Cammy drove the origami beetle up the curving washed out gravel driveway to an old two story home. The sun had nearly gone down by now, the dark sped along by the heavy cloud cover and the mountains to the west. Without Bank’s help she would have missed the place. The driveway was nearly invisible but for the mailbox sticking out of a conspicuously trimmed bush. Plus the house crouched behind a thick cluster of trees on a rise with nothing beyond in the way of civilization.
There was a small enclosed carport that stood a little distance to the right that looked to be a workshop. Outside, an anvil sat alongside a pile of scrap metal and a stack of reclaimed lumber. To the left, strung up between two aspen trees an old tire swing swung slowly with the breeze.
The drive curved around and up, allowing her to spot two vehicles parked off to the left of the house and a pair of figures, a woman in a flannel shirt and jeans and a man(?) dressed like a crescent roll in a gas mask. The woman was looking away and holding up her hand to shield her eyes against the beetle’s high beams. Oops. Camila stopped the car and tried to toggle the lights to a low fog mode. Fiddling with the buttons did more harm than good, activating the hunters, flashers, and spots before she finally asked Banks to do the deed. When she looked up again, things were back to pleasantly bright as opposed to grossly incandescent. Firebreak had stepped forward to interpose himself between the car and the woman, but he took no action outside of that.
AHAB Tag: Firebreak now responding to local pings, mum.
“You’re sure?” she asked, eyeing the puffed up man.
Yes, mum. This appears to be our man.
Cammy sighed, resigned. “Thank you, Banks. I assume you are recording?”
Yes, mum. All onboard cameras and audio recording devices are currently streaming to your tablet. Shall I deploy mosquitos as well?
“No. Save them. Wish me luck.”
Good luck, mum.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. She needed to bring her A game. Multiple studies concluded that first impressions meant a great deal in a relationship between a liaison and her assignment. Supers tended to have personalities and IQs at the extremes of the bell curve, making dealing with them unpredictable even under the best circumstances. Therefore , it would be best to cement their relationship dynamics right away and be able to go from there. She opened her door and stepped out into the chilly Montana night. Immediately, she wished for a thicker jacket.
Putting on her best bright-but-professional smile, Cammy addressed Firebreak.
“Good evening. I’m Agent Camila Johansen,” she said, approaching at a brisk pace and taking in the entirety of the super in as best she could. Now that she was a bit closer, his outfit looked more like a dog trainer’s suit. The material looked homemade and was a rough, protective skin over many layers of padding that seemed to be spilling out of some of the seams that either hadn’t been sewn properly or hadn’t been patched very well. In fact, there wasn’t a lot of material on the suit that didn’t look well used. There were blots and streaks of discoloration all along the arms and torso, while the legs looked like they’d been partially dipped in foul water. There was a bandolier of sorts across his chest with plastic tubes of different colors all the way from his shoulder to his hip. At first Cammy thought they were shells for the shotgun he held in his hand, but these had no brass component that would hold the powder and wadding. Very odd.
Cammy thrust out her hand. Firebreak took it, surprising Cammy with not only the strength of his grip but that his leather gloves lacked palms. His rubber gas mask and tinted goggles stared into her, revealing nothing, but she could hear his steady breathing through the mask’s filter can. She cleared her throat.
“Good to finally meet you. I’m your Company lias-”
“Nope.” Firebreak dropped Cammy’s hand like he’d grabbed a venomous snake. His voice was hollow and tinny inside the mask, but the sentiment came through just fine. “Nope. Nope. Nope. No way.”
He turned and took off toward the front door, looking like he’d just shot his way out of a burn ward. His bulky suit didn’t allow for much movement giving him a bow legged stride, his arms waving around like he couldn’t entirely bring them down to his sides. This made his shotgun wobble and wave erratically as he navigated the painted rocks lining the edges of the driveway.
Cammy stared after him incredulously for a moment. Firebreak was lucky to even get an assigned liaison at all, much less her. This should be like winning the lottery. A ticket to fame and fortune. But there he was, walking away. Waddling away. Just what the hell was wrong with everyone?
The woman… Mrs. Maldonado had said something, but Cammy didn’t catch it.
She closed her eyes and unclenched her fists.
