Nightshift was the first. He showed up and overnight the world changed. I was young then. Younger. And all I cared about were rock bands and movie stars, and didnt give much thought to the significance of things like his arrival. Except that it was cool, he was cool. In time, that, like everything else, would change too.
In the first weeks after he hit the scene the papers and news shows were fat with rumors and half-truths and speculations by experts.
Experts?
How were there going to be any experts when thered never been anything like him, it, before?
It was his physiology, they said. It suggested that he may not be of this . . . They said he was the by-product of government experiments which caused his body to become . . . Mental superiority allowed him to project an aura which resulted in . . .
On and on. All that anybody really knew was somewhere in San Francisco, night after night, he . . . it. It was out there. Stopping a bank robbery, a gang drive-by, keeping a kid from getting flattened by a runaway truck . . . whatever.
And then, just as quick as he appeared, Nightshift got mundane. Oh, he kept a jewelry store from getting ripped off again? Another car jacking busted up? Well, sure, I mean its good, but . . .
I got used to it. I got used to them. We all did. And we all went back to being concerned with other things . . . rock bands and movie stars.
Like I said: That would change.
San Francisco. The dead. The EO that made them all outlaws.
We blame them. They deserve blame. But maybe its our fault too. We never shouldve let them do our job for us. We never shouldve relied on them. We never shouldve slept while they stood guard; spectators at the foot of Mt. Olympus.
No.
Hell no. What happened was their fault and theirs alone. And for what they did theyre all going to pay the price.
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM.
Jesus Christ.
It was the thought pumping through Soledads head. A phrase. A prayer. Something to chant over and over to keep her mind off what was coming.
What was coming was what shed spent her whole life working toward. Her whole life: only twenty-six years, nine months. But most of that was spent at Northwestern studying, at the police academy and on the force training, working her way from beat cop through SPU up to MTacprepping for this moment: her first call.
Jesus. Fn. Christ.
The others in the APC, the others riding with Soledad, they looked calm. Serene, kind of. Mostly they didnt look like cops racing through LA traffic, lights and sirens at full tilt. Except for their weapons and body armornone of it worn to regulation. Bo and Soledad the only two who bothered with Fritz helmets, and Soledad was pretty sure Bo sported his just so she wouldnt come off like the only weak sister in the bunchthey looked like people out for a Sunday drive. Not one of them seemed to carry the thought odds were, end of the night, all of them would be dead. Maybe that was the key, Soledad considered, to getting through this: dont think, just do.
Soledad adjusted the strap of her breastplate where it cut into the flesh of her underarm. Probably designed by a man, it didnt particularly fit a woman.
Dont bother. It was YarboroughYarplaying cocky, giving Soledad shit for concerning herself with things like body armor, things that might keep her alive. His bravado was his tender. He spent it easy: a lazy grin, a wink tossed for no reason. He spent it heavy in the body armor he didnt wear, same as if he were among the rare breed too cool to die. Might as well take that shit off. Doesnt do any good.
Soledad looked to Reese. Didnt mean to. Had told herself no matter what, especially this first call, never in a moment of doubt look to Reese. Soledad thought it was a sign of weakness, like looking to your mom when the corner bully went calling you names. But the action was reflexive. Reese was the only other woman on the element, one of the few female MTacs. So Soledad looked to her, as if femininity equated fidelity.
Reese, deep in her own thoughts, just stared straight ahead paying no attention to Soledad or anyone else.
Bo, jumping into things: Leave her. His voice had a drawl. Slight. Cowpoke slow. Soledad had seen Bo with a gun on the target range. His drawl was the only thing slow about him. Were supposed to be wearing it.
Youre not wearing your armor, Yar tossed back.
The APC juked hard to one side to avoid a Toyota that cut across an intersection never-minding the lights and sirens of the MTac vehicle. Typical LA. Didnt matter what the emergency was, everybody thinks theyve got someplace to be.
I did first call. First call I wouldve driven a tank if I couldve.
Yar laughed. Not like what Bo had said was funny, like what Bo had said was plain ridiculous; as if a tank would make any difference in the world when you were facing down a freak. Bo was senior lead officer of the element, the oldest. Soledad thought: hell of a career choice shed made where forty was considered a long-timer. The same thought jerked her hand to the case resting next to her thigh.
