Hero Stalker

Part Forty-Five

Since I couldn't even drive a car, most of Slasher's instructions on flying a Centurion jet went over my head. Punch in the passcode? Check. Push the drive-shaft into 'F'? Check. That bit about throttles and yokes and transformer drives? I smiled, nodded, and muttered "mm-hmm," in all the right places.

"I can see my boss's house from here," I remarked as we flew over Waterfront. Valerie kept the lights in her hilltop mansion on at all times to scare off burglars. It shone like a beacon above the waves.

But up ahead, Arter Island lay in darkness. In daylight, you could have seen the scrub encircling the shoreline and the penises spray-painted on the lighthouse. Right now, the ruin rose from the thicket of trees like a tower in a fairytale.

"Get ready to jump," Slasher told me. He pressed the button labeled 'Activate Autopilot'. "I'm sending the plane back to the Tower."

"Can't we just land on the island?"

He looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "While you're at it, call Harpy and ask him to join us."

"Fine." I sighed. "How do we—"

Slasher's hand flew to a blinking green button. The floor opened beneath my feet. Wind roared as my seatbelt retracted and the bottom of my chair gave out.

I barely had time to curl into a ball before hitting the water. Splash! The force of impact left my head ringing. Brackish water flooded my nose and mouth. I kicked my way to the surface, bitterly regretting my childhood choice of drama camp over the YMCA's summer swim team.

"You look like a cat in a bathtub," Slasher said as I struggled to tread water. Behind him, the jet circled Arter Island and shot off towards the Tower. "Listen up. If that bastard is out there, he'll think the plane's just making a routine patrol. The smuggler's dock is on the east side of the island. We'll start there."

"Shouldn't we have parachutes when we drop out of planes?" Water poured back into my sinuses as my head slipped under. The metallic taste made me gag.

"Nah. The weight would pull you under." He looked to the east. "Follow me."

Less than a minute later, we ran up onto the shore besides a half-sunken dock. My boots sank knee-deep into the wet, muddy sand as I skidded to a stop. It squished and held my feet fast. Grunting, I hopped up onto the foot-wide strip of dirt between the sand and a wall of bushes and vines. Nice lair, if you could fly.

I turned back and looked at the dock. The old pilings had begun to rot, but the holes in the sunken planks indicated someone heavy had stood on it before the collapse. Slasher waded through the water around it and plucked something from the sand. "Shell casing. Guess this is where Bird's people got killed." He stuck it in his belt and jumped over the sand.

"How do you know her?"

"Same way I know most women my age." Slasher extended his blades and chopped through the bracken. Wind whistled. Twigs flew. "If you make the team, you'll make a few acquaintances on the other side, too."

I promised myself right I'd never make that kind of acquaintance on the other side.

It took us fifteen minutes to hack our way through the knots of brush and make it up under the canopy of gnarled trees. Dead leaves shifted under my feet as I walked across the loamy soil. The brick walls of the lighthouse shimmered in the waning moonlight.

The shadows of the trees rendered me and Slasher nearly invisible. I wanted to charge in the ruin and knock Harpy off his feet before he knew what hit him. But if that'd been the smart thing to do, Slasher would have already done it. So I held my tongue and waited for his order.

Slasher fiddled with the psi-meter. "Damn thing gets barely one bar out here."

"It's connected to the internet?" I said.

"Course. It uses the Centurion database to identify signatures." He showed me the screen. Two reddish dots represented us. A greenish one sat inside the lighthouse. Harpy? A purple blip flashed across the screen and vanished. "Two of 'em," he muttered. "Interesting."

The purple dot flashed by again. This time, I spun around at superspeed and scanned the sky. Nothing.

"Don't do that," Slasher said. The dot representing me flashed white. "Damn thing gets fussy if you use your powers around it, and Cypher isn't here to make it play nice."

"What if Harpy's flying around out there?" I whispered.

"Far as we know, he's not psi-positive. And isn't Harpy the reason you wanted to come here? Harpy." He fiddled with the psi-meter. A frown slid across his crooked jaw. "Listen. Some times these fights get dangerous. Harpy's a killer and he won't go down easy. If . . . in the middle of combat . . . you feel like you have to stick your blades in his chest, go ahead. Everyone on the team will understand. We'll keep it quiet. I promise you."

The prospect of fighting Harpy suddenly didn't seem as appealing as it had a few hours ago. The darkness set my teeth on edge. Every breeze and rustling leaf echoed in my ears. Every flicker in the shadows drew my eye. I knew Centurion shouldn't be afraid of the dark—but dark in the city was brighter than dark out here.

A hand grabbed my shoulder. I yelped and jumped straight up. A tree branch hit my back so hard I saw red.

"Sorry." Peregrine floated to the ground beside me. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"No problem," I lied. Pain rolled through my shoulder.

"I surveyed the island," she said. "There's a bunch of cargo containers on the north end. Guarded by at least twenty armed henchmen. Each container is big enough to contain Harpy's superweapon."

"There's also someone in the lighthouse." Slasher shoved the psi-meter back in his belt. "One of us. Probably not Harpy, since it's a signature we've never seen before."

"You actually know how to use that thing?" Peregrine looked pleased.

"Don't tell Cypher. He'll try to get me on Facebook again." He pushed aside some branches and peered at the lighthouse. A section of the round wall had crumbled years ago, leaving a gaping hole in the brick. The masonry on the intact sections had chipped and moss had grown all over the foundation. Dad had taken me and my siblings on a boring lighthouse tour in the Outer Banks once. There, old lighthouses had fresh paint, safety inspections, and gift shops. The only fresh paint here were the initials 'MB + PH' sprayed on the walls. I doubted this lighthouse even had stairs.

A light flickered in one of the narrow arched windows, halfway up. There was a sputtering sound and a roaring flame. Someone screamed a curse word.

"They're burning the evidence," Slasher said. "Must know we're here. You two, stop 'em! I'll take the cargo crew." He vanished into the darkness like a bullet fired from a gun.

"What should we do?" I whispered to Peregrine.

She shrugged. "You're the combat operative. I'm just support."

Great. Over the past ten years, I and the rest of The Worldley Fewe had worked out dozens of foolproof techniques for psi-combat. Now, every single online argument had vanished from my brain. All that came to me was sprinting towards the problem at top speed.