Cammy stalked after her charge, easily overtaking him just as he was navigating the porch steps. He was ponderously stomping on the planks one by one, seemingly unable to bend his legs properly to overcome them. She spun him around to look into his stupid goggled face.
“As I was saying, my name is Camila Johansen, and I’m here to help.”
The suit creaked and crackled as Firebreak struggled to bend his arm but had to settle for a slightly misaimed finger point. “No. You were saying you were with the Company. The Company that owns supers. Supers like me.”
“That is a gross mischaracterization of what we do. We help people like you realize your full potential.”
“Not for free, you don’t. Thanks, but I don’t need a benefactor, a babysitter, or a PR rep.”
Cammy spoke through gritted teeth. “No one said you did, Firebreak. I’m not a PR rep. I’m here to help you realize your full potential and get you out there doing the most good you possibly can with your gifts. You want that don’t you?”
“Lady, I know where I stand in the super world. Nanobot plagues and alien invasions are a little out of my wheelhouse. I leave those to the corpos like Doctor McHanical. If you want to light a barbecue, give me a call.” He took another step onto the porch. His heavy boot slammed down on the wood, seeming to shake the entire house. He did this twice more before he finally put his full weight on the step.
Cammy made to follow him with some choice words about moral fiber on the tip of her tongue, but Firebreak’s arm shot out and stopped her cold. When she tried to push past to get in his face, the arm gave way no more than a couple inches.
The super slowly, carefully turned his torso to look Cammy’s way. Then he gestured downward with the barrel of his shotgun to a loose cluster of rusty nails sticking upward from where she would have set her foot. It may have been a trick of the light, but the tips looked odd. Barbed. Spatters of old blood, nearly black in this light, made a winding trail up to the door.
“Don’t come any closer to the house,” Firebreak said icily.
“Wh-” She stopped speaking, suddenly short of breath. The altitude here really wasn’t a joke was it? Her pulse pounded in her head, and her vision swam with spots. Her eyes were drawn to the darkened windows of the Maldonados’ home. Like multifaceted eyes, they stared out at her, waiting expectantly. “What’s going on here?” she asked breathily as she fought to stay upright.
Firebreak stood unmoving for a long moment. If not for the tinny breathing through the gas mask, Cammy wouldn’t even be able to tell the man was alive. When he finally spoke, it was in a low voice that wouldn’t carry on the wind. “It’s an infestation.”
She matched the super’s tone. “What kind of infestation?”.
“A lasher, most likely.”
“Lasher?”
“Neither of us have the security clearance to know what the government calls them, but it’s an extra-dimensional thing. Bad news if they get a chance to settle in somewhere. You’re feeling its influence right now.”
She slowly, purposefully took measured breaths, waiting for whatever force squeezing the juice out of her adrenal glands to let go. It didn’t, but she forced herself to pretend anyway. She cleared her throat and spoke in a polite if a little strained, conversational tone. “Now that you mention it. I do feel a little…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for the word “Off.”
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“You would have been fine until you realized the danger. They draw you in. Easy to get in. Hard to get out.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“You get used to it after a few encounters.”
“Firebreak-”
“Listen, I appreciate you coming all this way, but the Company’s got to be scraping the bottom of the barrel if they’re looking to add me to their stable. I don’t want a Company rep. I don’t need a Company rep. I just want to be left alone.”
A little bit of the anger she’d felt earlier when the super had outright dismissed her was starting to return. “Fine. You’ve made your thoughts, shortsighted as they are, very clear. However, need I remind you that we are partnered with AHAB? Like it or not, the powers that be sent me here to provide you assistance with regards to your powers and the responsibilities they entail. It is pretty much my entire purpose in life until my employer says otherwise. Fight me. Run from me. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Maldonado was taking slow, tentative steps their way, drawn by the Company agent and her superhero having a heated exchange on her porch.
Firebreak pointed toward the origami beetle with his free hand. “Is your car armored?”
“What? Yes. Very.”
“Get Patty in your car and keep her safe.”
“Are we in danger right now?” Her fingers itched for her Mark II. Why had she left it in the car?
“Probably not.”
She raised her eyebrow slightly. “Probably not?”
