DIRE : BORN Page 4

  She blinked. “Wow. Okay, that's ominous. You're not some horror movie slasher in disguise, right?” That was confusing. Slasher? What?

  “Pretty sure no,” I answered after some thought.

  “Maybe a villain?” She shook her head, laughed. “No. Villains don't wear fuzzy Christmas sweaters, I'm sure there's union rules about that.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “There's a union for that?”

  Her lip twitched, and she snorted, laughed again. Minna didn't, this time. I rolled my eyes. “Fine, fine. Laugh all you want.” I zipped the backpack up again.

  “Haaa... sorry. Trust me, you're not a villain. I know bad people. They're... There are too many of them around, in these parts.” Her face fell. She reached out and took Minna's hand, and Minna folded her fingers over Joan's, clasping their hands tight. The plump woman rallied. “But no, you're not a bad person. I can tell.”

  “Just like that?” I frowned at her.

  She grinned, showing crooked teeth. “Just like that.”

  I thought back to last night. The feel of the gun in my hands, as I brought the butt of it down onto the thug's cheek. How I'd dropped him in two quick moves, and not particularly cared about it. “Dire hopes you're right, Joan.” I told her. These people had been kind to me, and asked very little in return so far. I didn't want to hurt them.

  “Anyway, just in case they come looking for trouble, we need to get you new clothes. You had a mask on so your face won't ring any bells, but that sweater's distinctive. Fortunately, it also looks warm as hell, so we can reuse it. Want to trade up for something else?”

  “What've you got?” She led me to the central shack. It was a single room inside, crisscrossed by clotheslines, with the clashing colors of multiple garments hanging from them. More were stacked neatly around the room, a few of the larger ones on hangers, piled on hooks along the walls.

  With Joan's help and about twenty minutes of trying on various garments, I settled on a decent long shirt, a threadbare red hoodie sweatshirt, a sports bra, and some undergarments. I kept my jeans, they were in pretty good shape. The sweater went on a rack for cleaning later. After deliberating a bit, I dug into my store of cash and handed her a twenty.

  “Here. She took a few choice items,” I explained.

  She shrugged. “Hey, most of what we get is donations anyway, but okay. We can put that to good use.”

  Minna grunted, and a shadow of a smile passed over her face. I figured I'd passed some sort of test.

  I put the new clothes on, behind a partition made for such things. It didn't feel right to change without doing anything about my accumulated sweat, grime, and body odor. No way around it, I felt grungy.

  “Joan, does that showerhouse have warm water?”

  “Hun, it hasn't had water of any sort for a few months now. We've been cleansing saltwater for baths for a while now, it's a real pain in the ass.”

  I chewed my lip, and thought. I had a perfectly functional toolkit in my pack, and top-notch electrical skills. Did they extend to plumbing as well? “You mind if Dire takes a look at the showerhouse?”

  “You mean, like, to see what's busted? Sure, but Julio said it was beyond repair. He used to be a plumber, so I think he'd know. But if you wanna, it's your time. Me, I need to get breakfast rationing going, so I'll leave you to it.”

  “All right. Thank you again, Joan.”

  “De nada, hun.”

  I left the shack feeling a bit better. The hoodie sheltered me from the cold wind a bit more than the sweater had, even if it was in worse shape than my original garment. And the hood kept the chill from my neck. I teased my hair back into a short ponytail as I went, tied it with a new scrunchie. I wouldn't need it down to shield my neck quite as much, now that the hood was in place.

  The inside of the showerhouse was, quite frankly, gross. Discolored walls, a floor coated with mud, and assorted litter. Piles of needles glittered in the corners, and I felt my chance of getting some sort of annoying or terminal disease rising with every minute in the place. I backed out again. Didn't seem like there were any exposed mechanisms in there to begin with.

