The Plan

"Shit," I said. "She's— phones. Now."

I looked to the bus driver—not paying attention, headphones in—then across the street to where Miss Militia still stood, PRT officers bursting into action around her. Then to the ground several feet below us, and finally, as I began to pull off my jacket, back to Sophia, Madison, and Terry. None of them had moved.

"Now!" I said, stopping myself just short of a yell.

Sophia's hands dove into her pockets, searching until she found not one phone, but two, one much older and beat up than the other. Madison followed, and finally, reluctantly, so did Terry.

I stuffed the phones into my jacket's pockets, taking just enough time to securely zip them up. Then I reached behind me to that little knob on the bus window, and pulled. The window only slid open a few inches, but it was just enough to squeeze the jacket through. I couldn't hear it land. I hoped that meant she couldn't, either.

"But—" Terry started.

"Get down," I hissed, ducking. They're nearby, Miss Militia had said. She didn't know exactly where. Didn't know we were on the bus. It would take them time to cordon off the area; by then, perhaps…

The light turned green. The bus began to move. Breathe. I needed to breathe. I could stay calm if I could just breathe… I expected the bus to stop at any moment. For Miss Militia to charge onboard and find us…

The bus passed the stop. Continued. One block… Another…

I let out a breath. Sophia started to say something, but I held up a hand, not dropping it until Miss Militia and all her PRT officers were outside my range.

"A few more blocks," I said quietly. "Then we should get off."

"Explain," said Sophia. I bristled slightly at the command, but shoved the feeling aside.

I patted around myself, fruitlessly searching for the notecard. Had it fallen with the jacket? I felt fear grab at me, and—

Madison pushed the card into my hand. I tried to catch my breath. I handed it to Sophia, my fingers accidentally bending and denting it; I couldn't quite control the tension in my muscles. Sophia took it and angled it so Terry could read along with her.

"The handwriting's Miss Militia's," said Madison. "It's the same as on the note she wrote for Gladly. She's Elisa's mom."

Sophia handed the note back to Madison. Was her hand shaking? I couldn't quite tell. Terry's mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

"She knew we were nearby," I said. "She said something about a trace. I think she was tracking our phones."

"Of course she was," said Sophia. Not condescending. Only resigned.

"It makes sense," said Madison. "Powers run in families, right? Miss Militia's power is to make weapons. Real weapons, ones that already exist. Elisa's is to make medicine, real medicine; it's why her drugs were chemically a match for the ones found in 1998. That's what her power does."

"Illegal," said Sophia. "Selling the drugs."

"Maybe," said Madison. "If she was selling them."

"But the FDA—" I started, belatedly feeling foolish. We needed to come up with a plan, not sit here chatting about whether Elisa had been breaking laws.

"Maybe she had permission," said Madison. "Or maybe there's a loophole for certain kinds of Parahuman powers. She's a lot like Panacea, isn't she? She could be doing the same thing."

"Or she does it illegally," I said. "It doesn't matt—"

"She wouldn't," said Terry, almost as if he knew her. He probably did: they would have run into each other at the BBQ.

"It doesn't matter," I said, and Terry scowled. "What are we going to do? We can't go home—"

"Tell Armsmaster," said Sophia. "He's not in on it, way he was looking at Militia."

"Are you fu—" I started, only just catching myself. "Because telling Militia worked out so well? No. No way."

"They can't all be in on it, Hebert," said Sophia.

"And why can't they?" I challenged. "They could be, even the Director, even Costa-Brown—"

"I need to call my mom," said Madison. "She'll be—"

"Can't," said Sophia. "They'll be listening. Trace the call."

"But…" Madison started, only to trail off biting her lip. She looked unsure, even afraid.

"My dad," I said softly, not really to any of my companions, and none of them seemed to hear me anyway, none except for Terry. He looked up at me with a grim smile that managed to be reassuring.

"Next stop," said Sophia, reaching up to pull the cord. I nodded, not really looking at her. We'd stayed on the bus too long already.

"What's her plan?" asked Terry. For a moment I thought he was talking about Sophia. "She takes us in. Fine. Then what? We'd just tell people—"

"She'll say we're Mastered," I said. I stood, grabbing onto a rail for support as the bus moved. Madison began to hurriedly stuff papers and trinkets back into the shoebox.

"All of us?" said Terry. "And when the effect doesn't show signs of wearing off? Then what?"

"She got Lustrum sent to the Birdcage," I said. "I don't want to find out what she'd do to us."

"Takes more than one person to send someone to the 'cage," said Sophia.

"And you want us to contact Armsmaster?" I said.

"Not in person," she said. "Just sayin'."

"Like he wouldn't have a way to trace us," I said.

