THERE WERE ADVANTAGES to having the mayor and the NYPD on your side. All subways to or from Grand Central had been stopped anyway, but the mechanics of finding the right entry point to the vast subway tunnels was handled for Dekka.
Dekka, Armo, and Simone arrived discreetly at the Fifty-First Street and Lexington subway station by three different cabs, just in case Markovic had eyes on the streets. A single plainclothes transit policewoman waited for them and tried to shoo them straight to the stairs down, but Armo had different priorities. He had spotted a hot-dog stand, still open and operating despite an almost total lack of pedestrian traffic.
“Seriously?” Dekka asked.
Armo shrugged. “I need energy if I’m going to get my berserk on.” To the vendor he said, “Give me two. No, three. With everything.”
Dekka was impatient, but she knew not to push Armo. So as the transit cop led them down the gloomy stairwell, Armo ate the three dogs in a total of six bites.
“Good?” Dekka asked.
“Enh. I prefer them grilled.”
They marched down the grimy stairs, stepping carefully to avoid being overbalanced by the heavy flamethrower tanks Armo and Dekka carried. They came to an electronic turnstile.
“Our first crime of the day,” Armo said, winking at the policewoman. He tried to hop over very nonchalantly but that was something not even he could manage with fifty pounds of steel and napalm on his back. He and Dekka both made it, eventually, but it was an extremely clumsy start to the proceedings. Simone, less burdened, easily hopped over. The policewoman sensibly swiped her MetroCard and walked in normally, adding to the comedy of the moment.
“It’s kind of like D-Day but with less dignity,” Dekka said as she tried to pull her wedged-in leg free of the turnstile with an assist from Armo.
The subway platform was old, with tile more yellow than white, and a blue tile sign reading 51st Street. And it was eerily empty. A homeless man slept curled up against one wall. A pigeon fluttered past, came to rest on a trash bin, and cocked a curious eye at them.
“So, here’s where it gets hairy,” the cop said. She pointed. “We have to walk the track that way for about ten blocks.”
“The third rail is off, right?” Simone asked.
“It is. They’ve killed all but emergency lighting, and the downside is that the tunnel will be even darker than usual. Just the same, maybe don’t lick the third rail.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Dekka said. “But we’ll go ahead on our own. We aren’t exactly professionals at this, and we may end up getting you hurt for no good reason.”
She demurred, but in the end the cop decided not to argue. Especially when Dekka, Armo, and Simone all began to morph. She did, however, supply them with two excellent flashlights. Simone took one and levitated away, scouting the tunnel ahead.
“You think she’s solid?” Armo asked Dekka, nodding his big shaggy head in Simone’s direction.
Dekka shook her head, and her now-living dreads seemed to decide on their own to stare at Armo. “I don’t know. If it comes down to killing her father? I don’t know. Could you do it? I mean, not necessarily yourself, because she’s been clear on that. But could you stand by and watch someone else doing it?”
“Well, my dad’s a stuntman, not a supervillain, so it’s hard to say.”
They hopped down easily from the platform to the greasy, gravel-paved track. In their morphs they were much stronger, and the flamethrowers were much easier to manage.
“It’s really hard to stand on a train track and not think you’re about to get run down,” Dekka said, nervously looking in both directions. At that moment Simone came back, flying level, like Superman, her flashlight looking disturbingly like the headlight of an approaching train.
“It’s clear for the next six blocks. I didn’t want to go any closer in case my fa—” She stopped herself. “In case Vector has spies down in the tunnels.”
“Good thinking.” Had she switched from the familiar “father” to Vector as a signal to Dekka and Armo? If so, was she sincere? Or was she mentally distancing herself from her father, using the name Vector to draw a line?
You think she’s solid?
“There’s a little colony of mole people,” Simone reported. “Like half a dozen around where Forty-Sixth Street would be.”
“Mole people? Mutants?” Dekka asked, alarmed.
Simone laughed. “No, it’s a not-very-nice nickname for homeless people who live in the tunnels.”
“People are living down here? In a city as rich as this?” Dekka shook her head.
“A rich city with very expensive rents,” Simone said. She remained in morph but now walked between them, her wings still and silent.
Not for the first time, a part of Dekka’s mind marveled at just how weird her life was.
I’m walking down a subway tunnel with a bear creature and a flying blue girl on my way to kill a bug man.
Sure. Because that’s my life.
They had to stay in morph from here on in—despite the infuriating, distracting, will-sapping presence of the Watchers—in case Malik had to emit one of his blasts of pain.
“Expensive rents and a lot of rich assholes who don’t care,” Dekka said, then realized this might seem like a diss when addressing a girl whose father, while a vicious villain, was also very rich.
But Simone readily agreed. “Yes, rich assholes who don’t care. Like my father. Like Vector.” She nodded emphatically to herself on the word “Vector.” Like she was reminding herself not to forget it.
The tunnel was oppressive in the extreme, with long gaps between inadequate lights. It stank of waste oil and urine. The walls were black with layers of grime. A rat ran past and Armo yelped.
“Really, dude?” Dekka teased. “You’re like nine feet tall and weigh the same as a Prius.”
“I do not like rats,” Armo muttered. “Especially huge rats.”
“You thought that was a huge rat?” Simone mocked. “I’ve seen rats that rat could saddle up and ride. I heard there was a mounted cop who rode a rat for a week before he realized it wasn’t a horse.”
“So not interested in talking about rats,” Armo said, while Dekka and Simone shared a shaky laugh.
