Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 1

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. She sat up to face me, her expression serious. "How can you plan for contingencies, when you can't possibly guess at all the scenarios? Who knows what's out there? Every nation that can manage it will have their own metas there -- and not all of them are friendly to us. Then there's the groups that don't want these talks to happen at all, or the crazies who just want to see their name in the headlines. What if they have a meta up their sleeve?"

---

The sun beat down cheerfully across the sand, competing good-naturedly with a gentle onshore breeze that whispered over the surf and rustled through the palms. It was a perfect, glorious, beachy day, and I was damn well going to make it work.

I'd found a secluded section of beach, a good distance away from anyone else; the schools were out for the summer holiday, so that was a little harder than it would have been a month ago. Nevertheless, I managed to stake out a spot a good distance from the laughing and splashing and squealing crowd, and threw a towel down under my hastily planted beach umbrella, settled down on the warm sand, lay back, closed my eyes, and got on with feeling miserable.

Since moving here, I'd been keeping as busy as I could, filling in for Jade as much as I was able -- but how do you fight a tsunami or an earthquake? Unless you've got a green ring, there's not a lot you can do, except help clean up afterwards. Of course it was wonderful to find survivors amongst the wreckage, and the media do love their happy little human interest microstories -- "Green Girl Saves Orphans! And now the weather." -- but that's not the reality at all; the sad reality is, most of the time it's not survivors you are pulling out. It wasn't right to expose the young meta would-be heroes to that, most were still just kids. So I spent a lot of time doing cleanup so they wouldn't have to. I'd been a cop for twenty-five years, and I'd seen some awful things, but even I had a hard time coping.

Then there were the man-made disasters; a poisonous petrochemical gas leak in Nairobi threatened to rival Bhopal, if I hadn't been able to get close enough to seal it. The dam in Chile I managed to keep from collapsing until they could evacuate the flood area downstream. A bus full of children held hostage during a botched bank robbery in Perth.

So, yeah. Busy. Busy means I don't have to think so much, for a few hours or days.

The media loved me, though. In South America, "Seá±orita Marte" didn't have the same ring to it as "Miss Mars", so for the most part, I was "Verde Chica". Green Girl. "Verde Chica salva huérfanos! Y ahora el tiempo." I spent a lot of time watching TV and reading newspapers, I had a new language to learn, after all.

When I wasn't out heroing, I flung myself into life as Megan Morse. I was taking a conversational Spanish course at the University; the Spanish they spoke here was a very different language than the street lingo back home, but I was immersed in it, after all, and I was picking up the local idioms and accents more quickly than I had expected. I volunteered at the language lab as an English tutor, too. I didn't mix much socially, but I'd become friendly with few others in my apartment building by sight; mostly other students at the university. Sometimes we'd walk back from class together, or a group of us would go out for a bite to eat, but that was as much as I was willing to do. They reminded me too much of Trish and the gang back home; there may a lot I still needed to learn about being a young woman, but I wasn't one of them, wouldn't pretend to be any more.

Tonight... tonight was Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve in Montevideo. A time for family and friends. It was the height of summer here, and the seasonal celebrations were lower key compared to back home, but still a little disconcerting. It should be a time for sleds and snowmen, not surfboards and sand castles. Now... it was a season for other people to celebrate, not for me, not ever again.

Oh, Dolores... I'm trying, I really am, but it's so hard without you.

The beach had seemed like the most un-Christmassy place around, a place to escape my head and just live in the moment for a few hours. It had been a mistake, of course. Even at a distance, it was impossible to tune out the sounds of children and teenagers and parents and... families. Still, I was giving it my best shot, and maybe even succeeding a little.

Until a shadow fell across my face. "Hey, you using all that umbrella? I left mine in my other purse."

I knew that voice, even if it didn't belong here. Despite my mood, I couldn't help but smile. "Depends. I don't suppose you brought any beer?" I asked lazily, without opening my eyes.

"Psssht, duh. What are drinkin' buddies for?"

"In that case, pull up some shade and beer me." I opened one eye, and then had to open the other, just to be sure the first one got it right. "Why, Agent Carter, that is a very fetching bikini." She stood over me, silhouetted in the sun, her long blonde hair floating loose in the breeze, surrounding her head in a golden halo. The aforementioned bikini was a relatively modest light blue floral print, but nevertheless a two-piece swimsuit that showed off her considerable assets to good advantage.

She blushed and glanced around nervously. "Shut up. If my team finds out about this, I'll never hear the end of it." She laid out her towel next to mine and sat cross-legged on it, then unzipped a softside cooler and handed me a cold can. "Besides, next to yours, mine is practically suitable for church."

I had to grin at that, especially since it was true. "I'm reasonably certain you were checking out the other girls -- and their suits -- on your way down the beach. My bikini isn't the skimpiest by a long shot. Seriously, Court, you aren't dressed any differently than any other young woman here. There's nothing to be embarrassed about," I reassured her.

She popped the top on her own beer and took a long drink before replying. "I know, I know. But it's the attention I can't get used to. It's one thing, in street clothes. I can kid myself that I'm not doing anything special to attract attention -- " She laughed sharply, cutting off my retort. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it doesn't much matter what I wear. Okay, fine, I get it, I'm a woman. I'll be damned if I'll hide what I am, I know guys notice. But the point is, I don't go out of my way to make sure they do. This..." she gestured at her bikini, "this is definitely making sure."

I propped myself up on one elbow to face her, opening my own beer. "Well, look at it this way. As a Ranger, and then an FBI hotshot, you must have been pretty fit. You lifted weights, did a zillion pushups and ran a hundred miles every morning before breakfast, the whole bit. You were more than fit, you must have been positively buff. Am I right? And I bet you took pride in your body, who wouldn't? So tell me, what did you wear to the beach?". I pointed my beer at her. "I didn't even know you, and I can probably tell. Swim trunks -- you don't strike me as the speedo type -- and that's about it. Maybe a t-shirt, more likely a tank top, and I'll bet it wasn't hanging loose and hiding your body."

She nodded sheepishly.

"And I bet you had a pretty good idea of how you compared to the other guys on the beach, too. You didn't flaunt your body, but you knew you were attractive to the ladies, and that wasn't a bad thing. You were proud of the way you looked, and, beach or not, you dressed to show it to good advantage. Your clothes fit properly, tailored if you could afford it. To please yourself. So tell me, what's changed?"

I sipped my beer and stated the obvious. "You're a girl now. A woman," I corrected myself. "And a stunner. Everything you had going on as a guy, you have the girl side of it now. In spades. So tell me, are you going to live the rest of your life embarrassed by what you are? Because you'll be a woman the rest of your life, however long that might be now -- but for sure it will be longer than you were a guy. So why not dress like you're proud of what you are -- for yourself -- and if some guys trip over their tongues, that's their problem."

She blinked at me. "You sound like my shrink, but I gotta tell you, it's a whole lot more credible when you say it."

"Yeah. Well." I laid back, looking up at the umbrella that had suddenly become blurry. "You wanna know a secret? I gave myself the same pep talk this morning. Just before I bought this bikini, as it happens." I choked out a laugh around the lump in my throat. "Dolores was always wanting me to push my comfort level. I figured she would have liked this one."

Court heaved a sympathetic sigh and lay down on her towel. We just lay there for a few minutes, listening to the surf, soaking up the warm sun.

"Christmas sucks, huh."

I let out a long breath. "Oh, yeah. Do they get any easier?" I knew about Court's own unhappy situation. She had an ex somewhere she'd fallen out of touch with before her change, and a baby girl who'd died in infancy.

She shook her head. "No, not really... you get better at locking it away, is all."

We were quiet again for a time, content to be alone with our thoughts in each other's company, occasionally taking a pull at our beer. Finally I had to ask, "Not that I'm ungrateful for the beer, and your company, and all, but you're kinda out of your jurisdiction, Agent Carter. What brings you to my beach -- and how did you find me here?"

"Finding you was the easy part. I just asked the ring," she smirked, holding up her hand to display the item. Duh, stupid question, I forgot she had one now. "As to the why, I knew you were hurting, and that you'd probably find some excuse to be alone and miserable if I simply invited you home for Christmas, because that's what I usually do when somebody invites me -- so I decided to inflict myself on you, and we could keep each other company."

"So you hopped the next jet and came 5000 miles to see me. I'm flattered. And a little skeptical," I added dryly.

"Oh, it was no trouble at all." I wasn't looking at her, but I could hear the humor in her voice. It wasn't quite 5000 miles. I'm working out of the consulate in Buenos Aires for a little while. Just a hop and a skip away."

"Seriously?" Buenos Aires was practically next door, just across the river in Argentina, maybe a hundred and fifty miles or so. For someone who can fly to the moon, 5000 miles was as close as 150, but I was strangely pleased to have a friend so close at hand. "What have they got you doing?"

"The U.N. talks on the Metahuman Treaty start the week after next."

