Heroic Measures (continued)

Walter peered into the night. He saw no signs of the movement. The only sounds came from traffic on the surrounding streets. After waiting several seconds to be certain that was all he heard, he took a deep breath and then started down the twin steps. A moment later, he froze.

There it is again.

He looked upward to find that silhouetted leaves of the tree above were almost completely still.

Okay . . . so it’s not the wind.

Once again, the faint sound had been so brief that he had no idea where it might have come from. Turning slowly, he surveyed the street again, paying particular attention to the windows and dark alcoves of the doorways. He saw nothing unusual and bowed his head wearily.

I’m too tired for this . . .

Swinging his head slowly in an attempt to shake away some of his fatigue, Walter stepped back onto the sidewalk. He paused, looked both ways down the street again, and then moved off in the direction that headed toward home. It would take him past one of the two warehouses.

The least I can do is check it out as I go by.

With that silent promise, Walter began walking down the street.

When he reached the first of the warehouse windows, he slowed his pace and tried to glance inside. The windows were dark and so heavily layered with grime that he had no desire to try to rub some of it away. He continued on past the second and third windows with similar results, with the exception that someone had, not very recently, traced a vulgar suggestion involving someone named “Tracy” into the thick dust.

The fourth window provided as little insight into the warehouse’s interior as had the previous ones. For a moment, Walter thought he saw the faint flicker of light inside, and then realized that it was a reflection of the light from across the street. He passed the fifth window almost without a glance, but then stopped when he thought he saw light from within the warehouse again.

It was not a reflection again, as he first thought. Instead, it came from the movement of the glass. It appeared to be vibrating slightly, just enough to make the panes seem to shimmer. Walter placed his fingertips, and then his palm against one of the panes. He could tell nothing for certain, though, through the thick material of his gloves.

He stepped back and studied the other windows again. As far as he could tell in the dark evening, none of the other windows were vibrating in the same way. Whatever was causing movement of the glass within this particular windows seemed to be localized to the end of the building.

Walter looked around for an entrance, but saw none. There were two additional windows ahead of him on this side of the warehouse, before the building ended at a narrow alleyway. Beyond that was an upholstery store that also advertised used furniture. Probably stuff people never paid for or picked up, Walter guessed, before turning his attention back to the mystery of the vibrating window.

Heroic Measures (continued)

It did not sound quite like gunfire, but he knew his training under Harrison and Westin that a combination of strange acoustics and a silencer could easily confuse his auditory sense. Still, it was something out of the ordinary. His curiosity won out over his fatigue—but just barely.

It’s on the way home anyway, he reasoned. It was mostly true, even if investigating the noise did take him two blocks over from the more straightforward route to his house.

His path took him through a neighborhood on Cass that he did not recognize. He had heard of it, of course, but he could not recall having spent any time here. It was, in many ways, the archetypical example of “nondescript” surroundings. A few small businesses were present on either side of the street. All of these were closed and dark. There were also two medium-sized warehouses, each located at opposite ends of the street. Walter could not tell whether either had been abandoned. Neither one of them had that feel, but with no lights on in their interior, it was difficult for him to tell for certain.

On the corner, were Cass met Traynor, there was a drugstore that had definitely been abandoned. The windows were covered with thick layers of grime and dust, although curiously enough, none of them appeared to have been broken.

Its main entrance actually opened diagonally onto the corner. Two curved brick and concrete steps led to a deep exterior foyer that ended at the single front door. Walter crouched in its deep shadows there, grateful to have a space large enough to crouch comfortably, his back supported by the masonry wall. He waited there, listening, but the sound was not repeated.

A few times, Walter thought he heard voices. They were little more than ghostly echoes, though, so he could not be certain that it was not just the breeze passing through the sycamore trees.

After several minutes of this, and an increasing concern that he might nod off right there in the storefront alcove like a vagrant, Walter listened hard one last time and began to rise to his feet. He was only halfway out of his crouch when he heard it.

He froze, listening again. It had not been the same sound, but definitely the sound of something. This time, also, he was certain that he heard faint voices. They did not seem to be whispering. Instead, they appeared to be distant, or else muffled by the layer of brick and masonry that fashioned the exterior of most of the buildings on this block.

Heroic Measures (continued)

He had been with Vivian and a hero he had never met before who went by the name of Gorgon. Walter thought he had heard that his real name was George, but he was not certain whether that was accurate, nor whether that had been his first name, last name, or both. The three of them had been assigned by Harrison and Westin to disrupt a planned skirmish between two fiercely rival street gangs.

“Normally”, Harrison had told them, “I’d just let them beat each other’s brains out and clean up the mess later. Less fuss all around, and fewer of them for us to deal with later.”

“This time, though,” he had gone on, “they’ve decided to play their games near a dense neighborhood of families. The City’s had enough of young kids becoming collateral damage in these little turf wars.”

Walter found it difficult to disagree. He had seen young children caught, literally, in the crossfire of these conflicts too many times. Even though many months had passed now, he still had too vivid of memories of a young child, not quite three years old, dying in Vivian’s arms as she all too quickly bled to death. A ricocheting shot had blown a quarter-sized hole in the young girl’s skull. There had been nothing anything of them could do. They had learned who had fired that particular bullet. Walter, later, determined that was probably for the best, as he was certain that not even he would have demonstrated much restraint in apprehending them.

The heroes had been outmatched and outgunned. During the initial standoff, Walter and Vivian had wondered aloud what Harrison had been thinking in sending only the three of them. Gorgon just looked grim. For Walter could tell at the time, that seemed to be his usual expression. Even Kenniston, with his actual stone face, was easier to read.

Walter had never been sure if it had been a miscalculation on someone on the council’s part, but the trio’s arrival had quickly turned from an imminent rival turf war into an ambush against the heroes. Attempting to take down their common enemy, it turned out, had been of greater interest than whatever the original goal of the conflict had been.

More than once since, Walter wondered sourly if that had been Harrison’s intention all along.

It would have been nice to warn us . . .

Things began to look very ugly very fast. Iron-Clad arrived soon after, summoned by Vivian, and matters suddenly became very much settled in the heroes’ favor very quickly.

By the end of it, there had been no serious casualties. Nearly all of the members of both gangs had been arrested, with a large number of those needing a detour by the hospital first. Recovery might not be particularly painful for most of them, but it was likely to take a while.

“It’s real tough to hold a knife or a gun with your hand in a cast,” Iron-Clad had rumbled through his helmet.

Walter felt sorry for those gang members who had experienced close encounters with Iron-Clad’s hammer—but only a little.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“Walter?”

Raynes’ voice interrupted the flow of his thoughts without diverting it completely.

“How are you feeling?”

Walter considered this for only moment. “Fine,” he said. “Sleepy . . . a little.”

“That’s very good,” Raynes responded softly. “Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort?”

Walter conducted a quick mental inspection of his body. Nope, he decided, nothing felt uncomfortable. He felt mildly drowsy, though. It felt something like the feeling he got on a warm summer afternoon, and yet was not like that at all.

“Walter?”

He blinked, and then realized that he must not have answered the question aloud.

“Yes,” he replied, and then considered that he might have answered it wrong. “No,” he said, starting again. “No pain.”

“Good,” Raynes said.

Was that relief in his voice?

“Okay, Walter,” Raynes told him. “We’re going to get started now.”

“Okay.”

Walter was pretty sure that he had actually spoken aloud that time. When a few seconds passed and Raynes did not prompt him again, he felt more certain.

“Walter,” Raynes began, “I need you to think back to that night at the Promenade.”

Walter thought back to that night. He tried to form the image of it with his thoughts. The scene built itself slowly, like an online photograph resolving itself to maximum resolution. Suddenly, it was sharp there in his mind. Every detail felt strangely acute.

“I’m there . . .” Walter whispered.

“Tell me what you see.”

#

Seven weeks earlier . . .

Walter moved through the streets, trying to stay to the shadows. It was not so much that he was seeking concealment in the hopes of a capturing a criminal, as it was that he was exhausted and simply did want to be noticed. The thought that some elderly citizen might see him and ask that he help rescue their cat from a tree, or express a few firm words with their noisy neighbors upstairs, was almost too much for him to bear.

Some nights, he pondered tiredly, being a hero’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

He was tired, and his feet hurt. His boots, while stylish and highly protective, they also needed much better arch supports. Even without looking at his watch, he knew that it was probably long past time since Abigail had gone to bed. There would be no loving foot massage tonight; he was on his own.

Just before reaching the corner at Third and Cavanaugh, he paused in the cover of a deep doorway and rested for a moment.

No wonder so many of the heroes are so young. I’m only in my twenties and look at me. I can’t even imagine being . . .

His weary musings were interrupted by a sharp metallic echo. The sound faded quickly and was gone. He lifted his head, trying to remember which direction it had seemed to come from. The noise might have been nothing of import; his intuition was telling him otherwise.

Emerald Flight: Star Wing

- 1 -

Captain Christine Devereux was bored. It would never do for her to allow her crew to know it, but she was certain that many of them shared her state of mind.

There are only so many drills you can run, and so much maintenance you can do, but they realize you’re just looking for ways to fill the time.

She, herself, had spent more than three straight hours completing administrative paperwork that, despite having Elizabeth as her Executive Officer now, she knew that only she could do. It was repetitive, mind-numbing, and she had reached the limit of her tolerance for it for the time being.

One of the advantages of being the Captain, and ostensibly on duty twenty-four hours a day, was that she could leave the ship in command of another senior officer and leave the bridge during her scheduled shift hours. As she well knew, she was always just an intercom call away.

Devereux rose from her chair. “Lieutenant Hawkes,” called her to Tactical Officer. “You have the bridge.”

“Yes, Captain.”

His acknowledgement was sharp and immediate. Devereux wondered, not for the first time, whether the man ever got bored or tired.

He’s an android, she thought, again not for the first time. I know it.

