Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 2

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. Captain America, the Red Skull and Union Jack are properties of Marvel Comics. Court nodded grimly. "We have intelligence about one of those groups. We're not sure if they're crazies or not. They call themselves 'El Crá¡neo Rojo' -- 'The Red Skull'. And... we think they have zombies."

"Zombies." I just looked at her for a moment. "Are we talking the old-fashioned dead-risen-from-the-grave? Or the fashionably new humanity-destroying-plague version?"

Court smiled, but it was clear she was finished joking. "Two weeks ago, in Brazil, a small logging town in the middle of the jungle just... went offline. A couple hundred people stopped answering their phones, responding to emails, no radio chatter, nothing. Something like that might not get noticed right away, but the daily train that normally stops there for rough lumber never showed up at the next stop down the line. So the company took an interest, and quickly discovered they couldn't reach anyone there. So, they send in the company cops.

"These places are pretty remote, and the roads are pretty poor, so it takes a while to get there. The first car they sent never reported back. They overflew the town. The video showed people wandering aimlessly in the streets. Men, women, children."

She stopped and took a long drink of her beer. "Okay, so now they grow some sense and kick it upstairs and the military sends in a truck. Soldiers in full HAZMAT gear. But by the time they arrive, it's a couple of days gone, and everybody in the town is dead. Like they'd just wandered around till they fell over and died.

"Like I said, it was just a small company logging town, so the only security video footage the soldiers could find was at the payroll office; the camera covered the front desk and the window onto the main street. Through the window you can catch a glimpse of the occasional person shuffling around like they were drunk, in a daze. But the camera also shows one or two people in some kind of military camo uniform, walking around purposefully. The camera angle wasn't good for catching faces, so it's hard to tell how many there were, at least two, possibly more. The uniforms show up several times. The point is, the dazed people just seemed to ignore the uniforms."

She took another pull at her beer to moisten her throat, looking grim. "They ignored the uniforms. But that car the cops sent pulled up right in front of the payroll office. Made sense, it was the company offices, the closest thing to a town hall they'd find. The video shows people swarming the car, maybe twenty of them, apparently enraged at the sight of strangers. They dragged the cops out of the car onto the street, fighting and screaming all the way. The crowd was in some kind of a frenzy, there was no plan, no cooperation, just every member of the mob wanted to get their hands on those cops. Eventually they were dragged out of the view of the camera, but the soldiers found them not far away. They'd literally been torn apart... beaten, clawed, bitten. Flesh torn off the bodies and flung away -- not eaten, just... like there was some overpowering rage, some berserk need to kill -- more than just kill, destroy.

"And... there were human toothmarks on the bones." She looked slightly ill. "Child-sized ones."

Despite the warm sun a chill run down my back. I could understand her mood, now. "So what connects this to the Red Skull, and the treaty talks?"

"The video wasn't great, but the computers were able to work with it a bit. Turns out there was an armband on one of the uniforms, we were able to reconstruct a composite image. It's a skull superimposed over a swastika, it matches a known fringe group of neo-Nazis that call themselves The Red Skull. They're active in several countries down here, but have managed to pretty much stay under the radar, until now. As far as linking it to the treaty talks, we pretty much have to assume a connection. We can't afford to ignore the possibility."

"I see your point," I agreed. "Autopsies of the townspeople?"

"Inconclusive. They died of exhaustion. Whatever happened to them appears to have ramped up their metabolism, among other things. Judging from what little we've seen, they appeared to have hysterical strength, like they were overdosing on adrenaline. In the fight with the cops, one woman had her nose broken and an eye gouged out, and she never even appeared to notice. They didn't eat or sleep, as far as we can tell. After a day or so, they just... burnt out. No idea yet what caused them to behave the way they did. Fortunately -- if that word applies -- there was no shortage of bodies; they've been sent to labs all over the world for analysis."

