The Empowered, page 2
He shook his head frantically. “I’m not, Mat, I’m not! I’m in the Scourge.”
“Stop lying!” I slammed him into a storage cage. I wanted to slam him again and again. He deserved it. I leaned in close to him. “The Scourge is gone, asshole.”
He winced. “No, they aren’t.”
Gus was lying. He had to be. The Scourge had been destroyed while I was in prison. The world’s Enemy Number One, the biggest, baddest super-villain group, ever. The Renegades had been nothing by comparison. But the Scourge had still gone down. Rogue Empowereds always got caught in the end.
“Why are you wasting my time with this bull?”
His eyes were wide, spit on his lips. The weasel. “It’s true, Mat! I’m in the Scourge.”
Gus had gone crazy while I was locked up. He must have. He never would have had the guts to try and feed me made-up garbage like this crap story.
“I can talk to my cell leader. He can help.”
I ground my teeth. Cell leader? What a load of crap. “You came here just to give me a BS story about the Scourge somehow coming back from the dead?”
He wouldn’t stop. “I’m not lying. Listen, I’ve got a place.” He told me the address. “Think it over. Come see me. I can get you in, I promise.”
That was it. I slugged him, fist smashing his jaw, sending spit flying as his head snapped back. He slid down the cage’s mesh.
Damn, it felt good.
I yanked him to his feet, frogmarched him to the door, and shoved him through.
“Leave and don’t come back.”
He vanished, leaving spit and tears splattered on the pavement.
Gus was a crazy fool. I was done with crazy fools, especially him. I slammed the door behind me. What in God’s name had gotten into him to try and feed me lies? I shook my head. He was crazy as a rabid bat.
I looked up and saw Ruth watching me from her bedroom window.
Ruth was going to be pissed. I pounded up three flights of stairs to the apartment. I’d tried to talk her into moving to a ground floor unit, but she liked this one, said the exercise was good for her. But these days she didn’t leave her apartment much, thanks to Thalik’s disease. She also said she liked being able to see the world from higher up. I couldn’t figure out why. Why would you want to see a dingy apartment complex and a bunch of trees? I sure as hell didn’t.
I reached our door and stopped because I still wanted to break something. I took a deep breath, then went inside. The living room was empty, no sign of Ruth, or the twins.
The television, a big thirty-inch model, was on, tuned to the Triple N, the National News Network. Ruth must have been watching it. The twins could care less about the news.
“Rebuilding Russia: An Ongoing Concern,” crawled across the lower part of the screen below an image of New Moscow. Whatever. I was about to turn it off when the video switched to a reporter talking to a woman in a white UN military uniform and a huge man dressed in a deep blue jumpsuit with a gold Hero Council badge. I shuddered. I recognized him. I’d seen him the day they caught me. My stomach felt like ice. The day Tanya and the Professor and the rest of the Renegades died.
That was Titan, President of the Hero Council and the only founding member still alive. He was still built like a giant linebacker even though he was ancient, like seventy-five years old. The reporter asked him something about unrest in Russia. Titan said rebuilding always takes longer than people want. Thanks, Mister Hero Council President. He went on about the responsibility of sanctioned Empowered to aid society and how the Russian Rogue Empowered were only holding their people back. Sure, if Empowered weren’t “sanctioned,” meaning part of the Hero Council, then they were part of the problem. The only choice they gave you if you didn't join up was to sign on the dotted line, saying you’d never use your power.
I turned off the television.
I heard Ruth coughing in her bedroom. The racking cough made my skin crawl. I went through the kitchen, past the sink filled with dirty dishes that the twins obviously hadn’t taken care of and the still full garbage can, down the short hall to the two bedrooms. Ruth’s was the far one. The door to the twin’s room was covered in new doom ballad posters. Apparently Four Horsemen was their favorite band this week. I shook my head. Predictable.
I knocked on Ruth’s door, pushed it open. It was freezing in there.