“I’ll be in my quarters,” she added, moving away from the command station. “And then Cargo Hold One.”

Hawkes nodded. Devereux could almost see him mentally calculating the approximate times when she would arrive in each location. Fighting an urge to shake her head with bemusement, she left the bridge.

Twenty-three minutes later she was in the ship’s makeshift gymnasium. Although it had been tempting to just remain in her cabin, she reasoned that heading to the gymnasium as she had planned had three distinct advantages: it was something to do, it would force her to get some exercise, and it would get her away from the personnel reports for a while.

The intercom chimed a little more than halfway through her fourth mile on the treadmill. Hawkes’ faintly accented voice came over the speaker.

“Captain, this is the bridge.”

Without slowing, she reached over and tapped the control on the bulkhead in front of her.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

This had better be good. If he’s just calling to report a drop in the drill response times, I’ll have him on sanitation maintenance for a month.

“Captain,” Hawkes replied. “Our long-range sensors are picking up a series of small objects to starboard just at the range of our instruments.”

Is it my imagination? Or is there a hint of excitement in that man’s voice?

“Asteroids?”

“Impossible to confirm at this distance, Captain.”

“How long will we be in range?”

There was a brief pause before Hawkes answered. Devereux guessed that he was checking with Pyrafox at the helm or Elizabeth at the main Science station.

“Approximately twenty-two minutes.”

Devereux considered this for a moment. Something currently just at the range of their sensors would mean a significant change in their course heading. Still, she thought, they could make up the time easily, if necessary.

It’s not as though anyone is expecting us to be anywhere any time soon.

“Maintain current course and speed for now,” she ordered them. “I’m on my way.”

She took a cautious sniff of herself as she stopped the treadmill and jumped from the platform. While her personal aroma could hardly be mistaken for a field of flowers, she did not believe that it would be overwhelmingly offensive. In any case, there was not enough time to shower and make it to the bridge in twenty-two minutes.

When she arrived on the bridge, she found Hawkes standing near the helm console. The left of the three main bridge displays showed a computer-enhanced image of the data being captured by the starboard long-range sensor array.

“Still no better guess?” she asked as she moved toward them.

She saw Pyrafox’s vulpine nose wrinkle as she approached. She offered him a silent apology.

“No, Captain,” Hawkes reported. “But there is definitely mass of some kind out there.”

“Nothing on any the charts?”

“No, sir,” the helmsman responded. “But this area has only been very lightly explored.”

Devereux frowned, trying to make sense out of the false-color images on the screen. Nothing about it looked familiar to her, nor was her intuition screaming for attention. It niggled at her faintly, but then it often did that whenever they encountered anything new and unknown.

“Helm,” Devereux announced. “Change our course to intercept.”

“Aye, Captain,” Pyrafox responded.

His fingers danced over his console. Devereux was certain that she heard the faint click-click of his claws as they moved across its surface.

“Course change completed, Captain.”

“ETA?”

“We should be within nominal sensor range in eighty-six minutes,” Hawkes reported.

There was an audible sniff from the direction of the helm station. Devereux managed to suppress most of a smile.

“Lieutenant Hawkes,” she said, turning to the Tactical Officer. “You have the bridge—again. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Devereux turned and headed for the main hatchway that led off the bridge. She was not certain, but she thought she heard Pyrafox breathe a faint sigh of relief at her departure.

I’ll remember that the next time we’re caught in a rainstorm on some distant planet, Lieutenant, Devereux thought with wry amusement. Once out in the corridor, she permitted herself a quiet chuckle as she headed back to her quarters.

Heroic Measures (continued)

There was a long moment of silence.

“Is that it?” Walter finally asked. “Are we done?”

Raynes’ eyebrows rose slightly, clearly surprised by Walter’s question. He glanced over at Dr. Hansen and then back at Walter.

“Actually, Walter,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish, Walter realized, “we hadn’t quite started yet.”

Walter felt a cold knot in stomach.

“Then . . .” he swallowed hard. “Then what was that?”

”That,” Raynes repeated with emphasis, “is a good question.” He studied Walter for moment. “I assume it was a flashback to your days in the hospital after your . . . incident, something that happened there that being here reminded you of.”

Walter nodded slowly. “It was,” he said. “From when they tried to test me and . . .” he swallowed hard against the resurgence of the memories.

Raynes reached over and patted Walter’s arm. “It’s okay,” he told Walter. “We don’t need to go there right now.” Watching Walter’s eyes, he asked, “Do you still feel up to finishing this?”

Walter nodded with only the slightest hesitation. He was not about to let Raynes down. Besides, he had to know.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’d be a good idea to let Dr. Hansen administer that sedative?” Raynes suggested without any hint of coercion. “It’s entirely your choice, though.”

Walter glanced toward the polished tray and then looked away.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “Maybe we’d better.”

He closed his eyes tight as he saw Dr. Hansen reach for the tray and waited to feel the prick of the needle in his arm. In his personal darkness, nothing threatened him but his own fears. He almost had not dared to close his eyes, afraid that he might once more find himself inside the bright white chamber, but he feared the needle more than he feared returning to that room.

Forcing himself to take deep, controlled breaths, Walter felt Dr. Hansen swab alcohol on his arm. Its cooling effect spread quickly and, as it turned out, was the most discomfort Walter experienced.

For a moment, and it seemed to him that several of them had passed, Walter began to wonder if there was a problem, or if Dr. Hansen was waiting for just the right moment to inject him. He had no understanding of these things, so his imagination was more than happy to fill in the blanks for him.

“All set,” Walter heard Dr. Hansen say.

He opened his eyes cautiously. The physician was turning away to return the syringe to its place on the tray.

Dr. Hansen turned back to Walter and checked a spot on his arm.

Probably where he injected me.

The twinge he felt then Walter knew was almost certainly imaginary.

“Just relax,” Dr. Hansen said. “It’ll be a few minutes before it takes effect.”

Walter did as he was told and settled back in the chair. He tried to relax, attempting to focus on anything besides what was going on inside this room. It took some effort, but he finally managed to begin filling his mind with other images: the hot fudge sundae he was going to treat himself to when this ordeal was over, the annoying indicator light that kept turning green on his dashboard that the mechanics could not recreate, Abigail in that pale green summer dress with the . . .

Heroic Measures (continued)

As Raynes and Dr. Hansen prepared him for the hypnosis session, Walter experienced an increasing sense of unease. It was only through a great deal of willpower, along with occasional glances at Rachel’s well-formed figure, which prevented him from descending completely into panic. He did not quite understand why it was affecting him so deeply.

Raynes had explained the procedure to him.

“Walter,” Raynes said quietly. “All I need you to do is just sit back, relax, and focus on my voice.”

There really was nothing to it. All Walter needed to do after that was to answer the questions posed to him. Everyone else had to do all the hard work.

The professor had promised him that they would use the mild sedative that Dr. Hansen had prepared only if it became absolutely necessary. It would only be used if they were unable to get him into, as the professor had stated it, “a proper receptive state”. Walter could not decide whether he was more nervous about the effects of the sedative itself, or the needle that would be used to deliver it. Fortunately, Dr. Hansen laid it on a small polished metal tray, along with a handful of other items, out of Walter’s view.

It was the not the sight of the tray itself, but the metallic echo it made when Dr. Hansen placed it on the short table, that triggered Walter’s memories—and explained for him the reason for his growing sense of dread.

For a moment, the comfortable, if dimly lit, office was replaced by a sterile white and chrome chamber. The lights were too bright and there were wires—wires running his body to large pieces of equipment that were programmed to . . .

“Hold it!” Raynes’ voice intruded into his vision. And then, a bit more quietly, “Not yet.”

The blinding light faded and, along with it, the stark white walls of the chamber. Walter was once more back in the office, its lighting still dimmed.

Where they done? Was the hypnosis over?

The experience had not been anything at all like what Walter had expected.

“Walter,” Raynes asked. “Where were you?”

“In the room under the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“The one,” Walter answered slowly, trying to recall its name. “The one after the accident.”

Raynes nodded and whispered something Walter could not hear to Rachel. She made a note on her tablet.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Raynes closed the folder in front of him. “All right everything, we’ve all got things to do.” As people began to rise from their seats and leave, he spoke again, “Walter, can you please stay a moment?”

Walter lowered himself back into the chair. A hollow sensation began to fill the space in his stomach. He waited silently while the others left, glancing occasionally in Raynes’ direction, but never quite meeting his eyes. Curious glances were passed his way, but he ignored them all. Red tapped him on the shoulder as he passed, giving him a quick wink before exiting.

After checking to be sure that everyone had gone and the door was closed, Raynes turned back to Walter.

“I’m sorry about that, Walter.”

Walter stared back at him, puzzled. It was not Raynes fault. If anything, the man had defended him in front the other heroes. Walter felt it should be he, not Raynes who should be asking for forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” Walter responded, somewhat tentatively.

Raynes stacked the other folders neatly in front of him.

“I know you’re a bit nervous about the hypnosis procedure tomorrow,” he said to Walter.

He spoke very matter-of-factly, not even attempting a smile to reassure Walter. Walter took this as a sign that Raynes was taking the situation very seriously.

Does he think that I might really be a spy?

“Rest assured,” Raynes continued, “that the room will be secured and the only people present will be yourself, myself to ask questions, Rachel to take notes, and Dr. Hansen to monitor your physical responses.”

It still sounded like a crowd to Walter, but he felt much more reassured knowing. He trusted Raynes and Rachel completely. Anything he might blurt out while under hypnosis he knew they would keep under the strictest confidence. As for Dr. Hansen, Walter trusted him too.

It’s just that he has the bedside manner of, well . . . a desert cactus.

“I appreciate that, sir,” Walter said. “Thank you.”

This time Raynes did offer him a smile. It actually made Walter feel better than all the words Raynes had spoken to him.

Raynes nodded once. “Of course.” He lifted the stack of folders. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Raynes rose and exited the conference room, leaving Walter alone.

