Myrikal Page 9

  As his trigger finger flinched, Myri moved to block the bullet and, without any forethought, shot electricity from her fingers straight into the barrel of the gun. Slow-motion to her eyes, the bullet and the spark met at the tip of the gun’s barrel. A small explosion ripped the barrel to shredded metal, and shrapnel flew through the air. Russ swore and dropped the disfigured weapon. He cradled his bleeding gun hand against his chest.

  “Come on, Branch. I’ll walk you safely out,” Myri said without taking her eyes off her father.

  “If you leave, don’t plan on coming back!” Russ yelled.

  “I’ll be back.” She sighed. “You need that hand taken care of.” Besides, where else would I go?

  Russ stared at his daughter, but didn’t reply.

  Branch grabbed the flashlight and grunted as he struggled to stand. Myri reached to help him, but he jerked his arm away from her. She kept her gaze on her dad as she backed out the door behind the limping Branch.

  She caught up to him and tried again to take his arm to help him walk, afraid he would pass out.

  Branch pulled away from her. “Don’t help me. You’ve done enough. Two more points for Myri,” he said mockingly.

  “Branch… I…” She raised a hand to touch his arm, then let it drop to her side. “I’m sorry.”

  The dim beam of the flashlight lit on a rat as it scuttled across the cracked concrete of the subterranean tunnel. Branch stopped and whipped around to meet her gaze, his bloody, tear-stained face a mask of hurt and anger. “I thought you were a superhero. Well, you’re not. Superheroes save everyone, not just one stupid, chubby kid.” He spun around and walked faster toward the stairs.

  “I never said I was a superhero! I’m just a girl.”

  “Yeah. A girl who’s training to be a cold-blooded killer like her father.” The early morning daylight lit the stairs as he climbed out into the city.

  “Wait, Branch.” Myri stepped alongside him. “Where are you going to go?”

  Handing her the flashlight, he said, “Does it even matter? Don’t worry about it. Just go back to your murdering father. Make sure his hand is okay so he can murder more people. I’ll survive. Or I won’t. It doesn’t matter.”

  The world closed in around her as her only friend walked away. The dim sunlight burned her eyes, but she didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t go after him.

  Central Park had been transformed. Or was being transformed. Myri sat atop the remains of a tall building, her legs dangling over the crumbling edge. The wall was still going up. That had been started only a few weeks ago, but the progress was amazing. She listened to the distant sounds of labor—pounding, sawing, men and women yelling over the din. The new clan was serious about their take-over of the park.

  Myri sighed and shoved off the edge of the building, landing on the street fifteen stories down. She walked past the charred remains of Branch’s old compound. The same gut-churning emptiness that had pierced her soul every time she thought of her former friend struck again. It had been almost two years. Her father hadn’t let her out of his sight for the first six-months after he’d killed Branch’s entire clan. The entire clan except Branch, the only one she’d been able to save.

  Two things had stopped her from sneaking off to find him: fear that her dad would then be able to find him and finish the job she’d interrupted, and fear of Branch’s rejection if she did find him. She didn’t blame him for hating her, but hoped—against everything she knew in her heart to be true of this horrible world—that he would forgive her. So she’d spent the next six months looking for him covertly in the places she and her father had gone, hoping to just catch a glimpse of him. To know he was alive. But nothing. No sightings.

  Russ eased up on her a little after that and she’d been able to search in earnest. She’d gone repeatedly to all the places they used to hang out and everywhere else she could think of that he might possibly go. Not a trace in two years.

  She kicked a stone and watched it sail through a wall a block away. Not a trace. She hadn’t been searching the last six months or so. At least, not intently searching. She always looked for him wherever she went. Always hoping to catch a glimpse of her friend if only to know that he’d survived.

  Fifteen now, she’d grown out of the clothes Branch had given her. Had grown out of the ugly red unitards her dad insisted she wear. She looked down at the jeans and T-shirt she’d pilfered for herself. She’d discovered a lot of hidden treasures in the crumbled buildings no normal human dared or could enter.

  Because their “home” in the subway cars had been “compromised” when she brought the injured Branch there, her dad insisted on moving. They still lived underground, just in a distant part of the city. She headed back that direction. Russ would be waiting for her.

  “Where’ve you been?” Russ asked in a carefully controlled tone.

  His outward attitude had changed toward her since the Branch incident. She knew he still detested her, but he was wary now that she was getting older, now that she’d defied him once. He rarely spoke to her in the disrespectful way he always had before.

  “Just out for a run.” She dropped her goggles on the table. “They’re almost finished with the wall around the park.”

  Russ shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. Clans disgust me. What gives them the right to take over Central Park?” He smiled grimly. “Maybe we’ll let them get all the hard work done, then you and I will take it from them.”

  “Like you took Branch’s clan away from him?” Seeing the ruins of the compound again put her in a sour mood.

  A flash of something—anger? fear? disgust?—sparked in his eyes. “Did you find him?”

  “Do you think I’d tell you if I did?” Her dad usually steered clear of the subject of Branch.

  Russ shrugged. “He’s probably long dead, anyway.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” Myrikal folded her arms and turned away from her father.