  But there was mud. Mud meant water, and it was far enough up the beach that it wasn't seawater, most likely. So there were functional pipes around here somewhere... I walked around the place, until I saw a faded gray metal door, the same color as the weathered cinderblocks that made up the walls. It opened with a groan, and the dark room inside had the gleam of pipes within. Pipes and water, as it spilled from clear gaps overhead. Shattered, rusted remnants were below, in the soggy swamp of the floor.

  Movement from down the beach, and I glanced over. An older man, Hispanic. He had a gray beard, a bandanna, and a bomber jacket, with what looked like newspaper poking out of the neck and wrists. “Hey, senorita.”

  “Hello,” I said, looking him over. He was missing teeth, and had serious lines on his face.

  He looked back at me, his face guarded. “Me llamo Julio.”

  I frowned at him, tried to figure out what he'd just said. “Julio. The one Joan said was the plumber?”

  “Yes.” He smacked his lips, pointed with a jittery hand. “Ain't no good. Need new pipes.”

  “And you have none to hand?”

  He shook his head. “No good. Need new pipes. They freeze, they break. Poooosh.” He made explosion motions with his hands.

  I rubbed my chin. Reached into my knapsack, pulled out the toolbox, popped it open. He came in for a look, and whistled, reached out to grab a few of the tools. I pushed back my instinct to snatch them away. Joan had trusted this man, I'd do the same.

  “Hold this, please.” I put the box in his hands, plucked a measuring tape from it, and left him to peruse the contents as I moved into the dark room. I tried to ignore the cold, cold water seeping around my feet and into my shoes, as I took measurements of the pipes. Most were about five inches around, with a few smaller ones here and there. Some of the water was warm, and that was encouraging.

  When I came back outside, Julio had the tools spread out on a little rubber mat that had come with the box, and was looking them over one by one.

  “Serious good. Es bueno, eh?” He pointed at several of them and said several things, most of which went over my head. I nodded back, and started collecting the tools. He helped me replace them and pack them away, and gave them one last longing look as I put the toolbox back into the pack.

  “Think we can use those to fix the pipes?” I asked. I had a notion of how to do it, but he was a plumber. No sense in turning away an expert.

  He shrugged. “Si, but... no pipes. Need new ones, eh?”

  I nodded. “Dire knows where to find some.”

  He looked dubious, and I pointed. He followed my finger's arc, over into the city, to the rubble-filled area where my “Cradle” had been. Then his eyes widened, and I watched comprehension fill them.

  We set out into the city. The streets were quiet today, with no traffic to speak of. Lines of silent cars choked the highway overhead. A few empty cars were scattered around the streets during our approach, abandoned in the darkness of last night, it seemed. And in the light of the morning, I could see the street signs. We went over Melville, and down Madison to Vinyard, followed it past the crumbling brownstones to Jefferson Street. No people were on the street, besides us. In the sky, a few small civilian airships floated. There were a couple of police blimps to the south, among the higher buildings of some truly impressive skyscrapers. The only building around that showed signs of life was an old church down a short side-street. It had flickering light against the stained glass, probably candles or fires of some sort. Shadows moved against the windows, so I assumed that something was going on. As long as it didn't interfere with our mission, that suited me just fine.

  The rubbled building at the corner of Jefferson and Reno was cordoned off with police tape, but no one was around to prevent us from heading into the wreckage and scrounging. Julio and I eventually turned up pipes of the proper siz
es, and my toolkit's hacksaw proved equal to the task. Though our respective linguistics were a challenge, we managed. At one point I excused myself to find a restroom, and left him working on a stubborn section.

  Once out of sight I masked up, contacted my drone, and had it roll to me. It hopped through a storm drain with a minor surge of an onboard gravitic repulsor, and I breathed a sigh of relief to see it undamaged. Stowing both mask and drone away, I returned just in time to help Julio haul the pipes back to the showerhouse.

  Before we left the place, I salvaged a few fun looking bits of electronics. Raw materials would come in handy at some point.