I knew about the talks, naturally -- every meta would be watching those closely. A number of countries, led by Canada and Japan, were pushing for a ban on the use of metahumans in any military role. Other nations saw metas as a force equalizer against their stronger neighbors. Some, the U.S. included, were on the fence, proposing that military metahumans be allowed for defensive purposes only, within a country's own borders, or only when attacked. Other parts of the treaty involved setting up a global agency to monitor and respond to 'rogue' metas. 'Rogue' probably meaning whatever the Security Council decided they wanted it to mean, of course. God knows the world could use more meta agencies, we were booming business in the national security game, an entire sub-genre of the military-industrial complex springing up overnight, devoted to "meta control". Metas were good for the economy, who knew?

"That part is very high profile, naturally. But -- and this is very low profile -- the real meetings start next week. That's where the important decisions will be made. The Secretary of State will be flying in Monday morning. Everyone knows what American Dream looks like -- it's hardly a secret who I am -- so Agent Carter is going to be right up front with the Secretary, in the center ring of the circus. To reassure our allies and hopefully dissuade our enemies from doing anything foolish. Of course, the Secretary is a woman, so an extra female agent can't hurt, either."

I made a face. "Have fun with that. Escorting a bigwig to the ladies' room. Clearly you have reached the pinnacle of your career. Try to steal some of those little soaps."

She cleared her throat. "Um. Well. Actually, I've got an extra ticket to the circus. The D.E.O. has been asked if Agent Jahns might be available. There's probably an email in your inbox by now."

I rolled to face her, frowning. "They want two metas on the team? Tell me this isn't some civil servant throwing their weight around."

She opened her eyes and grinned at me. "Well, it sort of is. I guess you could call me a civil servant, these days."

"You requested me? This isn't a misery-loves-company thing, is it?" I knew full well it wasn't. Court worked for the Metahuman Information Bureau. I -- as Agent Joanne Jahns -- did occasional work for the Department of Extranormal Operations. The two agencies didn't play well together. For the MIB to ask a favor of the DEO, it couldn't have been anything trivial.

"It's not so bad," she soothed. "I'm borrowed talent, on loan from the MIB. Nobody really knows where I fit into the chain of command, so I'm not part of the actual security team. They still do the important stuff, keeping the Secretary and her delegation safe. Nominally, I report to the head of security, but mostly my job is to be visible, a resource if things go south. Extra protection against those who don't know who I am, and a deterrent for those who do. Worst-case scenario is, nothing happens, and we spend a nervous couple of weeks worrying that something might. On the other hand... the best-case could get interesting."

I growled in frustration. "Out with it. Something's up, or they wouldn't have borrowed you. It's bad, or you wouldn't have come to recruit me."

"Well, partly it's the fact that metas exist at all, that's scaring the shit out of every security team out there. Especially now Jade is gone." She sat up to face me, her expression serious. "How can you plan for contingencies, when you can't possibly guess at all the scenarios? Who knows what's out there? Every nation that can manage it will have their own metas there -- and not all of them are friendly to us. Then there's the groups that don't want these talks to happen at all, or the crazies who just want to see their name in the headlines. What if they have a meta up their sleeve?"

My eyes narrowed. "That's an ugly picture. But it's even worse? You said that was only part of it."

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."

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?"

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 3

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. American Dream used with the kind permission of Lilith Langtree. "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?"

---

Court had been shaking hands with the doctor, covering the momentary awkwardness Jack had caused, but my question caused her to drop the poor woman's hand like a hot potato and turn on Jack. "That was you? You followed me! You were spying on us?"

I extricated my hand from Jack's grip and offered it to the doctor, finally. "My apologies, doctor. Joanne Jahns. I hope you'll be able to shed some light on all this."

The doctor gave me an exasperated look. "Perhaps not all of it," she admitted, with a glare at Jack, "but as far as what happened to those poor people in the village, I think we have some of the answers, yes. They're not very promising, though."

"Da, da. The will be plenty of time for briefing in the morning," the Colonel interrupted. For now, I suggest we adjourn to the hotel."

The majors had procured another ubiquitous government SUV from someplace, and had tossed the bags in the back; in addition there was a large aluminum case, presumably the doctor's equipment, which the men treated more gently.

The Colonel and the majors took the first SUV, and Court and I climbed into hers, leaving the doctor and Jack to choose a ride. Not surprisingly, Jack chose to avoid us and ride with the men, so the doctor obligingly climbed into the back seat, and we followed the men to the hotel.

I spent the trip interrogating the ring. "There's no record of a Jack Falsworth prior to a month ago, but of course if he's undergone the metagene activation, there wouldn't be. There is a Lady Jacqueline Falsworth, or rather, was -- she was discharged from the Special Reconnaisance Regiment on compassionate grounds after the death of her older brother Brian in Iraq, and the subsequent death of her invalid father James. Both were decorated military heroes, and it seems Jacqueline was following the family tradition. The SRR has quite an elite reputation, primarily anti-terrorist infiltration, and it's the only British elite service that allows women in combat roles. At any rate, Jackie dropped off the map a few months ago, canceled the lease on her flat, sold her car, and vanished. Now, here's Jack."

"But that makes no sense," I sent the puzzled thought. "If she'd been caught by the metagene change, she wouldn't have been able to settle her affairs. Not without a lot of documentation, and a computer trail a mile wide. Unless..." I glanced at Court. "She knew it was coming. Her metagene was triggered on purpose."

"Got it in one, honey. Third-level analysis concurs. Most likely candidate for flipping her switch is the British government, at eighty-seven percent."

"Jackie-boy's the British super-soldier." I whistled soundlessly. "Better let Court know."

"Oh, she knows. She recognized the name right off. She knew Brian in Iraq."

I chewed on that for a while, hesitating to ask Court about it with the doctor in the back seat. "Where are you from, doctor?" I called back, to fill the awkward silence.

"Originally, I'm from Atlanta. I was with the CDC for fifteen years, then I became liaison to the WHO in Geneva. I've been there eight years now, come April. This is the most excitement I've had since the Ebola attack in Toronto, back in 2003."

I snapped my head around to face her. "I never heard about that."

She smiled knowingly. "Sure you did. We called it SARS at the time." She frowned. "We're still not sure who was responsible for that one. Our best guess is the attack was intended for another target, but the package broke in transit." She shrugged. "Or it could have been a demonstration, of course."

I made a polite response, but was saved from further smalltalk by our arrival at the hotel.

Once checked into my room I lay on the bed, thinking. Jack's background -- or rather, lack of it -- would be common knowledge to anyone in the intelligence community. The fact that he retained his family name made his identity even more obvious. So the Brits weren't making any real attempt to disguise the identity of their super-soldier.

Unless it was some kind of a ruse, and that wasn't Jacqueline in there.. But that made no sense either. Why pretend to be somebody as prominent as a British aristocrat? Too many people would know the family, come from the same schools, share the same background. There was no point in creating your supersoldier, putting him in the spotlight by sending him to a top-echelon conference on metabumans, and providing a flimsy fake background that could be shredded by any random stranger.

Like Court. If Court knew her brother, did she know Jacqueline, too? It seemed possible. So why the spying, and the charade? I was reasonably sure Jack wasn't half the upper-class twit he pretended, but his motivations eluded me.

In the meantime, a glance at the clock informed me it was Christmas Day. I sighed miserably and hugged a pillow to my chest, wishing it smelled like Dolores. Merry Christmas, Angel. I hope it's nice up there, 'cause it still sucks to be down here without you.

~o~O~o~

Wakeup call came early, and I was running a little late. When I got downstairs Court handed me a takeout cup of coffee and rushed me out to the car with her best drill-instructor voice. "C'mon, slowpoke, let's go, let's go, we're on a military schedule here. No slack for lazy-ass civilians who can't get out of bed on time."

I stuck out my tongue and hustled out to the car, grateful for the coffee. I smiled to the doctor in the back seat. "Morning, doc. Um, Merry Christmas, I guess," I added, taking in the early morning. The day was shaping up to be every bit of what you'd expect of a summer day in the equatorial rainforest: clouds low and heavy, the air already hot and steamy, thick enough to part with a machete, insects droning in the background. Very un-Christmas, for which I was grateful.

She returned my smile, peering at me over a copy of the local morning paper. "Good morning." She scanned the headlines. "'Chica Verde rescues food shipments from Somali pirates, delivers famine aid'," she read. "Goodness, you've been busy!"

I shrugged modestly and glanced sidelong at Court. "Well, we can't all be civil servants with cushy government jobs, sleeping in soft, comfy beds every night."

"Workaholic," she muttered.

We caught up with the men at the airport, where the majors were arguing with the pilots of a good-sized helicopter. "The Brazilians, they loan us the chopper, two-man crew," the Colonel explained, "but they won't let it stay. Drop off, pick up. One minute on the ground only. Less would be better."

I raised an eyebrow. "What do they know that we don't?"

"Nada," he grunted. "Zilch. They know nothing, same as us. That is the problem."

Can't argue with that. I looked around. "Where's Lord Falsworth?"

The Colonel's lips twitched. "He said he wanted a morning run. He'll be here."

