Hannah sighs in annoyance. Not only does she not have voices in her head, but she also doesn't consent to weird people latching onto her in the third person limited. It was a nice try, but perhaps others will be more amenable.
Maynard Nelson hangs up his phone with a grumble. Things were bad enough when all these super folks were just buzzing around Forchester breaking stuff, but then they had to go and block up the sewer network. What kind of sicko does that? Maynard and the rest of his crew from the Forchester Utility Board have been run ragged all morning trying to minimize the sewage backups caused by the force field surrounding the city. The really annoying thing about it all is that none of this is even necessary. Clean water is still entering the city from the pumps upriver, outside the field. If it wasn't, the sewers wouldn't be filling up like this. So, those Pharmedica guys must be able to leave holes in their force field, and they put in the effort to locate and exempt key water mains from their field so their hostages wouldn't die of dehydration or dysentery.
Unfortunately, they hadn't thought to consult with Maynard. If they had, he'd have pointed out the importance of also leaving the sewer lines clear so that water waste could get out. He'd understand that decision if Forchester had big combined sewer systems like New York, the kind where people could walk around and potentially sneak out of the city. Forchester has separate storm and sanitary sewers, however, and they're small. A man can get into and crawl through the storm sewers, certainly, but with the force field over the city blocking the rain, the storm sewers aren't needed anyway. Not a problem to block those. The sanitary sewer, on the other hand... well, technically a man could crawl through that too, but getting in is hard, staying in is harder, and staying alive without an air hose is not possible. Too much throughput, especially during the day. Pharmedica could have left Maynard a hole during the day to drain the sewage, then closed it up at night to keep in their hostages. But nobody ever asks Maynard for his opinion.
Well, the product is hitting the fan now, that's for sure. Maynard glares at his phone for a few seconds before opening his contacts list. His boss wants him to find, somehow, yet another pump truck to drain a segment of the sewers until this all "blows over." Maynard is not going to do that. The trucks are already occupied with other segments of pipe, and it's a duct tape solution at best when what they need is good old solder. Or maybe soldiers. Forchester doesn't have soldiers. It does have Maynard, though, and Maynard has a plan.
Dillan Ashcroft laughs joyously as he chases after a mugger, his skin glowing brightly. Dillan's powers can't hurt people, but the mugger doesn't know that. He's fleeing with everything he has, a total panic. Then he sees Icebergusen ahead of him, skids, and darts into a side alley. Dillan pumps his fist in victory; he knows from his own painful memories that this particular alley is a dead end. As Icebergusen stalks into the alley and the mugger starts pleading, Dillan turns and jogs back to the elderly couple they've rescued. Icy doesn't need his help with this part, so Dillan's talents are better spent out here, healing the old man's broken hip. Dillan can't stop grinning at how nice it is to finally have a competent gang under his command, and his grin is infectious.
"Wow, thanks a lot, sonny!" says the old man as he climbs hesitantly to his feet. Then his eyes widen and he hops up and down a couple times. "Wow! I feel ten years younger!"
Dillan nods. "That part's only temporary. It's just the elder fins. They shalt wear off in a couple minutes, then thou'll be-eth really tired."
The man's wife trades her silly grin for a condescending smile. "That's endorphins, dear."
"No, it's elder fins. I'm pretty sure I knowest how mine own powers worketh, thank thee very much!"
"If you say so, dear. Thank you for your help."
"No thanks necessary, ma'am. This is just another day for Dillan's Fist of Derringer- no. Diggery-Do- no. Um. Dillan's Fist of Diligence! That's us."
"Mmm hmm," she says skeptically as she and her husband back away. "We'll just... be going then."
Dillan skips over to the alley where his loyal underling is diligently picking through the pockets of a bluish corpse. "Iceburgy, my man! What's our take?" The other man spews out something in an incomprehensible Scottish accent and hands Dillan a wad of cash. "Aww yeah. That's gotta be over two hundred. Here, you hold onto that." He hands it back and then pulls two cans of spray paint out of his robes. "I gotta tag this building so they know we're protectin' 'em."