  As we walked I noticed that Julio was moving a lot slower, and his face was wet with sweat. Though he looked like a big man, closer observation showed that his arms shifted within the jacket as he moved, the bits of newspaper protruding from his sleeves indicating that there were many more scraps within. He probably used them as layers to conserve heat, and what I'd mistaken for body mass was actually stuffing. Well, he'd been a sport for keeping up with me, so I slowed my pace to compensate.

  It turned out to be a good move, for reasons I couldn't have foreseen. As we headed back down Madison Street, I noticed a new addition on the beach. A van-sized black airship, emblazoned with golden letters proclaiming 'MRB'. The envelope of the airship was sleek and flush with the cabin, and it hovered a scant few feet off the ground... signs that I identified as belonging to a combat-capable craft. Probably armored and using Levitonium, rather than the less-expensive hydrogen option. I would have moved in for a closer look, but Julio caught my shoulder. “Federales,” he whispered.

  I gnawed the inside of my cheek, considered the airship. “Think they'd give us grief about the pipes?”

  “Maybe. Is hard to say.”

  I moved over to a nearby dumpster and popped it open, putting my armload of copper inside. “Drop them here, and we'll go see what's going on.”

  He didn't look too happy about that last part, but he complied.

  After we descended the steps down, I saw what had to be the bulk of the camp in a loose group around the biggest clearing between the tents. About forty people clad in varying amounts of crappy clothes were listening to a man in a suit. I recognized Roy, Sparky, and Joan in the crowd, along with a few other people I'd seen last night. The speaker was built like an athlete, big without being bulky, with short-cropped red hair. A pair of sunglasses covered his eyes, and he glanced our way as we approached, before looking back to the crowd in front of him. Off to his side and behind him, a blonde-haired woman with a long ponytail had her hands shoved in the pockets of a similar suit. A cigarette burned in her mouth, and her sunglasses were pushed up, as her eyes roved back and forth across the beach. She scrutinized us as we came in, the ember of her cigarette flaring as she took a long puff.

  The built redhead resumed speaking. “So we'll try to shift you what I can, but this problem isn't going away anytime soon. GC&E's working the power outage, but they're saying it'll be days at a minimum to get the southern quadrant working.”

  “It's getting colder these last few nights,” Roy's voice rose above the murmur of the crowd. “Without power for the space heaters, we're gonna have casualties. The fires are only gonna go so far.”

  “I hear you, but if you want working space heaters you'll need a generator. The city's store of those is being distributed to crucial areas right now. You may need to take shelter in someplace more suited to the weather.”

  “Where?” Roy said. “Anyplace like that is gonna be full up. If we don't have any heat, the brownstones sure won't. And if we move from this spot anyways, the Bloods will tear down everything we built here for shits and giggles.”

  The man raised his hands, placating. “I don't have answers for you. Look, if you're staying here, we can at least shift you some supplies. Get you some food, to make up for the interruption to your donation drops. More blankets, some chemical water purification kits. Stuff like that.”

  That met with some mutters of approval from the crowd. Roy gave him a grudging nod. I used the opportunity to start moving towards the women's tent. Whatever 'Federales' were, it looked like they had power and authority... a bad combination for a woman who might or might not actually be a villain.

  As I did, footsteps crunched on the sand behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the blonde woman approaching. Her sunglasses were down, now. She was as slim as I, and was wearing a faint smile on her face, but her approach suggested a predator smelling weakness. I turned and put my own hands in the belly pockets of my hoodie, and raised an eyebrow. “Something you wanted?” I inquired.

  “Don't think I've seen you around here before. You new?”

  I nodded, staring at her sunglasses, trying to make eye contact. No luck, the lenses were too dark.

  Her smile grew. “Got a name?”

  “Dire.”

  “That your first or your last?”

  I shrugged. “Do you have a name?”

  “Agent Kingsley. My partner's agent Coleman.”

  “Pleased to meet you. If that's all, you'll have to excuse...” I reached toward the tent, and she put her hand on the doorway flap. I stopped, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Is there a reason for this rudeness?”

  “When did you show up here?”

  “Last night.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “A bad situation. Listen, is there a point to this?”

