Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,72
corporate is pleased.
—Matthew Icarus,
observation notes of Subject 3224, aged 7
Valerie had never gotten any lullabies as a child—she’d been training for the Squadron since she was five years old, and they fell asleep to learning audios, not singing.
But she tried, often making it up as she went along, and Callie nuzzled against her stuffed toys when Valerie laid her into the crib.
The door to the nursery swished open as she was tucking a blanket around Callie, and Valerie pressed her finger to her lips. “She just went down, Les.”
Belatedly, she saw he was in his costume and his face was drawn sharp and hard. “Les,” she said, going to him. “What is it?”
“Hal escaped the Mental wing about twenty-four hours ago,” Lester murmured, mindful of the baby. He gripped Valerie’s hands, pressing them between his palms. “He went to New York … they’re overwhelmed … there are hundreds of people hurt …” Lester dropped his forehead to his chest. “I have to go.”
“I’ll come with you.” The words flew from her mouth before Valerie had a chance to consider them. “I’ll call a Runner for Callie …”
“No,” Lester said. “Val, you know what he’s like. Since he … since he lost his mind.”
“I do,” Valerie said. She could still hear the screaming from the day Hal Gibbons had snapped. Nobody knew exactly why yet—Lester thought it had something to do with the comlinks Corp made them wear. Valerie thought, privately, that Hal had always been crazy and just stopped trying to hide it. “That’s why I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Luv,” he said quietly, “you’re still on maternity leave. They won’t let you.”
Of course. They. Corp. Corp, who thought it was perfectly fine to leave her a single mother as long as it looked good to the public face to have the Hero of New Chicago swooping to the rescue.
“If he hurts you,” she whispered, “I am going to kill him. Whatever it takes.”
Lester pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He left the nursery, and Valerie pressed her hands over her face. In her crib, Callie woke up and began to cry.
CHAPTER 32
ANGELICA
Still trying to determine whether the Mental breakdowns were caused by the comlink, or if the earpiece simply sped up their inherent decay.
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #111
New York City might have once been the epicenter of the Americas, the place to be if you were anyone worth being, but that had been a long time ago. Way before the Manhattan Quarantine.
“He’s taken over the Tompkins Square Projects,” Major Victory shouted through the comm. “Ten buildings on the block, all low-income residential.”
“Civvies, got it.” Blackout grinned over at Angelica. “I love saving civilians.”
“I still can’t believe Hal’s doing this,” she said, feeling like she was underwater and trying to break through to the surface. Since they heard about Hal’s escape from the Mental wing at the Academy, everything had felt dreamlike, unreal. And then word came he’d burrowed himself somewhere in New York City … and the casualty count had begun. Just thinking about those poor people made Holly feel sick. She wished Valerie were with them instead of home with the baby. “He’s not well.”
“Angelica, the mistress of understatement,” said Luster, snorting. “He’s acting like a textbook psychopathic megalomaniac on a bender. What’s the count up to?”
“Fifty-three confirmed dead,” Night said, his voice flat. “More than four hundred hospitalized.”
Holly squeezed her eyes closed. Oh, Hal. Why?
“Come in via the police station on C and Eighth,” Victory instructed, his voice breaking up with bursts of static. “Roof’s equipped for hover and cruiser landings.”
“On it.”
Holly grimaced; Blackout sounded like he was loving this. In that crystalline moment, hearing the excitement in her husband’s voice as they prepared to capture her former love, she hated George, hated having his baby inside of her. She gripped her armrests tightly as the cruiser dropped in free fall.
Another screech of static, then Victory said, “Lady Liberty’s waiting for you. She’ll brief you. Victory out.”
“Bloody hell,” Luster muttered. “Took New York hours before they decided to swallow their pride and let New Chicago in. Now they’re going to fucking chaperone us while we rein in one of ours gone bad?”
“He’s not bad,” Holly said. “He’s off his meds, that’s all …” She shut her mouth when Luster shot her a disgusted look.
“He’s killed fifty-three people, Angelica,” Luster said coldly. “Made them play in traffic, or take knives to their wrists, or put guns to their mouths.