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Brood of a New Age

95.

She didn't know how many minutes it took her to slowly emerge from her shock.

It definitely helped that at some point wings wrapped around her and someone took her in their arms. Elisa blinked - felt the spark of a hope. But it was not Goliath. It was Katana. And not only her. Angela and Coldfire, too. Though with the exception of Coldstone, all of their mates were buried under rubble, though they were all sniffling and Angela was even whimpering. All four females were clinging to each other. As mentioned. In times of great need or when one of them was injured, they tended to cluster. And Elisa was part of the clan even without gargoyle blood. That's why they took her in the middle and formed a dark cocoon of warm leather and protective metal with their wings. But this flocking together was just what each of them needed. Clan was family. And just the possibility of a brother or even a mate getting hurt or - Elisa shook her head and gasped. Which became a sequence of sobs. But that helped, too.

It brought new air into her body even if that air was still dirty. Someone had to start. Start to fight the chaos with order and structure, start to fill the paralyzing fear and uncertainty with tasks. She raised her head and pressed her forehead against Angela's brow bone. She was hurt and without mate. Then she did the same with Katana. Less injured but with lack of knowledge about her hatchling and mate. Last with Coldfire although she was a robot. But it was not the body of a gargoyle that needed this gesture - it was the soul. And Coldfire had more than enough of that, which could be heard by the sighs coming from her artificial throat. Elisa lifted her head and wiped away tears, looking at her sisters.

"No matter what's with the others - we're not going to find out by just sitting here."

Katana took a deep breath. And smiled. "Hai. Let's start digging."

They all straightened up again - and Elisa noticed for the first time that there was a lot going on around them. There was still a layer of dust in the air, coloring the night gray or sepia.

In addition to her colleagues, who now clearing the entire street (in case the onlookers had not fled on their own) and were now securing the perimeter and keeping the reporters and TV people from flooding the scene, there were many more members of the FDNY. Elisa recognized cars with the NYCEM logo. The four gargoyles and Elisa were often avoided, but other firefighters and and members of the New York City Emergency Management didn't care. These ran hurriedly from A to B. Orders were called, tools were fetched, someone called for a crane and protective gear for salvage purposes.

"Detective Maza?"

The women turned around. A man with a half bald head and serious eyes over his facemask and NYC Emergency Management jacket stood in front of them, eyeing the gargoyles standing around Elisa as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Angela's arm still wrapped around Elisa's - perhaps because she needed it, perhaps out of a protective urge. The man swallowed probably countless questions and comments.

I'm Jerome Hauer, Director of OEM, the Emergency Operations Center. Mister Bluestone is holding a briefing back there right now about procedure."

"Procedure?"

"In the search and salvage of the human and... non-human survivors. Mister Bluestone said - and I agree, given the circumstances - you and the relatives of the victims should be involved." For the first time, his eyes found Angela's, Katana's, and even those in Coldfire's shell, one after the other. "Would that be all right?"

"We need to start searching immediately," Coldfire said. "Any minute could be critical."

"That's right. That's precisely why they should be there. I was informed that your skills and physical strength could be a valuable asset to the team.

"The team? Us as part of ... the recovery mission? Officially?" asked Angela, and Hauer's gaze went from the laser wound on her collarbone to her.

"We need you. Every one of you. Also in case we find injured gargoyles and none of the humans dare approach them. The briefing will only take five minutes. Breathing masks will be distributed and instructions given on how to move around the periphery of the debris mountain and on top of it to run less risk of causing air chambers to collapse underneath."

Xanatos joined them - except for his battle suit helmet. "I've reached out to the mayor and the governor. We have a Go for everything. In an hour we will have fifty exo suits with carrying capacity up to one ton.

"Excellent, thank you Mister Xanatos."

"Anything for my city," said the billionaire, who looked awfully smug despite dust-encrusted hair because he probably had mayor AND governor on speed dial.

"Where's the briefing?" asked Katana. She and the others let themselves be led through the task force.

.

.

His body reared up reflexively as dust entered his lungs with the first deep breath and he was shaken by a violent coughing fit. He hardly noticed that large pieces of concrete and hundreds of small chunks of broken bricks, roof shingles and wood slid off his body as he sat up. But he saw the two humans screaming in fright and backing away, despite the dust he himself was kicking up. The two people in thick protective gear with helmets looked at first glance like the persons who had really stirred up the gunfight, and Goliath pushed the last rebar-infused piece of concrete off of him and felt his eyes light up as he growled. The two humans stumbled back down a mountain of rubble. "Here's one!" one of them yelled, and through Goliath's clouded vision he saw the large OEM logo on the back of one of the people.

