Volume 4: Metaphase
Issue 5: The Battle of Bodega
Jannette Adrian Churchwell
By Nova
The gas station stood alone along the roadside, in protest of apparent common sense. I had no idea why a gas station would be needed on a country backroad like this—the closest civilization was a little… village I’d never heard of called “Bodega.” It was a cute place; an absolutely tiny settlement nestled up against some low forested hills.
But too small for a gas station.
That wasn’t to say that the station itself was somehow remarkable, because it wasn’t. It was too big for a place like Bodega, but definitely not the biggest gas station I’d ever seen before. The structure stood against a steep hillside and was almost entirely surrounded by trees. A dry gravel road ran along one side, and tire tracks on the road were visible—though I hadn’t seen a single vehicle pass by in the twenty minutes I had been waiting. The building itself was old. It looked like an old gas station from the fifties with obvious signs of dilapidation, only barely covered up with some recent renovations.
Very recent renovations.
I wasn’t a painter, or a carpenter or whatever, but even I could tell that the paint on the walls and gas pumps were, while clumsy, still immaculate. It had to have been a recent job—no more than a few months old. A year at most. The walls and pumps were slightly dusty, but otherwise unweathered. While we hadn’t seen a proper rainstorm in a while, the sun would still have done its damage had the paint been more than a year old…
Someone had gone to a great deal of effort to make sure that this gas station looked like it was still in operation… an entirely respectable business.
“Are we sure this place isn’t operated by, I don’t know, locals or whatever looking to cash-in on the tourists?” Earthstrike asked, his voice crackling over my radio earpiece.
“For the last time, Earthstrike,” Renard said, “we are more than a mile from Bodega, more than five from any other settlements. There is nothing on this road other than a handful of houses and ranches. No reason for tourists to drive down it instead of taking highway one or even one of the small paved roads.”
“Chill it, Earthstrike,” Cytherea said, “we only know about this place ‘cause the Fed were lucky enough to catch the tax fraud.”
“The IRS saves the day again…” Earthstrike said. Even over the radio I could tell he still wasn’t happy about the plan.
I wasn’t either, but it was still better than nothing.
I lay on my belly under a bush, along with Renard and Cytherea. We were across the road from the gas station, which we surveyed with binoculars. Earthstrike was somewhere to the north of us, on the same side of the road as the station, and Reef was to the south. We had them—very simply—surrounded, though the forest around us was thick enough to make our perimeter feel… permeable. It wasn’t, of course, not really at least. There were twenty-or-so FBI agents a few hundred feet behind us, ready to rush in at a moment’s notice. If we were flanked, they’d notice it. But I couldn’t see anything past the first few feet of foliage along the roadside. Who knew how many other people could be hiding out in these woods?
I really didn’t want to find out.
Even through the windows of the gas station I could see a few men in camo lounging around. One had a rifle slung over his shoulder, though I was sure all the others were armed as well. There were two trucks and a SUV parked outside the station… were the people inside the drivers? Or were there more in the back, or in the woods, or waiting to ambush us?
I ran over our plan of attack in my head one last time, my mind going to that dark conference room where we planned it. Our strategy was simple enough, but maybe that’s why I was nervous? After what I learned about everyone’s powers, going in like we were seemed… dangerous.
“Are we ready?” Renard asked. His voice was professional and steady, seemingly unconcerned with our tenuous position.
“Yes…” Earthstrike responded, his voice wavered slightly.
“Confirm,” Reef said, her voice a bit stronger.
Renard looked to me and Cytherea. “Wait for my signal,” he said. We both just nodded. The three of us were clumped together because we were the squishy part of the squad. Or, rather, they were the squishy part of Dynacrew and I was the one who’d be keeping them alive if things got nasty.
This wouldn’t normally be something for me to worry about, if it wasn’t for Cytherea’s powers. Her bare skin apparently “mesmerized” anyone who saw it, which is why she wore those all concealing leathers. Of course, what really worried me was that touching her skin would, as she… slyly described it, “overload you with pleasure,” which was apparently pretty good at incapacitating people.