Sophia shrugged. My hand twitched. The bus pulled into the stop.

"Need somewhere to crash," said Sophia. "Warehouse, maybe. Some abandoned ones near here."

We filed out of the bus. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering slightly as the cold evening air brushed across my skin. The bus pulled away behind us, and the loud hum of its engine faded away into the distance.

We passed one warehouse, then another, Sophia shaking her head at each. We were somewhere in the southern end of the Docks, not more than a mile out from downtown, still a couple miles south from home.

"No," I said, as Sophia sized up a warehouse done up in tasteful, non-denominational graffiti. "Three people inside."

We passed by four more before finding one I let her check out. With a quick glance up and down the street she turned immaterial and stepped through the door, and a few moments later she opened it from the inside.

The warehouse was packed with row after row of metal shelving, upon which wooden and cardboard crates were stacked high, each inked with monochromatic labels. I stared for a moment at a label I recognized.

Sloan Peach Company

I'd opened a can just a day or two ago. I'd put them in a salad for Dad and I— I shook myself.

"Emergency stores," said Sophia. "For Endbringers."

"How are we supposed to sleep?" asked Madison.

"Best you can," said Sophia. "We can plan tomorrow."

"But we need—"

"Tomorrow," said Sophia, dumping her backpack on the cold cement ground a few feet away and plopping herself down beside it. She began to rummage around inside the bag.

We didn't even have blankets. And my jacket—

"Frostbite," grunted Sophia, tossing me a spare sweater. It wasn't freezing out, anymore, but I supposed that wasn't the point.

"Thanks," I muttered, having difficulty mustering up the loathing I'd felt earlier in the evening. Everything felt as if at a distance, every feeling as if through a far-away barrier. It was not happening to me, but to someone else whom I was vaguely aware of watching.

I let my own backpack fall to the floor. The books inside thumped; I could almost see the dents in the corners of their hardcovers, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"My mom will worry," said Madison. She'd sat herself on a crate, awkwardly leaning forward to dodge the shelf above. "She… I don't want her to worry. I… I just wish…"

It was the first time I'd seen Madison cry. I'd seen her fake tears before. The teachers had always bought it. This was different.

Sophia grunted, already laying down. Terry looked at Madison, then helplessly to me, as if he somehow felt I had a better idea of how to react.

For awhile I stood and watched Madison cry, not sure what I was feeling, if I was feeling anything at all. Finally, I moved, not really in control of my own motions. I sat down beside Madison. Didn't touch her. Just sat.

"My dad," I said. Out the corner of my eye I saw Terry lay down beside Sophia. "I… yeah."

I was trying not to think about him. About how worried he'd be when I didn't arrive home. Of his distress if the PRT showed up looking for me. Had they shown up already? I didn't know. I wished my bugs would let me reach him.

I jumped slightly as Madison leaned her head against my shoulder. Again I felt as if there was something I ought to be feeling, trapped somewhere behind that far-away barrier. Slowly, my movements jolting and unsure, I wound my arm around Madison and gave her an awkward pat.

Stale warehouse air brushed my cheeks, cooling tears I couldn't remember shedding. My free hand tried clumsily to brush them away, succeeding only in knocking my glasses ajar, leaving the nose pads unbalanced in that irritating way I never could ignore. But somehow, the unbalanced nose pads didn't seem so important just now.

Eventually we each laid down. For a while I stared up at the ceiling, my eyes following the unevenly placed metal slats holding up a thin layer of insulation. The cold floor pressed against my head and shoulder blades; a comfort, even if not comfortable.

Something approximating sleep took me several times, each time fading away back into consciousness.

I couldn't see a way out. They could paint anything we said as delusions put in place by a Master, and that was amongst the nicer things they could do. To what lengths would they be willing to go?

"Hebert," said a voice. Something shoved me. I twisted away from it. "Taylor."

My eyes slowly opened to the sight of Sophia's face too close to mine. I hurriedly scooted myself away and tried to bring my suddenly-racing breathing under control.

"Got a plan?" she asked.

"Post it all online," I said. It wasn't a serious plan, but I didn't have any of those. I doubted any were possible.

"Yeah, that's not gonna work," she said. She tossed something by my side. I tried to look at it, but—

She shoved something at my face. Oh. Glasses. I took them and looked at what she had tossed.

It was a newspaper. On its cover was something about the new park the mayor wanted the city to build. I looked back up to Sophia, not understanding her apparent non-sequitur.

She rolled her eyes and flipped the newspaper over. Below the fold were four faces I immediately recognized, and beneath, a headline:

Missing, Presumed Mastered

"Seriously," I said. "How did you find out?"