"A survivor! One of the gargoyles! Get the mediators!"

Goliath coughed and sneezed several times, trying to sort out his bones and thoughts while pushing aside the debris on his legs and wings. He heard someone climbing the mountain of rubble and no sooner had he righted himself than Elisa fell into his arms. And when he looked up he also saw Katana, Angela and Coldfire. All of them came to him, hugged him and were visibly glad to have their clan leader back among them, largely unharmed. Out of the corner of his eye, he even saw Grace, who seemed to be digging in another area of the rubble and only looked up briefly before immediately continuing to dig with her bare hands. Elisa rubbed against him like a lovesick female and yet it was only relief. She must have thought he was dead.

"My Elisa," he grumbled still a little hoarse and brought his brow bone to her forehead. Despite the destruction around him, a relief took hold of him, a calmness such as only the love of his second life could elicit. She kissed him on the cheek and he wallowed in the scent of her hair. A scent that, despite the death and dust in the air, was heavenly and almost managed to make his heart light.

"I thought I'd lost you," she said.

He wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I would never leave you," he said, and he meant it, although of course, like every other being in the world, he had no such power to decide when he left.

Katana touched him on the shoulder. Wordless prompting to come back to harsh reality. "Goliath-san. There are still many people and members of the clan under the rubble," she said, her voice breaking. He set Elisa down and looked over the mountain of rubble with his mouth open.

"How many?" he asked. And groaned as a huge weight settled on his shoulders with each name.

A pain widened inside him, threatening to bubble up inside him. He had lost Castaway. He had fled his grip, taking advantage of Goliath's horror at the helicopter crashing through the building to escape down the stairs where Goliath was still struggling for balance because of the vibrations that shook the structure. He didn't know if the Quarrymen leader was also in the rubble or if he had been able to exit the building. It didn't matter right now. They had to find their family members. No matter what their condition, they had to find everyone.

"I will go back to the humans. I'll let you know when we locate a clan member," Coldfire said, turning away.

"Humans ..." said Goliath quietly. He was standing quite high up on the mountain of rubble. And overlooked a landscape of destruction in which scattered people worked but many more people stood on the edge of the floodlit scene. He saw that police and fire trucks formed a string of pearls between which police forces tried to keep onlookers but mainly reporters or cameramen at bay. He saw the flash of their cameras and puffed stoically.

Once again, pictures would go around the world. Not only of him. But of the whole clan. How would the public spin this thing again where probably a lot of people would be recovered dead? Since the trial, humans have been tracking many of his movements. And one of these actions - which had gone phenomenally awry - would now go around the world. That the helicopter had crashed and caused the building to collapse was not the fault of a gargoyle - but did that even matter? The police including the GTF were cautious, the mayor, the city council, the governor, politicians of BOTH parties were currently cautious. But that didn't mean they enjoyed widespread good graces.

On the other hand ... . For the first time he noticed that Angela was wearing a protective mask for breathing. A already graying bandage was emblazoned on her collarbone. Katana - because probably no mask had fitted her, wore a tightly woven scarf with NYPD over nose and beak and also Elisa just pulled her mask over her nose again. And handed him one, too. He looked around. Everywhere in the rubble pile people were digging, carefully, in groups of at least two but usually three or four with one person always standing by for securing the site and assessing the danger. There, people in power-enhancing exo-suits were just trudging over the mountain.

"The humans ... they're helping."

"They're helping. We're helping. Father. All the task forces are participating. We work with them and they work with us," Angela said, and though deepest concern made her look older and tired, there were tears in her eyes that held a trace of disbelief and happiness. Coldfire herself wandered among the groups, talking to people ... and Goliath realized that she was obviously using the ability of her artificial body to detect heat signatures among the rubble. Something that could save lives. Goliath snorted and gave his daughter and his currently reduced clan a confident smile.

"Let's get back to work, then. The night won't last forever."

"I'm sure the heads of the mission will want to talk to you. As our clan leader," Katana said.

No sooner had her words faded than Matthew and a half-bald man stumbled up, who introduced himself as the leader of this whole operation and wanted to escort him to one of the ambulances to get examined. He was covered in cuts and bruises but nothing was threatening. After that it would be off to some briefing and then Chief of Police, Matt as head of the GTF who he had had to answer to many times since the court case and Mayor would demand insights into what had brought the whole clan to the building.