I nodded absently, considering. "So, one: somehow, a whole town was turned into zombies, all pretty much at the same time. If the effect had been slower, some people might have had time to get the word out, before it got them, too. And two: the ones in uniform may be immune, and they're ignored by the zombies, which may mean they have a measure of control over them. I can see why they've got you guys worried."

She shook her head ruefully. "'Worried' only scratches the surface."

I grinned at her. "I'm in. What's the plan?"

"Tomorrow morning, a number of us are going to take a look at the scene. I'd like Agent Jahns to join us." She held up her hand. "I know, I know, Christmas Day and all. But we didn't choose the schedule here." She grinned wryly. "I hope you can change your plans."

I lay back, and closed my eyes again, suddenly enjoying the glorious day. "Christmas in Zombietown," I sighed happily, then apologized. "But I didn't get you anything!"

She chuckled and lay back, too. "You gave me a day at the beach. Call it even."

"So, the kid with the binoculars doesn't bother you?" I teased.

"Nah. Let him look. Maybe later we can bring out the tanning oil and put on a show."

"Oh, I think he'd like that."

We lay there for a while.

"There really is a kid, isn't there."

"Uh-huh."

"Shit."

Kids and binoculars notwithstanding, the rest of the day passed very enjoyably, although without tanning oil. I even coaxed Court into strolling down to the water with me, in full view of everyone, and taking a dip in the ocean.

Later, we grabbed some takeout Chinese food and went back to my little apartment, while I dug out my Joanne Jahns ID and packed a bag. Although I could shapeshift most of the clothes I wore, I still tried to keep up appearances.

Sure enough, there was a strongly-worded request from the DEO in my email, asking that I offer "all possible assistance" to the MIB. Wow, somebody's called in a few favors. I dashed off an acknowledgement and shut down my laptop. "What's the plan for Agent Jahns?" I asked around a mouthful of spicy noodles.

"Tomorrow, nothing special, I'll introduce you to the team leads. It'll be pretty informal. I doubt there'll be much in the way of forensics left to do by now, we just want to get our own impression of what happened -- but you've got more experience with a crime scene than any of us; if you have any ideas or suggestions we want to hear them.

"As for what happens after tomorrow, I'm interested in your thoughts. I want you close by if things go south, of course, but I wasn't going to suggest that you be on display with me. Maybe a low-level assistant to the delegation? Disguised, of course. That should give you the credentials you need to wander around."

I nodded thoughtfully. "What are you doing about shapeshifters?"

She sighed. "That's one of the big worries, of course. All delegates are tagged before they leave home -- after a rigorous identification process -- with a small tattoo, shows up at security stations under a UV lamp." She indicated a spot on the back of her hand. "The ink contains a mix of slightly radioactive isotopes, in combination that is unique to the individual. No shapeshifters we know of can duplicate the UV ink, let alone a radioactive tag. And even if they do, it would be almost impossible to duplicate the right tag for the individual. We have scanners at all the security checkpoints, mantraps. They look like big glass cylinders with revolving doors. You step in, get scanned, step out. Except if you don't pass, then the revolving door locks." She grinned. "Ultradense synthetic quartz, practically unbreakable. And airtight. If we do trap a shapeshifter, they're not going anywhere."

I was impressed. "Somebody's been thinking about this."

She shrugged. "The security for a conference like this is the best possible, of course. It has to be, because the threats are world-class, too. But the strongest link in the chain is no good if the next one is weak. It would be best to find any weak links before the bad guys do. That's where I hope you can help."

"What about you? Did you get a tat?" I couldn't imagine how; they couldn't even cut her hair without industrial equipment.

She snorted. "Not that they didn't try, but no. And I'm not the only meta with that problem. Mine is stamped on, takes a week or so to wear off. When I go in for a new stamp, there has to be enough of the old one still there to verify me, or I might as well go home."

After dinner I tossed my stuff in the back of Court's government-issue black SUV, and we drove off.

"So, where to?" I was pretty sure we weren't going back to Buenos Aires, not if we had to be half a continent away in the Brazilian rainforest in the morning. Even B.A. was a three-hour ferry ride across the river, so I was pretty sure I was going to end up playing taxi.

