Cammy woke to the sound of the B-52s playing over her tablet’s speakers right next to her head. She didn't bother to open her eyes, lazily reaching over and slapping the offending high tech alarm clock on its face in hopes of scoring a hit on the Snooze button or, better yet, the Cancel button. The feeling of cool plastic on her hand told her she had the right place, so she slapped it over and over again in the vain hope she'd hit the right spot eventually. When the music kept playing despite her protestations, she rolled over until her entire face pressed against her tablet’s screen.
Good morning, mum.
Her mouth felt dry like she’d slept with her mouth open the entire night, and it took her a couple seconds of concerted effort to be able to form words. When she did, her voice was hoarse, and her throat felt sore.
“Banks, kill the alarm.”
Sorry, mum, you gave me instructions yesterday evening to set your alarm for 05:30 and to make sure you were awake.
“Banks, I’m telling you now to turn it off.”
Sorry, mum, I just can’t do that. Your instructions were clear, and my audio sensors indicate you are not entirely awake.
If Present-Cammy had the ability to reach back in time to slap Past-Cammy, she would have done so just now. “You traitor,” she accused, unsure if the words were for Banks or for herself.
She groaned as she sat up, reaching over to flip on the light mounted next to the side of the bed and shivering at the chill air on her arm. Her room was a lot more modern than she’d expected on her trip into Montana. The bed, for one, she was pleasantly surprised to find, was large and soft with extra blankets and pillows, which was what she’d been most concerned about when she’d checked in last night. To her left was a large, white wooden desk with plenty of drawers and stationary to work with and a nice view out of the window, not that she knew what the view overlooked. It was dark when she got here and it was still dark now when she awoke. The bright blue walls were freshly painted and clean, and the pine wood floors were well treated and waxed to a shine only broken by short bristled rugs.
She took a couple breaths to build up her courage then threw the covers to the side, feeling the icy chill of the room’s air prick against her bare skin as she flew to the bathroom. She half expected to be able to see her breath at this point, but she wasn't going to stop moving for long enough to confirm. The bathroom was another thing that could have been much worse. It had a real clawfoot tub and a showerhead as well as a big counter where she’d already set a bunch of her things. The tile floor was especially cold, so she wasted no time in turning on the shower, set to scalding hot. Then she awkwardly stood on her tiptoes up against the counter to check her bandages in the mirror.
One of the cuts on her stomach had bled through sometime last night, and the gauze the ER docs had used to bind it showed a dark split of red on the outside. She peeled the bandage off and tossed it in the trash. The wound looked angry and swollen, and it was painful to touch. She took out the anti-inflammatories and antibiotics from her bag and downed those while she was thinking about it. Then she removed her other bandages on her thigh, hip, and the big one on her upper rib on her right side. That one she didn’t remember getting, but the lasher den was a weird place. Plus she wasn’t conscious for the entire stay.
Jumping into the shower, she reveled in the sensation of the scalding water cascading down her body and letting her blood finally come to the surface after being chased into her core by the morning cold. With sensation came the sting of hot water on open wounds. She winced at the slight pink tinge the water had when it ran down the tub's drain, but the pain didn't stop her from spending a few more minutes than she should have before actually washing.
Thirty-six hours in town, and she'd already followed her super into a monster's den, made a trip to the ER, got into a gun fight, and kept secrets from the Company. Her super had already fought an alien monster and a super powered hitman in the span of a night. Liaisons and their supers could go for months and not get a more marketable story. However, the universe conspired to give her absolutely nothing she could use to advance Firebreak's career. There were no photos, no video, no eyewitness reports. The events had given Cammy nothing but a pile of ash that used to be their client's home and a fire damaged wing of the local hospital.
They would be starting at square one.
At least her super was more capable than predicted.
It would have been nice to stay here for a while and further run up the hot water demand in the hotel, but now that she was awake, Cammy had places to be. The soap was harsh, and the shampoo was bog standard citrus gunk that you always found in hotels. Still, she wouldn’t mind this place if she had to stay here a few more nights.
Exiting out of the shower was a harsh, shivering experience that required a lot of patience and self-control to apply her fresh bandages properly. She stood in front of the mirror for a while, inspecting her various bruises and little cuts that didn’t warrant bandages. Her pale skin showed all of her injuries in stark relief, heavily contrasted red and black marks on her normally blemishless skin. She looked like ground beef.
"Thirty-six hours. Damn, Camila," she admonished herself in the mirror. Despite the time she'd spent in training and the recent battle wounds, the woman she saw there still reminded her too much of home. Everything from bright blonde hair and perfect skin to her slim but athletic figure told of a girl that never wanted for anything. She'd never missed a meal. Never had to fight for what she wanted. Never had to pit herself against anything consequential. She felt-
"Soft." Her mouth seemed to move of its own accord.