From Goliath's throat came a deep rumbling sound that made not Matt (because he was already better able to place the natural sounds of Gargoyles and Goliaths in particular) but the man called Hauer take a step back.

"I will answer to the people when the last member of my clan has been recovered," he said. "And Katana will inform me about contents of this ... briefing while I already get to work."

Hauer was about to retort something, but Mathew put a hand on his shoulder and nodded seriously.

"Of course. Goliath. Your help is urgently needed."

Goliath smiled, took a deep breath, and extended his hand to Matt. So much bigger than his. Briefly taken aback by this, Matt shook it, and Hauer - perhaps a reflex, or simply overwhelmed to see such a human gesture on such a massive gargoyle - did the same.

"I, too, thank both of you. And all of your teammates," Goliath grumbled. And out of the corner of his eye he felt the painful flash of dozens of cameras. He did not shake hands with the humans to somehow make the situation appear in a better light. The situation was too severe for that. But he had to express his honest gratitude. What would be tomorrow night - only the great dragon knew. But tonight, humans and gargoyles were working together. To save humans and gargoyles. If there was anyone to save.

.

.

Oh, he was too OLD for such a tohu-bohu! The explosion had torn Tony Dracon from his claws and he had had to jump into the East River after the human. With his wing injured and his days as a good swimmer long behind him, it had taken him nearly a mile to retrieve Dracon. They had drifted half the distance to the Williamsburg Bridge until Hudson had made it ashore! At least the mobster had spent long stretches with his head above water thanks to all the hot air in him. Still, the resuscitation had not been Hudson's most enjoyable moment of the week. At least he hadn't had any audience in the process. Dracon had reflexively spit water but had sunk back into unconsciousness afterwards. The boy had a severe bump.

But at least this way he didn't cause any trouble as Hudson hiked back the distance to the site of the collapse. For the most part, he was able to stay in the shadows. He hitched a ride on a passing fire truck to get faster through heavily lit streets or across the Pulaski Bridge. Whereby the sight of him nearly caused accidents to those driving behind the fire truck. But it was the way it was. At least his ride wasn't going as fast or with sirens wailing- which gave Hudson hope that things didn't look quite so bad at the disaster scene. All his thoughts were with his clan. At last he saw the brightly lit scene of today's tragedy, teeming with people. His heart sank when he saw the large mountain of rubble on which numerous people and, to his relief, some (but not all, to his concern) members of his clan were clambering around. He jumped from the back of the car, wanting to get through the crowd as quickly as possible. And he expected as often fleeing, but at least retreating people. But he himself backed away when, just before the barrier tape and the policemen lined up there, he was suddenly struck by a bright light.

He contorted his face and tried to shield his vision with his free arm, when suddenly a THING was shoved in his face.

"Olivia St. John, WNBC, channel 4, here at the site in Long Island City where a fight between Quarrymen and Gargoyles took place a few hours ago and the building collapsed after the Quarryman helicopter went out of control and broke through the roof. One of the Gargoyles believed to be in the building at the time is here for us to interview. Please - sir. What can you tell us? Would you talk to us, please? If you can."

"Oi! Lassie, I'm capable of speech, but you can't think I've got the nerve right now," Hudson grumbled, trying to blink against the harsh light. Suddenly he was surrounded by other people. Far too many people. All asking him questions, blocking his way with cameras, or shoving those sound recording things under his nose. He liked watching television. But he didn't want to be a part of it.

He stomped past humans, trying hard not to push anyone, and most were smart enough to back away when he made an effort to get too close. Only the blonde busty creature named St. John was very ... eager and kept pace as he stepped up to one of the wide-eyed cops, took his luggage off his shoulder and presented him Tony Dracon princess style.

"Where to with this one? He needs to go to a hospital."

"You-that's Tony Dracon!" the reporter said, waving her cameraman over so he could get the scene well on tape, too,

"Aye," Hudson said only, giving the woman and the camera a grumpy (but fangless) look.

"And you-"

Hudson grumbled, annoyed.

"Carried him here? Fished him out of the East River? Jumped in after him when the building explosion threw him in. Saved him from a murderous other human? Choose one or take them all."

Hudson nodded at the police officer directly in front of him, then looked promptly at the barrier tape. But the young man perhaps in his first year on the force seemed frozen by the sight of him and didn't get what Hudson was wordlessly requesting.