A hint of motion caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to catch sight of a figure moving impossibly fast, following the perimeter road of the airfield, perhaps a half a mile away. A roostertail plume of dust and leafy debris followed him, lifted by the turbulence of his passage.

Court had followed my gaze and was watching the trail of dust trace its way to the far end of the airfield, then across and along the far fenceline. "That's Jack?" Her expression was incredulous.

I nodded. Despite the distance, with my enhanced sight I could see him clearly. Even at his incredible speed, I could see he was running easily. "It's him. This looks like just a morning jog, I don't think he's pushing it."

Court whistled softly, and I ran some quick numbers in my head. "Court, what would you say a lap is? I'm figuring about six miles."

She appraised the airfield, thinking out loud. "Two diagonal runways, military length, call 'em two miles long. That makes the sides about... a mile and a half." She nodded to herself, gauging the distances, confirming her estimates with a soldier's professional eye. "Looks about right. Call it six miles."

I'd begun counting in my head as soon as he started along the fence farthest away from us. One steamboat, two steamboat... I hadn't quite reached thirty as he reached the corner and headed back in our direction. A mile and a half in just under 30 seconds... Jesus, he's running at two hundred miles an hour!

Jack must have been watching for our arrival; he changed course towards our group, without slacking speed. Just as it appeared he was about to fly past us, he just... stopped, so quickly my eyes tracked past him, decelerating in a matter of two or three paces from an impossible velocity to an equally impossible lack. Dust raised by his passage swirled around his knees briefly, then settled in the heavy air, as he strode nonchalantly over to join us. "Good morning! I hope I haven't kept you all waiting," he grinned.

Court had dressed for work, army-style: a loose khaki tee, with camo pants tucked into a combat boots, her long hair held out of her face with a cord at the nape of her neck. I'd chosen comfortable shorts and hiking boots, and a canvas safari vest over a white tank top. Jack's eyes lingered over us, not even trying to be subtle, and it didn't take much for his grin to become a leer.

Court cleared her throat, pointedly, to get his attention off her chest and to the place where the words came out. "Not at all, we were just enjoying the show. How many laps was that, anyway?" she prompted.

"Oh, that was just a warmup, four or five, I wasn't counting. I could have run at that pace for hours. My top speed is maybe twice that."

The doctor gave herself a little shake and hurried off to supervise the loading of her equipment aboard the helicopter, muttering something to herself about respect for the laws of physics. I watched the two of them, a suspicion growing in the back of my mind, as Court nodded. "Impressive. Since we're working together, do you have any other talents we should know about?"

Jack shrugged modestly. "Well, I'm stronger than I look -- nothing on your scale, of course, but stronger than most normals. And I'm tougher than most, but far from bulletproof. Although I heal quickly, too. If it doesn't kill me, I can heal from most anything in a couple of hours. Or so they tell me." he added quickly. "It's not something I care to test with any rigor. I did break my arm rather badly while we were testing my abilities. It was as right as rain an hour later." He rubbed his arm ruefully. "I brushed against a tree. The slightest bump at speed has painful consequences. I learned that quite early on."

I thought about something. "What about water? Can you run across an open stretch, say a river or a lake?"

He nodded, his attention moving from Court's chest to mine, before reluctantly finding my face. "Calm water, certainly. Rough water, well, it's a bit of a risk. The slightest misstep and I'd... well, it would be spectacular, I'm sure. At that speed, water is hard. Wouldn't do to take a tumble and wind up in the drink, with broken bones or worse, miles from shore, would it?" he grinned.

I returned his grin, replaying the mental image of him cartwheeling out of control across the waves a few times, from a number of angles, and enjoying it more than I should. "Yes, I imagine it would be pretty spectacular, at that."

From the helicopter, Major Roth signaled to the Colonel, who interrupted us. "Okay, is time to go. Lots of time to chat in the air."

We climbed into the helicopter and lifted off, soon we were over untamed jungle. Well, not completely untamed, occasionally it was possible to see the outline of a road, if you could call them that; wide unpaved tracks would be a better description. But they were rare, and the distances between them just made the vastness of the jungle more real.

"Doctor, for the benefit of Agents Carter and Chahns, would you kindly review what you told us on the plane?" the Colonel prompted.

She cleared her throat. "The short story is, we don't know much at all, and what we do know is bad news. Every one of the brains we examined showed the same pathology: damage on a cellular level permeating the entire brain. Every major center was affected -- speech, memory, fine motor control. The effects are permanent and irreversible; even if we had a live patient the best we could do would be to sedate them and watch them die. Without the brain to manage things, their endocrine system is out of control; adrenal glands pumping away like crazy, it doesn't take long for their hearts to give out, a couple of days at most. We could deal with that, but everything falls apart when the brain goes; we might postpone death by a day or maybe two, but to what end? These people are literally the walking dead."

She paused, looking frustrated and grim. "What we don't know, is anything else. Not what causes the damage, or how it's transmitted. No clue how almost two hundred people's brains turned to mush at the same time."

The chopper lurched abruptly, causing us to clutch reflexively at our armrests, then recovered smoothly. After a moment, we relaxed.

"That explains why the Brazilians don't want to have anything to do with the place," I nodded. "But aren't we taking a big risk, going in unprotected?"

The doctor shook her head. "Oh, we're not going in without protection." She pointed to her equipment case. "I have the latest in biocontamination gear for all of us. Based on tech Stark Industries acquired the rights to, I'm told." She shrugged, "Whatever the source, Stark makes good stuff, and I've used these suits before. If these things can't protect us, there isn't anything that can."

Suddenly there was a roar and the sound of screaming from the cockpit and the chopper began to plummet, veering out of control, throwing us from our seats.

Hastily, I flew up to the ceiling, pressing my hands to the roof, attempting to lift and stabilize the helicopter, as it pitched and yawed like a wild thing. "I can keep us in the air, but the controls are all over the place. It's like fighting a gyroscope. Kill the engines, or the rotors'll tear themselves apart!"

Major Weiss was already in motion, scrambling towards the cockpit door as the chopper bucked and heaved. He drew a gun from his shoulder holster, but he never got a chance to use it. There was a sudden lurch, throwing the major off-balance; as he struggled to recover, the door crashed open, and out of the cockpit raged a... thing, a gross distortion of a man, eyes wild, face distorted in fury, fingers distended into bloody claws, screaming wordlessly as he fell upon Weiss with tooth and nail.

Court shot across the tiny cabin and hit the thing with a tackle that would have done credit to an All-Pro linebacker; the impact all the more impressive because she massed as much as any two linebackers. The creature hit the cabin wall so hard I thought he might go right through, and there was a sickly sound of ribs splintering like green wood, but he was barely fazed, merely turning his rage from Weiss to the slender teenaged girl that hit like a freight train. Despite the fury of his attack, it was awkward and uncoordinated, almost like a child's tantrum. Court's skin was was impervious to his claws anyway, and she held him off with little trouble while Weiss scrambled to get out of the way, bleeding from gouges to his throat and face.

It was one thing to hold the zombie at bay, but Court quickly discovered it was quite another thing to subdue it. Its fury was relentless, struggling single-mindedly to strike and bite and claw at Court, regardless of the damage to itself. All the while it screamed in rage, made even more disturbing as its shattered ribs added a hideous wheezing sound as it drew each breath. She twisted the thing's arm behind its back in a hammerlock, pressing it to the cabin wall, but the creature simply ignored the hold, attempting to turn and claw at her with one hand even as the other arm was being pried from its socket.

There was a sudden, deafening BOOM and the zombie's head exploded, splashing bits of brain and bone across every available surface. Wind whistled through the new hole in the cabin wall as we turned as one, in stunned disbelief, toward the source of the gunshot.

"Webley forty-five automatic. It was my father's gun." Jack said, as he wiped a bit of gore from the weapon in his hand, admiring it. "Bit of overkill, I daresay, but there's no such thing as too much gun, eh?" Our dumbfounded expressions finally registered. "What?"

We were literally shaken out of our astonishment as the helicopter began to vibrate distressingly. Major Roth quickly scrambled into the cockpit to hit the kill switch, and the chopper steadied as the rotors spun down, and I began to think about how I might land this thing

"Jack," Court began mildly, as she wiped brains from her face, "if you were worried that zombies were caused by something attacking the brain, something that might be infectious, something that you didn't understand at all, what part of the zombie would you least want to SPLASH ACROSS YOUR CO-WORKERS?"

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 4

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. American Dream used with the kind permission of Lilith Langtree. "Jack," Court began mildly, as she wiped brains from her face, "if you were worried that zombies were caused by something attacking the brain, something that might be infectious, something that you didn't understand at all, what part of the zombie would you least want to SPLASH ACROSS YOUR CO-WORKERS?"

---

Jack reddened as the implications of his act began to occur to him. "Oh, good heavens, what have I done?" He looked at the pistol in his hand as if it was a live rattlesnake, and quickly holstered it. "I thought -- no, I make no excuses. I offer my sincere apologies, whatever they might be worth. I can assure you -- well, no, I probably can't." He slumped miserably in his seat.