  “Look,” Russ said, “I don’t want to fight with you. Let’s go get some practice time in. I need your help with a job tonight.”

  She whipped her head around and stared at him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I just need you to be a lookout for me, alert me if someone’s coming. You’ll be away from the action.”

  He’d always told her she’d be ready to do jobs on her own when she was a around fifteen. She expected him to make the suggestion anytime, now that she was there. She took a deep breath to calm her rattled nerves. What did it matter? Helping him assassinate people was just as bad as doing it herself. He’d pounded it into her head her whole life that people were bad and not worth the guilt she felt. And… he was right. She’d seen nothing to prove him wrong in the last couple of years. This world sucked. Humans didn’t care about each other. It was a do-whatever-you-needed-to-do-to-survive world. And Myrikal was a survivor if nothing else. “Whatever. Let’s go, then.”

  She grabbed her goggles and pulled them over her head, letting them rest against her chest. The dim light of the flashlight her father needed to see with no longer bothered her sensitive eyes.

  They trekked to the remains of Madison Square Garden, where her dad had told her a huge building had once stood where crowds of people went to watch sports games or concerts. It had been leveled in the ‘quakes. Myrikal and Russ, mostly Myrikal, had cleared out an area hidden in the piles of rubble where they’d been going to practice.

  “Okay.” Russ stood atop a hill of bricks. “Let’s practice with moving targets today.” He flung a plastic disc into the air.

  What used to take her several minutes—and an unhealthy build-up of anger, frustration, or fear—now occurred the instant she focused. Heat arose in her chest as the tingling sparks erupted from her fingertips. She flung her hands out and blasted the disc to smithereens only a couple of feet from where it had flown from Russ’s right hand.

  He stumbled backward, almost falling off the pile. “You’re, uh… getting faster. Try not to take my hand off, plea
se.” He examined his scarred hand—scarred from his gun blowing up when he’d tried to shoot Branch.

  “Sorry.” She held onto the power, awaiting the next target. It came in the form of a dagger, thrown straight toward her face by her dad, using his left hand. Myrikal zapped it and it landed in a smoking heap of melted metal at Russ’s feet.

  “Okay, then.” Russ looked down. “Remind me not to use my good weapons for practice anymore. But, then again, why worry about wasting them when I have a deadly, reusable, unbreakable weapon for a daughter?”

  A weapon. Is that what she was?

  For a short time, she’d believed she might be something more. She thought back to when Branch had shown her his comic books. He’d been convinced she was a superhero. Until she proved him wrong. “This really isn’t challenging anymore. What else ya’ got?”

  “Nothing.” He picked his way carefully down the pile of bricks. “Maybe we should rustle up a couple of river monsters for you to spar with.”

  She knew he was only half joking. “Been there, done that.”

  He stopped a few feet in front of her and studied her with his head tilted. “Well, I guess maybe it’s time for the training to end.”

  A small sound of protest escaped her throat. What came after training? Playing in the real game. She didn’t want to play in the real game. Did she? She forced the fearful, pathetic thoughts from her mind. It was just a job. Just a way to survive. They were the wolves. She was the wolf. She straightened her shoulders and stuck her chin in the air. “What now, then?”

  A feral grin spread across his face. “Now, we wait for Roman to come through with another job.”

  A light rain drizzled from the low-lying clouds. Myri pulled her goggles off and let them hang around her neck. She still couldn’t handle medium to bright light, but she’d slowly built up a tolerance to low light. She’d take her chances with the rare lightning strike. She could sense when it was building up in the clouds above, a powerful rush spread through her body just milliseconds before a bolt would strike. Just enough time for her to close her eyes. There had been no lightning with this meager storm, though.

  She’d needed some fresh air. She and Russ would be going to the “diner” to meet with Roman later that evening. He’d come through with another job. This one would be hers.

  She watched people as she walked the streets. Would one of these people be the one whose life she’d snuff out like the flame of a candle in less than twenty-four hours?

  Most of the people didn’t even look up as they passed. No one waved or smiled or even acknowledged her. As she observed those around her, she only saw negative interactions. One person accidentally bumping another and the bumped person reacting with a cuss word or obscene gesture. Cat-calls—of which she received many herself. Name calling and harassing of those less fortunate or different or crazy. Bullying. Nothing good happened in these streets. She concentrated on that instead of the queasiness in her stomach whenever she thought about taking a life. Just think of them as monsters, like the one you killed to save Branch.

  Myrikal looked up, surprised to see she’d reached the edge of the large area of Central Park that was now walled-in. Why did one clan need so much room to themselves? She approached a small group of people working to reinforce the outer wall, intending to get some answers to her questions.

  “Hey,” she said.

  They turned toward her. Her eyes zoomed in on one man in particular, crouched down, adding cement to the bricks at the bottom of the wall. Their eyes met and, after a slight hesitation, he jumped to his feet and stepped toward her. “Myri,” he breathed.

  She squinted her eyes, trying to reconcile this familiar but older face with the chubby boy she’d known as her only friend. “Branch?” She scanned his tall, muscular body before returning her gaze to his face.