Ruth was sitting up in bed. She coughed again, but shook her head no when I started to move forward. I stood there, twisting my hands. Ruth looked terrible. Her face had more lines in it than this morning, and her short gray hair was a mess.
Her reading glasses were on the nightstand, on top of her current book, something about the Long Winter. Ruth loved history and current events. Magazines on politics, foreign affairs, and science were stacked on another little table by the window.
“You’re up,” I said lamely. That’s me, Miss Obvious. I hated seeing her like this. Thalik’s disease was the bitch queen of all diseases. The mystery disease that had no cure. No one even knew why you got it. Sure, it was rare, but what good was rare when it got you, or someone you loved?
Ruth sipped from the water bottle she kept by her bed, hands trembling, and took a pill.
Her skin was really pale and she’d lost so much muscle since I’d gone to prison.
No cure whatsoever for Thalik’s.
She was taking expensive medication to help her cope, but was still dying day by day. If I could get a job and hold it and then apply for a medical grant, maybe get some legal help, Ruth could get on a trial for some sort of new drug. Something. Anything. She had raised me and the twins after our parents died. Been there for us, was still there for us, despite everything.
I had to find a way to help her and get the girls on the right path.
She put down the water bottle, wiped her mouth and looked at me.
“Mathilda,” she said, using my full name. Only Ruth called me that. Her gray eyes searched my face. “Who was that you were with just now?”
“Someone I used to know.”
“Someone from the Renegades.”
“I told him to fuc—I I told him to get out of here and not come back.”
“Why was he here in the first place?” Ruth was angry, but she did the under control type anger, not like me.
I squirmed. “He wanted to make up for something.”
“That was your friend Gus, wasn’t it?” Even sick, Ruth’s memory was sharp. There wasn’t any point in lying to her.
I shook my head. “He’s no friend of mine.”
“Seeing him breaks your parole.”
“I know, I know.” Tell me something I didn’t know. This wasn’t fair. I hadn’t wanted to see Gus.
Ruth waved at me to come over to the bed. I slunk over, feeling way shorter than six one and like I was ten years old again.
Ruth reached and had clasped my hand. “You only get one chance.”
I nodded.
“You can’t give up, Mat.”
“I’m not.”
Ruth let go of my hand, lifted her chin. “It looks to me like you are giving up.”
“I’m trying, Ruth, I’m trying!” The potpourri scent in her room suddenly made me sick.
Ruth uncrossed her arms. “You left your phone at home. Again.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” I hated carrying that thing. “My parole officer called?” Winterfield always ruined my day. He was one hundred percent pure hardass and he rode me nonstop about getting a job.
Ruth frowned. “Three times. You need to be reachable, Mathilda.”
“I know, I know.” I spent five years in Special Corrections always being reachable. Once in awhile, I wanted to be unreachable.
I knew what she was going to say next. Going to go over the whole "don't see any criminals" thing anymore. I tried to relax, slow my breathing. Tried not to get angry.
“Meeting with Empowered criminals is especially dangerous.”
Yep. Here we go. “Does it matter?” I retorted. “If I see any criminal, I go back to Special Corrections.”
Ruth shook her head at me, frowning. “Mat, you know there’s a difference. Seeing a normal criminal is a violation, but meeting with an Empowered criminal is a one-way ticket to Special Corrections without appeal.”
Okay, okay, she had a point, but I was trying to stay away from ALL criminals, not just Empowered ones.
“What did he want?” Ruth asked.
“To apologize. Like it mattered.” I couldn’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
“That couldn’t have been all he wanted to say.”
I shrugged. “I wasn’t going to listen to anything else.”
She squeezed my hand. “If your PO finds out, you’ll be in trouble.”
My face flushed with anger. “I told the creep to leave me alone!” I got up. “Where are Ava and Ella?”
Ruth sighed, suddenly looking not just old but ancient. “Change the subject, why don’t you?” she said in a low voice. She sighed. “Out, just like you were.”
“But you don’t know where they went?”
She shook her head, laughed sadly. “That used to be you,” she said.
“It did. That’s why I worry.”
