Author's note - Sorry for the slow updates. Thank you for your lovely reviews. You are all wonderful x and a very merry Christmas to you all!
Also, if any of you have a Tumblr, feel free to follow me - my URL is "hopeandmore".
Happy reading!
39.
McCracken was quite mad by now, and seized onto Damon's reappearance as a final, desperate lifeline. You see, he ran on anger and vindictiveness the way good people run on happiness and laughter (that did sound terribly cliche, didn't it?). Though undeniably enraged at this point, he could not bring himself to focus on one target, nor to summon a scheme of any sort. Constance had already disarmed and disoriented him, not to mention the fact that as he spun around at the telltale beeping, the entire Society took out several more Ten Men.
"Reynie," whimpered Kate as she came to, feeling very drowsy and alarmingly vulnerable.
"I'm here, I'm right here," he said, grabbing a Ten Man's tie and whipping him with it. A pained grunt escaped both men; they tackled each other. It was a brief, ten-second scuffle, however, and Reynie jumped to his feet as soon as his victim had fallen limply to the floor.
Kate registered this interaction dimly, reaching out a hand for belated assistance. "What's - are we fighting still?"
Panting, Reynie ran a hand through his hair, looking understandably stressed. "Yeah. Don't worry, though, we've got weapons, they're running out, won't be many more now -"
"Reynie?"
He elbowed a Ten Man in the gut, hooking him around the ankles, and came up for air, gasping slightly. "Yes?" he wheezed.
Kate struggled to her feet. "Thank you."
"What for? Hold on." He gritted his teeth, caught a flying briefcase and hurled it back at the attacker.
"For being...you. I really like -"
S.Q. sprinted over, huffing. "Turns out that some of his men were out on missions - terrible, horrible, awful missions, I daresay - so this is all he's got." He inspected the battleground critically. "There are a few over there, but I think they're cowering a bit." Indeed, the remaining Ten Men were trying desperately to retreat into the corner. Milligan and Harper were quickly advancing on them, however, ballpoint pens in hand. One of them broke into tears presently, and, looking disgusted, Milligan pushed him aside. He fled, bloody nose staining his ripped shirt, void of his weapons.
"What's he doing?" Reynie suddenly said sharply. Following his line of sight, Kate and S.Q. watched McCracken fumble for a small remote control-like item and press a pulsing green button.
"Oh god," whispered Kate, turning white as a sheet. "I don't know if - if I can..." After all of this, after everything, the Great Kate Weather Machine was failing. Confidence rapidly abandoned her, replaced with a hollow despair. She had fought, she had faked smiles, she had offered hope when none of her loved ones could possibly see a future ahead of them. And now she was drained.
"Yes you can," said Reynie, and reached for her hand.
She flinched, trying to pull away. "We don't know what that button does, we don't - stop it - now is not the time, stop -"
"You can do it," Reynie said, and tucked her into his arms as she took three shaky breaths. "There you go. It will be fine, okay? I don't know how, none of us do, but I promise you, it will be okay. You can do this."
Feeling utterly pathetic and ashamed, Kate sniffled and wiped her nose. "I can?"
Arms strong around her - when did he get so tall, so handsome, even with gashes across his face and a t-shirt split straight down the middle? - Reynie tightened his hold and, lips hovering close to her ear, murmured, "You can."
He relinquished his hold, fingers still entwined with hers, and finally her eyes met his. In that one gaze, that one touch, Kate felt her strength come to life once more. Come on, Kate, it said. Keep fighting. You're so close to winning; you can't give up now.
She stood taller, casting the others (who were looking exhausted, unsure, and frightened) a bright, reassuring smile. The room quieted. Straggling Ten Men slunk off, leaving their master to fend for himself.
"Why don't you just give up?" Cleo asked suddenly, looking at McCracken. His hair was graying, his coiff disrupted, and worry wrinkles cut through what, once upon a time, might have been a handsome face. "Do you really want to be evil?"
His eyes hardened, some broken remnant of heartlessness triggered by her words, by the sympathy in her voice. Sticky, noticing this, moved automatically to shield her.
"It's okay," she said, and again, "It's okay."
"I don't give up," McCracken growled.
"What about giving in?"