"Someone recognized me," she said, shrugging.

"You went out?" I said. "Alone? Were you followed back? You—"

"She's an idiot," said Terry.

"It's fine," said Sophia. "Was trying to get— Whatever. Anyway, can't exactly go to the library and grab a computer."

"Can we go anywhere?" asked Madison, despondent. She was laying sprawled carelessly across the floor.

Sophia grunted and tossed something else on the ground. I stared for a moment before recognizing them as domino masks, cut broadly to cover as much of the face as possible.

"These don't really—" I began.

"Hoods, Taylor," said Sophia, as if I were an idiot. "Nobody needs to see your precious hair. Be fine so long as no one looks too close."

I picked up one of the masks. Gave the elastic strap a snap. Tossed one at Madison. It hit her in the face, and she yelped. She fumbled around for a moment before managing to grab it, and spent another trying to figure out what, precisely, it was. Once she did, she couldn't put it on fast enough, and a small, bittersweet smile crept onto her face.

"Won't help," I said. "Nobody will believe us, anyway."

"Armsmaster might," said Sophia. "Or Piggot."

"They wouldn't help us even if they believed us," I said. "Definitely not if they realize Lustrum shouldn't be in the Birdcage. And that's if they weren't already in on it."

"Nah. With how Armsmaster was looking at Militia…" said Sophia. "And Piggot— she'll let people get away with shit, but she won't let capes ruin normal people's lives."

Really?

"Won't she?" I asked, giving Sophia a flat stare.

"If she knew about that, Hebert…" said Sophia, only to trail off, her face going stony.

"They'd find us," I said. "If we called Armsmaster."

"Not gonna call him," said Sophia. "Just leave him a message with your bugs, or something."

"And get that close to the PRT building?" asked Madison. "We're not doing that. Your range is what, Taylor? A block? Two? No. Why couldn't we post it online? PHO—"

"Who said anything about we? Terry's not going anywhere near," said Sophia. "He's getting out. You too, Mads. I've got— Look. Posting online won't work. They'd find us in minutes. Even if they didn't, they'd just take it down."

"Even better," said Madison. "Everyone will know something's up."

"Assuming anyone would believe us in the first place," I said. "Which they won't. Everyone loves Miss Militia. I have her fucking poster on my wall!"

"So do I," said Madison, a tiny smile pulling at her lips before disappearing back into a sea of moroseness.

"But there's evidence, though," said Terry. He gestured at the shoebox we'd found in Elisa's safe.

"Yeah," I said. "Can all be covered up, though."

"If we could just get it out there," continued Terry. "We have to help Elisa—"

"Maddy," said Sophia, cutting her brother off. "Your rowing teacher or chess thing or whatever, the one who knew the reporter—"

I had the feeling Sophia was being deliberately obtuse in an attempt to distract Madison and Terry, and it seemed to be working. Madison rolled her eyes and huffed.

"My violin teacher," she said. "Kate Matthews is her sister. Reporter for Channel 7."

"It won't work," I said.

"Got a better idea?" asked Sophia. "Wanna go to Armsmaster?"

I shrugged. Sophia grimaced. But I didn't have any better ideas. Nobody would believe us, no matter what we did. Every plan was just as bad as the last.

Even if Kate believed us, even if she didn't think us Mastered, even if she wanted to help us… Investigations took time, didn't they? We needed help now. And while we'd found evidence, how much of it was actually conclusive? Would Kate even find more, if she investigated?

Then again… maybe some help, even slow help, would be better than no help at all.

"Fine," I said. "Whatever. Maddy— Madison. Where's your violin teacher?"

Madison's violin teacher lived in the southern end of downtown, down by the coast. She worked out of a nice little house with graying shingles down its sides. It was surrounded by trees and other greenery, nestled within a neighborhood of similar houses, each with foliage growing up them as if to make them appear one with the manufactured nature surrounding them. The neighborhood itself was wrapped within tall walls of shrubs that did their best to obscure the skyline to the north.

Within the neighborhood's walls were precious few places where Sophia, Terry, and I could wait. I couldn't keep myself from nervously looking around as we sat down in a spot by some trees a few blocks away, hopefully secluded enough not to be noticed. My bugs mapped out a handful of escape routes, but they'd not help us if anyone actually spotted us: we wouldn't be hard to outrun if our pursuers had vehicles. Many of the houses had occupants who could look out at any moment. I tagged everyone within reach as soon as we'd arrived in the neighborhood, but even if one of my bugs noticed someone looking, it would probably be too late for us to do anything about it, and that was assuming nobody had noticed us already: four teenagers wearing hoods and domino masks didn't exactly blend in.