He reached down to a belt Cammy hadn’t noticed before and drew a short machete type blade. “Gets more dangerous by the second.”
“Are we moving on to threats now?”
“Hardly," he said. "Get her in the car and keep her there until it’s done.”
Reluctantly, Cammy stepped down off the porch, careful not to turn her back on the house and its windows until she was a good distance away.
“Agent Johansen!” Firebreak called from the deep shadows under the porch awning.
Though she could now only see her super in silhouette against the house’s white siding, Cammy was sure he was turned her way.
“No matter what you hear, don’t follow me.”
----------------------------------------
Firebreak searched Johansen’s face for some indication that she understood the gravity of his request, but now that she was out of the lasher’s territory her composure had returned, letting her mask of professional competence slip back into place.
Everything she was, the curious eyes, the tightly bound blonde hair, the gray pencil skirt and jacket tastefully accentuating her figure, the expensive but functional shoes, even her shade of eye shadow; all of it was calculated to get just close enough to him to allow her into his life but not outright appeal to his baser desires. The woman even wore just the right amount of her anger and uncertainty all the while projecting an earnest entreaty to his better nature. Insidious.
Just how detailed was his AHAB psych profile?
“Fine,” she said. “But I want to know how long you’ll be.”
“About twenty minutes for a house this size,” he replied. “Why?”
“Because if you don’t come out after twenty minutes, I’m coming in to get you.”
He tried to put his hands up pleadingly, but the stiffness of the suit and the weapons in his hands probably made the gesture look a bit more sinister than he was going for. “Please don’t do that.”
“I will absolutely do that.” She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chin, daring him to tell her she couldn’t.
“You’re not dressed for it.”
“I will compensate for that with a large and over designed gun.” Mrs. Maldonado had reached Johansen by now, and the Company woman flipped from defiant bravado to soothing confidence in the blink of an eye. She took Patty’s hand and in a second the two were exchanging words Joseph couldn’t hear.
He sighed. “Make it thirty minutes then, Johansen. Let’s not put any holes in Patty’s walls if we don’t need to.”
Johansen gave no indication that she heard him. She and Patty were already walking toward the agent’s expensive ride.
Firebreak stuck his machete under his arm and tested the doorknob. Unlocked. Of course it was. We couldn’t have potential prey unable to enter the kill zone, right? Honestly, he was surprised the door was still there at all, as it precluded a lot of potential prey animals from coming inside to die. He summoned a little energy into the palm of his hand, just enough to produce a tiny yellow flame. The door was one of those half glass models popular nowadays with suburban families that weren’t too worried about crime beyond porch piracy. Holding his little pilot light up to the glass, he tried peering in, but the glass had a dirty brown film covering it on the other side. More than likely, the windows were the same.
He ran his hand over the tubes in his bandolier, making sure they were all secure.
Then he shoulder-slammed the door all the way open until it hit the stopper on the other side with a bang that echoed in the dark like a gunshot. Metal and glass that had been jammed behind the door made a scraping, tinkling sound as it crumbled to the ground.
His shotgun and machete were at the ready again. He didn’t expect the lasher to be in the foyer, but he’d been surprised often enough that he no longer took chances. As he stepped inside he reached down with his right hand and thumbed on the boxy little work lantern fastened to his belt.
As expected, the place was a wreck, but the extent of the damage shocked him. It was warm in the house, at least ten degrees warmer than outside, and everything was tinted an unhealthy looking brown. Spores or the extra-universal equivalent floated lazily in the glow of his light and clung to the rough kevlar of his suit, slowly accumulating to form a white fuzz.
Mental note: decontaminate the hell out of all the gear. It wouldn’t do to bring the Scar home with him.
The wooden planks that made up the floor were rotted and treacherously slippery. Rusty metal knives, nails, sawblades, and razors stuck up randomly out of the wood grain as well. The walls bowed inward, discolored and crumbling, the plaster falling to the floor in thick wet clumps. From the floor a rotting, stuffed elk head stared blankly at the reinforced mount on the wall from which it had once been hung. The high ceiling sagged, cracked sheetrock excreting thick brown sludge that trickled down a tangled forest of long, twisted strands of fiberglass insulation covered now in an unhealthy looking brown film.