“The homeless camp is just ahead. See where the wall opens up?”
“I doubt they’ll be happy to see a giant bear and a giant kitty and the world’s biggest and bluest bumblebee,” Dekka said. She raised her voice. “Hey, up there in the tunnel. Don’t be afraid, we’re coming your way, and we’re . . .” She stopped, baffled as to how exactly to explain just what they were.
Simone said, “You guys know about the Rockborn Gang?”
No answer from the darkness ahead. Then a child’s voice said, “Uh-huh.”
“Well, we are Berserker Bear, Lesbokitty, and, um, Bluebee.”
“Lesbokitty,” Dekka muttered. “You too?”
Simone said, “You don’t like the name? I hadn’t even heard it till Cruz mentioned it. Then I assumed you were representing. I could try Lesbee but I don’t think it quite works.”
Dekka took two more steps then stopped. “You’re gay?”
“Yep.”
“Huh.” Dekka was pretty sure she should say something else, but what? Lesbians rule? Yay, us? Sisterhood is powerful? #Resist?
The first of the homeless people leaned into view, a girl of maybe twelve, standing on an inset of the concrete shelf, blinking in the beam of Dekka’s flashlight.
“Are you really Lesbokitty?” the girl asked.
Dekka repressed a sigh and said, “That’s me. Lesbokitty. Who else would I be? You see a lot of chicks covered in cat fur and snake-dreads down here?”
The girl made a face that eloquently conveyed the fact that she’d seen quite a few strange things down here.
They came to the little encampment. It was on two levels, below and above a concrete support that formed a horizontal shelf four feet up and a dozen feet deep. The residents had erected tents, some actual tents, others homemade from blankets and cardboard boxes. There were wooden crates, clothing hung from a wash line, a plastic five-gallon jug of water, mostly empty. Dekka saw three men, two women, and standing behind the girl who’d spoken, a boy of about the same age.
“Are you guys going after the Bug Man?” the boy asked.
“Yeah,” Dekka said. “Do you know anything about him?”
One of the men, surprisingly well-dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a yellow down vest, climbed down from the shelf and stood up, knees cracking audibly. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “We don’t need trouble with that dude.”
“Yeah, well, he’s trouble whether you want it or not,” Dekka said. She stuck out her, well, paw, and the man took it like it was a hand. “Dekka Talent. These are Armo and Simone.”
“I’m Jason. I’m more or less in charge.”
“Less!” came a sardonic shout from the darkness.
“True enough,” Jason said, unbothered. He seemed, remarkably, not to be surprised or upset on seeing three monsters emerging from the darkness. “Listen, all we ask is don’t bring the trouble back here.”
“We’ll do our best,” Simone said.
“Yeah, okay. You, uh, hungry?” Jason jerked his head back. “We’ve got some stew on the fire.”
“Thank you, that’s a kind offer,” Simone answered. “But we’re on a schedule.”
They moved on, but his voice followed them. “I can tell you one thing.”
They paused and looked back at him.
“The bug man likes sugar.”
“Why do you say that?” Dekka asked.
Jason tilted his head back and forth and stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Well, I know a guy who sometimes gets into a certain bistro kitchen in the terminal after they close. This guy knows the combination to their door lock. He never takes enough to be noticed, just a little of this and a little of that. But this guy I know was in the kitchen when the bug man came in. I, my friend, this guy—”
“We’re not the cops, Jason,” Dekka interrupted. “We don’t care if you take food.”
“Well then, I am the guy, of course. I hid, right? Bug Man comes in and there’s an open five-pound bag of sugar on the prep table, and he, you know, the bugs, dude, they went crazy for it.”
“Interesting. Thanks.”
“Got any spare change?”
“No pockets,” Dekka pointed out.
They walked on, back into deeper, emptier darkness, and now they moved stealthily, saying nothing. Ahead the darkness became gray. Then, after a curve in the tracks they saw a square of light: the end of the tunnel. And on one side of the tunnel someone was smoking.
“Sentry,” Simone whispered.
Dekka pointed at herself. Of the three of them she was the one most able to move without making a sound. Even so the sentry spotted her and yelled, “Who is that? Who’s there?”
Dekka heard the unmistakable metallic sound of a pistol being cocked, and she hesitated. If the man started blasting away down the tunnel he could easily hit one of them. Worse yet, he might hit the tank she was carrying on her back, and that would be very bad. She did not want to hurt him, certainly did not want to kill him, but with the weapons available—her powers, those of Armo and Simone, and the flamethrowers, she had limited options.
“Come to me,” Dekka said.
“Yeah, right.”
“Look, man, I don’t want to—”
BAM! BAM!
He fired two shots and Dekka reacted instantly. She raised her hands. From deep in her throat came a feline growl ascending to a whine. The man dissolved. Came apart. With a wet sound like a meat cleaver wielded by Shade at top speed, the sentry became chunks of bloody meat, half of which landed on the platform, the rest fell onto the tracks.
“Goddammit,” Dekka snarled. “Let’s hope Vector didn’t hear the gunshots! Simone, text the group that we’re moving! I’m going in. Count to ten and follow me. That way anyone with guns will have given themselves away.”
A man lay like so much stew meat. She had done that.
Not the time.
As Dekka walked ahead, the tunnel’s acoustics allowed her to overhear Simone saying, “That girl is fierce!”
And Armo, with a laugh, answered, “Yeah, a little bit, huh?”