The Colonel fixed Jack with a steely eye for a long moment, dabbing a spot on his cheek with a handkerchief, his silence speaking volumes. Finally he glanced to Roth. "Copilot?"

"Dead, throat's a mess. Crushed, I think."

"Major Weiss?"

The big man had pulled himself into seat, tended by the doctor, holding a large gauze bandage to his throat while she dabbed at his face. "I'll live, Colonel." Despite being a professional soldier, he was still visibly shaken by the mindless violence of the attack. "It was a close thing, though." Weiss gave Court a curt nod. "Thanks, Carter."

That casual nod, one professional to another, was something I suspect she hadn't seen much, since her change. She stopped picking zombie out of her hair long enough to return the nod, shrugging a little too casually. "I was in the neighborhood," she joked gruffly.

The Colonel wasn't finished taking stock. "Doctor, what do you recommend?"

The doctor had left Weiss and was already rooting frantically through her equipment. "We need to set down as quickly as possible, preferably near water." Her hand emerged with a jar of antiseptic wipes. "In the meantime, clean off with these, as best you can." She glanced sourly around the cabin. "-- and try not to get any more of it on you."

"Doc, I can have us at the village in a few minutes, if you'd prefer," I offered.

"Oh, that would be the best option -- but as far outside as you can manage," she directed. "We don't need two sites to clean up, but we don't want to contaminate the village with our own infections, either. There may still be something to learn."

The way she said "clean up" sounded rather ominous, but I knew better than to ask. Instead I focused on figuring out the best way to navigate, considering that pressed against the roof as I was, I couldn't see forward, and even if I could, I had no idea where to find a tiny village in this vast expanse of rainforest. Suddenly I blinked and gave myself a figurative slap to the forehead. A quick mental request to my ring, and instantly I had a heads-up display, projected onto my retina. I headed for the beacon that marked our destination as quickly as I could push the helicopter.

Court had taken the worst of the mess, and needed almost half the wipes herself, disposing of the bloody remains in a heavy plastic medical waste bag the doctor produced from her trunk. Everyone else followed suit, and then examined each other for spots they had missed. The doctor spent a few moments cleaning me off, since my hands were somewhat occupied keeping the helicopter aloft.

"That will do for a start," she pronounced. "Once we set down, we can get rid of these clothes and disinfect properly."

"C-clothes? But..." Jack sputtered.

"Even the tiniest spot of blood could harbor the virus, although we're still just assuming that's what it is. Do you want to take that chance?" She waited until Jack shook his head glumly, then relented a little. "Don't worry, I have some disposable coveralls in here someplace. You won't have to go naked."

Guided by the ring, I set us down at the end of the village's main street, such as it was. The location appeared to be a packed dirt parking lot for heavy trucks and logging equipment. The air in the chopper was becoming rank with the coppery smell of blood, and we were grateful to escape, even if it was into the fetid jungle heat.

There was a small runoff stream nearby the doctor pronounced sufficient for her needs, and she appropriated the tailgate of an abandoned pickup truck as her work table.

"Right, I have some industrial-strength disinfectant solution, it's meant for work surfaces and medical equipment and the like. It's going to burn like hell on bare skin -- and it has to get on all your bare skin. And hair. Leave it for a count of ten, then rinse off in the stream. We don't know we're dealing with a virus, but we can't take any risks. There's a medical term we use for researchers who take chances." She paused for effect. "We call them 'deceased'. Any questions?"

We shook our heads. "Good. The men can go first. Toss your clothes in the chopper, then pair up and scrub each other's backs."

There wasn't much to be said about the process; we turned our backs and let the men get to it. It sounded painful when the liquid was applied to their nether regions, and Court and I shared a glance and winced in sympathy. Eventually they were done, and walking around bow-legged in plasticized paper jumpsuits. Their skin looked raw, an angry shade of red. Major Weiss had been liberal in applying the disinfectant to his wounds, and was in obvious pain.

Finally, it was our turn. The men became terribly interested in studying the jungle while the doctor led Court and I through the disinfecting routine. I suppose I could have skipped the drill, but while I thought my Martian physiology was probably immune, that's a far cry from knowing. Besides, if there was a virus, I definitely didn't want to carry it around to infect anyone else.

Judging from the doctor's expression, the stuff was every bit as painful to apply to a woman's sensitive skin, too. It might as well have been water, for all it mattered to Court and I, but the doctor had tears in her eyes by the time she'd rinsed off. "The things I do for science," she hissed through gritted teeth.

Finally, it was done, and we pulled on the flimsy paper coveralls from the doctor's bottomless trunk. I could have shifted into anything, but I figured some solidarity was in order.
They were huge on our small frames, and we spent considerable time rolling the cuffs so we could see our hands and feet.

The Colonel was back in charge. "Doctor, I expect the suits are the next order of business?"

She nodded, and distributed plastic-wrapped packages to each of us. "They may seem a little small, but I can assure you they'll stretch to fit, even Major Weiss. Don't worry about tearing them. They'll start off feeling uncomfortably tight, but they adjust quickly."

Unwrapped and unfolded, the suits look a bit like inflatable sex dolls -- hey, I've been to my share of bachelor parties -- complete with an 'O' where the mouth should be. In this case the doll was bright yellow, except for the face, which was clear, and the 'O' was black, and looked more like a speaker grille. The doctor demonstrated how to wriggle into the suit through a tiny seam at the back of the neck, and we mimicked her example. Court and I had problems getting all our hair tucked in, but eventually we got it squared away and the doctor was checking the seal on our seams.

"The fabric of the suits is tougher than human skin, but not too much so. It probably won't wear or abrade, but anything that would cut or puncture you, won't be stopped by the suit." Her voice was remarkably clear, despite the grill in front of her mouth.

"The boots offer about the same protection as a pair of sneakers, fine for the lab and most urban environments. If you step on a nail, or anything sharp, it could still go through, so be careful. Battery packs on the belt power the air circulation, and the suits themselves will breathe like normal cloth, but only out, nothing comes in. So hopefully you won't feel like you're wearing a plastic bag. The respirator" -- she tapped the black circle at her mouth -- "is a molecular filter. It might feel a little harder to take a breath through this thing, but you get used to it, and what you do breathe is likely cleaner than anything you've inhaled before. No soot, no pollen, and definitely no bacteria or viruses. Won't stop most gases, though, so in places where carbon monoxide or hydrogen sulfide is a problem, you'll still need your own air. Hopefully that won't be a problem, because I left the air tanks in my other trunk." She forced a brief smile at her own joke. "Anyway, that's the lecture. It's all yours, Colonel. If I could get the pilot and the copilot laid out here next to the truck, I want some samples."

The doctor laid out a dropsheet and Jack and Major Roth extricated the corpses from the helicopter, a messy job that left bloody stains on their biosuits. Major Weiss attempted to raise the Brazilian military on the cockpit radio, eventually engaging in a heated conversation in Portuguese with someone equally heated.

"They won't send another chopper for us," he finally reported to the Colonel. "It seems the base had a zombie attack of its own, and somehow we're being blamed for it. I couldn't get much out of them, except the attack was contained and the base is under quarantine."

The doctor looked up sharply from unpacking her field lab. "Did they say anything about the cleanup?"

"Just that it will proceed according to the schedule, why?"

I could tell from the sick look on Court's face that she had an inkling. "Doctor, by 'clean up' you're talking about disinfecting the whole site, aren't you? In a military way."

The doctor nodded grimly. "Fuel-air bombs, to incinerate the whole area. It's textbook procedure for containing highly contagious outbreaks."

"So, when they say, 'on schedule', what schedule were they referring to?" This was directed to the Colonel.

He cleared his throat. "Seventeen hundred hours. Our pickup was scheduled for fifteen hundred, plenty of time to get clear."

Court wasn't done yet. "So, faced with a zombie outbreak of their own, and a chopper full of possibly contagious people you blame for it -- including infected metas -- who know how much time they have to get clear, what would you do?"

A chill washed over each of us, as her point sunk in. "Move up the schedule," Roth groaned. "We need to get out of here."

The doctor sighed. "It's not that simple. Maybe we are infected, or infectious. We can't just wander back to Buenos Aires -- one of the most populous cities on the planet -- and show up for work. We could be responsible for the deaths of thousands. And," she cleared her throat uncomfortably, unable to look any of us in the eye, and stated what each of us had probably been thinking, "What if metas aren't immune? Maybe staying put is the right thing to do."

I didn't want to dwell on that. "What kind of time have we got? How quickly could they get a bomber in the air?"

The Colonel shrugged. "Mission was scheduled for later today. I doubt the plane or crew was in scramble readiness, so maybe an hour, ninety minutes to get them fueled, loaded, crew briefed and in the air. Plus an hour to get here."

I turned to the doctor. "That gives us maybe an hour and a half for you to decide if we're a risk and we have to make some hard decisions. What do you need?"

She laughed without humor. "More time. More equipment, more hands, more data. Other than that, I'm good."

I got the mental equivalent of a throat clearing. Ahem. Hallooooo, advanced alien technology here, remember me? Perhaps I can help?