The deep rumble of an eight-cylinder engine came from the parking lot, interrupting what Ruth was going to say next. I went to the window, and peered outside.
A newer model gold Lincoln Overlord pulled up below our apartment, whitewall tires and silver spoked-rims screaming ganger-mobile. A rear door opened and my younger sister Ella got out, followed a moment later by her twin, Ava. Ava’s raven black hair was nearly as long as mine used to be. It swung around her face like a curtain, while Ella wore hers in a short, curly perm.
Cute chicks. Way too cute. That was the problem.
A muscled arm reached out of the car, pulled Ava back in, and I caught the hard profile of a tattooed man. They kissed, and my stomach roiled. Ganger crooks made me sick.
“You didn’t say the girls hung with gangers!” I spat out the words. “You lecture me about Gus, and here they are hanging with gangers.” My skin was hot.
“I’ve told them not to.” Her eyes went hard. “I’ve got to pick my battles.”
“They aren’t listening,” I retorted.
Another racking cough. “No more than you did,” Ruth said when she could speak again.
“I’m trying now.” I turned back to the window.
The girls stood by the stairwell, watching the car drive off. Then they headed up the stairs, Ava in the lead as always, Ella following.
I met them at the door. “Where have you been?” Stupid kids, hanging with gangers. What were they thinking?
Ava tried pushing past me, but I braced an arm against the door frame. The twins were five feet eleven, but I was taller at six one, so Ava had to look up to meet my gaze.
“Out with friends,” Ava said when she couldn’t push past me. “That good enough for you, sis?” This last came out as a hiss.
I leaned forward, looking down at her. “Don’t be a fool like I was.”
“Yeah, you were a fool, all right. We all remember.”
The twins had been twelve when I was convicted.
“Good,” I said, blocking the doorway with my arm. “Those creeps down there won’t do you any good. How long have you been seeing them?”
Ella spoke up, fast, trying to please me. “Just for a couple of weeks.”
I clenched my hand. How the hell had I missed that? Because I’d been out pounding the pavement looking for work and getting leered at by creeps in interviews for dead-end jobs.
Ava gave me a defiant smile. “You’re just jealous.”
I laughed. That was too funny for words. I ignored Ava and kept looking at Ella. “How about you, Ella? Why are you hanging with gangers?”
Ella looked away. “They’re fun,” she mumbled.
“You going to let us in?” Ava crossed her arms. “I have to pee.”
“I just want you both to understand something first.”
Ella raised her head and looked at me, expectantly. She was the good one, always willing to listen.
Ava brushed her hair back. “What’s that, sis?” Ava, on the other hand, was a stone-cold bitch in training. Ruth said we were alike—we were nothing alike.
“Those creeps are hanging with you for only two reasons.” I tried to look less angry. “One, they want sex.”
Ava’s eyes flashed. “So what if they do? You weren’t a virgin back in the Renegades, were you?”
I hadn’t been, but that didn’t matter here. “Two, they are just using you to get to me.” Checking things out, taking their time. I’d have to figure out a way to end this thing the twins had with them.
Ava gave a loud, sarcastic laugh, and even Ella looked angry.
“It’s not all about you,” Ava said. Ella nodded sharply in agreement. She was the follower when it came to Ava.
Ava shoved my arm out of the way and they marched past me. “Stay out of our lives,” Ava shot back at me over her shoulder.
I stomped outside and slammed the door behind me.
The Lincoln Overlord pulled out onto Powell. The car’s engine revved, and it sped away, out of sight beyond the line of firs. Gangers off to have fun elsewhere. Scum.
The hum of the trees in my mind tugged at me as I gripped the handrail. My power couldn’t help me. The trees certainly couldn’t. I had to deal with this just like any normal would. I couldn’t go to the police. I needed to get out and find a job that would get us out of this dump. And away from those gangers.
2
The next morning I had to meet with Winterfield, my parole officer, at that greasy spoon by the Interstate we always met at. The day was cloudy with likely rain, according to the radio. Great, that meant I had to deal again with all the plants shouting happiness in my head.