Firebreak had to pause to really appreciate it all. The creature had been busy. Lashers weren’t common, not outside the Scar, and those that did wander out into the countryside were generally the weaker, smaller sort. They weren’t capable of something like this. For one they didn’t have the presence to taint the area so thoroughly. Secondly, lashers were not confrontational. Why move in with a family of four and risk getting chased out before you could establish yourself?
His goggles were starting to fog. Putting either of his weapons down was a no-go, so he made due with a sleeve which left a brown streak across his lenses. Fantastic.
“Made yourself right at home, did you? I’m not here to tell you how to decorate, but the HOA is going to have something to say about all of this.”
There was no answer, not that he expected one.
With that, he started the process of clearing the house, his shotgun in his leading hand and his machete raised above his head, ready for that one-two punch. Progress was slow. He was methodical, stomping down with every step to check his footing, clearing hanging hazards by slashing with his machete, and flipping tables and chairs, all the while scrutinizing every crevice and surface twice. There were a couple times he’d thought he’d caught his prey sleeping, but when he’d laid into the thing in question with the machete, it turned out to be filth encrusted blankets or a pile of rotting couch cushions. By the time he was satisfied with the bottom floor, his breathing was heavy, and he’d worked up a substantial sweat.
The stairs going up to the loft were no better off than the ground floor. Two steps up, his boot crashed through the wood into a little storage closet under the stairs. The constant stomping was to check for exactly that. Still, the sudden drop startled him to the point of panic. He flailed his arms and spastically kicked with his trapped foot until it came free. Then, when it did, he fell over backwards onto the landing with a thud. He felt something bend underneath him, and when he got back up he discovered a piece of sharpened tin roofing now blunted and lying flush with the floor. His trusty suit, as cumbersome as it was, had saved him a trip to the hospital at least.
Up the stairs again. This time he made it to the top. The loft balcony seemed sturdy enough to support his weight at least, and there were fewer sharp hazards to contend with underfoot. He was about to kick open the door to the first upstairs bedroom when he heard a sound, just a slight rustle of something soft dragged over wood. He stopped, his foot mid kick. The helmet and mask made it hard to pinpoint sound. How close was it?
That’s when the tentacle that had been worming its way up his leg tightened its grip, a grip so strong it ground the bones together hard enough that he could hear them pop. Then he was yanked from his feet out into the air above the living room. His vision went white and fuzzy for a moment while his mind grappled with the pain of his leg bones being wrenched out of place, but experience helped in that department. With a series of quick breaths and a grunt he forced his consciousness to be in the now. He was dangling above the living room, suspended by a pale snake-like appendage coiled around his leg from ankle to upper thigh. As he hung there, he traced the line of the tentacle from his leg, across the ceiling, to the main mass of the creature. The lasher had to have been as big as a truck. It seemed to take up the entire wall opposite the stairs leaving only the bay windows unobstructed, and every second, more and more of the creature was emerging from a fist-sized hole in the wall where he guessed the thing had been hiding.
Its skin, if you could call it that, was wet and rubbery like an octopus, but while the octopus might have a bulbous body where it kept its heart and brain, this thing was all squirming, writhing digestive system. It resembled a living bowl of spaghetti, except all the “noodles” were really arm-width, prehensile intestines that terminated in a circular mouth with hooked teeth. Lashers didn’t have multiple organs with specialized functions. Instead every one of their tentacles led to the bloated sack that was the lasher’s core. Of course, they guarded their cores ferociously and aiming for the core in the writing mass of extremities was difficult, even in the younger, smaller lashers. This one, judging by its size and aggressiveness, was mature. Very.
Dangling there upside down, blood rushing to his head, and his leg possibly crippled, Firebreak took stock. He’d dropped his machete but still held his shotgun. He patted the tubes on his bandolier to make sure they were still secure. They were. His hand hovered just over one of the reds.
Now he had a decision to make. The Maldonado’s house was never going to be livable again. That much was certain. However, the arrival of the Company changed the calculus of this encounter. The easy way or the hard way? What was it going to be?
His hesitation made the decision for him as the creature hauled him up then slammed him down onto and then through the rotting floor of the house and into darkness.