I smiled, realizing we'd overlooked a powerful ally. I worked the ring off my finger, then pulled my arm out of the suit's sleeve, reaching behind my neck to pass the ring through the suit's seam to the doctor, who looked at it skeptically. Now that it was off my finger, it had reverted to a silvery color.

"Go ahead, slip it on over the suit," I encouraged, and her eyes widened as the ring changed size to fit her gloved finger. "I'm not exactly sure what it's capable of, but at the very least it can probably get more from your instruments than you can, and it's a link to a supercomputer AI with a medical library better than anything on the planet. Would that help?"

The doctor's eyes widened comically as the ring introduced itself telepathically. "Oh! Well, it certainly can't hurt." She blinked, and her lips quirked. "It -- ahh, she -- has quite the personality."

Court and I shared a grin. "You get used to it," she replied.

"Trust me, it's an improvement," I added.

The Colonel was rolling his shoulders, trying to get comfortable in the suit. "What can the rest of us do to help?"

The doctor was already taking samples from the zombie's skull cavity. "Hmm? Oh. Well, this was supposed to be a sightseeing tour. The best I was hoping for was to collect some samples to compare with the ones in the lab, and try to find some clue to how this whole village turned zombie at once. I didn't expect to have a fresh zombie -- and an impossible deadline. I'm afraid you'll have to poke around without me."

"Da. Understood." He turned to face the five of us. "Split up, each take a section of the village. You metas can travel the fastest, start at far end of village. Everybody meets in the center in one hour. If you find anything urgent, make some noise, at least one of us will hear."

I nodded and lifted into the air, drifting over the silent village. Below me, Jack had already arrived at the far corner, a whirlwind settling in his wake. Court was running easily down the main street. I took it more slowly, trying to understand what I might be looking for.

The village was barely that -- mostly a collection of prefab trailers and a spur on a rail line. There were a number of tin sheds for warehouse space and a sawmill, and a few more permanent buildings for company offices, and one that seemed to be a small medical clinic, judging from the red cross on the sign.

Okay, you're going about your day and everybody turns into a zombie. What would you see? What would happen?

I frowned. Right away things weren't adding up. I thought about the lot where I'd landed the helicopter. Heavy equipment, all parked neatly and ready to go. Maybe it happened before work?

Still mulling, I landed in my assigned section of the village, a collection of prefab trailers used for living quarters. The first few I entered were single's quarters, bunkhouses with a kitchen and shower facility. Most of them were for the men, of course -- but there was one set aside for women, too. None of them were particularly well-kept, as you'd expect in a roughneck place like this -- but there was no sign that anything out of the ordinary happened, either. No doors left swinging in the breeze, no breakfasts left half-eaten. Nothing left cooking on the stove. No water running, of course, but the shower taps were all turned off. I made a mental note to ask the doctor whether any of the zombies had been found naked, or in sleeping clothes.

The silent air seemed heavier as I crossed into an area set apart from the singles quarters, a group of trailers set around a common open space: family quarters, probably for supervisors. A cheap swingset sat in the center of the space, the jungle already sending creepers up its rusted legs, and a few children's toys lay scattered about. A doll carriage lay on its side, but no dolly. A small pink bicycle with training wheels. A soccer ball, starting to go flat.

I braced myself for what I might find inside the trailers, but there was nothing to see. No sign of a panic, no indication of hasty exit. And no clue about what happened to the children. Court said they found child-sized toothmarks on the bones.

The hour was almost up, and I headed toward the center of the town to rejoin the others. Jack was the last to join us; one instant he was missing, the next he was just there, and the wind from his sudden arrival ruffled our biosuits.

The Colonel looked decidedly uncomfortable inside his suit, as did the Majors. It must have been miserable to be trapped in the suits in this heat, unable to keep the sweat from running into their eyes. "Okay, what have we got?"

Weiss spoke first. "Whatever happened, didn't catch them at work. There's no indications of damage in the offices, no chairs overturned, no papers scattered, not even a coffee spilled."

Roth concurred. "The sawmill equipment wasn't left running when it happened. Everything was locked down. The forklifts are still parked."

Jack spoke up. "The clinic was a mess, but I suspect that was from the soldiers' investigation. The door had been locked, but it was forced open. Computers gone, filing cabinets opened and rifled. Nothing worth reporting."

Court shrugged. "Pretty much the same here. The general store had been locked, but the door was forced, probably the soldiers again. The food shelves were stripped, maybe they took the cans for samples. Or maybe the Red Skull looted the place before they left. Other than that, no damage. If anyone was trapped inside when they changed, I couldn't find any sign."

I spoke up. "Colonel, how many children's bodies were recovered?"

He looked mystified. "As far as I know, there were none."

Major Weiss spoke up. "Not quite true, the youngest victim was a twelve-year-old girl. And there were two older teens, I think."

I shook my head. "Something's not right. I've seen the living quarters. There were younger children here. There's no indication they were infected and turned, and if they were abandoned when their parents turned, we'd have found signs of it. Where have they gone?"

"That is no concern of yours."

The voice came from the shadow of a storage shed. It belonged to a tall man, with short-cropped blond hair, in military fatigues bearing the Red Skull insignia. Four others appeared behind him, fanning out to cover us with automatic weapons. "Your more immediate concern, Miss Mars, should be, 'How do I remain very still to keep my associates from being killed.'"

Court sighed and glanced at me. "They've got the doctor, too."

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 5

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 by Misty Meenor A Comic RetCon Universe Story

I shook my head. "Something's not right. I've seen the living quarters. There were younger children here. There's no indication they were infected and turned, and if they were abandoned when their parents turned, we'd have found signs of it. Where have they gone?"

"That is no concern of yours."

The voice came from the shadow of a storage shed. It belonged to a tall man, with short-cropped blond hair, in military fatugues bearing the Red Skull insignia. Four others appeared behind him, fanning out to cover us with automatic weapons. "Your more immediate concern, Miss Mars, should be, 'How do I remain very still to keep my associates from being killed.'"

Court sighed and glanced at me. "They've got the doctor, too."

---

The man raised an eyebrow, nodding to Court in acknowledgement. "Indeed. American Dream, isn't it? She will be joining us, and then we shall be taking a short trip." His voice grew cold. "I must warn you both that your associates are hostages to your good behavior. At the first sign of trouble, they will be shot. And," he strode over to Major Weiss, eyeing the big man casually, then struck him in the chest with the palm of his hand with such force that Weiss was knocked backwards through the air to land stretched out on his back. "You will find we are not without a few surprises."

Weiss rolled to all fours, gasping for breath. The Colonel and Major Roth attempted to help him to his feet, but he shrugged them off and stood on his own. "Impressive stunt," he acknowledged. "Be sure and let me know when it's my turn."

"It won't happen," the man said dismissively. "Ah. Here comes the good doctor."

The doctor was escorted by two more soldiers, with rather efficient-looking submachine guns at the ready. I exchanged a glance with Court, she shook her head minutely. We came here for information, it seemed we'd be getting more than expected. One bright spot is that he didn't seem to know about Jack.

I just hope Jack doesn't do anything stupid. I wanted to catch his eye, but he was standing behind us.

The man faced the group of us and offered a short bow, clicking his heels together in the Teutonic style. "You may address me simply as Nummer Eins. I am aware of your names, already. Doctor, I believe you and Miss Dream are each in possession of a ring with some rather special properties. You will hand these over now."

Court glared at him. "How did you know about those?"

"It is enough that I know. The rings, please. I will not ask again." At his signal, the soldiers raised their weapons.

"They won't work for you," Court warned, as she and the doctor removed their rings and dropped them into the man's outstretched hand.

"That misses the point, which is, they will no longer work for you." His smirk quickly became a grimace and he gasped in pain as the rings flared with a brilliant silvery light, and he hurriedly dumped them out of his hand onto the packed dirt. We could feel a wave of intense heat, and I stepped back involuntarily as the rings became too bright to look at directly, before fading away completely, leaving no trace but the afterimage swimming in our vision.

Damn, I was gonna miss my ring. I felt like I'd just lost a friend, although I knew the rings were just an extension of the AI in Jade's starship.

The man frowned. "Unfortunate, but we couldn't risk bringing them with us anyway. The Leader was most explicit." His eyes flashed to the soldiers. "Separate them, the metas from the others. Oh, and do strip off those ridiculous suits. It was amusing for a while but that color is getting tedious. I can assure you, there is no virus here."

The soldiers split us into two groups, a few paces apart, and I noticed with some chagrin that they'd included Jack with Court and me. We peeled out of the suits, feeling naked in our bare feet and disposable paper coveralls. All of the soldiers remained with the hostages. "Your friends will go first. If you cause any trouble, if we don't arrive precisely on schedule, they will be killed. Understand?"

We nodded our assent, and we just stood there for a few moments. I was straining to hear the sound of an incoming vehicle -- a helicopter, a truck, anything, when the other group just... vanished.

Oh, crap. Telep --

There was a soundless, colorless implosion, and a feeling like I was simultaneously being stretched into an infinite length and squeezed into an infinitesimal point, before being stuffed through a pinhole in reality that the universe didn't know was there.

