Powerless (The Girl in the Box Book 40), page 31
“Okay,” he said quietly. “I'll...I'll try.”
“At this point, I will gladly take a solid try,” I said, shaking out some of the tension that was building in my shoulders from being hunched over the wheel for three hours straight. “Now...game faces on. We're almost there.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
The Terramara resort had once been a green and verdant place, a cosmopolitan tourist draw in a largely rural area of Minnesota. They advertised skiing and a lake on the faded, sun-bleached billboard that still stood peeling along the side of the road about half a mile from the site.
Now it was a crater, an empty field with glass at the center where some (literally) hot chick had burned it like a nuke going off, destroying a goodly portion of her worldly enemies in the process.
Good times. For me, at least. Probably not so much for Oberheuser, who followed me off the main road at a reasonable distance. Not close enough to be all up on my bumper, but not far enough back it wasn't obvious he was there. What he was planning to do once things got real was anybody's guess. Or rather, my guess, since I had one or two about what he might try.
When I reached the gate, I found it was already thrown wide, so I drove through on cracked and broken roads that had weeds springing up through the asphalt. My windows were down, and the sun was shining. “Good day for a fight,” I said.
Traverton grunted. Guess he didn't agree. Big shock, that.
Moose, Squirrel, and Snake were parked at the cindered, blackened edge of the parking lot, which surprisingly still mostly existed, albeit a little melty close to where I'd gone off on that fateful day seven years ago. Heat ripples were still visible in the pavement closer to me, and we bumped along lightly as I took a circuitous, dog-leg route as far from the mobsters as I could without actually leaving the parking lot.
Oberheuser, for his part, stopped just at the spot where the road ceased being tree-lined and turned into the parking lot, about a hundred yards from me or the mobsters. It wasn't terrible positioning if one were going to make some sort of brave charge or effect a strategic retreat, but it wasn't great for either. Kinda chickenshit, which bore out his self-assessment.
I steered the car to a stop and killed the engine. I probably could have left it running, and would have, if I'd intended to do any running. But I'd run out of intent to retreat. To me, this was do or die, and I was ready for me to do and them to do the dying.
“Ready?” I asked, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
“No,” Traverton said honestly.
“It's not going to get any easier the longer we wait,” I said. “Hold the butcher block behind you and I'll come get you.”
He didn't answer, but I didn't need him to. I got out of the car, savoring the warmth of the summer day. Grass stirred under the breeze. It lacked that fresh-cut smell, but was unmistakably earthy nonetheless. From here, I could see the glassy spot that was the epicenter of my magical fireball of doom. It glimmered in the sun, like a monument to me wrecking bad guys.
I opened the door and Traverton almost tumbled out. He held the butcher block behind him, and stood, keeping his body between him and the mobsters. He was doing a pretty good job of looking put upon and beleaguered, too, and was naked, which helped keep up that illusion. It certainly didn't do anything for anyone else.
“Come on, you,” I said, certain that our waiting villains could hear every word. Aniya stood calmly with them, hands behind her back like she'd been bound. A blond figure lay unconscious on the ground; Olivia, I hoped, though I'd confirm it before accepting receipt of the package. Subtle breathing was visible in the rise and fall of her back, and she looked more or less okay at this distance. Her profile certainly looked right.
“You're late,” Squirrel called, way too chipper, but at least standing still. If he did a quick orbit of the impending battlefield and saw my knife collection secreted behind Traverton's back, the jig would be up. He appeared to be following the laws of hostage exchange, though, and keeping to his side. For now.
“I had to borrow a car to get up here,” I called back. “And I don't have many friends left, so it took a minute. I appreciate your patience.” Traverton faked a stumble, and I shoved him – very lightly – to keep him moving. “Watch your feet, shithead.”
He hung his head. To them, he must have appeared like his hands were bound behind him. Which was kind of the point.
I cast a sideways glance at Oberheuser, still parked about 90 degrees to our left at the parking lot entry. He was really badly placed for this exchange, because he'd be able to see the knives. I'd considered circling around into the grass, but decided against it because going offroad in Perugini's car seemed disrespectful. Then again, dying might be more so. Too bad I hadn't considered that in the run up to this.
“Let's get this over with,” Moose called. Snake was resting right behind him, the snakes already loose and extended high above his shoulders. Having six eyes on me from one guy was kind of disquieting, not gonna lie, but it beat him pointing all seven at me. He looked coiled and ready to strike. “We got places to be.”
“Yeah, I bet your mama's got the pasta on back in Jersey,” I said. “Tell me – it's homemade, isn't it?”
Moose's eyebrows knitted together. “How'd you know my mother makes homemade pasta?”
“Honestly, I'm amazed she's still alive given how old you have to be at this point,” I said. “Anyhoo...” I waved my hands in the direction of the stumbling Traverton. “I brought your present. I see you've brought mine. Hopefully unharmed...?”
Moose seemed a little skeptical, but squatted down over Olivia and lifted her head. She was drooling and stirred as he pulled her head up, smacking her lips together. “I put her in a sleeper hold for a lil' bit. Maybe a few times. Otherwise...not a scratch. Scout's honor.”