Whatcha got? Yarborough asked, using his chin to point at the case. It was small, hardcover-book-sized, zippered, made from synthetics.
Soledad wondered to herself why Yar was paying her so much attention. She hadnt been on Central long, but theyd all trained together, put in hours together. All that time Yar hardly looked in her direction. Here they were rolling on an M-norm, and all he could do was razz her every couple of
Whatcha got in the case? Bring a couple of books so you wont get bored?
The APC stopped. Not even. It slowed some, but that was signal enough: time to move. Bo was first out, the door barely open. Yarborough, Reese just a step behind. Soledad, affixing the case to her back, was right with them hesitating not a second, not any amount of time anyone could say she froze, she was scared, she wasnt ready. Even if she was all that, no way shed let anyone think it.
As she moved, Soledads eyes worked the scene, took in information and processed it on the fly. Downtown LA. Rail yards. A warehouse, boarded windows showing fire. Police cordoning off the area, keeping a good distance back.
A safe distance.
Inside the perimeter: a couple of burned-out fire trucks and squads, the reek of their molten metal, plastic and fabric strong enough to choke on deep breaths.
Outside the perimeter: Lookie-lous gathered. The good citizens of Los Angeles. They stared. They pointed. A couple had camcorders ready to do some taping, hoping a cop got offed in some spectacular manner so they could sell the footage to CNN.
Bo wove his way to the officer in charge. Soledad got the name on the sergeants badge: Yost.
Bo, direct: Whatcha got?
Pyrokinetic. Yost was sweaty from more than the heat of the fires. He was wet with fear.
Soledad felt herself starting to share the dampness.
Firestarter? Bos eyes swept the warehouse.
Yarborough swept it with IR goggles.
If it was a firestarter, you think any of us would still be here? Yost answered. Flamethrower, but it can toss em about thirty or forty feet. Thats what happened to the vehicles.
Reese worked the action of her piece. It was like she wasnt even listening to the back-and-forth between Bo and Yost. It was like all she cared about was putting a bullet in something.
Yost: The freak wont let the bucket boys put out the fire.
Yarborough kept moving his goggles across the warehouse.
Probably started it just to get them down here, work up a body count. Fucking freak.
Thats good, Bo said. Keep calling it names. Thatll get us home early.
Yost mumbled something audible about MTacs being arrogant motherfu
Yarborough: Got him. Third floor, southeast corner.
One? Reese asked.
Thats all Im reading. Hard to be sure with the fire.
Thank God it aint one of those mind readers. Yost was getting sweatier by the second.
Soledad: Maybe it is. She hoped she sounded like she was just voicing a consideration and not bitch scared.
Couldnt pay me to go in there, Ill tell you that. Yost said it, then said it again. You couldnt pay me nothing to go in there.
Bo said: Throw some light up top, make a little noise for cover. Youd take pay for that, right? To his element: Mike check. One.
Two.
Three.
Soledad: Four.
Bo started to move, started for the warehouse. Soledad was ready to move with him. Something on her arm. Fear made every sensation feel like fire, like maybe shed caught a little of what slagged those vehicles. A quick look: Reese giving a squeeze; reassuring. Saying stay close without saying a word.
Soledad eyed Reeses shoulder, her tattoo; the words etched there. Tough words. Downright BAMF words that told it like it was, like it should be. Soledad kept close to Reese as the four went for the warehouse.
As they did, behind them, Yost managed to get his act together enough to put spotlights on the building. Third floor.
Bo had point. He carried a Colt .45 government model: more stopping power than the 9mms beat cops carried. A precision kill weapon. Reese and Yarborough toted HK MP5s, excellent for chopping freaks. Light, fast, and at full auto it could spray, baby, spray. Soledad had the Benelli, a semiauto shotgun loaded with one-ounce slugs. She was the fail-safe. If nothing else could stop what they were going after, the Benelli could put a hole in anything. Usually. All the weapons were Synthtech series, manufacturedlike everything else they carried and worefrom synthetics and composite materials.
Inside.
The first thing they got hit with was the smell, the odor of perpetually burning flesh. And something else. The hint of another aroma that Soledad could just barely distinguish. The stink of smoked crack.
