I expect a crescendo. A symphonic blast of electric wind ripping through the streets of London. I expect a hurricane of newspapers and trash flowing like a tidal wave down the streets.
It is not the first time Hollywood has lied to me.
Instead it is like a great hand coming down, vast and implacable, snuffing London like a candle.
Everything goes out. Every streetlamp, every light in every house, every neon sign. Not a spit or a spark. Just out, off, done. London shut down.
I’m holding Clyde’s mask. My best friend is in my hand. But is he still in there?
In the distance I see a flash of light.
“They’re still going,” Felicity says. “The Russians are still getting goddamn power from somewhere.”
“Go,” I say. “Start the car. Go now.”
“It’s always bloody demands with you,” Devon grumbles as she fumbles with the keys.
“Just go!” I yell at her. There is a chance I’m letting the tension get to me.
“I’m going,” Devon says, and accelerates at a rate that would make NASA scientists proud. We rocket past Tabitha but a moment later she’s hot in pursuit again.
I stare at the mask. “Did I get it in time?” I say. This is what was left of him. And it was broken, and breaking my heart, but I need it to be him still.
“You got it.” Aiko reaches out a hand to me.
Felicity slaps it away. “Put it on him and we’ll find out.”
It’s a struggle to get it on his slumped body from my angle.
“I’ll do it,” Aiko offers.
“I will,” Felicity demands. She takes the mask, jams it on Clyde’s head.
Nothing. Nothing.
He arcs, shudders, and yells. An electronic mess of sounds. And then silence. He stares at us each in turn.
“Clyde,” I say, “please… just… please never cut it even half that close again.” I smile as best I am able. “Tabitha will remove my balls.”
Clyde doesn’t respond at first. Then he cocks his head. “Unlikely,” he tells me in a mirthless monotone.
And it’s never going to be as good to have him back as I hope.
We scream through London. Shops are a blur. Landmarks are a streak in my vision. The battered police car rattles, almost quivers as the speedometer creeps toward the red. We eat miles like hors d’oeuvres. Behind us I can see Tabitha barreling after us. Malcolm leans from one window, shielding his eyes against the battering winds. A gun is in his spare hand.
And we’re getting closer.
The flares of the Russians’ teleportation grow larger, from twinkling sparks, to flashlight rays, to spotlight glows.
“Batteries,” Clyde says from the back seat. “They must be carrying batteries.”
I think. “How much power to make a jump?”
“Assuming they have car batteries?”
“Sure.” I breathe slowly, trying to keep the adrenaline from pushing frustration into my voice.
Clyde cocks his head, trembles. “They have enough electricity to power somewhere in the vicinity of three thousand jumps, I’d say.”
“Can we run them down?”
“The batteries?”
“Of course the batteries!” My cool is definitely starting to fray.
“Many potential definitions of that sentence.” Clyde sounds like he’s trying to impersonate HAL.
“Let’s go with the obvious one.”
“Average of fifty-six yards per jump. Average charge…” Clyde mumbles to himself. “Distance… Assuming taking as direct a route as… Avoiding major…” He cocks his head, straightens it. “We’d have to double the number of jumps they need to take. Approximately.”
I stare at the growing blasts of electrical light racing ahead of us. Double. How do you divert someone who can blink through fifty-plus yards of space?
Visions of dropping massive cages with hundred-feet-thick walls flash through my head, but being shy of a week, five hundred engineers, and a limitless supply of lead that may not be so helpful.
“We have to distract them,” I say.
“You have a plan?” Felicity arches an eyebrow.
“We have to make them stop and fight us.”
“Why in God’s name would they do that?” Devon takes a break from trying to choke the life from the steering wheel to sound incredulous.
But I’m picturing Jasmine again, that little black bag on the riverbank of the Thames. I picture the red glaze that overtook the world.
“They fight us because we piss them off. They fight us because we make them hurt.”