“Did they even have Boy Scouts when you were growing up?” I asked, drawing a scowl from Moose. “Whatever. Your property is also undamaged.”
“You sure?” Squirrel asked with a smug look. “Kinda seems like you might have neutered him – oh! Oh.” He laughed, so painfully obvious an insult that it fell flat even with his buddies Moose and Snake, “I guess that's just the way he was made. Cuz it sure ain't cold out here!” And he slapped his own thigh from hilarity.
“Wow, I'm gonna need some bandages from my sides splitting,” I said, and Squirrel's smirk disappeared instantly. I laid a hand on Traverton's shoulder, stopping his advance. “Looks like my hostages can't really walk, so...maybe you back up slowly as I walk yours forward?” I raised my hands in a very questioning manner to show them I had no weapons. Ice blasts at this range would give them plenty of reaction time to step out of the way, which probably explained their relaxed postures.
Moose and Squirrel exchanged a look. Neither bothered to look at Snake, which told me he was the junior partner in all this. “No, he walks forward to them,” Moose finally answered. “Then we meet there.” Sad that he was the brains of the operation. Worse that I'd gotten bested by them.
“Whatever. Okay, Traverton, you walk toward them and they'll back up,” I said, in a hurry to get this done and not look suspicious doing it.
“I don't want to,” Traverton said, voice quivering. Was he being serious? Playing to the crowd? It could have gone either way.
“Do it or I'll shove an icicle up your ass,” I said.
He moved.
The mobsters were as good as their word. With every step Traverton took, they retreated, until Traverton was standing over Olivia and next to Aniya, who watched the whole scene unfolding with a look so jaded she might as well have been a teenage girl at a sporting event she didn't give a damn about.
Unfortunately, he was also holding my butcher block of knives. And was now a solid thirty plus feet from me, the preferred user of the knives. Crap. That wasn't in the plan. I'd been a little too hasty to agree to Moose's idea, figuring I could improvise my way to success regardless.
A squeal of tires suggested my situation was about to get much, much worse, as Oberheuser floored it, his car racing across the parking lot toward us.
“What is this?” Moose called. “He with you?”
“No, he most assuredly is not,” I called back. “He's an avowed enemy of mine, says he wants me dead. But he's also gutless, so he's probably hoping you'll do the job for him.”
Moose's eyes narrowed as he gauged the truth of what I'd just said. Hey, it was utterly truthful, every word. There were just a few details I left out.
Oberheuser squealed his vehicle into a tight turn, and before it had even come to a full stop, he was shouting out his window. “She's betraying you! Her hostage has knives behind his back!”
“Ah, well, shit,” I said.
Traverton froze, darting a look first at the mobsters, then at Oberheuser, and finally...
He sent a stricken one back over his shoulder at me.
And before I could so much as shout, “NO!” he morphed into a bird...
...and flew off, flapping his wings as hard as he could.
Leaving me with a speedster, a snakeshoulders, a...a...whatever Moose is...
And my block of knives was thirty feet away.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Moose, Squirrel and Snake all charged for the knives at the same time. It was a predictable move, especially in that I'd predicted it. Of course, I was charging, too, but I also had more than an inkling that this was coming, and was ready in my own, indelible way.
Flight powers gave me a speed edge over everyone but Squirrel, who was already blasting forward at top speed. I threw up a hand and launched an ice blast as quickly as I could. My aim was perfect, and the shot landed just ahead of the knives and spread almost instantly over the asphalt.
Squirrel, fast as hell but unable to adapt quite as quickly as he needed to, hit the ice patch – again, you'd think he'd have learned by now – and skidded out, cartwheeling across the parking lot in his best impersonation of a stunt man. I could see him trying to keep himself together, and doing a fair job of it. Still, he flew off about forty or fifty yards across endless pavement and out of my field of vision, because I had to keep my eyes on the prize.
I reached the butcher block about two steps before Snake did, and zero steps before his reptilian friends. One hissed and darted at me–
The knife I'd had hidden up my sleeve greeted him, and suddenly Snake was one head short of a trifecta.
“AHHHHHHH!” he screamed, like I'd cut off some more vital appendage. He staggered backward, yanking the other snake head away before it could take its turn at me.
I kicked the butcher block back, out of their reach, and advanced, not bothering to hide what I had anymore. The paring knife and butcher knife were both out, one in each hand, and suddenly I wasn't looking so toothless to them. The paring knife was covered in frost from my blast, but all that had done was add a little surface area to the blade as I'd reshaped the residual charge into perfect, icy sharpness.
“You want to play, boys?” I asked, watching Moose lumber to a halt. “Let's play.”
I went on the attack, going after Snake like a shark on a wounded dolphin. I smelled blood in the water and knew the name of this game was to slice and dice these villains, taking them apart one at a time until there was nothing left to menace me. Squirrel was temporarily benched, Moose was hesitating, and Snake was just a few arm lengths away. So he got to go first.