But could be a bit of an issue if her costume got blown off by a bomb or something and I had to heal her.
“Three…” Renard said, beginning the countdown. “Two…” He paused and stared intently at the men in the window. No one interrupted this, was it normal for him?
“One,” Renard said.
Almost instantly the ground shook. A wave of dirt and rock came rolling down the hill, toward the gas station. On top the earth rode Earthstrike, his bronze armor glinting in the sun. Learning that he had a sort of terrakinesis was the least surprising thing about our planning session in that conference room. I couldn’t see his expression from here, but his unusual silence over the comms was enough to tell me he was in deep focus. The wave struck the side of the station with a massive thud. I could see the men inside leap to their feet just as a billow of dust clouded around and obscured the building.
Gunshots echoed out into the forest. I could hear men shouting and the heavy crashing of rock hitting rock. “I-is everything okay?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“Not yet,” Renard said, pulling me back down. “Everything is going according to plan.”
Some more gunshots rang out. “When do we go?” I asked.
Renard paused and lifted a single finger. After a few moments, he shouted “Now!”. We scrambled to our feet and charged into the dust cloud. The sound of gunshots grew louder. A bullet whizzed over my head. Dust clouded my lungs and I coughed as I ran, my powers purging the impurities from my alveoli as best they could. “Stitch, move one meter to your left!” Renard shouted.
“What?” I asked, but did as he said. Renard’s power created a simulation of the world around him—as precisely as he had data for. If he knew how many people were in a building, and what sort of powers or weapons they might have, he could perfectly predict how a battle would play out. So I did what he said. I just slightly shifted my course and, only a moment later, a huge boulder whizzed past me. If I hadn’t moved, it would have taken me out. “Thanks!” I shouted back.
“Take the first door you see!” Renard responded. “Cytherea, on me!”
I charged ahead and soon the building appeared before me. In just the few short moments since the fighting began, it had been reduced to a shattered ruin. A doorway—now missing its door—was ahead of me. Following Renard’s instructions, I ran through it, into the gas station. The inside was just as much of a mess as the outside, with poorly stocked shelves knocked over and lights flickering above. A loud bang sounded to my right. Turning to face it, I saw a bulky man pointing a shotgun out of a broken window.
Before he could get another shot off I rushed him and slapped the back of his head with my hand. My powers traced through his nervous system and I struck at his cerebral cortex. I cut off communication between it and the rest of the brain and—almost immediately—the man keeled over, neither conscious nor unconscious. The threat neutralized, I quickly restored his brain functions then slipped him into a REM sleep that would keep him down for a while.
I stood up from him and peeked out the window. The dust was settling, though I still couldn’t see more than ten feet ahead of me. There was no sign of whoever he was shooting at, I just hoped they had gotten into cover without taking a hit. I could hear the sound of gunfire, and the rumble of Earthstrike’s powers—but couldn’t see anyone else. “Status?” Renard’s voice crackled over my earpiece.
“O-one down,” I said. “Can’t see any others.”
“Bit busy!” Earthstrike’s voice sounded strained. “About three of ‘em are making a run for it, into the woods.”
“Cytherea?” Renard said.
“Already on it,” she responded.
“Re-” Renard’s voice suddenly cut out when I felt like a sledgehammer hit the side of my head. Immense pain ran through my body as I rolled out of the way of the attacker, wherever they were coming from. I couldn’t hear anything, and could barely see anything as my vision clouded and mixed with flashing light. My powers helpfully told me my skull had fractured, and a bullet was lodged in the outer layers of my temporal lobe.
Even through the pain, I was glad I was hit by something low caliber.
But my power worked fast. Within seconds the bullet was ejected, the wound sealed, the gray matter mended, and the cranium knitted back together. I was still disoriented though, as I suppose anyone would be after being shot in the head. As my vision returned, I found myself under a collapsed shelf. Crawling out, I came face to face with a pair of boots. Looking up, I saw a tall, lanky man, holding a small pistol in one hand, looking as surprised as I felt. His left arm nestled what looked like a helium tank—the kind you sometimes saw at parties for the balloons.