Oh, thats good, she thought. Not just a flamethrower. A hopped-up flamethrower. And this was her first call.
Stairway. Narrow. Not a good place to get caught. All four MTacs could go up like kindling. But it was the only approach.
Up the stairs.
First landing . . . nothing.
Second landing . . . more nothing, except the smells were strong and there was a voice. Strange, distorted like it was trying to make itself heard through the roar of a blast furnace.
All four MTacs had their weapons gripped hard and ready to do work. All four did a crab walk, step by step, inching upward for the third floor.
Bos voice whispered into their earpieces: Hold.
The air was hotter, thinner, some of its O2 gone. The thing was burning it off. Her uniform was suffocating her. All that, anxiety; they didnt help Soledads breathing any. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid pace. Her hand pushed sweat off her forehead. It was rolling from her now. Rolling in sheets. Chestplate crushing her. Felt like it was. Shouldve listened to Yar; ditched the body armor. Shouldve . . .
Jesus Christ.
In her mind her own voice repeating: This is it this is it this is it. Stay cool. This is it this is it . . .
More of the blast furnace rant. Clearer now.
Muthafuckas! Ya want sum? Huh? Cmon, bitches! Come taste summa dis!
All Soledad could think was that he . . . it sounded like a crazy waving a Saturday night special around a liquor store. Everything they can do, all their abilities, but get down to it, end of the day, theyre just street punks. Nothing more. Nothing better.
Bo peeked up to the third floor. A lot of space broken up by vertical supports.
In Soledads earpiece, Bo clipped and to the point: Sixty feet. Back to us. Me, Yarborough left. Reese, Soledad right.
That was all the more instruction they got. All they needed. Bo moved out low and quick with Yarborough right behind him. Reese and Soledad moved opposite, Soledads heart slamming away inside her chest. They eased across the floor using the vertical supports, thankfully many of them, for cover.
The smells were thicker: the never-ending stench of roasting carcass swallowed with every breath to form a nauseating mixture in the stomach.
From hiding, Soledad peeked around a vertical. She could see the freak engulfed in its own flames. She had never seen one this closea pyrokinetic or any other kind of M-norm. Its body shimmered with heat and fire but refused to burn itself. The flames just crackled and danced continually, feeding on the flesh of its host: an endless human wick.
This is it this is it this . . .
Soledad couldnt take deep breaths, couldnt get her breathing to slow down.
Muthafuckas! it screamed at the cops down on the street. Think you got sumthin? Bitches, come up here an show me sumthin! It thrust its arm out a window. It shot a tendril of flame, the fire howling as it scorched the air it rode on.
Outside, three stories down, Soledad heard the wail of men. Maybe burning. Maybe dying.
Muthafuckas! Better recognize!
Bo, in the earpieces: Ready?
Down the line:
Ready.
Ready.
This is . . . Ready.
Bo twisted from behind the vertical.
Soledads heart clutched, then double-pumped.
Bo spoke, yelled with pure authority. This is the police! You are in violation of an Executive Ord
That was all Bo got out, all the thing would let him get out before it turned from the window and sent a finger of flame burning in Bos direction.
Bo sprang back, tumbled. Moved on instinct. Thought wouldve taken too long. Thought wouldve left him standing where fire now cooked the floor. He would have been dead.
Bitches come ta play? the pyro shrieked over the crackle of the burning wood. The thing shot fire again. From its skin, from its flesh, from itself it generated fire.
Instinct wasnt fast enough. Not this time. This time Bo got sent sailing, ridden into the dark of the warehouse along a river of flame. Show me sumthin, bitch! Whatcha got ta show me?
Yarborough, Reese and Soledad up and out and shooting. A continual chant of 9mm fire interrupted by the low boom of Soledads shells.
Why didnt, she wondered as her finger jerked the trigger, they just do this first off? You got a thing that can spit fire from its body, fuck warnings and police procedure. Kill em! They all deserved to die anywa
Bullets no good. Lead turned to slag from the aura of heat around the freak before the shells could even touch it.
What da fuck? the thing snapped. Was you bout ta shoot my ass? A hand arched before it. Just like that, empty space burned hot. A wave of flame ran for Yarborough, Reese and Soledad in a violent ripple.
