“I’m in,” he said over the line. “Where are you?”
“Near where he attacked,” I said, steeling myself against the sight of the corpses. “He’s not here anymore.”
“Come my way,” Prof said. “We’ll move in together. It would be too easy to take us if we’re separated.”
“Right.” I moved back to the outer wall and edged along toward where Prof’s bridge would intersect the building. I tried to move quietly, but growing up in a city made of steel doesn’t exactly prepare you for things like leaves and twigs. Nature kept crunching or squishing unexpectedly under my feet.
A crack sounded just behind me. I spun on it, heart thumping, and caught sight of fronds rustling. Something had been back there. Obliteration?
He’d have killed you immediately, I thought. So what had it been? A bird? No, too large. Maybe one of the Babilarans who lived in this jungle?
What a creepy place. I resumed my progress, trying to look in every direction at once, moving steadily right up until the moment I heard Prof curse over the line.
Gunfire followed.
I ran then. It was probably a stupid move—I should have found cover. Prof knew my direction, and would avoid firing that way, but all kinds of crazy ricochets could happen in an enclosed space like this.
I charged anyway, bursting out into another clearing to find Prof kneeling beside the wall, bleeding from one shoulder. Dust rained down—the ceiling bulged with vines breaking through the plaster—where a stray bullet had hit. Nearby, shards of light evaporated on the ground, vanishing. Obliteration had teleported away just before I arrived.
I put my back to Prof, looking out into the dark jungle. “He has a gun?” I asked.
“No,” Prof said. “A sword. The slontze is carrying around a bloody sword.”
I covered us while Prof tied on a bandage. He could use his Epic powers to heal himself, but every use of his powers would push him toward darkness. In the past he had offset that by using only a smidge of power to heal from wounds, accelerating the process but not bringing him too much darkness. He could handle a little bit at a time.
“Guys,” Val’s voice cut in, “I’m setting up infrared surveillance of the building. I should have intel for you soon.”
“You all right, Jon?” Tia asked.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Fighting in this place is crazy. We’re likely to shoot one another in here. Mizzy, how’s that bomb?”
“Ready, sir.”
Prof stood and steadied his rifle against his good shoulder, the one Obliteration hadn’t stabbed with his sword. Prof didn’t often carry a gun. In fact, he didn’t often go on point. I now knew that being in the field risked forcing him to use his powers to save himself.
“David,” he said to me, “go fetch the bomb.”
“I don’t want to leave you in he—”
“Regalia says that you actually killed Steelheart.”
We both froze. The voice had come from the darkness of the forest. A wind blew through one of the windows, rustling leaves.
“That is well,” the voice continued. “Someday, I presume, I would have needed to fight him myself. You have removed that obstacle from my path. For that, I bless you.”
Prof gestured curtly to the side with two fingers. I nodded, moving that direction. We needed to be close enough to cover one another, but far enough apart that Obliteration couldn’t pop in near the two of us and potentially fry us both with one burst. I didn’t know how long Prof’s shields would hold up against Obliteration’s heat, and I wasn’t exactly eager to find out firsthand.
“I have told Regalia,” Obliteration continued, “that I will kill her someday too. She doesn’t seem to mind.”
Where was that voice coming from? I thought I saw a shadow move near a tree that bulged with glowing fruit.
“Guys,” Val said into our ears, “he’s there, right in front of David. I can pick out his heat signature.”
Obliteration stepped out of the shadows. He touched a tree and it frosted over, the leaves shriveling. The entire thing died in an eyeblink as Obliteration absorbed its heat.
This time, I didn’t shoot him. I took a chance and shot at the ceiling.
Dust rained down.
Prof fired also. He shot at the ground near Obliteration’s feet.
The Epic looked at us, dumbfounded, then thrust out his hand, palm first.
A shot through the window whizzed over my shoulder and took Obliteration in the forehead—or the glowing outline of his forehead, as he vanished. I glanced back through the window. Mizzy waved distantly from her position on a nearby rooftop, holding her sniper rifle.
“What was that about?” Prof demanded. “Missing like that.”
“Dust from the ceiling,” I said. “It fell all over him, covering his shoulders. Tia, if you run my video feed, you might be able to tell if the dust ported with him when he vanished. That will answer your bomb question, Prof—whether he teleports with objects automatically, or if he has to choose.”
He grunted. “Clever.”
“And your shots at his feet?” I asked.
“Wanted to see if his danger sense triggered when he thought he was in danger, or if it triggered when he was actually in danger. He didn’t port when I wasn’t trying to hit him.”
I grinned across the room at Prof.
“Yes,” he said, “we’re very similar. Go get Mizzy’s bomb, you slontze.”
“Yes sir.” I scanned the room one more time, then ducked out the window, with Prof covering me. We’d moved away from the bridges, however, which put me on a wide ledge suspended ten or so feet above the water.
I looked down at those dark waters, stomach lurching, then forced myself to edge along until I got to a bridge. The nearby rooftops had become a ghost town. The people had all fled, leaving only smoldering tents and glowing paint.
I reached the bridge and crossed quickly, taking cover beside Mizzy. She handed me a glove, which I put on. That was followed by an innocent-looking package, square, roughly the size of a fist.
“Don’t drop it,” Mizzy said.
“Right.” Dropping explosives: bad.
“Not for the reason you think,” Mizzy said. “It’s coated with adhesive. The glove is no-stick, but anything else that touches the bomb will stick to it—including our bad guy.”