-- orter.

Darkness. I blinked a few times as my eyes adjusted from bright tropical sunlight to the lower light of our destination. It was cooler, too, and the oppressive jungle humidity was gone.

As my eyes accommodated to the light, I took in our new surroundings. We were standing on the rocky floor of a large cave -- a cavern, I quickly realized, as the scale of the place became apparent. The open space had been refitted as a large warehouse; arc lighting mounted at intervals cast sparse circles of illumination across the open floor, throwing shadows in all directions while leaving the distant ceiling shrouded in permanent night. The far ends of the cavern remained unlit, although with my enhanced vision I could make out a sizable motor pool at one end, assorted vehicles ranging in size from jeeps to heavy trucks parked in neat rows. Electrical cables crisscrossed the floor. Most of the remaining available wallspace was lined several rows deep with crates and assorted supplies. There was a steady industrial background hum, echoing and re-echoing off the distant stone walls and roof. Possibly generators or ventilation equipment, mixed with intermittent machine noises I couldn't identify.

Our friends were a few paces away, being hustled by the soldiers towards a pair of mundane-looking double doors leading out of the cavern. If we were ever to seize the initiative, it would have to be now -- but I was paralyzed by the risk to the others. The Colonel must have had the same thought; suddenly he seemed to stumble, and fell on one knee, causing the soldiers escorting the group to bunch together before they could stop. The majors must have been waiting for this, and set upon the surprised guards, attacking them hand-to-hand, too close for their automatic weapons to be brought to bear. They were hopelessly outnumbered, but they never expected to win alone. In a flash Court and I were in their midst; and a few seconds after that there were two piles on the floor; unconscious soldiers, and guns.

"That will be enough, escape is quite out of the question." The voice had come out of the shadows, dry and amused. Nummer Eins had not moved from his spot, but his smirk had grown wider. A few handclaps sounded, sarcastic applause. "Most impressive, I admit -- but where is the rest of your party? Missing anyone?"

From behind a stack of crates stepped the doctor, a knife held to her throat. My heart sunk when I realized who was holding the knife.

"Jack."

He flashed a grin. "Afraid so. I trust you're not too disappointed."

Soldiers poured from the double doors, surrounding us, but Court ignored them, advancing on Jack. "How could you do this, Jack? Brian was a hero. Your father was a hero. How could you betray their memories like this? You loved your brother. He thought the world of you. What happened?"

Jack's face twisted in rage. "What happened? He died in the fucking desert, is what happened. Trying to force your American democracy down the throats of people nobody cares about, who didn't fucking want it in the first place, all so you fucking Yanks can flex your global muscles, pat yourselves on the back, and feel good about your oil supply." His voice hardened. "When Brian died, it tore my father's heart out. He just... stopped living. Your America killed them both."

"Ahem. Jack, do shut up now, you're boring us," the voice interrupted. "Miss Dream, that will be close enough. I'm sure Jack is quite fast enough to slit the doctor's throat before you so much as twitch, but there's no need to test him." Nummer Eins produced a small pistol of an unfamiliar design, and pointed it at Court.

"Introductions are so tedious, but, I suppose necessary." The source of the voice stepped into view, a man of medium height, wearing a laboratory coat, the kind that buckled side-to-side, all the way to the neck. His head seemed too large for his body, his skull appearing emaciated, misshapen. He was quite bald, with pale, almost translucent skin the texture of thin parchment, drawn tightly over his bones. Something had made the capillaries in his face and scalp rupture, giving it a blotched, reddish tone. He gave the appearance of advanced age, except that his voice was strong and clear, his carriage upright, his step sure. His eyes were bright, but his heavy brow made them appear to be sunk into his head, and combined with his thin-lipped rictus of a smile, showing too many teeth, gave the rather sinister impression of a skull, set atop a living body.

"My name is unimportant. The world will know me soon enough as the Red Skull. For... rather obvious reasons." He faced the Colonel and the majors, now surrounded by a dozen soldiers. "Colonel Dmitri Illyanovitch Karpov. Major Benjamin Roth, Major Eric Weiss, I know, I know, blah, blah, blah." He waved his hand in irritation.

"Gentlemen, the good news is, I have no particular use for you. I'll run a few tests, keep you for a week or so, and let you go. Goodbye, go now, shoo." He waved them away, and the soldiers hustled them non-too-gently through the double doors.

He turned to the doctor, still with Jack's knife at her throat, offering her a rather ghastly smile. "Doctor Elizabeth Morris. One of the world's leading authorities on diseases of the brain. You, I can use. You know what they say, good help is hard to find, and you're one of the few people equipped to appreciate my work..." His voiced trailed off tantalizingly, like he was expecting her to leap at the rare treat he was offering. He patted her cheek, then he turned away abruptly. "Or, I can kill you. Either way, you're not going home. Think on it, we'll talk later. For now, just sit tight and be a good little hostage while I talk to your meta friends."

Jack tightened his grip on the doctor as the Red Skull turned to Court, hands clasped behind his back, studying her from all sides like some zoological exhibit. Her hands clenched into fists, but she held still; the risk to the doctor was too great.

"American Dream," he finally spoke, his tone conversational, like they were chatting over tea. "Would it surprise you to know that I killed that entire village for the sole purpose of bringing you here, to this meeting?" At her horrified expression, he grinned and nodded vigorously, his grotesque head bobbing as if at a particularly fine joke, shared with a child. "Yes, yes, it's true, and here you are. I must admit, your friend" -- he shot a murderous glance at me that belied his civil tone -- "was an unexpected twist, but we adapt, we adapt. In fact -- well, that's getting ahead of ourselves, yes?"

He straightened, and rocked on his heels, lecturing Court. "Very well, then. To the point. It is one thing to have you here, but I am quite aware it is another matter entirely to keep you here." He waved a hand dismissively. "Tiger by the tail, et cetera, et cetera. So. A simple experiment is in order."

Without warning, Nummer Eins fired his strange pistol. Blue-white lightning arced, crackling and sparking over Court's body, lighting the cavern briefly with a ghastly flickering strobe. Court screamed and collapsed to the ground, writhing and twitching uncontrollably. Eins knelt by her side as she continued to spasm, and fitted a narrow metallic collar around her throat, closing it with an ominous heavy click. He attached a slim leash, which he held negligently in one hand.

The Red Skull clapped his hands in delight. "Excellent! Excellent! One can think they have a solution to a problem, but the proof is always in the pudding, yes?" Nummer Eins tugged on the leash, and Court slowly climbed to her feet, gasping for breath, her hands clutching at the collar, as the Red Skull continued. "One last demonstration. I'm afraid the leash is not just for show. Go on, go on, take it."

Nummer Eins held out the leash for Court, holding it in two fingers, smirking. Reluctantly, Court reached out for it. As he released the leash, the lightning danced over her body again, this time originating from the collar, and Court collapsed in convulsions once more, her breath coming in choking gasps. Eins plucked the leash from her nerveless fingers, and the sparking stopped, leaving a sharp tang of ozone in the air. Court's chest heaved as she gradually regained her feet, swaying unsteadily.

"The leash must always be held by somebody else. Or hung up on a special post. Anything else, and -- well, you see what happens. Oh -- and you don't want to try to remove it. The results would be quite fatal, eventually. Same thing goes for the collar, of course."

The Red Skull turned dismissively from Court towards where I had been standing. "Now, Miss Mars presents a different problem --" Except I wasn't standing there any more.

It was obvious that if there was any chance for escape, that opportunity was fading fast. With everyone's attention on Court, I'd shot up to the sanctuary of the cavern roof, trusting in the darkness to hide me, and slowly drifted to hover over Jack. His reaction time might be unbeatable, but if I could catch him by surprise... that would have to be enough.

Time ran out when the Red Skull finally noticed my absence. In the blink of an eye, I was on Jack, my hand gripping his on the hilt of the knife. Too late, he tried to slash the doctor's throat, but even with his metagene-enhanced body, he couldn't hope to match my strength, and the knife refused to budge. I tightened my grip, feeling the bones in his fingers splinter like green twigs under my hand, and he howled in pain.

Dropping the knife, I grabbed Jack by the neck and flung him hard at Nummer Eins, the collision knocking Eins back several feet, tangling them both in a heap. The leash was torn from Eins' grasp, sending Court into another helpless fit, and I scrambled to grab it. "Doctor, I need you to take this, while I --"

The doctor hadn't moved, except to clutch at the knife protruding from her stomach, an astonished expression on her face. She gasped, eyes wide with shock, unable to find her voice as the Red Skull gave the blade a vicious twist, one hand gripping her hair, holding her upright as she fell to her knees, arms wrapped around the fire in her gut. A red stain began to spread across her belly, soaking into her paper coveralls.

"Stop!" he warned, as Court and I both tensed, preparing to charge him. The now-bloody knife was once more at the doctor's throat.

"The woman has perhaps thirty minutes of intense agony before she bleeds to death. But I can save her!" he added hastily, as we continued to advance. "Good as new, in twenty-four hours, I give you my word. You want to live, don't you, doctor? You want the pain to stop? Tell them!"