She was a princess slumming it with the commoners. They all could sense what she really was. And they all indulged her. She liked them for that, pretending with her.
She shook her head and sniffed.
Time for work.
Cammy dressed in fleece-lined hiking pants, a couple layers of tops, and wore her hair down today in hopes of trapping some warmth around her neck. The last thing she did before leaving the room was grab the tablet, which now blasted ELO, playing her out of the door.
On the screen was a notification:
-->Call from: Dad - 10 min. ago.<--
1 new voice message: Listen?
Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest of moments, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she pressed: Ignore. She knew what Dad would have to say and what would be her reply. She'd just skip to the end of that little drama.
Outside, her breath steamed in the air as she made her way to the origami beetle. It was still so dark in the parking lot, though the sky seemed to be a light gray bordering on blue. The shadows the mountains cast would take some getting used to.
“Banks, when is sunrise?”
Sunrise has already technically occurred, mum. Gregory Basin’s geography leaves the town in shadow for much of the morning, however.
“Where’s Firebreak?”
He appears to be in his registered place of residence at 1364 Vigil Street, mum.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Alright. Get me to the nearest cup of coffee. Stat.”
Banks took her down the gentle slope of the mountain where her hotel was, over a series of unmarked blacktops, and then over several small bridges that spanned the streams and draws that forked through Gregory Basin like the roots of a tree. When they finally arrived downtown, things were much brighter with part of the sun peeking up over the mountain ridge to the east.
They pulled into a parking spot across Main Street from a corner shop sporting a sign that said “Grindcore” in a shiny, angular font that would not be out of place on the cover of an old Metal album. Additionally, painted on the huge window that overlooked the street was a mug of steaming coffee with a spiky mohawk for a handle.
“Huh. Not something you expect to see in rural Montana, Banks.”
They say that it takes all kinds, mum.
Cammy waited for a pair of muddy white trucks to pass by on the street then crossed to reach Grindcore’s porch. When she opened the door, the steamy warmth and rich aroma of the place washed over her and lured her inside like she was under a spell. The décor was a little bit more subdued than what the exterior of the shop might have led her to believe. There were old records and album covers featured prominently in the theme, but warm colors like red, brown, and yellow were everywhere, giving it a cozier atmosphere. Several patrons sat in booths or comfy looking chairs reading their phones or, as in one case, an actual newspaper, rare as that was.
A television was mounted up in the corner playing a morning news briefing, but the sound was down too low to hear over the music playing over the shop's sound system. The news anchor wore a grave expression, speaking into the camera as aerial footage of a search and rescue operation played in the background. The crew did their work atop a half-block of cityscape, buildings, roads, soil and bedrock included, that had seemingly been dropped into the middle of a lake somewhere. The chunk of city sat at an angle with its structures and streets sliding into the murky depths who knows how many feet down. At the bottom of the screen, the chyron displayed the text: "Gravitron Counteroffensive Halted. Casualties Being Tallied."
The woman behind the counter drying mugs was well into her 40s or early 50s. She wore an apron over a red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose multiple tattoos, and her short hair was dyed lavender. The smile she gave Cammy was warm, and she waved with the white towel she held before draping it over her shoulder as she got behind the register. Her voice was a husky alto that suggested a past of smoking in the back rooms of concert halls or seedy clubs.
“Morning, ma’am. What can I get you today?”
Cammy took a moment to look over the menu. “Uh. Could I get two Anarcho-spressos?”
“No problem,” the barista said, turning around to work the machines. “You going far with these coffees?”
“Oh, no. I’m just headed a couple blocks over.”
“So, you’re new in town, and I assume you're sticking around for a little while. That about right?” The barista nodded as she worked, once in a while looking up at the angled mirror above her head to make eye contact with Cammy as she spoke.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well, you don’t look local, no offense,” she replied, looking back over her shoulder and giving her a wink. "Plus your outfit screams 'trying to fit in with the mountain people.' You look like you just stepped out of a catalog."
“No offense taken I guess? Do I stand out that badly or can it be salvaged?” Cammy asked. Gregory Basin was a small town, so she was sure the barista knew most faces that entered her shop anyway. However, she didn't want to seem like an outsider for long if she was going to stick around for as long as Firebreak's career demanded.
The barista turned around holding two paper cups with steam wafting from their tops. “Oh yeah, but don't worry about that. Get some wear and tear on your clothes, and you'll get there visually. But your accent sounds uptown, so maybe use more grunts and spit from time to time if you really want to fit in.”
"I am also planning to get a stetson.”
“That'll help,” the woman replied with a smirk. "On a cattle drive."
“Do they have those still?”