I drove Ruth’s old Buick, because she insisted, even though it ate through gas money. Two bus transfers would have made me leave way early anyhow.
I wore my “meeting with the PO" uniform of white blouse, sweater, slacks, and the only sensible shoes I owned, a pair of beige low-heels. I hated the low-heels, but needed to look the part when meeting with my tight-assed PO. I’d kill to be wearing jeans and work boots, but nothing doing.
The radio was tuned to a news station, all Ruth listened to when she was in the car. I was about to change it when the talking heads started discussing a Hero Council operation in Seattle, some sort of sweep against “rampant criminality and rogue Empowered.” I turned up the volume, heart pounding, flashing on the Hero Council coming after the Renegades five years ago.
The radio said the Hero Council of North America’s First Team had led a joint FBI, UN, and Support task force against unspecified “rogue elements.” It sounded like a huge deal. The radio announcers sounded awestruck, like normals always seemed to whenever they mentioned the Hero Council. Made me sick.
Was it the Scourge? Had Gus been telling the truth? But the newscasters didn’t give any more details. Instead, they started talking about the latest building projects in the greater New York City area, Long Island this time, another Galestorm Memorial Center. The Three Days War and the irradiating of NYC had happened a half century ago, but the Big Apple still wasn’t so big these days. Even though the City had been rebuilt by the end of the 1980s, people kept tinkering with it, trying to make it the New York of old again.
I changed the channel to a rock station. I was not looking forward to this meeting.
Being interrogated by my PO was right up there with getting my teeth cleaned, but it was necessary.
Winterfield always made me wary. He had the no-nonsense look of a cop, or a corrections officer. He must have been in the military, but I wasn’t about to ask. I knew better. There was no chance of getting an answer. I figured he’d just tell me to focus on me and getting a job instead of asking questions about things that didn’t matter.
I just hoped to God Winterfield never found out about Gus attempting to “recruit” me for the Scourge.
It wouldn’t matter that Gus’s story about the Scourge being back from the dead was completely nutso. Gus was a rogue Empowered, the last living member of the Renegades except for me. I was through with living the criminal life, but Gus sure wasn’t. He must have spent the last five years skulking around the Northwest, living in abandoned houses and stealing what he needed. As long as it was something he could carry, it would blend in with him.
I still couldn’t figure out how Gus had remained free for so long, even with his power. Maybe the Hero Council and their lackey Support thought he was dead. Maybe he didn’t matter to them. That seemed damned unlikely. He’d be the first rogue Empowered they let go. The sanctioned Empowered of the Hero Council never let us rogues go. They hunted us down.
I parked the Buick next to a dogwood tree that was bursting with anticipation of budding. Feeling its pleasure was like drinking fortified wine; it made me dizzy. I had to stop in the entryway and take a few slow breaths. Clear my head. Didn’t want to set off those spook specs of Winterfield’s. Maybe I’d get lucky and he wouldn’t have them on today.
Winterfield waited for me in a booth by the restrooms. His back was against the wall, like always.
I don’t know about other parole officers, but Winterfield was no fun at all.
He wore that navy blue windbreaker he always wore and a knitted polo shirt. His shaved head glinted in the weak yellow lighting. Maybe he waxed it.
My stomach did a somersault when I spotted the mirrored sunglasses on the table in front of him. Damn it. Winterfield had brought his spook specs.
He nodded at me as the waitress left me at the booth. I slid in across from him. It was a big booth, but with Winterfield there, I felt like I was trapped in a tiny closet. I couldn’t take my eyes off the spook specs.
He tapped his windbreaker. “You are carrying your phone today, aren’t you, Brandt?”
I ripped my gaze from the folded spook specs. Damn those things.
“Yeah.” I pulled my phone out of my purse and laid it on the table.
Winterfield gave me his no bullshit look. “It isn’t just me you need to stay in touch with, Brandt, remember. What if your grandmother needs to reach you?”