He was still writhing, though, barely able to keep his feet. His knees were wobbly, and the remaining snake head was dancing, its eyes on me even as Snake's own looked glazed over. Pain tended to make one reconsider bold life choices, infusing the spine with regret for doing the things that resulted in the injury. He was trying to focus, but regarded me with a clear worry. He knew he'd bitten off more than his little snake gullet could swallow.
That last snake head darted back, dragging him unsteadily with it. I shot out a blast of ice from the tip of the paring knife that splintered into five. Each was less powerful than one of my normal ice blasts, but it made the snake head hesitate, then neatly duck between them. Snake himself caught one of them in the chest, though, and staggered.
Moose stared at one of the forked blasts as it sped toward him, then stopped in front of his shirt. It plopped to the pavement and he stared at it dumbly.
There was no time to hesitate, though; I had one temporarily indisposed (Squirrel), but he was going to come roaring back with a vengeance. Moose was only distracted for a second or so, then he'd be after me again, and there was no easy way to deal with him other than to pull the ice cage trick on him like I had on the freeway and gradually pit his powers against his own body. That would take all my focus, though. Otherwise, my only solution lay in depowering him and killing him conventionally.
Snake...he was the weakest link. Already reeling, partially decapitated, all I needed to do with him was finish the damned job. Then I could turn my attention back to Moose and Squirrel, maybe even unleash some hidden powers to end it quickly once victory was assured. I had my doubts about which, if any of them, would be of any use against Moose, though. Even biting him as a dragon wasn't going to do anything but cause my giant jaws to stop against his momentum stopping power. Then he'd probably blast out the back of my head at top speed. Light webs and fire might have some effect, though, and the Warmind.
All this was in my head as I turned my attack on Snake, coming at him with a good old-fashioned knife. I'd switched things up, leading with the butcher knife because of the reach advantage over the paring. In reality, the paring knife seemed like a bad choice given how short it was. It was hooked, though, and once it found its way into the flesh, it opened up a channel of carnage and just didn't let go. The blade was good and strong, too, and if I buried it in someone's belly, I was going to be able to gut them properly.
The things I have to plan for, I swear.
I swung at Snake to force him back, and it worked. I needed to move everyone away from my hostages; Aniya was still behind me, audibly moving about every now and again. Olivia was not moving, at least not that I could hear, and this was utterly unsurprising. That left them both more or less defenseless, which meant I was their first and last line of defense.
Snake dodged, and I whirled the butcher knife in broad, theatrical strokes in front of his face. “I'm going to cut off that other snake head, then the other, the one-eyed one,” I stabbed it toward his groin, “and then maybe your last head – if I'm feeling merciful.”
“You're going to have to catch me first, you b–” he started to say.
Then he hit the patch of ice I'd made behind him while waving the big, scary butcher knife and threatening his most important body parts. He didn't even notice the blue glow in the fear and outrage that came from me gesticulating at his tallywhacker.
Snake went over backwards, and I pounced. His other snake, not quite as taken aback by petty things like balance and fear and weightlessness, moved to defend.
I cut it clean off with a hard whack of the butcher knife. It sailed through the thin layer of scales like a newly forged blade through dry grass, and the fanged face snapped a couple of times, futilely, as it flew past my face, trying to get a late bite in.
The neck went limp after the head was gone and fell like a strand of pasta falling off a fork. Snake screamed right in my face as I jumped all over him. I buried the paring knife in his belly and he screamed again, trying to throw me off of him–
And then...he threw me off of him.
Not very hard. Weakly, in fact. Pathetically weakly, for a meta. It was more of a hard shove, and a good bucking of his hips, and I tumbled over and hit the parking lot hard.
My paring knife was the leading edge of the impact. The blade bent, and fell out of my hand, nicking the meat below my thumb as it clattered away.
I dropped the butcher knife trying to catch myself as I fell. My bare palm slapped against the pavement, making a sound like a gunshot. A shock of pain ran up my wrist, and another exploded in my ribs.
How had I gotten shoved off Snake? I was locked on. My thighs were ready, set to steady me in place as I carved the little sumbitch up.
Then I realized, as the pain ran through me, and I thought of a familiar face – Wolfe – and no relief came, even for these minor wounds.
I looked up and saw...exactly what I expected to see.
Oberheuser, standing just beyond Moose, who was guarding, ready to intercept him if he moved forward. But he was also looking at me, at Snake, and doing the mental math about what had just happened. It didn't take a genius to figure out the results.
I was now down, in the middle of a pack of my enemies.
Completely powerless.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Snake was on me in half a second, surprisingly spry for a guy who I'd just cut not one, but two heads off of. He was in a rage, too, pummeling me with painful blows, raining them down on me as I pulled my arms tight to me, fists blocking my face, elbows and forearms shielding my body.
It worked. Some.
Not nearly enough.
Part of my nigh invincibility in the eyes of the world was my sheer ability to soldier on through immense, nerve-shredding pain. Part of that came from my natural pluck, another from my mother's training coupled with my own efforts, and the last little bit came from a hardiness that being metahuman instilled.
Metahumans are just more resilient. The higher on the power scale, the more damage they can take. The nerves are hardier. The skin a little tougher, but not much; a human could still do some powerful damage to a meta. We weren't impervious to harm.