We stared at each other for a moment, before his arm jerked up and pointed the pistol straight at my forehead. I was too slow and, as I scrambled to my feet, I could see—almost as if in slow motion—his finger pull on the trigger…
Suddenly, a pink tentacle as thick as my arm wrapped around his waist. The tentacle pulled him upwards, into the air, and his shot missed me, ricocheting off the metal shelf I was under. The helium tank dropped out of his arm as he struggled to get free, and loudly clattered to the ground in front of me.
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“Are you alright, Stitch?” Reef called out. The tentacle extended from her, protruding out of one of the spikes on her armored shoulders. I’d learned in the conference room that she could protrude these tentacles from anywhere, but preferred to grow them from under armored plates, since it apparently made the skin around her tentacles “weak…”
Also, she could breathe underwater? Not that that was relevant, but it was still pretty cool.
I took a deep breath, “Just in time…” I said.
“Let’s bring this one-” Reef started, but she was cut off by the man she was holding.
“The sheep,” he yelled, “shall fear the wolf!” He paused for a second, and looked caught in a moment of almost painful deliberation, before he lowered his pistol and pointed it at the ground.
No, not the ground. The helium tank.
Which probably didn’t actually have helium in it…
“Reef, get out-” I started when I heard the gunshot. It struck the middle of the tank and, before I could react, exploded in a cloud of white that quickly faded into nothing. I looked around and saw Reef, standing before the hole Earthstrike must have made in the initial attack. The guy she was holding had been dropped just a few feet in front of me, almost on top of the now ruptured tank.
“Re-” I started but my breath caught in my throat. My jaw seized up and my body started spasming. “Ge-” I tried to say, but I quickly lost control of my body as I collapsed to the floor. My vision blurred, but I could see the man with the gun spasming on the ground. I tried to reach out, but my muscles refused to listen to me. My power informed me that whatever was in the tank was inhibiting the production of acetylcholinesterase in my neurotransmitters, forcing my muscles to tense up uncontrollably. A complex compound was flowing into my body through my lungs and skin… I’d never run into it before, but I had an idea what it was. It was odorless and colorless, but what my power was describing was clearly a nerve agent.
Sarin gas.
My chest tightened as my breaths grew shorter and shorter. Nausea rolled through me. I could feel myself begin to vomit. With my inability to even open my mouth, I would pretty quickly asphyxiate on my own puke… Normally, my power would have neutralized the toxin, but there was so much in the air around me that it struggled to keep up. Every time it neutralized one molecule another would take its place… a constant, rapid battle of attrition that I wasn’t sure I could win.
For the first time in four years, I started to worry that I would die.
As my vision began to fade, however, I could feel my power gain the upper-hand. It grabbed oxygen molecules rubbing against my skin and ferried them to my brain and tissues to keep me alive. It viciously attacked the sarin in my system and tore it apart, down to the protons, neutrons, and electrons, with a renewed ferocity. In moments, my system was purged, just as it had been of alcohol, cyanide, or other toxins a hundred times before.
My eyes, blurry, fluttered open. I struggled to my feet, my body aching from the strain that was still healing. The sarin in the air must have dispersed to low enough levels that my power found what remained to be mostly irrelevant. I could feel that toxins were still getting neutralized throughout my body, but it was more of a constant low buzz than a struggle for life and death. I looked around? “Reef?” I coughed.
“Here…” she said. She now stood outside the building, looking in. She took a tentative step toward me.
“No, stop!” I shouted, before I felt another coughing fit hit me. “Don’t take another fucking step closer.”
“Stitch, what was that?” Reef asked.
“Sarin gas,” I gasped. I felt exhausted, more tired than I had after the Sasquatch fight. “It’s still in the air… you guys… you all need to get out of here. Warn people!”
“Sarin…” she muttered. “W-was I close-”
“Probably! I’ll need to heal everyone… n-no way I was the only… No…” I looked around and saw the lanky guy on his back, his mouth foamy. I took a step toward him and tapped him. He was dead.