Soledad moved, tried to dodge the flames. Too slow. They picked her up, kicked her back. They slammed her down hard on the wood floor. She had sense enough to roll with the landing. Kept her from getting hurt. Badly hurt. The bits of pain that came with lightly singed flesh let her know shed survived the assault.
She came up looking around: Yarborough down. Leg engulfed. He rolled, snuffed it out. He didnt scream. Bad as the burn was, bad as it looked even at a distance, he didnt scream.
Reese was clear. At least, Soledad didnt see her. So she was clear. Maybe. Maybe Reesed just been turned to ash and there was nothing of her left to see.
The thing, the monster, stepped up, stretched a hand for Yarborough.
Soledad: Yar! She took aim. Fired. The shells, useless as ever, turning to molten lead as they sped for the burning man.
The things arm twisted away from Yar, gave its full attention to Soledad. Through the heat-distorted air, on the creatures face, Soledad could make out a jacked smile. It was there for just a second before being washed away by the flames the thing sent for her.
Hows dis, bitch? Ima bout ta break me off my burnin foot in yo ass!
Soledad turned and curled and took the flames like a fist to the back. They batted her against a vertical, forcing the air from her body. Good thing. A breath in, and she would have sucked fire; she would have fried herself from the inside out. Bad as the hit hurt, it saved her life.
Vision blurred, head throbbing. Soledad sank to the floor, couldnt help herself from going down. She tried to lift herself, then sank again. Pain was the motivator to stay where she was. Brilliant pain. Arm burning. The Nomex uniforms were fire-retardant, not fireproof, and not fire-anything against muties. She slapped the flames dead, then stared at charred fabric. Except it wasnt charred fabric. It was burned flesh beginning to boil and blister.
Soledad felt like she was swimming: light, buoyant, moving through a viscid fluid. She felt all that, and her burnt arm felt cool.
Shock. Coming on fast.
Soledads empty hand groped for the Benelli but stayed empty.
Yarborough, still down. Still immobile.
Where was Bo? Where was Reese?
Soledad managed to get her head up. Coming toward her through dutch-angled vision was the thing. The floor sizzled where it stepped.
Soledads long-standing fear, her cop nightmare: to be incapacitated by a perp, unable to run, unable to hide . . . a weapon touching-close but too far away to be of any use, shed be unable to do anything but lie and watch Death take a stroll for her. It was a weak and helpless and frightening scenario, and she was staring right at it.
Whats da matter, ya bitchass skeez? Slow burn to its voice. All of it burned slow. Aint got nothin more ta show me?
A hard struggle got Soledad nowhere near up to her feet.
Ill show ya, sumthin. Ya wanna see sum shit?
The thing stopped moving. It stood over Yarborough. Its hand glowed, gathering heat and flame, ready to send it pouring over the cop. Ready to kill him.
Too easy! Soledad screaming, swooning with disorientation. Kill a guy who cant fight? Felt like she wanted to fall. Still on the floor, and she felt like . . . Youre the goddamn bitch, you two-dollar whore! Burned, weaponless, weak; big talk, thats all she had.
Nothing. For a second, nothing.
Then the glow from the things hand spread over his body. He went hot with excitement as much as fire.
Skeez got sumthin after all. Im gonna light you up. Im gonna light up yo pussy!
The man of fire stalked for Soledad, but took its time about it, each step prolonged for its max pleasure: the anticipation of the kill. Foreplay, then death.
Soledad felt the thing approaching, felt the heat of it pressing toward her more than she could see it. One eye wasswelling shut, the other collecting the blood that ran from her head. A weak arm feebled for her back, for the pack she had attached there. Didnt have the strength to pull it free.
How you want it, girl? Which hole you want it in?
The heat, oppressive, burning oxygen and passing Soledad out. At least, she thought, she wouldnt be conscious for her own end. Through a curtain of blood she saw the things fiery hand reaching for her. It was an unnatural wonder. It was the last thing shed ever see.
Blue, moving fast. Reese, throwing herself at the mutie, knocking it from Soledads path.
Soledad rolled, scrambled for the cover of one of the verticals. The stay of execution injecting her with enough fight to keep alive.