"So ... were local gangster cartels also involved in the shooting in the building?" she asked, eyes gleaming greedily. Hudson showed a weary frown. He was too old for that.

"Aye," he muttered, cutting the yellow barrier tape with one claw and wandering past the cops without responding to the questions called after him. Except for one. Because that one addressed him as a person. And not as "the eyewitness" or "the gargoyle."

"What's your name?"

He turned, Tony Dracon still hanging in his arms, and indicated a perky smile.

"Hudson. Like the river."

It was disconcerting to Hudson that some people - as he was accustomed to - fearfully kept their distance and others busily like ants pursued their calling and their routines trained for years for such missions even as he walked through their midst, seeming to block out fear and suspicion. But at least no one was stopping him. He saw a little further along the sidelines Fox- in combat armor but no helmet- talking on the phone and gesticulating. And next to an open ambulance, Xanatos, also in battle armor and without a helmet, stood with a human bent over Coldstone, who was sitting frozen on the ground. Hudson walked to them addressing the medic first, who was looking for something in the numerous drawers in the ambulance.

"Where to with this scoundrel here, Miss?" he asked in a friendly manner because he wanted to get the problem off his back at last. She looked at him speechlessly for a moment. Then at the man in his arms, soaked and injured-just like the gargoyle himself. She shut her mouth, jumped out of the car and pointed to the table inside.

"Please, put him on the stretcher." The ambulance swayed under Hudson's weight as he stepped through the open rear doors and deposited the human. The paramedic took a flashlight and pulled up first one, then the other of Dracon's eyes, then nodded.

"We'll get him out of here in a minute. We've already recovered two other of his people from the rubble and taken them away."

"All right," Hudson muttered, not really interested in the fate of good-for-nothings. But ... this one was Graziella's father. So ... he was probably still needed.

As he was about to jump out of the car again, he suddenly had the woman's hand on his arm. " You ... your wing- your other wounds, I can clean them. Because of the infection."

"Gargoyles tend not to be susceptible to uhh- infections. I have to go to my clan, that they see I'm fine. And I need to help find the other buried people."

She smiled mildly.

"It won't take long. Please, it ... is my duty."

"Aye. I know that ... Very well. Five minutes."

The woman worked quickly and for the most part gently on a species with which she was probably (almost certainly/one hundred percent) unfamiliar, and Hudson, who for pride (and for some years now for increasing obstinacy of age) disliked being pampered, tried to block out everything she was doing to him so as not to appear impatient. Although, of course, he was a paragon of impatience. Instead, he listened to Xanatos and a man who was obviously one of the technical heads in Xanatos' company. They were trying to get Coldstone "up and running" again.

And sure enough, just as the damsel had finished patching him up and he had thanked her with a smile, making her blush, he heard exclamations of success from the two men and a mechanical "System reboot" from Coldstone. Hudson jumped out of the car at the same moment that Goliath joined Xanatos, and the son of Hudson's heart stared at him for a moment, perplexed, and then showed a smile of deepest relief. He embraced Hudson with arms and wings at the same time and the latter returned the embrace too gladly. This physical contact was as intimate and at the same time rough and full of unspoken effervescent feelings as only between two males and warriors could manage. When the two broke away from each other, Hudson briefly pressed his knuckles against Goliath's forehead. He looked like he needed it. Dusty and dirt covered... Even if he had allowed eager medics to disinfect his wounds, he must have been in too much of a hurry to let them cover those same wounds.

"Oh, my lad. I'm so glad you survived the collapse of that death trap," the old warrior said.

"And I'm glad to see you well, my mentor."

"I wasn't in the building at all. I snatched this rascal here from the murderous clutches of his uncle." Goliath looked over his head into the van where Tony Dracon was being strapped to the stretcher and readied for transport.

Goliath's eyes widened briefly.

"Dino Dracon?"

"Aye. He was thrown into the East River by the blast. I think."

"We'll learn his fate sooner or later anyway," Goliath said as a sign that he didn't like dealing with this human scum now. At least he smiled broadly again as Coldstone (operational and functional again) appeared beside them, and the three gargoyles repeated expressions of affection and warm words of brotherhood.

"Who else is in the-"

Hudson faltered in his sentence. He couldn't say "in the" building anymore. There was no more "in the". And no building, either. Just rubble.

"Who else is under the rubble?" asked Coldstone then, and you could see and hear by the whirring that his electronic eye was scanning the scene, probably detecting his mate, Katana, Angela and others but indicating as his frown deepened that he was missing some clan members.