Walter stared at the closed door for several long moments before rising himself. Raynes had done a great deal to help settle his fears . . . except for one.

What if it turns out that I am a spy?

Heroic Measures (continued)

Although he only caught Harrison doing so, Walter was certain that everyone else in the room was now casting furtive, suspicious glances in his direction. Walter wondered whether he should resign—or at least asked to be removed from the active roster until the matter was settled.

“In the meantime,” Raynes continued, “Walter will remain on active status until a substantiated reason is provided that warrants other action.”

Both Harrison and Westin looked displayed. Walter was certain that he say similar reactions from one or two of the others as well.

Harrison rose. “Are you insane?”

Raynes stared back mildly.

“Letting a possible spy and saboteur walk around free?”

“By that logic,” Sen offered calmly, “anyone of us might be suspect.”

“Then test everyone!” Harrison shouted.

Raynes regarded him evenly. “I intend to,” he replied. Walter was not quite certain, but he thought he read the faint hint of a rebuke in the professor’s tone. “As soon as possible—and practical.”

His gaze remained on Harrison.

“In the meantime,” Raynes went on, “I will not restrict the freedom of a member of this team until there is verifiable evidence that we should do so. Not, Mr. Harrison,” he added, “based on solely on suspicion.”

Harrison blew out a breath in frustration. He dropped back down into his seat.

“For the time being,” Raynes concluded, “we will place the critical and sensitive areas of the building under full security lockdown status until this matter is resolved. Mr. Westin, please see to it.”

Westin and Harrison exchanged a quick glance. Walter could read no meaning in it, but it signified something.

But who will watch the watchers? he wondered.

As quickly as the question arose in his mind, he shoved it away. Down that path led to a paranoid madness that he simply did not want to deal with. He glanced over at Red who, despite the unsettling news that they had all just received, was sitting very calmly in his chair. Nothing in his friend’s expression betrayed the least bit of grave concern. When Red turned toward him and flashed him a quick smile, Walter found that reassuring and began to relax—just a little.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“I wish I had better news,” Raynes began, looking sincerely unhappy. It was not an expression Walter show often on the professor.

Using the moment to gather his thoughts again before continuing, Raynes activated the projection system above the conference table.

“Based on what we know now,” he went on, “they may have been operating underground for many, many years—possibly even decades.

A series of data charts appeared on the displays.

“It’s not clear what their ultimate goal is,” Raynes said. “Until recently, they’ve stayed mostly off the radar, engaging in activities that normally wouldn’t have attracted notice on an individual basis.”

“What changed?” Red asked.

“Our best guess,” Raynes replied, “is that Sapphire Knight’s accidental appearance,“ he gave Walter a quick wink, “at the Promenade disturbed something crucial to their plans.”

“Like what?”” Westin asked.

“We don’t know,” Raynes conceded gracefully.

“What?” Harrison cried out incredulously. He glared hard at Walter. “You don’t know what you saw there?”

Walter unconsciously backed away at Harrison’s outburst. Before he could speak to defend himself, though, Raynes interjected himself.

“Walter submitted a complete report.” He fixed his gaze on Harrison. “There’s nothing it provides that’s an obvious clue.”

“What about un-obvious ones?” Harrison countered. His eyes glanced at Walter and then back at Raynes. “Did you try hypnosis? Drugs? We have interrogation—“

“Walter,” Raynes interrupted, “has consented to controlled hypnosis in attempt to bring forth any details he might have missed.” He took a slow breath and looked at Walter apologetically. “It might also reveal that he has been tampered with.”

“A mole?” Westin gasped. His eyes turned toward Walter in a suspicious gaze.

“That’s what we hope to find out,” Raynes replied.

Walter looked at Raynes in disbelief. The professor had not told him this yet. He then remembered Grant’s description of sleeper agents and felt a chill journey down his spine. Although the idea of going under hypnosis completely terrified him, he was now even more motivated to get it over with.

I don’t feel like a spy. But then I wouldn’t, would I?

Those silent questions brought him down the logical path to the next one.

What if I am?

Heroic Measures (continued)

“Dark Matter forces have assembled at two keys areas in city: Archer Park and Kirk Avenue, near the university.”

Archer Park, Walter knew, was in the part of downtown that included the main Civic Center. It was far from City Hall, though, which he found odd.

“What we don’t know,” Harrison continued, “is how they assembled in those locations so quickly, and without being noticed until it was too late.”

Although Sen said nothing, Walter noticed the oriental man’s expression become grim.

“We’ll divide up into four teams,” Harrison said. “Combine Charlie and Delta teams from our original five.”

Nods of understanding passed around the table. Now that the action had started, Walter could see that there was little doubt that Harrison was in command. Things might have been had Raynes been present, or he might have deferred to Harrison for his military experience and expertise. There was no way of knowing since Raynes’ location was still unknown.

Did the enemy have him? Walter wondered.

“Alfa team to Archer Park,” Harrison instructed them, activating the holographic map display of the city. “Bravo to Kirk Avenue.” Two dots began blinking on the map. “Charlie/Delta, I want you on patrol. Recon the entire city. I want to make sure we aren’t missing something else. Echo Team remains here to oversee operations.”

Walter had to think for a moment to remember which team he had been assigned to. He had not given it a lot of attention, believing it to be one of Harrison’s paranoid preparations

Harrison paused to survey the faces around him. “Are those orders clear?”

There were universal nods of understanding from around the room.

Harrison nodded in return. “I want real-time status updates. Don’t wait, no matter how trivial you think it might be. Got it?”

Nods answered him from around the table.

“Move out.”

Harrison remained standing. A buzz of anxious conversation filled the room and then faded into silence as everyone filed out. Walter was one of the last to leave, trying to make his way through the throng to catch up with Red. Reaching the doorway, he paused. Turning back to look at Harrison, he saw the nearly blank expression on the large man’s face. He did not look scared, he appeared . . . Walter was not certain. Numb?

Walter could not imagine Harrison being frightened, much less be willing to admit or show it. He wondered, though, whether Harrison had ever really wanted to be in charge.

Well, whether he did or not, the crisis is here at hand.

As the door closed behind him, Walter said a silent prayer for Harrison . . . and for all of them.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“We’re not ready!” Westin insisted, interrupting Walter’s memory of that conversation.

Any responses were interrupted by a loud, trumpet-like blare. It was Harrison who reacted first, staring down at the conference table in startled disbelief. It took a moment for Walter to realize it, but he was staring at his phone. The military-sounding fanfare sounded again before Harrison picked it up. Even as he did so, it looked to Walter as though Harrison would have preferred to being handling a venomous snake.

“Harrison.” His tone was all business, although, Walter thought, curiously flat.

His face played through a parade of expressions, all of them held tightly in rein.

“I understand,” Harrison finally said.

Walter noticed that Harrison’s eyes were unfocused as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call, clearly processing whatever information he had just received. With a slow, deliberate movement he closed his phone and placed it carefully on the table in front of him.

His expression was as close to utter shock as Walter could ever remember it being. He swallowed noticeably before he addressed the others at the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. His voice was a hoarse semblance of its normal self. “It would appear,” he said, “that we are at war.”

Stunned silence was ended by an immediate uproar. Nearly everyone spoke at once, demanding answers to their questions. In the vocal tumult that followed, Walter could not be certain who was asking what.

Harrison raised his hand for silence. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, but their voices did not go silent. Harrison was calling for quiet, but no one heeded him. Several of the council members had their own phones out, desperately trying to gather more information from their own contacts.

It was Grant who finally put an end to the commotion. He raised both fists and slammed them down against the top of the conference table. Walter was certain he heard both wood and granite crack. The echo that followed brought a wave of a quiet in its wake.

Several members looked at Grant in amazement, and then turned back toward Harrison, who seized the opportunity to speak while he still had it.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“We don’t have enough intel!” Harrison shouted.

“We’ll never have enough intel,” Red countered. “You know as well as I do that no plan, no matter how good it is, survives first contact with the enemy.”

Walter thought he had heard that phrase somewhere before, but could not place where. He guessed that it might have been from some history class, sometime, mostly likely when he was paying much less attention than he should have.

“Be that as it may,” Westin countered. “If we don’t go in there with as complete of knowledge as possible concerning their facilities and personnel, then we might as well just march up to them now and get the slaughter over with.”

Vivian and Red almost rolled their eyes in unison at Westin’s dramatic delivery.

“The longer we wait,” Red insisted, “the more entrenched they’ll be. They’ll be better prepared and more likely to have further compromised our ranks.”

Walter nodded. He shared Red’s concern in that regard. Although they believed that they had purged themselves of all enemy operatives, Walter suspected some still remained among them. Harrison had even gone so far as to suggest that there might even be “sleeper agents” among the ranks of the heroes.

He had asked Red what those were, but it was Grant, surprisingly, who answered him.

“Deep cover agents,” he said. Seeing Walter’s questioning look, he went on. “Operatives prepared so they no longer remember their original identities,” he explained. “Through hypnosis, psychoactive drugs . . . other techniques.”

Walter guessed from the large man’s expression that Grant had some personal experiences related to this.

“They’re programmed to ‘wake up’ when a code phrase, or something other trigger, is used.” Grant continued. “That’s what makes them so hard to detect. The trigger can be anything from a code word, a date, musical notes, an odor . . . almost anything can be used.”

For the next several days, Walter had studied every member of the council and staff he encountered, wondering if they might be such an operative, embedded by their enemies. Additional gathered intelligence might give them the answer to that question, but the odds were against it.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Walter said beside Benny’s bedside. He noticed with surprise that his son’s face had started to spout noticeable stubble. He did not remembering reading anything about that in the daily report from the care center.

He’s becoming a young man.

Walter sighed.

One trapped . . . wherever it is that he is.

Even with Isabel’s purported insight, he had never allowed himself to give up hope that somehow, someday, his son would find himself free from whatever imprisoned his consciousness.