Burgy mutters something else with a roll of his eyes, then he pulls out his phone and pecks away at it while Dillan plies his craft. He's always been pretty good at art, but lately he's reached a whole new level. His dad always used to talk about having a backup plan. Dillan's plan if the gang scene flops is to become an art thief. He could easily forge a Picasso, swap it for the real thing, sell to the highest bidder, and nobody would ever know. But that's a lonely life. He'd rather have underlings. Speaking of which...
"Oi there! Fannybaws!" shouts Icebergusen. "Field Goal goat a lead oan them dobbers. Move yer gutties!"
"Uh, what?" he says in confusion. Burgs hands him the phone and Dillan reads the message for himself, then grins. "Well, let's go get 'em!"
"Aye, laddie!"
"This is so cool!" says Tiff as she feels the smooth force field and watches the water sheeting silently down the outer surface. There's a two inch gap between her hand and the water. "It's like being in a car wash!"
Joe looks up from his electronics and points at the ground on the other side. "I'm not sure cool is the appropriate term, Tiff. Ever wonder why houses have gutters?"
She winces at the water carving a moat around the force field and flooding the chunk of the park beyond. "Yeah, it sucks for the people who live nearby." This is only the south side of Forchester. She tries not to think about what the north end must be like with the Tonbosa blocked up.
"I'm more worried about us," says Hannah. Tiff looks over to the slide the other girl is perching on while she scans their surroundings for threats. "You're not picking up any kind of signals, Joe?"
"Nothing. Everything from LF through SHF is blocked. Maybe really low frequencies can get through, or EHF, but I doubt it. And your UV beads still aren't changing color, Tiff?"
"Nope."
He sighs. "More evidence this thing is only letting the visual spectrum through. Electricity and sound won't go through either. At least it does pass visible light. If we're in here long enough, Talaria and Konkasp will probably swap their lasers from infrared to red and get the internet back up. We'll have to wait on them to coordinate with their outside counterparts though. Or maybe they'll work something out with Pharmedica. They're letting in electricity, after all, so they're not totally opposed to infrastructure."
"Doubt it," says Hannah. "They want to cut communications. Make us feel isolated. People will be more likely to join up with them that way, and it makes it harder for us to coordinate."
Tiff frowns and pulls a Sharpie out of her pocket. "In the meanwhile, we can still do it the old fashioned way." She tries writing on the force field, but the ink doesn't stick. She sighs and heads across the street to fish a large piece of cardboard out of a dumpster, then begins jotting down notes about what's going on.
While she writes, Joe packs up most of his gear and then ambles over. She finishes up and starts to rise, but Joe stops her and taps the last part of her sign. The message to her dad telling him that she's okay. "You didn't mention he's out there."
Tiff winces. "How else do you think I'd be outdoors today? If Dad was trapped in here with us, there's no way he'd let me out of the house. He gave Uncle Matt and his family a ride to the airport yesterday afternoon, and the force field went up before he got back. I'm glad he's safe, but he's probably freaking out right now..." Joe pats her on the shoulder, and Tiff cocks her head. "Now that I think about it, how did you two get away from your parents?"
Joe shrugs and grins. "I told mine the truth: that I want to study this force field."
"And that worked?" Tiff asks incredulously.
"Well, they said no at first, but I pointed out that based on everything I could pick up from the police scanners and emergency radio, the force field has to be six miles across. That means it has a circumference of nearly nineteen miles. The odds of running into any bad guys would be tiny, and this is a chance to get in on the ground floor with some new science! That convinced them, but it almost backfired because it got Dad all excited to come out and study it himself. I had to tell him I was meeting Hannah here and drop some hints before he finally backed off and promised to leave us be. I bet he's over in Uptown right now poking and prodding at that end of the field. I'll have to compare notes with him when I get home so we can find out how homogeneous it is. Maybe he'll even think of something to try that we haven't."
Tiff laughs and turns to Hannah. "What about you? Same thing?"
"God no!" Hannah shakes her head. "I just walked out after breakfast. No muss. No fuss."
Tiff frowns. There's something off about Hannah's smile, all of a sudden. "But-"
"Leave it be," whispers Joe. He frowns at Tiff's sign for a few moments, then nods to himself. "We need to make sure your dad sees this. Here, hang on a second." He rummages through his pack and pulls out some parts, including lights and a battery pack. "I'll rig up a light sensor to turn this on when it gets dark. Then it'll have illumination, and I'll get these yellow ones here to blink to help draw attention to it."