“Is he…” Reef started.
“Yeah.” My voice was flat.
“Jesus…”
I shook my head. “N-no time to worry about that, we need to get help, a clean up crew.” I tapped my earpiece. “R-Renard? I just got dosed with Sarin gas…”
A cacophony of voices sounded over the radio. “Jesus Christ…” Earthstrike said, “these guys are fuckin’ crazy!”
“Oh my God, Stitch, you alright?” Cytherea asked.
“Quiet! Everyone, be quiet!” Renard said. “Reef told us you were convulsing, we were in the forest pursuing the escapees. Is there any exposure danger for us?”
“I don’t know… probably…” I said.
“Are you stable?” Renard asked.
“Yes,” I said. I looked at Reef. “I’m more worried about Reef…”
“Can you heal her?”
“Yes, but my clothes… They’re probably soaked in sarin… I don’t want to risk exposing her more than I have to…”
“We will contact the proper authorities. Cytherea has already told the FBI to hold back,” Renard said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Our reinforcements were not as sturdy as I was. Dynacrew’s quick thinking saved a lot of lives…
“D-did anyone escape?” Reef asked, her voice trembling.
“No, we have everyone,” Renard said. “Stay with Stitch and let her know the moment you feel unwell.”
“I’m feeling somewhat unwell now…” She shivered and looked at me. “W-what is this stuff?”
“Sarin?” I asked. I sat down atop one of the toppled shelves, about forty feet from her. Hopefully that was far enough away. “It’s a… nerve agent.”
“I’ve heard of those but, well, what do they do? How w-will I know…”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if that’s really something you should think about right now…”
“Please?”
I sighed. “It’ll target your… nerve-endings, make it so your nervous system can’t send signals to your muscles… paralysis… First signs for you will probably be sniffles, nausea, blurred vision…” I didn’t tell her death could come as quick as ten minutes even for a small dose.
“N-none of that yet…” Reef sounded relieved.
“Good. The second you do, let me know. The risks of long-term damage, even from a little exposure… Well, I don’t want to risk exposing you more with what’s on my clothes.” I said. “Sarin is a weapon, that’s all it is. Invented during World War Two, these days governments keep stockpiles to use on out-of-control villains, powered terrorists… and stuff like the Walking Plague you know?”
She nodded slowly. “That’s…”
“Terrible,” I finished, somewhat bitterly. I’d never been gassed by sarin before, but after a few escapades around poisonous gas I had done my research into all sorts of airborne toxins. What little I learned was enough to keep me awake… even now.
“And the First Way…”
“Had a tank full of it.”
“Oh my God…” She put her hand over her mouth.
“Yeah.” Those psychos manufacturing powerchems was terrible enough, but chemical weapons?
What were they planning?
We didn’t say much after that. I would check in with her every few minutes—to make sure she hadn’t noticed any symptoms—but fortunately all was well. Renard checked in on us too, though over radio. I didn’t see any of them; I wasn’t even sure they were still nearby. I didn’t ask either, and instead focused on Reef, on her condition.
Fortunately, she remained stable. I wasn’t sure if it was her powers, or if she hadn’t been fully exposed, but Reef never developed any tell-tale symptoms of sarin exposure. I would do a check-up on her, and all of them, as soon as someone came to clean everything up. But it took forty minutes for anyone to arrive. They came in a series of bright white vans, ambulances, and police cars. People hurried toward us in white hazmat suits, fully sealed away from the rest of the world. Others established a perimeter, and quickly began taking samples from the surrounding area.
One approached me in particular. “Stitch,” he said, his voice muffled from under his respirator, “sorry we took so long. If we had known…”
“It’s fine,” I said, a little tenser than I would have liked, but given the circumstances I hoped he understood.
He nodded. “In that case then we need to dispose of your costume.” He pushed a black bag covered in warning labels into my hand. He pointed back toward the vans, where I could see some portable showers—complete with a set of curtains—being set up. “Go there once you’ve removed your clothes, clean yourself with water and soap.”
