Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)

The fire engine screeched through the streets of the city as best it could. Mr Harris, in his full gear, sat in the driver’s seat turning the gargantuan wheel with both hands. How Drake had managed to find them a fire truck to go with his credentials, Rick would never ask – but assumed someone owed someone else a whole bunch of favours. It was the same way he never wondered how Ruth was able to control the internet – the powerful women around him just seemed to have their certain breed of mythical powers.

It had been easy getting through the checkpoint, relief firefighters were being drafted in from all over the country to get into the fray. Some of the collapsed buildings still had people in, survivors who were being rescued – while others were simply in hiding, waiting for the nice firefighter to knock at the door and whisk them to safety. Doors were being bashed in, the whole city was a cacophony of people.

Witnesses, Rick realised grimly. People who would later be able to testify about soldiers storming the city. He had been thinking about in on the ride over, sure suddenly somehow that the PM was unable to retaliate. Perhaps the EMP had completely knocked out their backup generators, perhaps the bunker in York was just not wired up for blasting the hell out of others. Perhaps he was having no contact with the outside world and wasn’t able to tell his now dazed and confused ministers to vote for action.

So maybe instead, the back-up plan came down to the uniforms they had found. Atlas’ own private army. Certainly, if so many witnesses saw men in foreign military uniforms attacking the PM’s bunker…that would make Westminster’s decision far easier. Heck, perhaps that was the plan all along. It didn’t matter – they were racing headlong towards some thundering confrontation anyway, plans were beginning to matter less and less.

They had gotten through the perimeter easily, all of them garbed in firefighter’s uniforms. He, Andrew, Angel, Sandy and a surprisingly insistent Louise – who after she described the rather gruesome effects of radiation poisoning had been brought along for her medical prowess. She even managed to drag out the old grey BioSuit, used for added protection. More than that it had been her stubborn determination to simply help even if it was the innocents caught in the crossfire and not in the actual ‘fisticuffing way’ – her words.

Going through the city was maddeningly slow as they wound their way past parked fire engines and other emergency vehicles. They lurched and swayed with the cabin, now having shucked off their disguises and gone full BioSuit ready. At one point they stopped to allow an ambulance passed, a shit-scared officer with no radiation suit on guiding them by. He must have been in town and figured, what the hell.

“This is weird,” Louise interrupted his thoughts, “There’s no radiation.”

“What?”

“Look at the Geiger counter, it’s barely registering above normal background levels,” she pointed to the weird machine in her hands which did seem nominally sedate. “I wonder if that was nuclear at all – or if it was just so small a payload it’s up there somewhere in the atmosphere. Huh.”

“So I don’t have to worry about growing a third nipple?” he joked.

“I’d be more worried about you developing a normal personality.”

The explosion happened at that point. They were winding past rubble-strewn remains of a pub Rick recognised and had enjoyed a pint in more than once; moving at as swift a pace as they could. The explosion was their right front tyre which burst in a shower of sparks. Thundering booms were followed by metallic rips and clinks.

It was an ambush.

The truck, although not going particularly fast, had enough momentum and was jerked so suddenly by the loss of one of the tyres that it crashed hard into the very rubble they’d been trying to avoid. The front was crunched by the dust and brick, while the unexpected force made Mr Harris’ head smack against his steering wheel. All of them in the back were flung forward, landing in a tumbled mess behind the front seats.

More thundering booms and chinks of metal on metal had them huddled together for precious seconds after their initial crash. A sudden pause, a chance to reload perhaps? Rick glanced at Andrew who needed no instruction.

A second later he reappeared in the cab.

“There’s six of them, three on the roof to the west, three on the road. Wearing military uniforms so it’s got to be Atlas’ men.”

“Take me,” Rick demanded of him, holding out his hand. Andrew couldn’t help but cloud his look for a moment, “Don’t be a child and read into that, you’re far too anal to be passively homophobic.”

That got a glare and the desired response. He grabbed Rick’s hand and together they entered into that mystical space between places, the spaces between space and reappeared seconds later on the rooftop behind three gentlemen who hadn’t noticed them.

Andrew appeared again now directly between two of the men. A swift kick, a grabbing of the barrel and within a few seconds the two dazed men were on the ground lying back and thinking of England. Or whatever bad guys thought about when they were unconscious. Villain farms or something.

Rick went simpler. The third man was knelt, aiming his rifle at the cab of the fire truck – his entire concentration on his task at hand. That focus switched to the pain in his arse as a swift kick sent him flying over the edge. He realised he’d almost hit Sandy who glared at him as she leapt from the side door of the truck.

“Sorry!”

The other three had begun to advance but ducked when she threw a fireball that blew up yet more of the already blown up rubble.

“Come on you guys, we’ve sorted our lot!” he called down to the collection of Sandy, Angel and, he realised with a sudden terror, Louise. Then he saw something he never thought he’d see – a look of cold fury on Louise’s otherwise warm and gentle face.

She lifted a chunk of concrete rubble twice her size and flung it as though simply tossing an empty cardboard box. It landed on the pile of rubble and sent the three men scrambling in different directions.

“What the hell has your wife been having for breakfast?” he asked Andrew next to him, whose face was a mixture of thunder and horror.

“I think the bigger question is what did she find in the crates they left behind?” Andrew responded through gritted teeth.

“I suppose we can sort crap like that out later,” Rick assured him, pointing over to their left, “Now come on, Minster Square is just over there – we can get to the PM before either he gets to the little red button or Atlas’ men make him Swiss cheese.” He held out his hand, “Or we can stay here and tell your girlfriend off for experimenting with super-power juice. Make your decision quick though or the next transport we do will be piggy-back style.”

Andrew glared at him, a not uncommon occurrence. He took his hand and they went.