The doctor hesitated a moment, her breathing short and shallow, then slowly nodded her head, unable to meet our eyes. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered.

"How can we trust you?" Court spat.

The Red Skull rolled his eyes. "You dare make this about me? This poor woman -- stay with us, Elizabeth, it's not my fault your friends want to drag this out -- this poor woman wouldn't be suffering at all if you hadn't brought this upon her!"

He sighed, and his tone became condescending. "You can't trust me, of course, I should have thought that would have been obvious by now. But I have gone to a lot of trouble to get you here, why? If I had wanted you all dead, you would most assuredly be dead, and I wouldn't have needed to bring you here to do it. Finally, I have no need for lies. The truth is more than sufficient."

He called out into the darkness. "Maria! come out here. I want you to meet these people." After a moment a woman's figure shuffled out from behind a wall of crates, slouched and moving carefully, from handhold to handhold, as if her balance was uncertain. At some point her head had been shaved bald, and her hair seemed to be growing back unevenly, in coarse tufts, in some places not at all, and could not hide the surgical scars and misshapen bulges protruding from her skull. She was dressed in institutional yellow pajamas, the cheerful color contrasting horribly with her pallid skin. She was young, no more than eighteen or twenty, but she carried herself like a decrepit old woman. Her eyes were empty and dull, her mouth slack. In one hand she clutched the arm of an old rag doll, as tattered and lifeless as herself.

Nummer Eins and Jack had untangled themselves, and moved to stand with the Red Skull. Eins wound his hand in the doctor's hair, keeping her upright, and took the knife from his boss, continuing to hold it at her throat. Jack held his pulped hand, glaring murderously at me.

"Maria is my latest project, I'm very happy with her." The woman made her way to stand unsteadily next to the Red Skull, her eyes on the floor, clutching the ancient doll to her chest with both hands, rocking from one foot to the other. "She has many talents, don't you?" He turned to whisper in Maria's ear, and the woman closed her eyes and became still for a moment. Jack and the doctor vanished soundlessly. Nummer Eins slipped the knife into his belt and stood at ease, still looking unbearably smug.

"Your friend is in the infirmary, they'll know what to do. I have a regeneration tank, one of my earliest inventions. I swear by it, myself. She'll be fine by this time tomorrow. Better than fine. It adds years to your life. Believe me, I know."

He put his arm around Maria's shoulders, ignoring her reflexive flinch. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Maria is the one you've been looking for. She's your zombie plague. Of course, I can't have you telling anyone, when I let you go."

He stopped, surprised. "Oh! I suppose I should have mentioned that sooner. Yes, I'm going to let you go. A week or two, at most. So sorry."

He hugged the woman, who barely seemed to notice. "Ahem. Which brings us to, how do I hold on to the incredibly powerful Miss Mars? And how will I keep you from telling anyone my little secrets? Ah. Well. Maria, show them."

Maria raised her head, her eyes meeting mine. I had a moment of panic, as I felt a presence in my head, insinuating itself, twisting around parts of my mind. There was the briefest sense of ... apology?... before it pulled. There was an obscene ripping sensation and an incandescent detonation behind my eyes, and I collapsed to the ground, senseless.

Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 6

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. American Dream used with the kind permission of Lilith Langtree. He hugged the woman, who barely seemed to notice. "Ahem. Which brings us to, how do I hold on to the incredibly powerful Miss Mars? And how will I keep you from telling anyone my little secrets? Ah. Well. Maria, show them." Maria raised her head, her eyes meeting mine. I had a moment of panic, as I felt a presence in my head, insinuating itself, twisting around parts of my mind. There was the briefest sense of ... apology?... before it pulled. There was an obscene ripping sensation and an incandescent detonation behind my eyes, and I collapsed to the ground, senseless.

---

Author's note: I apologize for the delay, this was a difficult piece to write, for technical reasons which may become apparent. I'm still not happy with it, but better to post it now, than to dwell on it forever. Comments are welcome as always!

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There was a dream... a woman, a terrible woman, to her enemies. But I was not her enemy. She wanted something from me... something important...

The dream faded, pushed aside by the pain in my head, and the image of Maria's slack-lipped face and dead eyes. I awoke with a start, remembering with nightmare clarity.

What had she done to me?

I was lying on my back, presumably on some kind of bed. The light was so bright it hurt my eyes, even through closed lids; I threw an arm across my face to block it out and the hammering behind my eyes subsided, a little. My body felt heavy and sluggish.

A voice came from close by, a young woman's, her tone urgent, but not in a language I understood.

Who is she talking to?

Keeping my eyes closed, and averted from the brightest of the light, I propped myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Even that careful motion provoked a sudden bout of nausea; I leaned forward, taking slow, deep breaths, fighting off the urge to retch. My hair tumbled down on either side of my face, helping to block the light, and carefully I opened my eyes, wincing as the pain increased, but determined to take stock of what little I could see, from my sheltered perspective. The woman was still talking, her tone relieved now, but still with urgent undertones. Whoever she was talking to, wasn't responding. A phone?

Okay, first things first. My bare feet rested on concrete, not especially worn or stained, age indeterminate. My legs were shrouded in unbleached canvas drawstring pants, too long, of course, covering most of my feet, as well. My toes -- what little I could see of them -- and presumably the rest of me had returned to my default green color. I was wearing a loose top to match the pants, also oversized on my small frame. The clothing had an institutional feel, coarse and scratchy against my skin.

What had she done to me?

I had a growing suspicion, a very bad one. Still keeping my head down, in case I was being observed, I brought my hand -- also green: check -- in front of my eyes. Sheltered from sight by the curtain of my hair, I tried a simple shapeshift, just the color of my nails. The pounding in my head seemed to pick up the tempo as I tried to focus, but I felt relief flow through me as my fingernails obligingly took on a deep red polish, and I hastily returned them to normal before they could be noticed.

Well, that's something, anyhow.

I dropped my hand to my side, resting on the edge of the bed, then casually reached a little lower to explore the bedframe. A simple metal rail, it felt like; I grasped it firmly and squeezed, just a little, then harder, then with all the strength I could muster.

Nothing.

Worse than nothing; I'd cut myself on the rough edge. I watched dully as blood welled from the scratch.

Strength: gone. Invulnerability: gone.

The pain in my head told me what would happen, but I had to know. I tried to levitate myself a few inches off the bed.

Nothing. Except the pounding in my head was threatening to push my eyeballs out from the inside. This time I did retch, fortunately my stomach was empty, and I was left with only a sour taste in my mouth.

Flight: gone. I'm just a girl, now.

As Dan, I'd been six-four, two hundred twenty pounds, in decent shape. I could reach the top shelf, open my own pickle jars, and physical intimidation wasn't something that happened to me, it was something I did.

Then the metagene kicked in, and suddenly I'm a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, and on the other side of the gender wall. Despite looking like the kid-next-door's hot teenaged babysitter, despite having to look up at the world, even from high heels, I'd always had that secret. You can't hurt me, and I could kick your ass.

I'd been female for less than half a year, but I'd never been 'just a girl'. I don't know how I could have coped without Dolores, but with her love and support, somehow I managed -- and it wasn't always easy, but I always had a crutch, the confidence that even though I might look small and frail and weak, I wasn't.

But I really was all those things now. Small. Frail. Weak. It wasn't just pretend, anymore.

Breakable.

In the clutches of a madman who commanded the power to do this to me, and worse -- and who thought nothing of murdering an entire village, a couple of hundred people, men, women, and children, just to lure Court, for reasons unknown.

But not all the children. He took some. Why?

Finally, I straightened, squinting my eyes almost shut and still having to shade them from the light. The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough for the two beds set lengthwise along one wall, separated by a few feet. Opposite the beds, centered along the other wall was a rusted toilet and matching sink. The walls were unpainted cinderblock, the ceiling high, maybe 12 feet. The source of the glaring, painful light turned out to be a single naked bulb, in a wire cage. The end of the room closest to me held a metal door, featureless except for a rectangular peephole, now closed.

That woman's voice belonged to Court. Why didn't I recognize her voice? Who was she talking to? She stopped talking, perched at the end of her bed closest to me, as far as her leash would allow, watching me with worried eyes. She was dressed in the same outfit I was, also much too large, the neck slipping dangerously low over one shoulder. Court's leash was clipped to a hook at the far end of the room, allowing Court to reach her bed and the toilet, but no further. A single LED glowed green on the mounting plate.

I took a deep breath and stood up. The pounding in my head increased until I was sure Court must be able to hear it, and I staggered, uncertain of my balance, almost collapsing again. Court babbled something in an encouraging tone, ending with a question. I glared at her in annoyance. "Who are you talking to?" I demanded sharply.

That's not what came out.

"K-k-k --"

I clapped my hand to my mouth, as my expression turned to wide-eyed horror.

The words weren't there.

It was terrifying feeling, as if the word I wanted was just on the tip of my tongue, but just wouldn't come.

I tried again. "N-n-n-n!"