I nodded, somewhat absentmindedly. I knew showers were needed after exposure, but I didn’t expect to shower here. How long did it take to get all of this stuff ready? Or all the way out from the city?
No wonder it took them forty minutes.
I, somewhat shakily, walked toward the showers. People in hazmats streamed around me, the number seemingly growing by the second. I counted at least twenty, no, thirty, before I pulled the shower curtain back around me. I shuddered, trying not to think of the possibility that any of them could see me… well, nude. Fortunately, the showers themselves—while slimmed down for portability—weren’t the worst. Rather than having us stand on dirt, the showers were raised on a metal grate, where the water could, presumably, drain to somewhere safe. I could hear Reef beside me, her armor plates dropping onto the metal with a solid clunk.
With a deep breath, I tore off my costume and stuffed it into the black bag. I tried to reassure myself that all the people here were professionals, like me, and wouldn’t care about nudity… but the sudden cold, February air on my skin left me regretting my life choices anyways. The water itself didn’t help either, as it was too cold to be even remotely comforting. I shivered and shook as I struggled to scrub myself with the soap, trying my hardest not to drop it and make a fool out of myself.
A voice nearby made me jump. “Five minutes left, you two!” someone shouted. “We don’t gotta enough water for everyone to take a spa day!”
“Someone has good bedside manner,” I heard Earthstrike say. The sound of another faucet turning on next to me scared me just as much as the shouting.
“Quiet,” Someone else said, Cytherea by the sounds of it. “Just try to use less water here than you do at base.”
“You’re all here?” Reef asked.
“Yes,” Renard said. He sounded like he was on the other side of Reef. “We shall debrief later, right now clean yourself.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Quickly.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice…” Earthstrike muttered. “Hey, Stitch!”
“Eep!” I said, happy that the curtains disguised how flustered I was.
“How toxic is this stuff again? Renard just told me not to worry about it…” Earthstrike asked.
“V-very,” I said.
“Like, very, or very?”
“Earthstrike, what the fuck are you talking about?” Cytherea asked.
“Look, I just want to know how seriously to take this.”
“Very very,” I said, turning off the faucet. My hair was still a mess, but it was clean, no reason to keep wasting water.
“Ah, that nasty huh?” Earthstrike asked.
“Yes… i-is there a towel here?” I began shivering again as the cold air threatened to freeze my soaked body. A hazmatted hand reached under the curtain and grabbed the black bag. Before I could even react, a white bag was shoved under the curtain.
“A towel and a change is in here,” a voice said.
“T-thanks…” I managed to stammer out. The towel was smaller than I would have liked, even for me, but it was better than nothing. I started drying myself.
“Well… glad disaster was averted, right guys?” Earthstrike asked.
“Disaster was more than averted,” Renard responded, “we have prevented a much greater disaster from occurring.”
“So you do think-” Cytherea began.
“It is more than just a suspicion,” Renard said, cutting her off. “We will discuss the possibilities back at base.”
I looked into the clothes they provided me. Beyond the obligatory replacement underwear and shoes, the bag held a set of scrubs and a blue face mask. I smiled slightly. It was the same sort of scrubs and face mask I first used when I became a hero. While I assumed these weren’t looted from the hospital’s supply closet when no one was looking, the familiarity of the garments was reassuring. I slipped into them and found the fit incredibly nostalgic. While they were less… subtly sophisticated than what I was wearing earlier—and the lack of any fire-resistant weave was obvious to my learned touch—it was nonetheless an entirely suitable fit.
I stepped out of the shower curtains and was soon joined by the others. They all wore the same scrubs and surgical mask that I wore, all except Cytherea who was entirely wrapped in what looked like medical gauze. “A-and here I thought they just had my costume on hand,” I said, chuckling slightly.
“No, these medical clothes were likely just what they had on hand,” Renard said.
Earthstrike rolled his eyes. “Well, one of us is still going to have to change,” he said.