"Ah. Well, about that." Court gave me an ingratiating grin. "The rest of the team left this afternoon for Brazil, it's a five hour flight. I told them I'd meet with you today, hopefully recruit you, and we'd join them there." She looked a bit uncomfortable. "You, ah, needn't mention where we met."

I narrowed my eyes. "You must have been pretty sure of yourself. What if I turned you down?"

She shrugged blithely. "Then you'd miss out on zombies and spend Christmas alone and miserable. I figured you were pretty much of a sure thing."

She pulled over on a dark stretch of road, and smiled expectantly at me. Grumbling good-naturedly, I hopped out, lifting the truck into the air. A little while later, guided by the ring, I set it down three thousand miles away, in Manaus, Brazil, in plenty of time for us to meet the Gulfstream jet containing Court's associates as it taxied to a stop near the terminal. I was wearing my Agent Jahns shape, looking a little older than my usual green self, dressed casually in jeans and a loose tee under a thin cotton jacket, wavy red hair gathered at the nape of my neck with a barrette.

First off the plane was an older man, mid-fifties, graying but broad-shouldered and very fit, definitely a military type and the man in charge. He was followed by two men, different in appearance but apparently cut from the same cloth: secret-service types, eyes flicking to measure our threat and then to the rooftops and shadows, cataloging the likely places where a sniper might hide or assailants could lurk. Following them was an older woman, silvering hair drawn back into an unflattering bun, her eyeglasses fogging in the transition from cool dry air to steamy tropical heat. Last off the plane was a kid, a teenaged boy of about seventeen, dark-haired and well-muscled. And familiar-looking.

But if he's here, he's a meta, and not one I know about. I queried the ring.

"Sorry, hon, I can't find him in any database I can access, and that's all of them. Cute one, though, isn't he?"

I flashed a puzzled look to Court, but she was flashing a similar glance at me, even as she stepped up to the boss-man. "Colonel, may I introduce Agent Jahns, from the DEO, she'll be joining the team. Agent Jahns, this the Colonel. Just 'the Colonel'," she added meaningfully.

I stepped up and offered my hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

The man wrapped my hand in his. His Russian accent caught me by surprise. "Velcome aboard, Chahns," he nodded gruffly. "Has Carter filled you in?"

I nodded. "About why we're here, yes sir. Not so much about the conference itself," I admitted.

"Ve'll haff time for that, I think." He turned to introduce me to his associates. "Agent Chahns, permit me to introduce Major Roth, and Major Weiss. Roth is from the Israeli Defence Forces, Weiss is from NATO Intelligence. Between them they're going to run the security for the conference."

Roth stepped forward and took my hand, dark eyes twinkling. "He makes it sound like we're doing it alone, we do have a small army to help. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Agent Jahns. Please, you must call me Benjamin."

"My pleasure as well, Major," I replied, trying not to emphasize his rank, but wanting to make my message clear; cordial but professional. I turned to the other man, "Major."

Weiss greeted me with an honest smile and clasped my little hand in both of his rather large beefy ones. "An honor to meet the famous Chica Verde. I look forward to working with you."

I scowled amiably at my nickname. "Miss Mars, please, if you must. I really should get a decent publicist."

He grinned. "I think you've done very well without one. Even Hollywood would be hard-pressed to improve on your image."

The Colonel rescued me before Weiss could ask for my autograph. "Carter, Chahns, we were fortunate that two more were able to join us in time to catch the flight. Meet Dr. Morris, and Mr. Falsworth."

"Ah, that would be Lord Falsworth, ectually." His upperclass accent certainly matched his snotty tone, as he snatched the hand I'd extended for the doctor. "But titles are such a bore, don't you think? Teddibly pleased to meet you both." His eyes swept over me, and then to Court, leaving a greasy stain. "But you can call me Jack. Union Jack."

My eyes narrowed at his rudeness. "How do you do, Jack. I must say, you seem very familiar to me -- you wouldn't happen to own any binoculars, would you?"