"Good idea! Can you show me how that works?"
"Sure. This little guy here is a photo-diode, and..."
Hannah raises an eyebrow at the repeat attempt. She is not amused.
Joe looks up at the slide as Tiff finishes connecting the last of the lights to her sign. "You okay, Hannah? Did you see something?"
She rolls her eyes. "Nothing important, Joe. But let's wrap this up. This place is giving me the creeps, and I want to check in on George."
Joe nods. The city feels too empty with most people hiding indoors. He's surprised that he isn't hiding with them, but George is still unconscious, and somebody has to do this work. He helps Tiff move her sign into position, then they return to his gear to get a jack and a scale. "Okay, this is for the last batch of tests we need to do today," he says as they extend the jack against a tree to pin the scale to the force field. "Yesterday at City Hall, George figured out that hitting the field causes it to soften up in the local area. He had to get a bunch of cops to shoot at it to make a noticeable difference, though. We can't deliver that kind of impact right now. What I'm hoping for is that since the field is so much bigger this time, it might be weaker. Spread thin."
Tiff nods. "So that's what the golf club is for?"
"Yeah, and the shovel. I was going to use a bat, but bats are designed to hit hardest in their middle. A golf club's center of percussion is easier to work with when you're hitting a wall, and a shovel has more weight on the end than a bat does, with a thinner impact area if you use the edge." He sets up his probes and recording equipment, steps back, and takes a practice swing. "We saved this test for last because we're not sure if they'll be able to detect it. I'm going to take a few swings with each, then we pack everything up and get out of here just in case." He hesitates for a moment, considering their positions. "You might want to move back a little in case anything breaks off and goes flying."
"Right." She backs away and crouches behind a bench. "Ready when you are."
Joe nods and takes his first swing. He doesn't notice any change in the force field, but he's also pretty distracted by the jolt of impact. He shakes his hands for a moment before picking up the club to try again. "Wow, it's bent already. Just one more, then." This time he manages to hang onto the thing, but it's definitely ruined. He tosses it aside and hefts the shovel. "I have joined the Dirt Side." The girls groan, but Joe grins as he takes a mighty whack at the force field. He tries a second but drops the shovel as the impact rattles through him. "And I'm done here. My hands are shot. That field has zero give." He rubs his hands and sighs. "Not surprised, really. We'll need to try again later with something bigger, like some crook's car."
Tiff helps Joe pack everything up while Hannah takes one last look around from atop the slide, then all three of them head north to drop off his gear at the Wheelhouse before they check on George. Hannah stops them early when they're still a few streets away from Blossom Cobble. "Hey! Carrie!"
Joe follows her gaze to see Hannah's muscular friend being pushed down the street on her skates by her younger brother. She'd been rolling her eyes at Frank, but she smiles at Hannah's voice. "Yo! Hanster! Wassup?"
Tiff snerks at the nickname. Hannah ignores her and heads toward the Yancies. "We're on our way to check on somebody who hasn't been answering their phone since yesterday. What are you two doing out here?"
Carrie resumes rolling her eyes. "We're on our way to visit our stupid uncle. He's been really clingy ever since we, uh, got out. And little Frankazoid here has got himself a man-crush on some of Uncle Robby's friends. He's completely obsessed with their little macho cult routine."
"Shut up! I'm not obsessed. They're just, like, the epitome of-"
"So anyway," she says over him, "he's been nagging Mom all morning. And, well, Mom and Dad are... well, you know. Something had to give, so brilliant little bro got us both kicked out so they can argue in peace instead of pretending to be happy. Never mind what's going on in the city. Never mind that it's the very same people who... who... Neither of them believe it. They still think it's all a big conspiracy theory. Too wrapped up in their own- Never mind. So, that's what we're up to. Off to the Unc's."
Hannah shakes her head. "You could always go crash at my place. Mom and Dad are still convinced you're some little angel role model I need to take lessons from."
"Your parents are beyond stupid. You still got my old preppy clothes stashed out back?"
"Yep."