Walter took his son’s hand, as he had so many times before. It was clean and the fingernails were neatly trimmed. Walter made a mental note to leave a note and some other small gesture of his gratitude. He suspected that Isabel might have something to do with it; the staff feared her in some not entirely inexplicable way. He was still grateful.

“Son,” Walter said softly, gently rubbing his son’s fingers with his thumb. “Something’s about to happen.”

He stared out toward the window, seeing the sunlight, but not the world outside.

How do I explain this to him?

“There are good things in the world, Benny,” Walter said quietly, but loud enough that he thought his son could hear him. “And there are bad ones.”

He took a slow breath, trying to gather his thoughts as much for his own sake as to find the right words to explain it to his son.

“I’ve always tried to be on the side of the good things, Benny. Truly I have. I don’t know if I’ve always succeeded, but I tried.”

Walter’s eyes traveled to the television set mounted high on the wall. On its screen, muted, were scenes from one of the cable news channels. From Walter could tell, it looked like yet more trouble from one of the countries in the Middle East.

See what I mean?

He looked back at the comatose figure of his son.

Maybe you’re the lucky one . . .

He did not really believe it; he never had. What his son had was not a life. It was little more than an existence. But he did live and, for Walter, that had always been enough.

“Sometimes,” Walter began again, “when bad things happens, good people have to do whatever it takes to keep the bad things from winning.”

He swallowed against a sudden hard lump in his throat.

“Son,” Walter said. “I might not be back again. If that happens, I need you to know that I love you and that, however it ends, I did what I could to try to make it a better world for you and your brother.”

Walter realized that tears were streaming from his eyes. Instead of wiping them away, he let them fall. They might be the last ones he ever shed.

He knew that Benny would be taken care of. Both Raynes and Isabel had promised him that. That neither of them might survive the ongoing onslaught was something Walter refused to consider.

Benny’s ongoing care would be more than sufficiently funded. It would last until he eventually died of some natural cause. A portion of the remainder had been pledged as a donation to this institution; the majority remainder to an organization that performed research into brain injuries similar the one Benny had suffered.

Walter squeezed his son’s hand gently and then placed it back at his side.

“I need to go now, son,” he said quietly.

He rose and placed a light kiss on his son’s forehead. For a long moment, he stared down at Benny, wishing he had more to say, but there were just not any more words.

Finally wiping the tears from his cheeks, he turned and left the room without looking back.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“That’s enough!”

Sudden silence once again fell across the conference room. Heads turned now to stare at Red.

Walter had not known that his friend’s voice could carry like that. He certainly had provocation enough, Walter conceded.

Red took a long, deep, trembling breath, trying to regain some measure of self-control. Everyone present at the table gave him that moment, casting only the quickest of glances at the other colleagues at the table to see how they were reacting to the outburst.

“Our friend here in the metal armor is right,” Red said in light and quiet tone that everyone there knew was forced. Walter had never before seen his friend so agitated.

“Friend,” Red repeated. “Colleague. Comrade-in-arms. And arms we’re going to need.” He took another long breath. He appeared calmer, more in genuine control now. “And cool heads. Or, as our lead-lined companion here has said: we are doomed.” He emphasized the last three words with a short breath between each one.

Red paused to let that sink in. It really was not all that different from what Grant had said just a few minutes before, Walter realized, but the force with which Red delivered the same message seemed to have the desired effect.

Embarrassed murmurs wavered along the table. Even Uriana appeared to be mildly abashed.

That takes some doing, Walter thought.

“There are three things we need to do,” Red stated, clearly more in control of himself now. “First, we need to determine the location of Dr. Raynes. It’s possible, although unlikely, that our enemy has him.”

Uneasy looks crossed several of the expressions around the table. It was a notion that Walter barely dared to entertain himself, dismissing it immediately as a symptom of the burgeoning sense of paranoia growing among the members present in the conference room.

“Second,” Red continued, “we need a solid tactical plan.” His eyes went to Harrison. “Whatever personal issues I might have with Mr. Harrison,” he admitted, “he is the best one among us to provide that.”

There were reluctant nods all around the table. Uriana scowled, but eventually nodded her agreement as well.

A long pause followed.

“What’s the third thing?” Grant finally asked.

“Lunch,” Red replied mildly. “I don’t think well on an empty stomach.”

Heroic Measures (continued)

“I’m certain that Rachel must know where she is,” Walter offered.

Nods of agreement appeared around the conference table. An equal number of uncertain looks joined them.

“Then I suggest that one of us ask her,” Red persisted.

At first, no one moved. When several seconds passed, still none of the others at the table took action, Red blew out a loud sigh of disgust and reached into his pocket. It came out empty and he scowled, almost sneering in frustration.

“Walt,” he said, taking a slow breath. “Give me your phone, please.”

Walter removed it from his pocket and passed it over to Red. Red stared down at his palm and then back at Walter. It was a basic, old-style cellular phone. Walter tried not to blush. He knew that almost all of the other heroes had switched to so-called “smart” phones, but he had not been convinced of the need for such a complex device—much less spending that much to own one.

Red shook his head slightly and then flipped open the phone. He tapped Rachel’s contact number into the keypad and held the phone up to his ear. While he waited, he glared at various faces throughout the room.

A few moments later, Walter watched his friend exercise a great deal of control as he lowered the phone from his ear. Walter had the impression that he would have preferred to have slammed it down on the tabletop.

“There’s no answer.”

“Why didn’t you leave a message?” Grant asked.

Walter barely managed to suppress a chuckle at the look Red granted the large, dark-skinned man.

“I don’t know what this is all about,” Uriana announced.

Heads turned. She had everyone’s undivided attention.

Her gaze turned toward Westin. Her eyes narrowed and her expression turned to stone.

“It’s you,” she said, starting to rise from her chair. Her voice was low, heavy with implied threats. “You’re doing this so you can take over.”

A shocked silence filled the conference room. Westin looked at Uriana as if she had gone mad. His eyes widened as she left her chair and began to approach him. If his reaction was a carefully calculated one, Walter thought, it had been cleverly planned.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“Our numbers are about evenly matched,” Walker said.

“But they won’t play fair,” Harrison countered. “They don’t care what happens to any civilians along the way.”

“When has that been a problem for you, Harrison,” Red asked the man, giving him only the slightest glance. It was said without rancor, but carried the weight of truth.

“We can’t,” Harrison insisted. “Not if we want to win.” He leaned forward, eyeing those around the table who had opposed his recommendation. “If we don’t win,” he said, his voice low and heavy with insinuation, “then everyone else loses.”

An uncomfortable quiet fell over the meeting room. Walter suspected that the others, like himself, were considering just how far they were each willing to go in order to win the impending battle. It was a question that, until now, Walter had managed to defer. Being a hero, he knew, set him up to make moral choices, but the impact of a wrong one did not usually have such wide-ranging consequences.

“We haven’t lost yet,” Grant said.

His voice, although not loud, carried across the room. Everyone present turned their heads in his direction. He had their full attention. That he spoke at all surprised Walter. Despite his unquestioned abilities as a member of a team on the street, he rarely took part in discussions of council policy. To Walter, he was the epitome of the “strong, silent type”.

“But if we are not united as one, we might as well surrender the fight now.”

While his words offered no solutions, it did, Walter realized, put what was perhaps their key problem into focus. If the heroes were not of one mind behind a single plan, even if it ultimately turned out to be the wrong one, they had little of defeating their greatest enemy.

“It is so,” Sen agreed softly.

Harrison glanced quickly around the room. Walter thought he saw the reflection of a trapped animal behind those eyes. He wondered if anyone else saw it. Westin looked uncertain, his gaze darting between Harrison and certain other members of the council, as if silently pleading for guidance and support. Walter tried to track who at the table he looked toward, but the man’s eyes moved too quickly for him to follow with any sense of confidence.

“What about Dr. Raynes?” Walter asked.

Uriana shook her head. “Nothing yet,” she replied. “There’s been no sign of him since he adjourned the council meeting last week.”

“And that doesn’t disturb anyone?” Red blurted out. “Raynes goes missing for a week and no one thinks that’s worthy of concern?”

There were a series of glances around the table. It was certainly unusual, although Raynes had deliberately dropped out of sight before. Walter found it difficult to swallow, though, that he might do it at such time of grave crisis. The implication was then that someone, acting alone or as a member of a small conspiracy had purposely redirected any inquiries into Raynes’ whereabouts. In some ways, it was almost a more troubling issue than the larger one they all faced.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“We have to assume that the entire Cabinet has been compromised,” Westin said.

Harrison nodded in vigorous agreement. He gnawed absently on a thick unlit cigar. Walter could not understand how he did. They smelled bad enough when lit, but to purposely chew on one? He looked away, turned his attention back to the discussion at the head of the table.

“If that’s the case,” Walker mused aloud. “Then we have to assume that any intel that we received from those sources is suspect as well.”

Several of the others at the table nodded their agreement.

“That puts quite a different spin on things,” Red interjected. “Since we don’t know who or what information we can trust.”

Raynes looked grim. It was an expression that Walter had rarely seen on the professor’s face. That meant the situation were serious indeed.

“There could even be agents among us,” Westin announced.

His gaze swept the others in the room. People around the table cast uncertain glances at their colleagues. Even Walter began to wonder which of the people there might be the one who might betray them all.

“Not anyone in this room,” Raynes stated with a confident firmness that Walter found immediately reassuring. “But,” he amended with far less conviction, “it’s possible that there is one—or more—within the organization.”

“That could make it most difficult,” Sen offered quietly.

Raynes nodded.

“If even a hint gets out that we might be onto them,” Red said. “They might go deeper into hiding . . . or worse.”

“Exactly,” Raynes agreed.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Harrison growled impatiently. “Let’s lock the place down and start a search.”

“Subtle, Raleigh,” Red remarked with obvious sarcasm. “Subtle.”