Reese, on the floor; wounded animal sounds. The side of her body shed slammed against the thing was black with burns.
Reese down. Yar down. Bo gone.
Time. It was only a matter of how mucha minute, a few secondsbefore that thing killed them all.
Hand alive with desperation, Soledad pulled the pack from her back, worked the zipper. Inside: a gun.
The freak, only dazed by the open-field tackle, got its bearings, moved for Reese. Bitch, I wasnt tryin ta fuck wit you. Aint nobody told you ta come in here an git wit my shit. You better axe sumbody!
No hesitation this time. The things hand to the chestplate of Reeses body armor. A second later: a horrible sizzle, the smell of burnt meat.
From Reese, screams. Spastic jerking and twitching against the pain, and screams.
Shaky hands, Soledad fumbled for the clips in the pack. Which color, her mind unable to lock thoughts. Which color? Which Red, the red clip. Grabbed it, she slid it into the back of the gun.
One deep breath.
Soledad stood, came into the open.
The thing rose to meet her.
Reeses body kept flopping around over the wood.
Oh, now bitch wants sumthin. You gonna play me like dat wit yo little bitchass gat. Lets get it on, girl. Bring it da fuck on!
Yeah. Lets bring it on.
Soledad took aim with her piece. The DTT raced up, then locked.
The thing burned bright, ready to spatter fire. Ready to kill.
How do you shoot something like that? How do you use a bullet against a thing that can melt lead?
Soledad squeezed the trigger. No hammer fell. Just the same, her weapon spat. The slugsfour fired in instantaneous successiontouched air, then went white hot. They stayed white-hot as they cut through the freaks flames, hit it in the chest, tore it open. They were white-hot as they ripped and shredded flesh and muscle, broke bone and turned it into shrapnel, wounding from the inside outward. The slugs were just as hot when they opened four jagged defects in the freaks back and kept on going.
Phosphorous bullets. Soledad had answered a question with a question: How do you melt whats already on fire?
The thing stood unbelieving. Blood, like streams of lava, leaking from the tunnels Soledad had laced through its chest. It stood for a moment . . . stood . . . its light and fire dimmed. Then the thing went down felled-timber hard.
Quiet.
Soledad limped for the body, not having known until that moment shed done damage to her leg. The pain of a twisted knee subordinate to that of smoldering flesh.
Step, drag. Step, drag.
Soledad stood over the pyro. She venom-dripped words down at its empty eyes. Whos the bitch now? You bleed. Fucked-up-looking and hot, but you bleed.
Eulogy over.
Soledad turned for Reese. Reeses body. In the center of her chest, where her armor was melted away, was a burned-out crater. Cooked meat hanging off the bone.
God . . . Soledad lowered herself, repulsed by Reeses wound but unable to look away from it. Her hand out toward it to . . . to what? To touch it? Tend to it? What was the point? Nothing she could do. Not one
A gurgle. A spasm from the body.
Soledad sprang back.
Reese in a death prattle . . . and then something else. A breath. Short, shallow, but a breath.
Ten-thirty-three! Soledad yelled, not knowing she was yelling. Not even sure if there was anyone to hear her. Officer down! I need a rush on a bus at this loca
Real quick her words got choked out. Her throat was on fire. A painful jerk of her head to the side, through the corner of her eye: It was alive; the thing, the human flame. Alive just enough to ignite its hand, take Soledad by the neck and sear her skin.
. . . Youse sumthin, girl. Slurred words of the dying, but dying slow enough to drag Soledad with it. Truth: youse the only bitch man enough ta be wit all da shit. Truth. Its da truth dat sets ya free, an revelation is comin. Come here, bitch, an kiss me good-bye.
The thing worked up half a smile and got ready to end Soledads lifechoke it from her, squeeze it, burn it from her. One way or the other, kill her.
Three loud pops. Three large holes bust open in the things body just before it tipped and thudded against the floor.
Hand to her throat. Soledad could feel the dead flesh peel beneath her touch.
Across the warehouse: Bo, blood leaking from his skull, held his smoking .45.
Soledad saw that, then promptly passed out.
Copyright © 2003 by Team Ridley Productions