"Yeah, maybe I'll swing by later, get some of your mom's cooking. But I should probably at least make an appearance at the Unc's or I'll have him on my back too."
"Sure, I'm not going to be back until evening anyway."
"A'ight then. Dracarriela out."
As Frank pushes Carrie away down the road, Tiff raises an eyebrow at Hannah, but Hannah shakes her head. "Straight."
Tiff sighs. "Not really my type anyway."
"You oughta see her when she's putting on the act for my parents. Completely different person."
"Yeah, what's up with your parents? You never talk about them."
"And it's going to stay that way."
"Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about. It just is. I'm over it."
"So!" says Joe, "Gratuitous subject change! Tiff, you're good at perfume, right?"
"Um?"
"Hannah is not."
"Hey!"
"She doesn't even own any. I need you to teach her."
"Why?" asks Tiff.
"Yeah, what the heck?" adds Hannah.
Joe sighs. "You're going to regret asking me that, but I want you take a whiff of the air around us. A big whiff. Pay close attention to it. Notice anything off?"
Hannah shrugs. "It's stale. The force field is blocking the breeze and holding in the old air."
"That's part of the problem, but no. Try again."
"Smells like crap," says Hannah with a frown. "...Literally."
"Bingo. Things are about to get stinky, I think. We need to stock up on perfumes and the good air fresheners before the rest of Forchester catches on and starts hoarding."
"Don't most people usually hoard food and water?" asks Tiff.
"Sure, but as George would say, most people are idiots. When the sewer fills up and air fresheners become currency, we will live -- and smell -- like royalty."
Hannah nods. "Smells like a plan to me."
Tyler Ashcroft peeks around the corner at the Pharmedica clowns while Dillan gives his idiotic pep talk. Anne is out there along with half a dozen others in suits, addressing a group of nervous working class folks. It's one of the other Pharmedica chicks who has his eye, however. Her scowl is familiar, but she wasn't there last night with the other ones. Tyler can't place where he knows her from, but something about her is really giving him the creeps. He retreats back to his group.
Dillan's still doing the cheerleader routine, and Field Goal looks like he's about to snap. Tyler sighs and interrupts his brother. "Wrap it up, Dilly. Whatever those punks are up to, I think they're 'bout to start. We should-"
"Hey!" says a dark haired boy as he rushes up to the group. He's wearing a white hoodie with a sloppy orange F spray painted over his chest. "Sorry I'm late-"
"Shut up," hisses Field Goal. "They're just around the corner."
F-Bomb laughs nervously and adjusts his Guy Fawkes mask. "Right, my bad."
"Where's Drop Bear?"
He shrugs. "She ditched me on the way here. Probably went to Flywell instead. I really don't think she's interested in being a hero."
Buckler sighs in disappointment while X-Rey smiles smugly behind her skull paint. Those two are the only ones left from the original Fist of Doom besides Tyler and Dillan himself. It's not that they're loyal. They were just too dumb to see how bad of an idea hanging with Dillan is, even after it got them all turned over to Pharmedica and experimented on.
Tyler peeks around the corner again, then turns back to his team. "They've got 'em lined up now, and they're injecting 'em with something. Are we doing this or not?"
"We'd better be!" says X-Rey while Buckler and F-Bomb nod vigorously. "You jerks didn't wait for me last night. Now's my chance to finally see justice for what they did to us!"
Tyler still isn't sure whether she's more upset about the confinement and mistreatment, or the fact that she never got her bling back. He picks up his compound bow and taps his foot impatiently while Dillan and Field Goal explain the plan to F-Bomb.
"Thanks, Louie." Maynard hangs up and shifts his FUB van into drive. Most people don't notice plumbers, garbage men, sewer crews, and the other folks who keep a city running, but Maynard does. People who don't get noticed get to do the noticing, and thanks to Louie and a network of other observant friends, Maynard now knows where to find Pharmedica. They're holding some kind of backstreet convention in an alley off Emerald Way over in Parkville, soap box and all. Maynard hums to himself as he pulls onto Agate and heads that way. There's been no music on the radio since the force field went up. Most of the towers are on a ridge on the other side of Uptown, and that's beyond the force field. No reception in here. The two stations he can pick up are in 24-hour news mode, reporting endlessly on the crisis without consideration for morale. "One problem at a time," he mutters to himself. At least this old van has a CD player. Tomorrow he'll dig up some music to listen to. Today he will hum.