"They're the same thing."
"I don't know about that. You can give in without being defeated."
"I don't have time for -"
"All your Ten Men are gone," Reynie spoke up. "You're outnumbered. You've got no backup. All you have left are buttons and plots that, frankly, we plan to debunk. Give in. Let us forgive you."
"Forgive yourself," said Cleo quietly.
"You have a daughter," Milligan pointed out, nodding at Kate. "Do it for her."
"I have a daughter," McCracken snarled. "I know that."
"Exactly," said Milligan. "And if you truly love her -"
"I have a daughter," McCracken repeated, and the door burst open. Mackenzie flew wildly into the room, a massive backpack strapped to her shoulders, which nearly tipped her over. She regained her balance and smirked at Cleo's horrified expression. "'No backup'?" cackled McCracken, vitality restored. "I've got all the backup I need right here. Turn around, girl." He extracted a ferocious-looking remote control helicopter. "You don't want to know -"
"Excuse me," said Number Two suddenly from the entryway. "I don't believe you should do that." Beside her, Rhonda tsk-ed and crossed her arms. The children let out involuntary cries, but Reynie grabbed Constance before she could run to the two women.
"McCracken," said Damon.
If he was disarmed, McCracken did not show it. "Gone over to the dark side, I see," he sneered. "Well, your loss."
"Not particularly," said Damon tersely. "In fact, I would beg to differ, except I refuse to beg."
With a teenage-like scoff, McCracken reached for the toy's control, but Milligan seized his wrist before he could move. "I think we're getting a little too button-happy, wouldn't you say?"
"Mackenzie, show me what you've got," McCracken said lazily. A whirring sound grew from within the backpack, and she pulled out a miniature fan. Its blades glinted, steely and sharp.
"I think you've forgotten what I've got," said Damon, holding up his briefcase. In a smooth, practiced move, he lassoed Mackenzie with a paper clip chain, pulling her to the ground. The backpack fell with a giant thump, and as McCracken reached for it, Damon unleashed every single weapon with which he had been outfitted over the years. Staplers, paperweights, pencils - enough for an entire office supply store - flew through the air, projectiles whistling and whips snapping. "Thanks for these!" Damon yelled above the racket. McCracken screamed, trying to dodge the attacks, and he was good: the objects only grazed him. Damon's confidence was wavering as he reached inside and had to root around some to find another device.
"Dad!" Cleo called out, tossing him a stray tie, as Mackenzie loosed herself and uttered the same word, clumsily throwing a binder at her father. Both men caught their respective articles and advanced on each other. Damon's hit was ousted by the notebook, which McCracken cleverly employed as a shield.
"I do wish I could help," S.Q. murmured to Sticky, but they, like the others, stood dumbfounded. To a point, this war had peeled off into separate battles, each one having taken his turn facing off with McCracken, and right now Damon was up to bat, so to speak. And so helplessly they watched.
"You're bleeding," Cleo cried in dismay, rushing to Damon's side.
"I'm fine," he said tightly, eyeing McCracken, whose hungry eyes flickered to Cleo for a split second. "His binder nicked the edge of my face, that's all. Go back with Sticky."
She crossed her arms, and, for possibly the first time in her life, said, "No."
"Cleo, please. Umph." He held up his briefcase just in time to blunt McCracken's blow, but had paid dearly for the small lapse in focus. Mackenzie was quickly loading weapons into the man's hands, matching conspiratorial grins plastered to their faces. These were things that had not yet been released to the Ten Man nation. No, the goods that McCracken had hoarded away were prototypes, for the most part - evil, twisted takes on everyday household items - and Damon was out of his element.
An iron came zinging past his ear; a normal one in itself could inflict a fair amount of damage, but this detonated against the wall, blowing open a cavity five feet in diameter and sending shrapnel everywhere. Kate yelped as a small fragment scraped against her shoulder, then landed at her feet and exploded into splintered charcoal bits.
"Oh my god," breathed Cleo, pushing Sticky away and disregarding his protests. "I've got to help him."
"Here." Rhonda thrust a piece of piping into Cleo's hand.