My fingers dug into the mulch as Madison approached her violin teacher's house. She glanced up and down the street before knocking on the door. The bugs I'd tagged her with caught each knock as if they'd come from beside my ear.

A few moments passed. Was her teacher even home? It was a Tuesday. What if she had another job? What if—

The door opened. My bugs caught a noise of surprise, and then—

"Sorry, Mrs. Matthews," said Madison. "It's me. I just— did you see the news?"

I almost expected Mrs. Matthews to shut the door in Madison's face. Presumed Mastered, the headline had read, and I had to assume the TV stations had aired something equally damning. As far as Mrs. Matthews knew, Madison was dangerous. But she ushered Madison inside and shut the door behind her.

"Chill, Hebert," said Sophia. She tapped my hand. I yanked it away, sending a clump of mulch through the air. It missed Terry's face by a few inches, but he didn't seem to notice. He kept staring at the ground, his expression inscrutable. I felt myself swallow.

I shook off my hand. Bits of mulched wood had dug in leaving little imprints here and there.

"It'll work," said Sophia, but I didn't think she believed it.

"It's over, Sophia," said Terry. "They're gonna catch us eventually. I don't think they'll just let us go back to our lives."

I tried to tell myself he was being dramatic, but the thought refused to fully take hold.

"It'll work, Terry," said Sophia.

"They're calling Kate," I said. "At least Madison's thinking to use speakerphone."

A car drove by. I couldn't tell if anyone inside noticed us. Someone down the street brushed by a window and stepped on one of my ants. I tried to find another, but I was also trying to listen in on the other dozen nearby houses, and trying to follow Madison's conversation, all while I still wasn't as good at listening as I wanted to be—

"—needs actual evidence, Madison," my bugs heard a voice say over the speakerphone. It was presumably Kate Matthews, but I didn't watch enough television to recognize her voice. "With the PRT saying you've been Mastered—"

I grunted in frustration. Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"It's not going to work," I said. "She's asking about Madison being Mastered. I mean… what did we expect? Really?"

"But we have evidence," said Terry. "The shoebox—"

"Trial records are better," said Sophia. "Can independently verify those."

"Madison's trying to explain," I said. "Kate's saying it's 'not a lot to go on.'"

"Least it's something," said Sophia. "Aren't reporters supposed to investigate?"

"It's nothing, Hess," I said. "It's…"

My arms tensed. I dropped a hand to the ground.

"Taylor?" she asked.

"Have to go," I said, shoving my hand against the ground and leaping to my feet. Sophia immediately did the same, pulling Terry up behind her. "Cars. Two, maybe three. Big ones. Vans?"

If they were heading for Mrs. Matthews's house, maybe Sophia, Terry, and I had a chance. I tried to lead us down one of the escape routes—

"Fuck," said Sophia.

I didn't need to look to see why she'd said it. The PRT vans had arrived. They had not gone to Mrs. Matthews's house: someone must have seen Sophia, Terry, and I. I could only hope they hadn't seen Madison as well.

"Come on!" I hissed, even as I heard the grating sound of a van door sliding open a hundred feet behind me.

PRT officers began to yell at us, but we ignored them. We squeezed through the cover of branches and leaves, then into a hole a dog must have dug through the tall shrubberies bordering the neighborhood. Behind me, I heard tires squeal—

We broke through to the street, but one of the vans was already rounding the corner, even as I could feel PRT officers approaching behind us. They were nearly to the hole we'd snuck through—

The van's door slid open, and out jumped Miss Militia herself, and behind her two more officers.

"You don't want to be a part of this, Sophia," she said. "You know where it ends."

I didn't look at Sophia, but the gnat I'd tagged her with felt her flinch. I tried to search for a way out, any way out—

"You're Terry, then?" said Miss Militia, looking to Terry. She was stalling for time, I realized. Why? Did she think we could get away? Behind her I saw some officers setting up a device; was it to hold us? To hold Sophia?

"I'm so sorry," continued Miss Militia, looking from Terry, and then to Sophia.

The way she'd said it— the way she'd looked at him, as if he was— Before I knew what I was doing, I'd reached down to my waist. Miss Militia began to raise her arm, but I'd already unclipped the pepper spray. I squeezed the trigger; heard Miss Militia yell, and then—

Thick globs of something shot at me, sticking to my skin. I let the muscles in my arm loosen, but my arm didn't fall, the quickly-hardening substance supporting its weight.

Out the corner of my eye, before the foam stole my vision, I saw Sophia turn incorporeal. And then everything went dark.

A jolt. A hiss. A strange smell.

And everything faded away.

A/N: Thanks to EtchJetty, Reyemile, and Juff for helping beta.