“For now,” Raynes said. “We do nothing.”

Harrison opened his mouth to retort. Raynes held up a hand to forestall the protest.

“Now that we know what we’re looking for,” he went on, “I’m going to have the security and access logs analyzed for any suspicious activity. If their agents are good, then suspect we won’t find any, but I want to be thorough.”

“For the time being,” Raynes said, his gaze sweeping across those present around the table. “This stays within this room.

“That’s it?” Harrison finally exploded. “We just sit around and wait?”

Raynes met his glare with a steady one of his own. “You will take no action until you hear from me.” He waited for Harrison to look away before addressing the others again. “I have an idea, but need to confirm a few things,” he said. “I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

Uneasy glances were exchanged around the table, but nothing more was said.

Raynes nodded firmly, gathered his things, and left the conference room.

Walter watched him leave. As the noise level increased around him, he wondered whether coming out retirement really had been such a good idea.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Sen returned shortly thereafter bearing a tray that held a pitcher of water, three plastic cups, and a plate of assorted crackers and small multi-colored squares of wrapped chocolate. He placed it on the table in the center of the room. He then poured a cup of water for the young woman, placed it before her on the table, and then stepped back.

She eyed him warily, but she must have sensed something about him that nearly everyone else did. He was a man to be trusted. Walter could remember feeling it the first time he had met the oriental hero. Raynes had been wise to select Sen to bring and serve the food. Had anyone else done it, she might have rejected it, which would have done none of them any good.

The young woman took the cup, looked into it, and then drained it. She returned it to the table and reached for a handful of the crackers. Although she tried to eat with deliberate care, Walter could tell that she was incredibly hungry. He moved forward, ready to refill her cup, when he felt Raynes’ hand on his arm. He stared down at uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then stepped back.

Sen refilled her cup with graceful efficiency. She flashed him a quick, tentative smile. This one she drank less quickly. Raynes waited until her eating slowed before he addressed her.

“I’d appreciate it if you could answer a few questions for me.”

The young woman studied him for a long moment and then glanced at Sen, Red, and Walter. She seemed to linger on Walter for a few seconds longer than the others. He tried not to fidget under scrutiny, mostly successfully. The young woman looked back at Raynes and then nodded.

“Is your name is Vivian Parrish?”

She nodded slowly.

Raynes entered something into his computer.

“Why were you in the alleyway with that body?”

There was a long, heavy silence before she answered him.

“Because he was dead.”

Her answer did not seem to surprise Raynes, although it sent a chill along Walter’s spine.

“Was it someone you knew?”

“No.”

“I see.”

Raynes worked the computer keyboard again.

“Why were you there then?”

Several emotions played across the young woman’s expression. It was evident that she was exhausted. The water and snacks had renewed her somewhat, but she was in desperate need of sleep.

“Because I needed to know,” she finally said. Her voice sounded as though she were fighting back a sob.

“Know what?”

“Who did it?”

“Why?” Raynes gently persisted.

“Because they think I did it.”

A frown formed small wrinkles across Raynes’ forehead.

“Who does?”

“Everyone,” the young woman answered. Her eyes met Raynes’ gaze, pleading. “But I didn’t.”

Raynes nodded slowly. His lips formed a tight line. He seemed to consider her responses for a moment and then presented her with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Okay, Vivian,” he said. “I think that’s enough for now.” He stared thoughtfully at the blank conference room for a moment and then turned to Sen. “Sen,” he said, “can you please show Vivian to the women’s locker room? Rachel will meet you there.”

He looked at Vivian now. “You can shower and get some clean clothes. We also have some bunk rooms available,” he told her. “I think it might be safer if you stayed with us for a while.”

She looked hesitant and studied the faces around her again. Finally, she nodded. Sen stepped forward and waited for her to rise from the chair. She did so slowly. Sen led her to the door and the two departed.

After the door had closed again, Red turned to Raynes.

“What makes you think she didn’t do it?”

“Because she didn’t,” Raynes replied. “Walter doesn’t think so either.” He cast a quick, conspiratorial glance at Walter.

Red stared at Raynes, clearly not amused. Walter could understand that. Despite her obvious fatigue, the young woman had seemed not quite all here.

Drugs? Walter wondered.

“Want to try again?” Red inquired skeptically.

“Because she didn’t,” Raynes repeated. After a moment, he chuckled softly and held up one of the folders had been carrying. “Her DNA was found at none of the crime scenes,” he explained.

“While not entirely conclusive,” he went on, “our forensics experts have determined that there’s no way her talons could have caused the damage found on this bodies.”

It was Walter’s turn to look surprised. Raynes caught his expression and tapped another one of the folders. “The . . . configuration of the wounds was wrong,” he said. “Also, as sharp as her claws might be, there’s no way she was strong enough to inflict that kind of damage, even if the person was already dead.”

He tapped the edge of the notebook computer. “I have a copy of her medical profile,” he explained.

He did it in so matter-of-fact manner, as if having access to that kind of data was a common occurrence, that it made Walter wonder what other kinds of information he might have access to.

“The same genetic changes that gave her wings, also altered her bone and muscle structure,” he went on. “She doesn’t have the strength.”

Walter nodded slowly, realization dawning as he recalled a lesson from one of his science classes in high school. It had something to do with birds having very light and hollow bones.

“We’ll keep her here for a little while,” Raynes continued, “and see what turns up.” He closed his laptop computer and gathered his notes. “In the meantime,” he said, “we all have other things to do.”

Raynes paused in front of Walter as he headed for the door. “Good job, Walter.” He moved through the doorway and, without turning around, added, “Red, try to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t I always?”

Raynes’ retort, if there was one, was lost in the sound of the door closing.

Walter stared at the door for a long moment, troubled by one thing.

If she didn’t do it, then who did?

Heroic Measures (continued)

They had removed her talons. Walter had been relieved to discover that they had been held in place by fastenings around her forearms and wrists, not surgically implanted. The wings, however, were, as he had guessed, real. Right now, there were tucked behind her. Probably none too comfortably, he thought.

“She’s murdered at least half a dozen people,” Harrison protested.

“That we know of,” Westin amended in support.

Harrison nodded his agreement. “If we have to rough her up a little to get what we need, then it’s what she has coming.”

Walter swallowed hard, exchanging an uneasy glance with Red. Sen merely fixed his eyes on Harrison, but said nothing.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

Almost everyone’s head turned as Raynes’ voice sounded from the doorway. No one had heard it open.

Harrison scowled. Walter saw palpable relief on Red’s face. Even Sen appeared more at ease—if that were possible.

“Release her,” Raynes commanded Harrison. There was an unspoken “Now.” that seemed to echo in everyone’s mind.

Harrison straightened. Walter could tell from his posture and expression that he was going challenge Raynes on this.

“She didn’t do it,” Raynes announced, clearly enunciating each word.

That revelation deflated Harrison slightly. He tried to hide it, but immediately broke eye contact with Raynes. Westin glanced at the others, now clearly aware that he had chosen the wrong side of the argument on this occasion.

Raynes entered the small room carrying a notebook computer and a stack of printouts. He sat both down on the small table off to one side. No one questioned his statement, Walter noticed. That was not all that unusual, for as far as he could remember, Dr. Raynes almost never made a pronouncement of any kind without the data to back it up.

He waited while Harrison unfastened the cuffs, freeing the young woman’s arms from behind the chair. She rubbed them lightly, but did not look at Harrison. Walter gave her credit; he would have glared at the man.

Raynes held out his hand. Harrison stared at it for a moment and then dropped the cuffs and key into it. Without looking away, Raynes turned and dumped them into the waste basket. They rang with a sharp metallic sound as they hit its bottom.

“Sen,” Raynes said, still looking at Harrison. “Can you please get this young lady some water and crackers—or whatever we have at hand? Some chocolate as well, if there is any.”

“Of course, Doctor,” Sen responded softly. He bowed slightly and left the room.

“Walter, I’d like you to remain here with me,” Raynes continued. “Red, you’re welcome to stay as well, if you’d like. The rest of you can leave.” His tone made it clear that it was not an optional suggestion.

Harrison’s eyes narrowed in displeasure. He shot a glance in the young woman’s direction, and then a final one at Walter before he left. Westin, knowing he had lost this one, followed silently behind him.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“She did it,” Harrison snarled. “We just need to make her admit it.”

His voice was a gravelly baritone. He was still recovering from their assault on what their intelligence operatives had reported to be one of the Dark Matter chief lairs. Swift action by Random had saved his larynx, but it would be some time before his voice returned to normal. With an uncomfortably perverse sense of satisfaction, Walter realized that he preferred Harrison this way: it made it almost impossible for him to shout out orders.

“We’ve tried,” reported Westin. His tone clearly communicated his displeasure at their lack of success.

“Let me guess,” Harrison said. “You’ve tried talking to her.” He snorted, glaring at their captive.

Walter had not been happy about that. He had brought her here from the destruction of the abandoned bakery shop, hoping they could locate evidence to support her claim of innocence. Instead, upon hearing Walter’s story, and seeing her talons, Westin had held her while Harrison put her in restraints, cuffing her to a chair in one of the small conference rooms. Sen and Red had arrived shortly afterward. Their voices, combined with Walter’s, prevented the other two men from taking more extreme action—but just barely. Walter considered the young woman lucky that they had been there. He was not convinced that Harrison might not have stripped her naked and then left her to hang by her wrists in some secret basement chamber.

“Often,” Sen offered quietly, “more is learned when one listens than when one speaks.”

Harrison made a show of rolling his eyes at the oriental hero. Sen, as usual, paid it no heed.

Walter suppressed a smile. It was extremely difficult to get mad at Sen. Even if you could, it was almost impossible to stay that way. The man’s calm and seemingly inscrutable demeanor made it difficult to take offense at his remarks. It did not help that his observations were nearly always dead on accurate.