“Eh. They’re more in memory of the old times nowadays, but they have them. So, how long will you be in town if you don’t mind me asking? We also deliver all day and most of the night if you’re looking for a pick-me-up later.”
A young man with long brown hair and wearing jeans and a white t-shirt came through a swinging double door from the kitchen area. He wore the same apron the barista did, and the man’s angular but strong features were strikingly similar the older woman's. “Mom, please stop flirting with the customers. It’s weird.”
“Damnit, Carl, I wasn’t flirting. She’s a new face, and she's not some sundried roughneck. You know how rare that is?”
“Uh huh. You're extremely transparent,” he said, putting on a jacket then reaching down to pick up an insulated jug with the Grindcore label on the side. "I’m out. Delivery time." He kissed his mother on the cheek then nodded respectfully to Cammy before heading out of the door.
The barista watched her son go with a little smile on her face, then turned back to Cammy. "He's single by the way," she said, setting the steaming cups down on the counter.
Cammy cleared her throat uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. This wasn't the first time a mother had tried to set Cammy up with their son, but it was certainly the most straight forward and genuine she'd experienced. Her father's friends seemed to just thrust their prodigies in front of Cammy or her sister and expect things to happen. She suppressed a shudder at the unpleasant memories.
"Anyway, that’ll be $7.50.”
Cammy paid with her card and took the lidded paper cups, feeling the warmth through her gloves. “As a matter of fact, I will be in town for a while. I’m Camila,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Camila. I’m Tess, and my boy's name is Charles," Tess replied with a grin. "Hope to see you around, and hope you like a good cup of joe. If you're looking for something to do here in Gregory, hit me up. There's precious little nightlife around here, but I'll show you the right spots.”
"I might just take you up on that, depending on my work hours. Thanks, Tess."
A couple blocks over, Cammy got to Firebreak’s home, a wide, brick building with a big mural on the outside that looked like an evil wizard’s idea of a bed and breakfast.
“Banks, can you tell me where he is?”
Yes, mum. He is in the upstairs apartment.
“Hmm. Maybe he’s not up y-”
Apologies. He is behind the building in the adjoining alley.
She blinked. “Oh. Okay then. Less trouble for me.”
Cammy took the coffees in her hands and swept around the side of the building until she found the alley she was looking for. Scaffolding sat mounted to the sides of the two buildings that made up the alley, where old building materials sat discarded or wrapped in plastic to be revisited another time. The alley itself was in the shape of an L that seemed to cut into the buildings, and a dumpster with bales of compressed cardboard beside it blocked her line of sight to the corner.
Making her way past the dumpster and rounding the corner, she came upon Firebreak laid down on a weight bench wearing sweat pants and a sweat stained gray t-shirt. He’d loaded the bar down with a couple of the larger disks of irons on each side, and he was currently huffing and puffing as he brought the bar down to his chest and up over and over. His casted leg seemed to struggle to hold him up as he went through his routine, and Cammy could tell the super was having a hard time keeping his form and not rolling off the side of the bench.
She strode over slowly, quietly, looking around to keep herself busy while Firebreak did his thing. The alley seemed to have been converted into a gym of sorts. It wasn’t just the weight bench. There were pullup bars, climbing ropes, a big tractor tire, a push sled, even a heavy bag hung up on a bar that was mounted on the brick between the two buildings. She gave the heavy bag a little shove, surprised at how stiff and dense it felt. The bag barely moved.
The sound of the bar hitting the rack brought her attention back to Firebreak. He laid there, painting, shaking out his arms and lifting his bad leg up to rest it on the bench.
Seeing how much trouble the leg was giving him, Cammy voiced her concern. "You sure you should be doing that so soon?"
Firebreak didn’t sit up or turn her way. “You’re an early riser, I see.”
“Not by choice,” she admitted. “But I thought we might have some things to do this morning, and you run your business during the rest of the day, right?”
“That’s considerate of you, though if you had it your way, wouldn’t I have to give up my shop?”
“Plenty of supers do good around the world and still lead normal lives in their off times.”
Firebreak sat up, toweling off his face while pinning her in place with the intensity of his stare. His brown hair was wet with sweat, and his dark eyes told of a good amount of lost sleep. Steam rose up for his shoulders, neck, and head in the cold of the morning shadows. “I want to believe you, but... well, you understand.”
“Well, you should believe me. Even the big five have their alter egos. I assume they have families, homes, hobbies. I assume they even have fun every now and then, not that I would know. They keep that kind of information under lock and key.”
“Are you plugged in right now?”
“No. I told Banks you weren’t ready to trust the Company yet.”
“Thanks for that,” he said, rolling his shoulders to work out the soreness. Then he was up and headed to the door at the end of the alley, looking pained but newly energized. He brought his hand up and waved it forward like a cavalryman issuing a command to charge
“Off we go then. Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”