With all the commotion last night and this morning, traffic is pretty sparse. Most people are staying indoors, and the tow trucks have cleared most of the main roads. He has to squeeze through a couple bits where the road only has one lane open, but they've got traffic cops out keeping things polite and watching for gangbangers, so he makes good time. He hangs a left onto Silica Lane, which runs parallel to Emerald, and finds a spot to park half a block away from the alley Pharmedica have commandeered. He gets out and takes a deep breath before rounding the corner to see a line of people in front of the terrorists. He recognizes them from the news last night. According to Louie, over-the-air TV is out too, just like the radio, but Maynard has cable, and all it's been running since yesterday evening is local news on every channel. He missed his favorite program because of this. Another casualty of Pharmedica.
He gets in line and waits his turn, watching as the people ahead of him are given some sort of injection. Maybe it's a vaccine, or an addictive drug to keep people dependent on them. Maynard doesn't really care; there are bigger fish to fry. He makes it to the front of the line and waves off the syringe of dark red liquid. "I ain't here for that. I'm Maynard, with the Forchester Utilities Board, and I'm here about that force field y'all have blockin' up my sewers. You talked a big game last night 'bout helpin' people, makin' us healthy. Well, we ain't gonna be healthy if y'all don't let that sewage out."
"I'm sorry," says the black chick who seems to be in charge. "But we can't remove the force field. It's here for your protection."
"Ma'am, I'm a sewer guy, so trust me when I say I know a load of crap when I see one. You got a hole in there somewhere letting in water, and my buddy Buzz over on the 'lectrical side of things says y'all are letting in some current too. I ain't askin' you to let us out of here. Ain't my department. I'm just here 'bout the sewage. And don't forget that you're in here too. Now, I know y'all got yer fancy powers, but I figger you got workin' noses just like the rest of us mortals. If y'all don't open up an outlet, by this time tomorrow the whole of Cherry District's gonna smell like a latrine, and the rest of the city will catch up with them right-quick. And that's just the start. Once the sewer's full up, where do ya think that stuff's gonna go? People are gonna be dumping it in their yards, in the alleys, in the streets. Then the diseases are-"
"Alright, alright. I hear you, sir. It's a valid concern, and we'll look into a solution."
"Oh, I already got yer solution right here," says Maynard as he unfolds a map. "We run a gravity fed system, and it's sloped south-west this side of the river, 'bout like the land is. So, if y'all can only open one hole for it, this pipe right here at the south-west end o' Cherry is the one to use." He points to a circled spot on the map. "West bank will be out of luck, but this will let the main part of Forchester discharge to the treatment center downstream, other'n a couple spurs that're cut off. If y'all can open a second hole, or maybe take turns between two spots, go ahead and put it on this pipe over on the west bank. Otherwise I'm gonna have to have my boys ferrying all that sewage over to this side with pump trucks, and that's not sustain'ble. I don't know how long y'all intend to keep us in this here fishbowl, but we're gonna run out of fuel eventually, and then say goodbye to the pump trucks. We could try building a pipeline across the river, but I don't know if we got the materials this side of y'all's force field. Oh, and speaking of fuel, it ain't exactly warm out. My buddy Tony does gas. You should talk to 'im 'bout opening up a gas line to keep the stoves and furnaces runnin'. Accordin' to Buzz, that power line y'all're lettin' through can't handle enough current for all of Forchester to switch over to 'lectric heating, so we're gonna need the gas or else more power lines, 'less ya want people startin' fires and burnin' the town down. Assuming y'all're letting in fresh air too, that is; otherwise them fires will suffocate us that much faster." Maynard pulls out his pen and starts scribbling on the map. "Here's their numbers, and mine."
"Thank you, sir," she says in a sickly sweet tone as she folds the map and tucks it away. "We'll get on this as soon as we wrap up here. Now, will that be all, or did you want the serum too? It's extremely risky to take at your age, but we'd be happy to give you a dose if you want it."