There was a moment of tense silence. Walter glanced over at the young woman, expecting to find her nervous and scared. Instead, she seemed resigned and exhausted. If there was any apprehension lurking there, it was masked by her fatigue. It made him wonder just how long she had been on the run.

Heroic Measures (continued)

#

“I didn’t do it.”

Walter was certain that he had heard her correctly. While still keeping his distance, he studied her.

His eyes went first to the talons. They hung loosely at her side, scraping along the ground. The wings, he had already determined, were real. What he had thought were feathers, though, seemed to be some kind of textured membrane. The blended colors, he saw, could give the illusion of feathers from a distance.

Although she remained hunched over, he guessed that he had been about right about her height. Her hair, cut in some kind of ragged style, fell just above her shoulders. It was tangled and coated with dirt and dust. Cleaned up, Walter thought, she might be pretty—in a pert and coltish sort of way. Right now, though, she simply looked weary and ragged. Walter wondered if he was making a mistake, possibly giving her time to regain her strength.

He heard sirens in the near distance, guessing that they were probably heading toward the now-demolished bakery shop. As far as he knew, no one had paid any particular attention to him as he had pursued this woman across the rooftops and through the alleyways. Certainly, someone had seen him, but whether that was remarkable enough to be reported, he did not know.

The woman’s arms released her middle and dropped to her sides. She was still breathing heavily, but no longer panting. Walter watched her warily. She did not move from where she knelt. She stared dawn at the ground, her head bowed, giving Walter the eerie impression that she was expecting him to execute her.

Sirens screamed along the opening behind him. He heard the sound of cars moving fast along the street. None of them seemed to stop.

“Come on,” he called to her.

He offered her his gloved hand, grateful that it had at least one layer of protection from those metal claws.

She looked up at him in surprise. Her eyes, at first wide, now narrowed with suspicion.

“You can either face the police,” he told her. “Or me.”

She studied him for a brief moment and then her fingers clutched his hand. Walter helped her rise and then pulled her toward the opposite opening. She allowed him to guide her and then released her hand from his. Walter thought she might bolt, but she remained where she was.

“Where?”

“Just follow me,” Walter told her. “Stay close.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then she nodded.

Walter broke into a slow jog, heading for the street ahead. He heard her light footsteps behind him and did not turn around. If she decided to flee again, he was pretty certain that he could stop her this time. He had the feeling, though, that she was tired of running.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Exiting onto the street, he quickly surveyed the neighborhood, looking for any signs of his target. Using a mental technique that Sen was trying to teach him, he attempted to filter out of his perceptions the passing cars and other distractions from his awareness, allowing his mind to recognize only people who matched a specific size, shape, and color. His surroundings faded into an indistinct blur around him, but one object stood out, outlined in almost perfect clarity. It was the winged being, entering another alleyway across the street. Walter noted, in a somewhat distant and detached way, that it seemed to be moving much more slowly now.

I wonder if it got hurt when the antenna collapsed?

His environment snapped back into focus. He dashed across the street, once again dodging moving and stationary obstacles. Entering the alleyway on the other side, he saw that his quarry had not yet made it all the way through. He grinned in anticipatory triumph and urged himself on faster.

Ahead, the winged figured staggered and then fell to its knees. Walter slowed, cautious now. He approached it slowly, but it remained that way, hunched over, until he reached it.

Its arms were wrapped tight around its abdomen. He saw that its wings were, in fact, real. There were no straps or braces holding them in place. It was panting, breathing hard, but it sounded like more than exertion. It held that undercurrent of pain.

Maybe it really is hurt . . .

Walter continued to approach cautiously, keeping an eye on the polished metal talons. If this was a ruse, he needed to be ready to leap out of their range before they could impale him. He had seen what they had done to their other victims.

The being turned its head slowly toward him and Walter found himself unable to move. The face was that of a young woman. She appeared to be about his age, although he could not be certain through the streaks of grime and perspiration that masked her face. Her eyes were wide and pleading. She seemed to be terrified of him.

She said something to him, but it was lost in the ambient noise of the street beyond. It sounded as if it might have been a foreign language, but Walter could not be sure. The young woman seemed to rally her strength and spoke again.

“I didn’t do it.”

She met his eyes for only a moment and then sagged again, clearly exhausted from the chase. Walter stared at her, unable to speak.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Keeping his eyes on the staggering figure, Walter dashed across the street. He dodged four pedestrians, two bicyclists and, only barely aware of it, a pickup truck that had decided to race the changing yellow light at the intersection.

Closer to the scene, he realized that dust was thicker here than it had appeared from across the street. It was thinning, but still made visibility much poorer than he would have liked. He considered that he should have waited a little longer before continuing his pursuit, but then his quarry might have gotten away.

The dust ahead swirled and, to his right, Walter he saw a figure moving fitfully through the haze. It stumbled over some obscured debris, then pulled itself upright and kept moving. Walter could not tell whether it had seen him or not. Unless it possessed avian eyesight to match the wings, he guessed that it had not. He was having enough trouble looking through the settling dust without being in the middle of it.

The figure made its way to the perimeter of the building, pausing in the shadow of one of the remaining outer walls. Walter thought he heard it coughing. It was not a deep-sounding cough, making him think that it probably came from the winged creature he had been pursuing. Slowly, he moved in closer, trying both keep an eye on his footing, and be as quiet as possible, despite the layers of uneven debris underfoot.

He was successful, coming within about five yards of his target, when his foot slipped on what had seemed to be a solid and stable piece of lumber. It snapped under his weight, causing him not only to stumble, but also issuing a sharp crack that penetrated the noise around them.

The figure froze for a moment, performing a very accurate imitation of cornered prey. It looked in Walter’s direction, but he could not tell whether it actually saw him or not. Nevertheless, it bolted, heading along the wall toward the street that ran behind the building.

Walter swore, mumbling, and took off after the creature. He stumbled several times, having trouble keeping his footing on the uneven debris, made finally made it to the area of the outer wall where he had last seen the creature. He stared down the short pathway and then broke into a renewed run.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“Well,” he murmured aloud. “So much for that idea.”

He was reaching for his radio again when a portion of the bakery rooftop exploded. There was no gout of flame. Instead, there was a burst of dust and gravel. It reminded Walter of scenes he had seen of buildings being demolished, although on a smaller scale.

Before the dust began to settle, a metallic shriek echoed from across the street. Walter watched as the antenna tore free from its moorings and fell onto the rooftop. It seemed to happen as if filmed in slow motion, but Walter guessed that was an illusion caused by the delay as the antenna pulled away from each brace that fastened it onto the building.

It toppled onto the roof, raising a new, although smaller, dust cloud, before disappearing from sight. In his mind’s eye, Walter could see it smashing through charred and rotten roof into what remained of the structure inside the building.

Walter swallowed, deeply grateful that he had not attempted the same thing on the tire shop. Abandoned though the bakery might be, he had definitely created a mess. Belatedly, he hoped that no transients or homeless had taken refuge inside it.

I guess I don’t need to bother to call it in now . . .

The warble of distant sirens confirmed his assumption.

He stared across the building, watching the dust settle, feeling more than a little guilty at the damage and destruction he had wrought—however unintentionally. Without a doubt, he realized, he would get reprimanded by someone on the hero council. The anticipation of that alone formed a sour knot in his stomach.

Breathing a deep sigh, he watched as the dust thinned, thinking that he should probably wander across and see if there was anything he could do to help clean up the mess he had made. Straightening his shoulders, in what he hoped was a confident and heroic posture, he took a single step forward and then stopped as he spied something beige and gray stumbling from the haze.

He squinted, trying to peer through the dust-laden haze.

The creature?

He felt relief that he had not killed it, followed by annoyance when he realized that it meant that the chase might still be on. Pivoting on his boot heel, he turned in the direction of the figure, and began to run.

Heroic Measures (continued)

It’s probably watching me, waiting for me to go away.

Walter was not ready to give up yet, but he also had no intention of staying there all afternoon until the creature showed itself again.

He studied the rooftop of the condemned bakery and those of the buildings adjacent to it. Tony’s Tires abutted to it. To reach any of the other buildings would require the creature to make a leap, or short glide, in order to reach it. That would be the only moment when it might be clearly vulnerable.

From his vantage point on the street below, he had no way to know which rooftop it might really be on—if it was on any of them at all. What he needed to do, he knew, was to drive it from its hiding place before it regained too much of its strength. Ideally, he would like to frighten it out. That way, it might be thinking less clearly, and more likely to make a mistake that might allow him to down and capture it.

He noticed a television antenna still mounted to the side of the bakery. It was blackened and charred, but still looked to be mostly intact. That it had survived the various winter storms since the fire told Walter that it was probably mounted quite securely to the building. Whether any of the wires still run from it, and were connected to anything, was something he could determine from his position on the ground. Still, the antenna itself was mounted onto the building itself . . . and that might be enough.

The tire shop has several more of them, but Walter was afraid to make use of them. For one, he did not want to accidentally fry their electrical systems and face later, possibly nasty and legal, reprisal. He also knew that there were many different types of flammable liquids stored there. A mistake on his part could make the fire that took down the bakery look like a Boy Scout campfire in comparison. He was reasonably confident that anything still remaining inside the bakery had long since burned out.

Here goes . . .

He took aim at the antenna, half-prepared for little more to happen than perhaps a few sparks across a few of the metal supports. Still, he fired well above medium power, chiefly because he wanted to make sure to clear the distance between himself and the antenna

For a moment, as he expected, nothing much happened. He saw the charge connect, a brief dance of St. Elmo’s fire, and then the antenna stood as it had before.

Heroic Measures (continued)

He kept running, trying to think as he dodged curious pedestrians and other obstacles on the sidewalk. The creature was headed toward Plymouth Avenue. Once the creature crossed it, there would be more high-level buildings. Before then, though, there was nothing before it reached Overton except for a gas station, antique store, and few other small shops that shared the building there. It might be just chance to drive the thing to ground.