Goliath took a deep breath. Stern and weary at the same time.

"Too many," he muttered.

Goliath's and Hudson's gaze followed Coldstone's, whose eyes slid over the jumbled mountain of concrete, steel, red tile and roof shingles.

"Luca and Grace must be on the other side of the rubble, I don't see them right now," Goliath commented, and Hudson showed surprise - but not in a negative way.

"They both came?"

"Yes. Because they learned from Xanatos that Dante was here. Angela told us Grace provided covering fire for Dante, incapacitating many of our attackers."

"Without killing?"

"Apparently. We found six dead in the meantime, seven alive. And the dead died from the collapse, never from gunshots, knife wounds or claw marks."

Hudson smiled.

"She and Dante proved themselves."

"More than that," Goliath admitted.

But no one could dwell on that certainty.

Goliath reported who was suspected by the clan to be under the rubble, and though his voice remained deep, strong, and factual, it took on an underlying brittle suffering quality. Much like after the Wywern massacre when he had breathlessly, tonelessly mourned for his angel of the night and his entire clan after his initial roar.

"Five of the clan, then," Coldstone murmured.

"Yes. Five."

No one even thought about not counting Dante among them.

Hudson straightened up despite cracking spine and injuries of his own. He was still Goliath's mentor. And though he could no longer assist the boy in battle as he once could, he still considered his moral support essential. Where the youngster threatened to writhe in grief, he had to be all the more steadfast.

"What are we waiting for where our clan sisters and females are struggling alone? Let's get to work. If humans survived this, our kin did too."

.

.

Luca came stumbling up to her.

"Grace."

She did not react.

"Grace, take one of the dust masks. They're important."

She looked up and sparkled venomously at him. Luca had never seen that look on her before. Not toward him, at least. And seeing that resentment in her eyes directed at him almost made him want to keel over. But he couldn't let it weigh him down. He had to stay functional. So he could help. So he could dig, lift rocks, haul away wood, shovel brick into buckets ... all while Grace lifted chunks of concrete that probably weighed as much as a compact car.

"Grace, the mask is important."

"It would have been important if you had let me go to my brother!" she hissed.

"It was too late" You would have been crushed like-"

She raised a hand. Her wonderful claws already chipped from overuse. "Don't say it! ... Don't make me hate you, Luca. I don't want to hate the person I love. So - DON'T - SAY - IT!"

She felt Luca's gaze on her and guessed his own" I love you too" was on his lips. But she couldn't take that from him right now. Because it would remind her what she couldn't have. Never would have. Why did God deny her everything when she was trying so hard to be good? What if she not only couldn't have Luca but had even lost her brother? What if even sweet, gentle Nashville, the only Gargoyle child she would probably ever know, had died? A child who had wanted only friendship and freedom. She and Dante had already endured so much shit in their lives (Dante probably more than her) and she knew it wasn't God's damn job to keep her faith by doing her favors. The Bible clearly teaches that God loves those who are his children and "all things work for us for good." Therefore, for the believer, all trials and sorrow must have a divine purpose. A true Christian believed and loved even when the world was breaking around him-and Grace wanted to be like Job in the bible. She really wanted it! But it was just ... hard to praise God when things like this happened.

She lifted a chunk of concrete that probably weighed more than half a ton and hurled it away, just to swallow her anger and keep Luca from saying anything. The chunk landed ten yards away in the river where further back several Coast Guard boats and a police boat were shining searchlights on the helicopter crash site and where two divers were currently searching for whatever. Grace didn't care. She didn't care about anything that had nothing to do with Dante or Nashville. She crouched down and dug in the rubble with her bare hands, feeling the tears burning in her eyes that she told herself were just from the dust.

"My brother is not dead!" she spat grimly.

"We'll find him, Eva," Luca murmured, holding the mask out to her, death-defyingly. Which made her pause. Slowly, she took the mask.

She looked up at him and knew he had stopped her because he loved her. Because he was afraid for her. And because in blind instinct she would have flown into a collapsing building, even though she would have been killed. With the greatest probability. Grace wanted to jump up and embrace Luca. Wanted comfort and reassurance that everything would be all right. Wanted to drown in his scent and his love and never resurface. Instead, she jumped up, clenched her fists and looked down at Luca. "I'll keep digging over there. You help the others. Give me ... just an hour alone. I ... I need to be alone now. I'm sorry."

"Sure," she heard behind her as she stomped away.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.