"No thanks, ma'am, I'm done here." Maynard frowns as he returns to his van. He thinks she took him seriously about the main sewer outlet, but he doesn't think the rest of his concerns got through. He shakes his head and sighs. One problem at a time. At least he walked away in one piece. He hadn't been sure he would. He fires up his van and pulls away, unable to hear the screaming begin over the sounds of his engine and his humming.
Tyler leaps to the side before the jumpy guy can land on him. He's seen how strong the dude is, so rather than fight, he throws a wave of fear at him and turns to face that creepy chick with the scowl. He's about to loose an arrow when the realization hits him. "Mrs. Williams?" She turns her glare on him and his doubt evaporates. It's her. He lets his arrow fly without a thought and frantically nocks a second. He didn't recognize her at first because she was working alongside a black woman and two Hispanic men, but this is definitely Trish's mom. He hasn't had that scowl aimed at him since he broke up with Trish two years ago when he found out Mrs. Williams was in Hemopalooza, but it's just as bone-chilling now as it was then. He can't hear her over the noise of the fight, but he can see her lips hissing the words "blood traitor" as she leans out of the way of the first arrow and rushes him. The second arrow misses too, and then something invisible stabs into his shoulder as he tries to block a kick to his groin. Another one stabs into his gut, but now he's sliding his emotional aura off the jumpy guy and onto Mrs. Williams. Unfortunately, the fear doesn't help; it just makes her stab him more frantically. He tries switching from fear to shame, but he can't focus with all the pain.
"YOU!" screams Buckler as he interposes himself and his force-shield between Tyler and Mrs. Williams. "You racists killed my sister!" He pulls out a gun and fires before Tyler can stop him, then falls to the ground when the bullet ricochets off the back of his own shield and strikes him in the gut. Tyler shakes his head and lunges over Buckler with an arrow in his fist. He takes another invisible spear to the chest, but he succeeds in piercing Williams' left eye with the arrow. Grabbing her by the hair, he slits her throat with the arrowhead before she can recover. He turns to check on Buckler but slips on the blood. "Dilly!" he shouts, struggling to get back to his feet. His legs are weak and he's coughing up blood, but he's in better shape than his friend. "Dilly! Help Bran- Buckler! Buckler needs you!"
"I'm here, Bro!" says Dillan. He presses a hand to Tyler's chest to stop the worst of the bleeding, then crouches to heal Buckler. Tyler scans the battle with his bow raised, guarding Dillan while he works. Most of the targets are arrow-proof, but he spots Anne crouched behind a dumpster yelling into a radio. He grits his teeth against the pain and fires an arrow her way. He'd been aiming for her chest, but the thigh the arrow sinks into is good enough. She drops her radio with a scream and fires a beam, but Icebergusen dives between them and takes the blast in his gut. Then he gets up, shoves his organs back inside, and charges at her while she scrabbles for her radio and starts running. When Icebergusen turns to follow her, Tyler sees that the man's abs have already grown back and the skin isn't far behind. Tyler shakes his head and looks for another target while Dillan stands and lays a hand on his shoulder to finish healing his spear wounds.
The fight doesn't last much longer than that before the Pharmedifreaks burst into flames and disappear. All except for the dead Mrs. Williams.
Tyler's legs give out and he sits down in a puddle of blood, unable to take his eyes off her corpse. Eventually Swan ambles over with the box of syringes Pharmedica left behind and sits down next to him. "First time?" Tyler nods and Swan sighs. "First time's always rough, and the second time's no better. Sounded like you knew her?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry."
"Don't be. She deserved it. Hemopalooza."
Swan grunts in disgust, pats Tyler on the shoulder, and then takes the box over to Field Goal. As Swan leaves, Buckler helps Tyler to his feet and then spits on Williams. "You did good, Ty- I mean Cupid. I had my doubts when Dillan told us we were gonna be superheroes. Thought it was just another of his crackpot delusions. I was wrong. We're really doing it. We're gonna make a difference in the world. Best idea your little bro ever had."
"Yeah," says Tyler under his breath. He watches Field Goal muttering quietly to Ghost, Swan, and Icebergusen as they greedily examine the syringes full of blood-red liquid. "He's really outdone himself this time..."