they popped open with a screech when I pressed on the middle.

Daylight poured in, illuminating a hazy grey-green fog that filled the entrance. Michelle shone her flashlight, and we were able to see the smooth white marble walls, twenty feet high, lining the wide passageway. In the distance a torch flickered on the wall.

"Someone played way too much DungeonQuest," Michelle muttered as she peeked around me.

"Looks that way," I agreed. "I saw who was driving the bus. They were wearing some sort of stylized armor. It looked vaguely medieval. This may be their schtick."

"Great. Maybe they've locked my family in a dungeon or maybe he's preparing to … I don't know feed them to a dragon?" The worry in her voice was obvious.

"Wait a second," I turned to her. "Were your family the only hostages taken?"

"No. The lodge people told me the bad guys got away with a dozen or so. Loaded them on the bus. Took all the cash from the registers too. They were weird monsters. Green slimy monsters. But lead by a man in armor." She shivered and clutched the shotgun tighter.

"Wonderful," I said. "This guy definitely has a theme." I started forward, pulling the maglite with my left hand and shining it on the roof, walls, and floor. "Let's go."

"Right behind you," she said.

Inside we found the air warmer and steadily more humid. There were strange smells and the occasional odd sound echoing in the distance. The large passageway led to an intersection with a cross passage going right and left and the main passage continuing forward. Peering down each way revealed nothing to offer a clue as to which direction we should go.

"We could go back to the offices and see if there's any sort of map," I suggested.

"Unless the map has a room marked 'Prisoners kept here' we still wouldn't know where to go." Michelle snapped.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I once read that in a maze if keep your left hand on the wall, eventually you'll find your way out, though it may take you through all the dead ends to get there."

"So … left?" she queried?

"Unless you have a better idea."

"Left it is."

The passage was slightly narrower than the first, though just as tall. Torches still lit the way. "I wonder who lights these and changes them when they burn out?" I remarked.

"Good question," she nodded, "but not one we have time for now."

A ramp leading down at a reasonable incline branched off to the left. Michelle and I looked at each other then nodded together. We followed the ramp. It led to another large corridor which led, in turn, to another and another. This place was huge.

Without my HUD it was easy to lose track of time. After wandering for long enough to be thoroughly lost we found ourselves in a chamber. This wasn't the first. The passageways occasionally showed where marble slabs had been removed from the walls resulting in enlarged spaces.

This space was occupied. In one corner a bunch of semi-translucent, green glowing creatures roughly the size and shapes of undead basset hounds with two tentacles growing from their necks were fighting over a pile of wet bones.

Michelle screamed and fired at them. That got their attention firmly on us. With high pitched echoing shrieks, they charged. I stepped forward, putting myself between them and my friend. The first to reach me tried to savage my ankle. A quick kick launched it into the wall where it splattered like a rotten tomato.

I danced around and stomped on a second, feeling it mush between my bare foot and the cool stone. A third leapt for me but was blasted out of the air by Michelle - the shotgun blast half deafening me. Two more leapt, one whipping its tentacles around my neck to pull itself to my chest. The second was flying towards Michelle. I reached out and grabbed the one headed towards my friend by a hind leg. Spinning, I slammed it into the last two creatures still rushing us, crushing all three.

The beast on my chest was trying to throttle me with its tentacles, disembowel me with its claws, and gnaw through my shoulder with its fangs. I heard two more shots as Michelle made sure the other monsters were finished. Then she turned to me as I tried to pry the creature off my neck.

"What should I do? Should I shoot it?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"No!" A load of buckshot to the face was no fun, even if it didn't really damage me. I had been trying to get the thing off of me without hurting it. That wasn't working. Finally, I just crushed its head in my hand. It popped like a pimple.

That was when I noticed the blood on my hand and foot was burning my skin – not badly but definitely more than a tingle. "Great," I said. "They've got acid blood. Be careful not to get any on you."

She nodded then pointed towards the pile of bones. "What were they eating?"

We both stepped closer and found what appeared to be human skeletal remains. There were even half-melted shreds of bright pink nylon from a ski suit. I glanced at my shoulder where my green ski suit also showed melted spots. Acidic saliva too, I thought.

Michelle breathed heavily then started reloading her weapon. "Mom wasn't skiing and Dad and Julian were wearing blue."

I nodded. "Let's keep moving."

We continued to follow the left-hand wall rule as we passed through a few more chambers. We were moving more carefully, checking for any more creatures. We came to another four-way intersection and were about to turn left when a piercing scream of pain and terror sounded in the distance from the right. Shit! I thought the raced towards it. "Follow me."

The cries were intermittent, and we had to make a few decisions at intersections to determine which way to turn. We had just turned a corner when Michelle yelled "Stop!"

I did.

"Look." She shined her flashlight at the floor, which had been covered in shadow from the corner. There was a crack in the floor, at least four feet across. Shining a light down showed a long drop with something faintly luminescent writhing at the bottom.

"Thanks," I said and picked her up to jump across. We continued, but at a slower pace as we were now looking for more traps.

The cries got louder as we turned another corner into another large chamber. Across the space were more slime beasts, these about the size of Saint Bernards, surrounding a screaming boy. They were snapping and whipping tentacles at each other, as if to determine who got the first bite at their meal. To the side were two humanoids made of the same slightly luminescent, semi-transparent green flesh. These stood about five feet tall and looked like a cross between a silverfish and a half-melted creature from the Black Lagoon – fish-like, finned, and with two tails. They appeared to be supervising the beasts in their play.

Suddenly one of the slime dogs lunged for the boy. Michelle screamed and I leapt forward, crashing into the pack.

The creatures instantly turned on me. There were five of them and they were much stronger than their smaller counterparts. Almost immediately I had one attached to each limb and one clinging to my chest and snapping at my face.

I heard Michelle firing her shotgun but couldn't see who she was fighting. My ski suit was quickly shredded and the beasts' acid was burning into my skin. I tried kicking the ones on my legs off and slamming my hands together to crush the two holding my arms, but something was sapping my strength.

I couldn't breathe right.

My body locked up and I toppled to my back.

A fanged maw lowered towards my face blocking my vision. It smelled like sewage.

Then the beast popped like a balloon, drenching me in horrible fluid.

"Boooyeah!" The voice was masculine, if barely. "You want some too?"

The beast on my left arm burst.

"Ha!"

One after the other the creatures were dispatched almost effortlessly. I could still barely move, but I rolled my head to the side to see white man wearing a grey, multi-pocketed boiler suit wielding two bulky pistols. He shot the last slime man who was attacking Michelle. He crowed "Take that!" as it exploded.

His torso and head were covered by a glistening blue hooded vest that was pulsating and undulating – obviously alive in some disgusting way. Four long tentacles grew from the vest and were writhing around the man. Each long limb had a glowing forcefield the size of a dinner plate projected from the end. The hood covered his eyes with large multifaceted lenses that glowed red.

He dropped his pistol into the grip of one of the tentacles, held his hand out towards me, and said in a serious voice, "Come with me if you want to live."

He held the pose for a few seconds then burst out giggling. "Oh man, that's so cool. I've always wanted to say that!"

That's when I recognized him from the PRT records. It was Blasto.