Turning onto Plymouth, he scanned the rooftops, looking for any sign of the fleeing creature. He saw nothing at first, trying to see past the rooftop signs and machinery. If it was up there, it was managing to stay hidden.

Probably trying to catch its breath too.

He turned, looking along the lines of buildings, trying to mentally calculate the path the winged creature might have taken. From what he had seen, it seemed only capable of short glides, not full-fledged flight.

If it could, wouldn’t it have flown away?

Based on his best guess, it was either on the rooftop of the Tony’s Tire Shop or that of the abandoned bakery. The bakery had been empty since the fire, but Walter did not know whether or not the roof might still be intact.

A helicopter would be nice about now. Or even a model airplane with a camera.

He was about to give up and call his report in, even reaching for his two-way radio, when he spied movement on top of the burned-out bakery. When he stopped to stare at it, though, he saw nothing that had not been there before.

He remained absolutely still—much to the annoyance of several passing pedestrians—trying to see if he had imagined it. After waiting for what seemed like a long while, nothing happened and he started to turn, and then froze.

There it was again: a flickering motion in his peripheral vision. He looked at the building again, sweeping his gaze along the line of the roof and then again across what he could see of the rooftop. Again, he saw nothing.

Let me guess: it can turn invisible as well as fly.

That idle bit of irritated speculation did not worry him that much. Very few meta-humans possessed more than one useful ability.

If it could turn invisible, then why didn’t it do it before, instead of leading me on this stupid chase?

It was up there; he was sure of it.

Heroic Measures (continued)

It recovered, stared down at Walter for a moment, and then leapt for the roof. Walter ran forward, trying to fire off another bolt, but assorted bits of metalwork and masonry got in the way. By the time he found a clear shot, all he saw was the figure’s legs as it disappeared onto the roof.

Finding himself pretty much in the exact center of the alleyway, he glanced at the openings at each end, trying to decide which one to use. Based on no rational reason he could explain, he chose the one opposite from the entrance he had used and darted off to follow the creature. As he reached the street, he saw it glide across to the rooftop on the other side. It was gone before he could raise his arm to aim, but he had a good idea now which way it was headed. He considered calling in his sighting of the creature—he could certainly use the help tracking it down—but he was afraid that by even slowing down to do so might allow the creature the time it needed to escape him.

He run down the street, turning left onto Sycamore. If he remembered correctly, there were almost no buildings taller than two stories in the direction the creature was heading. He wondered if the creature knew it as well.

It took him a moment to spot it. At first, he was afraid that it might have managed to outrun him, or decided to remain out of sight on one of the rooftops until it had a better chance of escape. That might even work, Walter thought, even with air reconnaissance, as the creature seemed small enough to be able to find refuge in the shadows of any large rooftop equipment. Only a thorough building-to-building search might locate it, but that would take a lot of time.

He dashed toward the next building. The sign above it read: Delaney’s Donuts. Being several miles from his house, Walter had never been there, but knew it by reputation. It was a family-owned pastry shop, rumored to have the best donuts in this part of the city. Getting its hands—claws, he corrected himself—on the best crullers in the neighborhood did not seem to be on the creature’s agenda. It darted across the roof and then glided to the next building.

It seemed to be slowing, Walter thought. Even with the power of flight, it did not seem to possess unlimited stamina. Neither did he, Walter realized, but he hoped his would outlast the fleeing creature.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Peering into its shadowed depths, he wished that he had thought to pick up a long stick, a length of pipe, something. His electrical powers were primed, but it was still possible for someone—or something—to surprise him at close range before he could react. He might not be able to do a lot of damage to it, but it might help to slow it down so he could better defend himself.

He flipped on the flashlight mounted on his right wrist. Bathing the darkness with its beam, it exposed nothing more than assorted mounds of garbage and a trio of startled cats. At least he hoped they had been cats. He hated to think that the rats had grown that large in this part of the city.

Waving the beam upward revealed only ashen layers of matted cobwebs. From what he could tell, they had not been disturbed in a long time. Feeling somewhat relieved, he moved back onto the street and headed for the next alleyway.

The second alley proved to be equally vacant, missing even the wandering cats. It was also narrower than the first one, making him a bit trapped and claustrophobic. He was glad to be done with that one.

He moved toward the third opening, wondering if he had missed his chance. The sound had not returned since he had begun his search. Of course, he considered, that might just mean that, whatever it was, it was now lying in wait for him. He turned on the flashlight again, wondering whether he should even bother checking the other side of the street.

Maybe third time’s a charm . . .

Aiming the beam directly ahead, he stepped into the alleyway.

#

Walter stopped immediately, surprised by what he saw.

A creature stood hunched over a limp shape on the filthy concrete. Its wings looked beige and ashen in the light of his flashlight. Startled by his intrusion, it turned its head and looked at Walter, blinking in the diffuse glare of the flashlight’s beam. They stared at one another, frozen and speechless, before it gathered its wits first and rose to its feet.

It was not as tall as Walter had first guessed—perhaps no more than five-and-a-half feet tall. Its wings gave it the illusion of greater height, but not by much. Its body might even be smaller than it appeared. It turned, exposing long talons that brightly reflected the yellow-white beam of the flashlight. They appeared to be polished metal and, Walter suspected, razor-sharp.

I think I’ve found our mystery murderer . . .

He was not sure whether to be proud or terrified. It took no effort at all to recall the condition of its other victims. He had no desire to be transformed into an extra-large strip steak.

Walter tensed, expecting it to shriek or charge at him. It did neither. Instead, it looked down once more at the dead prey at its feet and then lunged upward. Its wings carried it to the narrow wrought-iron balcony one story above him. Perched there for only a moment, it turned and leapt for the one across the alleyway, one more level up.

Walter came to his senses, firing a single charge that missed the creature, but did manage to briefly electrify the metal ledge it had aimed for. The creature made a sound, but nothing like the screech Walter had heard earlier. It spasmed, stumbling along the narrow ledge like a drunkard, but somehow managed to keep itself from falling the three stories back to the ground.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Knowing that he would be little help on the chase, Walter made his way deeper into the wide alleyway. Spotlights from the squad cars filled the space with harsh swaths of light. He made the mistake of accidentally staring into one as he passed and then spent several moments trying to blink away the dark spots that now swam before his vision.

He saw several people crouched over a dark shape sprawled along the ground. It seemed to be clad in a dark cloak, and then he realized, as one of the figures sealed it, that it was a coroner’s body bag. The brief glimpse he had gotten told him enough, though. Someone had been sliced into shreds, just like the bodies that he had found with Torino and, several months later, with Red.

Their murderer had returned.

#

Walter raced down the sidewalk. The scream had come from somewhere in this area of the neighborhood. He turned the corner on Fifth and Sampson, nearly colliding with a matronly woman pushing a stroller and trying to keep the hand of a young child. He offered his heartfelt apology as he sped by, once certain that he had not harmed any of them. The woman responded with something in what sounded like a rough, East European languages. Walter guessed that it was not complimentary, but he kept moving.

The shriek sounded like that from an enormous bird of prey. A sharp chill pulsed through Walter. Its cause, he realized, was probably as much instinctively primal as it was from the memories it evoked. Scenes of the corpses that he had encountered with Torino and Red snapped through his mind like a slideshow.

Another brutal attack?

At least this time, he was appropriately dressed and armed. He was, however, also alone. As far as he knew, no one had ever seen that creature that had shredded those bodies. His mind was more than willing to offer up images of what it might be. They did nothing to ease his growing apprehension.

He slowed as ran down Sampson, listening for a new occurrence of the sound. When it did not come, he began looking for alleyways from where it might have originated. He spotted three possible ones on his side of the street and at least two others on the opposite. Having no better idea, he decided to start with the first one.

Heroic Measures (continued)

“There!” someone shouted.

Walter did not take the time to identify who it was, but turned his gaze in the direction where was pointing.

Above them, framed against the sky in the gap between the two buildings, was a winged shape. Too large to be a bird, Walter knew that it had to be a person with wings.

Damn.

The silent curse conveyed both frustration and amazement. The figure was too far away for him to be able to affect. He might be able to produce an arc from one of the steel balconies above, but he suspected that it would be too weak to accomplish anything useful.

His amazement came from the fact that person was able to fly at all. While a mainstay of comic books and movies, the miracle of self-powered flight was something that Raynes had not yet accomplished. There were a very small number of verified heroes who could move through the air without the aid of equipment, but in almost all cases, it was a matter of their ability to affect the environment around them, usually through the manipulation of gravitational forces or air density.

Of all of heroes that Walter knew of who sported actual wings, none of them, as far as knew, were capable of unassisted sustained flight. Either the wings themselves were too heavy to be useful, or too fragile to hold their owner aloft without shattering under the weight. That did not mean, he knew, that it was impossible; he had just never seen any proof of it.

Rocket boots and jet packs, however, were another matter. Several heroes included these among their repertoire of equipment. Walter had tried a pair of boots—once. He decided immediately thereafter that he would need far more training and supervision if he wished to prevent himself from becoming a dark smear along the asphalt.

He heard shouts and the roar of small rockets being ignited. A trio of heroes, each sporting a different construction of flying apparatus, moved into the sky. The winged shape, Walter saw, was dwindling in the sky and heading toward the east. He doubted that any of them would catch it before it disappeared out of range.

Patriot was shouting something about using missiles, and apparently receiving equally vocal [] against the idea. Walter had to agree. Whatever act the winged being might have committed, going after it with an ICBM seemed like overkill to Walter: somewhat equivalent to swatting a mosquito with a sledgehammer. It might be terribly effective, but it was even more likely to inflict even greater damage—and still not get the job done. Walter suspected that Patriot would lose that argument and, as usual, being in a particularly sour mood thereafter. He would make it a point to avoid the star-spangled military hero, especially after the second Scotch.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Red gave him a puzzled expression. Walter figured that his friend probably thought he was reacting to the scene in front of them. He felt no need to correct that impression.