Without hesitation, the girl received the object and shouted, "Leave him alone!" She and Mackenzie charged towards each other, Mackenzie getting there first and pulling Cleo's hair as if they were preschoolers arguing over a misplaced toy. Damon hurled his briefcase squarely at McCracken, whose right jaw was clipped as he flinched just slightly too late.
"You'll pay!" shouted Mackenzie, lunging at Damon, but Cleo grabbed her with strength she had no idea she was capable of possessing.
"Dad!" shouted Cleo, waving the arm not pinning Mackenzie against a wall. "Dad."
"I'm a little busy right now," he said with gritted teeth, shaking his head vehemently as Mr. Benedict and Milligan motioned that perhaps they ought to step in. McCracken was circling him; neither man broke eye contact or blinked for a second.
"Dad - just - I've got it."
"What?"
"Trust me. Keep doing what you're doing."
"I wasn't planning on stopping."
"Plans change," said Mackenzie loftily, dignity bruised but not lost. "We never thought you'd become a filthy traitor."
"Yeah, and I never thought your dad would go to the lengths he did. We all face surprises, kid."
"Dad," said Cleo.
McCracken passed in front of her, and Damon's eyes flickered to hers for an instant. Understanding passed between them - understanding as only Kate and Milligan could fathom - and Damon beamed.
"What's got you all perked up today?" said McCracken.
"Oh, you know. The usual. Making a point not to kill innocent people. Staying away from torture devices, and the like."
"Don't be sarcastic. It isn't fitting," McCracken drawled.
"Oh? Was sarcasm not one of the first methods of cruelty taught at your convoluted little Ten Man school?"
"Don't mock me," McCracken spat, brow darkening. "You were always weak."
The vein at Damon's temple throbbed, but he kept his cool as Cleo adjusted her hold on Mackenzie, shifting ever so slightly to be closer to the men. "What's your problem?" he asked simply. "Who made you this way?"
"You would never be able to imagine," said McCracken, "what I've sacrificed to get here."
"Yeah," said Damon in mock pity. "Yeah, it must have been tough, turning into an evil dictator."
McCracken's face grew red. "You dare mock me?"
"Evidently, yes. Now, what's this?'
"What's what?"
Damon kicked away the pile of weapons that had accumulated between him and his adversary in one swift move. Cleo leapt forward, sharp fingernails chafing the skin around McCracken's neck, and plunged her hand into his jacket, snatching the button. Her father winked at her.
And then everybody, Mr. Benedict and Rhonda and Number Two and Milligan and Harper and Kate and Reynie and Sticky and Constance and S.Q., everybody who had stood there in tense silence and apprehension, converged on McCracken. Mackenzie tried to throw herself into the middle of the heap and only got trampled. Cleo held the device tightly, knuckles white, and suppressed a shudder. This evil thing, this red button, was responsible for so much pain - and could have ruined even more lives, if they did not successfully eliminate it. The war was not over yet. The button still lived, pulsing and hot, as did McCracken's horrid ideas.
He was pinned to the ground now, limp with defeat.
"Take me away, then," he spat, elbowing Reynie in the face. "This won't be the last of it."
"Really, now?" said Milligan, raising an eyebrow. "I think it will."
Faces turned towards Cleo. She trembled. The unspoken question hung in the air.
"Do it," Milligan said grimly.
"No," said Damon suddenly. He pulled Cleo into exhausted arms, grimacing at the exertion. "We aren't like him."
"He deserves it," Sticky said quietly. "He hurt us." He nodded at Cleo. "He hurt you."
"I don't think we should," said Constance. "Not with the button. That's too mean."
"We can't just let him go."
"He'll punish himself," Mr. Benedict said. "His guilt - there is nothing like guilt to drive a man mad. He's lost everything. Shame, loss, grief. He will have to deal with those the rest of his life."
"So do we throw him in jail?" asked Sticky in a hushed voice.
"I think not. I've an idea." He looked up at Rhonda, then Number Two, then Milligan. Clearly they had all discussed this before. The children relaxed slightly, then exchanged knowing glances. They were sure to hypothesize the moment the Mysterious Benedict Society had an opportunity to host another meeting, which was bound to be a very long one. Mr. Benedict smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around Constance and S.Q. "But first, I think it's time to go home."