  “Know anything about that building that got knocked down?”

  “Why are you asking...” I tapped my chest.

  She tilted her head, puffed out a bit of smoke past her cigarette. I wrinkled my nose as the odor hit it. “You missed our arrival. We asked the group here if anyone had seen anything before we got on the current topic.”

  “D—” I closed my mouth. “Was out with Julio, that's all. Taking a walk.”

  Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose a bit. “That so? Lucky guy.”

  “Ah, well, there's luck and there's luck...” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Especially since I'm pretty sure Julio is into guys,” Kingsley said.

  I blinked, and let my puzzlement show on my face. She frowned. I had the impression she was looking for a different reaction, there.

  “Everything okay, hon?” Joan asked.

  I glanced over, as the round woman approached. “Yes. Thank you Joan. Miss Kingsley here was just filling in the things...” Crap. I couldn't continue the conversation easily without pronouns, or a name. And I could only call myself one name. I rallied as best I could. “The things that you heard earlier.”

  Joan nodded. Her face was cold as she turned to face Agent Kingsley. “I'm sure you aren't stopping one of my girls from heading into a designated women's shelter.”

  Kingsley pulled her arm from the tarp, smiled her thin smile around her cigarette. “Just making sure she heard the news, before she went in.”

  “Well she did. And we'll fill her in on everything, so unless someone's being detained...”

  The agent bent her elbows, raised her hands and spread them in an exaggerated gesture indicating innocence.

  I shook my head, and went into the tent. Joan followed, after shooting Kingsley one last glare. Once we were both in, and I heard the agent's footsteps crunching away on the sand, Joan leaned in and squinted at me.

  “What did you do?” She whispered.

  I repeated the agent's spread-armed gesture, and lowered my voice. “Nothing. Went out and salvaged some pipes from the fallen building. Julio helped.”

  “Not that, I meant to attract her attention. Usually Kingsley doesn't say jack to anyone, just follows Coleman around and watches Sparky like a hawk.”

  I shook my head. “Can't say why Dire attracted her attention. What are they agents of, anyway?”

  “MRB. It stands for Metahuman Resource Bureau. They're like the FBI for superpowered people. Costumes, y'know? The police call them in when villains kick up a fuss and there's no h
eroes around. They also check up on heroes and stuff, to make sure they're okay and not turning villain or anything like that.”

  Then why was she so interested in me? I shook my head. No, I'd done nothing wrong. If anything, I was a victim, here.

  Then why don't you go outside and tell them about last night? A voice whispered in the back of my head.

  After a moment, I dismissed the question. The legality of the technological items I'd received was probably dubious at best. They'd be confiscated from me at the very least. And for that matter I'd be putting myself into their hands, without knowing anything real about their modus operandi or sense of compassion. Also, that would be admitting weakness to possible enemies. Roy had advised me against that, last night, and it was good advice. Besides, the thought of Kingsley's vaguely smug smile being twisted into pity, or some attempt at sympathy... no, it didn't appeal.

  “Hey. Dire. You still there?” Joan looked concerned.

  “Hm? Ah, yes. So are they here to check up on Sparky, then?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much. He was pretty powerful back in the day. Made a big name for himself in the civil rights stuff back in the sixties, defending protestors from villains... or sometimes even some of the heroes of the day. It was different times, y'know?”

  I nodded, knowing nothing of the sort. “Well. It sounds like they're offering some help, anyway. So that's good.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. They wouldn't bother if Sparky weren't here, but the fact that they're bothering at all... we can't afford to be choosers, y'know? Not with a freeze coming in. December was light, but this is gonna be a New England winter when it gets going.”

  “Well, on the plus side, Dire's pretty sure she can fix the showerhouse.”

  “Really? Actual hot water again? Or just water, period? Either's good.”

  “Should be both, but that's up to Julio, Dire supposes. Got some idea how to go about it, but he's the real expert.”

  She grinned, and patted me on the shoulder. “Knew you'd repay kindness with kindness. Anything I can do to help?”