  He dropped the tool he’d been using and closed the distance between them. He embraced her, lifting her off her feet. “Myrikal! I… I can’t believe it’s you!” He set her down and held her at arms’ length. “You’ve… uh… grown up a little.” His eyes moved to take in her body. “Can’t call you scrawny anymore.”

  “And, I can’t call you chubby anymore.” Myri started to smile but cut it short. “Where have you been? I looked all over for you.”

  He glanced at his companions then back at her. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Okay…” A dozen different thoughts bounced around in Myri’s head. Didn’t he hate her? If he hated her, why did he hug her? Where had he been? Was he part of this new clan now? He’d grown up. How old was he now? Sixteen? He was cute. He’d hugged her. It felt good.

  Myri shook her head to clear the jumbled thoughts.

  “Are you okay?” Branch stared sideways at her.

  “Uhh…” She hadn’t been aware he’d been watching her as they walked away from the wall. She turned to face him full on, walking backwards. “Don’t you hate me?” The words fell from her mouth like vomit.

  A single drop of rain drizzled down the side of his face. He stopped and reached for her, his warm, calloused hand closed over hers. “No. Myri. I never hated you. I could never hate you.” He paused and looked down at their clasped hands. “I forgave you almost the instant I turned to walk away from you that night.”

  “But… why?” Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes. “You were right to hate me.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Myrikal.” He squeezed her hand. “I was angry and devastated and I took it out on you. You were… we were just kids. You didn’t kill my clan.”

  “But my dad did. And I’m just like him.” One tear pushed through and slid down her cheek.

  “No…” Branch stepped toward her. “Myri, you haven’t killed anyone, have you? Please tell me he hasn’t made you start…”

  “Not yet,” she interrupted, “but I will.” Soon, she thought. Tonight.

  “Myri, look at me.” He waited for her to comply before continuing. “You don’t have to be what he wants you to be. You have other choices.”

  “What other choices? I’m not a superhero, Branch! You told me that yourself. I can’t save people so I might as well do what I’ve been training for my entire life. People are all horrible anyway.”

  Branch frowned and spoke quietly. “Am I horrible, Myri?”

  Her face twisted up. Confused thoughts invaded her mind. She’d spent the last two years hating herself and learning to hate everyone else in the world, too. Branch had left her and she deserved it. “No… no. Not you.” She gripped his hand tighter and leaned in to whisper, “But I am.” She pulled her hand away from his, spun around and pushed off into a fast run.

  “Myri! Wait! Don’t go! Myrikal!”

  Russ almost had a smile on his face. “I got you something.” He handed her a bag. “Tonight is the start of a great partnership. We’ll work as a team just like your mother and I used to.”

  She stiffened. She held the bag limp in her hand, her lips slightly parted in surprise. He never talked about her mother.

  “Open it, Myrikal. Consider it a late birthday present for your fifteenth birthday.”

  Frowning, she reached into the bag. A familiar cloth slid through her fingers. Lycra. He’d gotten her another unitard. She pulled it out and dropped the bag to the floor of the subway car. At least this one wasn’t red. Not that it was much better. The long sleeved, full-length, body-hugging leotard was black with bright yellow bolts of lightning covering it front and back. She held it up to her five foot seven frame. “Umm… thanks? But I have clothes now.”

  “I know, and those are fine for everyday use. But I want you to stand out when we’re doing jobs. I want people to see you coming and shake with fear. I want them to know they’re about to be killed by Brannen and Brannen Assassination Associates, LLC. I want the witnesses to spread the word. It’ll be your signature.”

  Whatever. She didn’t really care. She’d be able to move around better in it, anyway. The flexible material was less restrictive. “Fine. T
hanks. I’ll go change.”

  “Wait, I have one more thing.” He turned and grabbed something behind him and held it out to her.

  She took the black wrestling-style boots from him and raised an eyebrow. She’d worn shoes off and on in her life, but she didn’t need them, nothing could penetrate or injure her bare feet. “More of my signature?”

  He nodded, a crooked grin causing the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes to deepen.

  Myri stretched then jumped up and down, flexing her toes. The boots had thin, flexible soles that shifted well with her movements. Lacing them up was a pain, though. They came almost to her knees.

  She stepped back into the shared subway car where her dad stood waiting. He nodded. “You ready? Did you decide how you’re going to do it?”

  She shrugged. “Electricity, probably.” She’d been trying not to think about it. About anything. Images of Branch kept breaking through the carefully constructed barricade she’d been building in her mind her entire life, especially in the last couple of years.

  She silently repeated her dad’s mantra.

  People are bad.

  It’s just a job.

  Be the wolf.

  Predator not prey.

  “Let’s go,” she said, the silver streak in her hair glinting with the light from Russ’s flashlight as she turned toward the door.

  The End of Times bar teemed with occupants. Russ scowled as they stepped through the door. “What the hell? There are never more than a couple of people here.” He pushed his way around a couple that stopped to stare at Myrikal.

  Myrikal followed her father to the back, near the kitchen where he “persuaded” a man to move to a table across the room by showing him the loaded gun at his hip.

  Russ said, “Sit at this booth behind me until you see Roman come in, then move over here with me.”