The flash of memory from his previous encounter, coupled with the still-sharp ache of Torino’s loss, beat back any remaining queasiness. His mind felt curiously clear, in a strangely disassociated sort of way. He knelt to get a closer look at what remained of the body.

It was twisted in such a way that he could not see its face. He was reluctant to touch it, both because he did not want to disturb the crime scene, and he was not at all certain that he was prepared for what he might find.

He heard Red shuffle closer behind him.

“Anyone we know?”

Walter studied the mangled form.

Nothing about clothing looked familiar. That was not really much of an indication, he knew, other than to eliminate the likelihood that it was one of his acquaintances that tended toward very unique fashions: Val, for example.

“I don’t think so,” Walter answered in a deep whisper.

He heard Red take a slow breath of relief.

Walter passed the beam over the ground near the corpse. There were no obvious footprints or other indications of where the attacker had gone. He pointed the flashlight upward, but once again saw nothing but vaguely ominous shadows.

“You’d better go call it in,” he told Red.

“Are you sure?”

Walter nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “I’ll stay here.”

“Okay,” Red agreed. Walter could hear the reluctant skepticism in his friend’s voice. “If you’re sure.”

I’m not.

“I am,” Walter said aloud. “Now go . . . before I do change my mind.”

He heard Red’s footsteps move away, their cadence increasing as he cleared the alcove’s opening.

Walter remained kneeling, but shifted the flashlight so that it no longer shone directly on the shredded corpse. He held the beam so that it left the grisly form as just an indistinct dark mass. He wanted to keep an eye on it, as if afraid that it might suddenly vanish.

Red returned a few minutes, or at it seemed like only a few to Walter. He was breathless and Walter was worried that he might have been unable to locate a telephone nearby.

“They’re on their way,” Red reported in between panting breaths. “Westin said to stay put.”

Walter looked up at Red in surprise.

Walter had assumed that Red would contact the police. It took him a moment to realize that it made sense for Red to have contacted the hero organization instead.

“Okay,” he nodded, and arose from his kneeling position. With Red there, he longer felt the need to keep as close a watch on the mangled corpse.

The stiffness of his knees and burning of his thigh muscles told him that he must have been crouching there for longer than he had thought. As he stood there waiting, staring into the darkness, he realized that he never had found out what had happened to the one that he and Torino had found.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Red remained upright. He moved the flashlight’s beam away so that it no longer illuminated the grisly form. They could still tell that there was something there, but could no longer see any of the unpleasant details.

“What is it?” Red gasped.

Walter shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He was reluctant to ask Red to shine the beam back at it. The image in his mind was probably far more horrible than what was actually there, but he had little desire to test the theory.

“That was no dog,” Red remarked in a raspy tone.

That observation cleared some of the fuzz from Walter’s mind.

“Give me back the flashlight.”

He felt Red slide it back onto his palm. Walter played the beam along the ground, avoiding the mutilated shape, and then up along the walls. Whatever had made those sounds, assuming that it was not the dead creature ahead, had fled. Or was hiding in wait for its next prey?

Walter felt exposed in his street clothes. Sure, he could still summon up a charge if he needed to defend himself, but had only a few thin layers of cloth between himself and whatever had torn apart that poor creature. Red was not much better off, having only the additional advantage of a lightweight jacket.

It did not feel right to Walter to just abandon the scene without investigating it further. They might not be capable of completing a full investigation, but the two of them should be able to determine whether or not there was actually anything worth reporting—and to whom.

Swallowing hard, he aimed the flashlight at the grisly mass and took several steps forward. He was fighting back a rising wave of nausea when the memory returned, filling his mind. It was more than déjà vu, for he had actually been here before. Not in this deep alcove, exactly, but in very, very similar surroundings. He remembered the shredded body that he and Torino had found. A dull ache echoed around his heart at the memory of his young colleague.

“What is it?” Red asked.

Walter shook his head, not wanting to answer, not yet.

Heroic Measures (continued)

All he saw immediately were more shadows and small drifts of garbage and debris. Whatever purpose the alcove served, it did not look as though anyone had swept it out for quite some time. Walter took a hesitant step forward, feeling somewhat reassured when he heard Red’s footstep echo softly behind him.

Swallowing back an acid lump in his throat, Walter took a few more steps into the space. He played the faint beam along the ground. Its pale yellow light revealed nothing more. Walter heard Red’s shuffling steps just behind him and dared to take a few more of his own. Shining the light ahead exposed a dark mass about the size of a medium-sized animal. The faint light provided no details. He could not tell whether it might have been the creature who had issued the howls that he and Red had heard earlier, or simply a bag of discarded garbage.

It’s actually an ideal place for a transient to hide, Walter realized. There’s only one entrance to keep an eye on.

He just hoped that the hypothetical transient had not met its end at the jaws of whatever creatures he had heard.

Walter moved closer, but more slowly now. He sniffed carefully at the air. There was the scent of moist garbage . . . and something else. Recognition of the odor flitted at the edges of his consciousness, but he could not manage to grasp it before it darted away. It was associated with darkness somehow, he sensed.

A place like this? he wondered.

He aimed the light directly at the dark shape on the pavement. Bits of it shone in the faint light. He took it first for bits of plastic still clinging to the remains of a large garbage bag. It looked to have been torn apart, allowing its contents to . . .

Walter spun away. The beam from the flashlight washed crazily over the brick walls that surrounded them. Walter nearly dropped to his knees as he fought back the compulsion to vomit.

“Walt? What’s wrong?”

His ears rang and Red’s voice seemed to come from a far distance. Walter gagged, but managed not to succumb to his body’s instinctive reaction.

“Walt?”

Walter pressed the tiny flashlight into Red’s palm and waved him in the direction of the dark shape. A moment later, his friend’s strangled gasp told him that Red had seen it too.

Heroic Measures (continued)

He caught up with Red quickly. Red was humming a light tune that Walter did not recognize. It sounded vaguely classical, but might have been the refrain from a television theme song for all Walter knew. Whatever it was, it told him that Red seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

Whoever she was, she must have been something special . . .

Walter was about to comment aloud when they both paused. From somewhere ahead came a warbling low-pitched growl.

At least two or three of them, it sounds like.

He looked over at Red. His friend shrugged and they turned and headed in the direction of the sound.

From what they could tell, it came from narrow alcove between two old brick buildings. Walter knew that the gap did not connect to the street on the other side. It ended in a concrete barrier just a few yards inside. Still, it was deep enough that its end was hidden in shadow.

Walter stood and peered into the darkness. He could see nothing clearly, but caught the occasional glimpse of something that might have been a reflection off of bared teeth—very large teeth. He exchanged a look with Red, saw him swallow.

“Sounds like dogs.” Red’s voice was a soft rasp. All of his earlier jauntiness had fled from his expression.

Walter nodded.

“Sounds like they’re fighting over something.”

Red nodded his agreement.

“Should we check it out?” Walter asked.

Red glanced down the short alleyway into the darkness and then turned back to Walter.

“Why? Are you supposed to bring take-out home for dinner?”

Walter’s stomach tightened at the thought. He fought back a wash of bile at the back of his throat.

The depths of alcove suddenly went silent.

Both men now stared into its depth.

“That can’t be good,” Walter whispered.

They waited in anticipation for several moments, not at all certain what to expect. When the sounds did not resume, Walter found that he relaxed only slightly.

“Here,” Red said, tossing Walter a length of rotting wood that he had apparently pulled off of one of the window ledges.

Walter stared down at the ragged piece of wood. It was better than nothing—but not by much. Still, it was something he could use to beat off an attack with other than his bare hands.

“Do you have a flashlight?” Walter asked Red.

Red shook his head. Walter stared into the darkness of the short alleyway, quite certain that he did not want to venture into it with some kind of light source.

“Wait a sec,” he said. “I just remembered . . .”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Attached to them was a tiny flashlight that Abigail had given after watching him fumble for the correct key one too many times in the dark parking lot. He pressed the tiny button to turn it on, and then squinted in the daylight to see whether it was actually working. He turned it toward the alleyway. Its faint beam barely penetrated more than a few inches ahead, but it was enough to provide some indication of what lay within.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Walter did not know how long he sat there. When he looked down at his glass again, about half the ice in it had melted and the water was nearly gone. He could not remember drinking it. Looking at the clock told him nothing, for he could not remember what time he had sat down. He did find, though, that he felt a bit more at peace. However long it had been, he had needed those minutes within himself, something he had been denied until that evening.

He drained the water from the glass, feeling the sharp chill of the remaining ice against his tongue and lips. The faint tingling that followed as they warmed again reminded him that he was alive. As long as there was life, he believed, there was hope.

And with that thought, he rose and headed into the kitchen. He would clean the dishes, gather a book, and then rest beside his beloved. It was possible that they might not have many nights left together, but he would cherish each and every one of them.

As he turned on the water, waiting for it to warm, he released that there was another thing he must do. In some ways, it would be even more difficult than what he had already suffered. There was no doubt in his mind, though, that it had to be done.

Sometimes, he considered, there are simply no other choices.

#

“What about the red-haired girl from last night?”

Red turned to Walter. He puzzled for a moment over the question and then his eyes brightened.

“Oh, her.” He grinned and shrugged.

“What? Didn’t you get her name and phone number?”

Red stared back at Walter with an expression of exaggerated thoughtfulness. After a moment, he shook his head once.

Walter stopped, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“But . . . I thought . . .” he swallowed and tried again. “I thought you two . . . ?”

Red nodded slowly. He smiled with obvious satisfaction at the memory.

“We did.”

“And you didn’t even know her name?”

“Nope.”

Red began walking again. It took Walter a moment to recover before he trotted to catch up with Red.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Walter stared at Red again, but found himself seeing only the back of his friend’s head as he continued walked away.