Everyone has had that experience, grasping for that one elusive word. Back at college, in Psych 101, it was literally called the 'T.O.T. phenomenon', for 'Tip of the Tongue'. Psychologists find it fascinating. When it happens, even though you can't find the word you want, it turns out you know a lot about the word. You know what words it's not, you often know how many syllables it has, maybe even what it rhymes with. You can usually find a synonym, or a phrase that's almost as good. You chuckle at the momentary lapse, work around it, and move on.

For me, it was every single word. It was like there were holes where the words used to be. I could 'see' the holes in my mind's eye, deduce the word's 'shape', but the word itself had been torn from me.

In a panic, I tried to find any words that might still remain. Arm. Leg. Floor. Wall. Bed. Megan. Court. I tried Spanish. I tried the little Portuguese I'd picked up. I tried what high-school Latin I thought I knew.

Nothing. I could 'think' the concepts, but when I tried to speak, to turn thought into language, there was a total disconnect. My voice had been thrown into gear with nothing to say, all that came out were stuttering noises.

Court spoke again, her voice sharp, commanding, the tone needing no words. Focus. Get a grip. Report, soldier!

My heart sunk as the penny dropped. Court was speaking English.. Try as I might, I couldn't even parse the sounds into individual word-parts, the syllables just flowed together in a continuous stream.

I remembered the last words I heard from the Red Skull: "How will I keep you from telling anyone my little secrets? Maria, show them."

I did throw up then, barely making it the two steps to the toilet, falling to my knees as my empty stomach lurched and heaved and tried to leap out of my throat. Finally, my ribs aching, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and turned to sit facing Court, propped weakly against the toilet bowl. The pain in my head seemed to be receding, a little, like a brawl between marching bands had moved from this room into the next.

Court was frantic with worry, unable to fathom my behavior, desperate to help, but not having the least idea how. She stood, shifting nervously, uncertain what to do with her hands. She reached towards me, then pulled back, paralyzed by conflicting reactions, struggling to reconcile the gruff macho soldier she'd been with the girl she now was. Any other time, I might have found it funny.

At least you didn't punch me in the shoulder and tell me to walk it off. But a true girlfriend would have held my hair while I barfed, I thought wildly, and started to giggle, the giggles becoming deep racking sobs, and suddenly Court was there, kneeling beside me, holding me. She stroked my hair and rocked me as I cried.

~o~O~o~
I woke slowly, my eyes crusted shut with dried tears. The pounding in my head had receded into the middle distance, still there, but traveling in the right direction. I pried my eyes open, the light not seeming so painfully intense, now. Court was sitting at the end of the bed, her back to the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, watching me. I realized this had to be her bed; leashed as she was, she couldn't have reached mine. She offered a cautious smile, and said something in a sympathetic tone, ending with a question.

I sat up carefully, testing to see if the headache would come back, but it stayed put for the moment. My chest and rib muscles complained as I straightened, still sore from trying to turn my guts inside out, but I took a deep breath , and tried to figure out how to explain to Court what had been done to me.

Easy things first. I took Court's hand in both of my own, and made a show of trying to crush the daylights out of it. My Martian body might be stronger than the next normal girl's -- I had no way of testing that theory, but I had long suspected it -- but it wasn't anywhere near enough to make American Dream's hand flex even a little. Her eyes went wide, and I nodded grimly. I tapped my forehead, and then held my fist in front of my face, snapping my fingers wide to simulate an explosion, adding a sound effect for good measure. I was a little surprised when the sound came out; at least my voice was still good for something.

She looked puzzled and asked another question. This was going to be the fun part. I sighed and pointed to her, then made a talking gesture with my hand, sock puppet style, pointed at myself as if it was her speaking to me. I shrugged, shaking my head and raising my hands in an I-don't-know expression. I pointed to my ear, and nodded. Yes, I can hear you. I tapped my forehead, and shook my head. No, I don't understand you.

While she was digesting that, I pointed at myself, and made the talking gesture at her, shaking my head. I pointed at my head, and nodded. Yes, I can think. I pointed at my throat and at my lips, and emitted a tentative "La-la-la". Yes, my voice works. I touched them all in sequence, head-throat-lips, and shook my head. No, I can't speak.

~o~O~o~

The headache receded over the next couple of days, but I couldn't shake the depression that had settled over me.

The Red Skull had dispatched us both without breaking a sweat, two powerful metas, captured like fireflies in a bottle. He'd anticipated every move; now Court was firmly under control, and I was powerless, just a helpless girl, a liability, unable to express or understand any but the simplest messages.

Even deaf mutes can learn sign language. There are dogs who understand more conversation than I ever will.

Court tried to keep active, as much as the leash would allow, doing impossible numbers of pushups and sit-ups, and coaxing me to join her, but it seemed pointless; I couldn't match her, not anymore, and watching her just drove the point home over and over. Once in a while she'd forget, and say something out loud, as if I could understand her, but I quickly learned to ignore her, rather than look up and endure the guilt and pity on her face as she caught herself.

I slept a lot, and spent the rest of the time on my bed, facing the wall.

The light never went out; periodically, the slot in the door would slide open, and a guard would check on us before opening the door and placing a tray on the floor. The food seemed wholesome enough, but neither of us trusted it much. I didn't need it, and Court refused to touch it. We flushed it down the toilet.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure a way out; escaping the cell seemed as simple as taking Court's leash and letting her get close enough to the door to bash it open, but the plan fell apart quickly after that. Getting out without attracting the attention of armed guards was more important than it used to be, now that I was breakable and had to worry about bullets and such. It wasn't likely they'd give us time to explore the place, so finding the others would be problematic. And then there was the tiny challenge of finding a way out of these caves. Oh, and the whole sharing the plan thing was pretty much out the window.

So it seemed pretty much hopeless for the time being. Maybe an opportunity would present itself, but it was hard to feel very optimistic.

~o~O~o~

There were voices at the door.

I guess it said a lot about our state of mind that we both sat up and faced the door expectantly; we'd only been prisoners for a short time and we were already bored as hell.

The voices were arguing. Two voices, both men, the first one younger,demanding something. Whatever he was demanding, the second man gruffly refused to acquiesce, which angered the first one.

Court was on her feet, glowering at the door, her fists clenched. I took my cue from her and stood, facing the door warily. I assumed she recognized one or more of the voices, but without being able to even pick out words, let alone accents or intonation, I was at a loss.

Finally the first one seemed to get his way; the slot on the door slammed open, and a pair of eyes peered at us for a moment, before the bolts on the door were released, and a tall, slim figure stepped in.

Jack.

He stepped inside the door as it shut behind him, and gave us a cocky grin. Court said something, and his expression hardened. He stepped towards her, stopping just out of her reach, sneering, taunting her.

Without thinking I moved to push him into Court's grasp, but he spun faster than I could have imagined, slamming me against the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs, as Court strained against the limits of her leash and shouted futile threats.

With the sudden movement, my oversized shirt chose that moment to betray me, slipping off my shoulder, exposing too much of my breast. Automatically I moved to fix it, but he slapped my hand down, hard. He pressed me to the wall, obviously enjoying my helplessness, running his eyes over me and lingering on my exposed cleavage. It seemed he liked green girls. My hand ached from his slap, but I held his gaze levelly, curling my lip at his attentions, although my gut was twisting in fear. He was talking now, presumably for Court's benefit; I got the impression he'd have preferred to have her in my place, but knowing she was watching and helpless to interfere was giving him a real thrill.

His hand moved to caress my cheek, and I jerked my head away. He chuckled softly as he ran the back of his hand across the top of my exposed breast, before tugging my treacherous shirt down, freeing the breast completely.

I tried to knee him in the groin then, but his metagene reactions were quicker than my action, and he blocked me effortlessly. He smiled coldly, watching my expression, then backhanded me across the face, slamming my head into the wall. Stunned, my legs gave out, and I would have collapsed, but he held me pinned to the wall. He yanked the shirt from my other shoulder, sliding it down my arm until both of my breasts were exposed to his slimy gaze. I was dazed and shaking now, and there was the taste of blood in my mouth. I struggled to muster some strength into my knees, to hold myself up and meet his eyes with all the loathing I could put into my expression.

There was a sound from behind him and he spun, impossibly fast, throwing up his arm; Court had flung the dinner tray, frisbee-style, with all her considerable strength. Caught unawares it might have crushed his spine, instead it hit his arm before ricocheting off and clattering against the wall. Jack clutched at his arm and staggered back a few steps, screaming at Court. The arm appeared to broken, judging by the odd bend it had acquired. Released, I fell to the floor; still dazed, I managed to scramble blindly to Court's end of the room and out of Jack's reach. He kicked at the door and called to the guard, and left without looking back.

Court helped me to stand and fix my shirt, and tried to comfort me the best she could. There was blood on my shirt from someplace; I looked it incuriously while she tore a strip from the hem of her own shirt, wetting it under the tap and dabbing gently at my lip.

Part of me resented needing Court's protection, and by extension, wanted to resent Court, but it didn't seem important enough to work up any kind of strong emotion. I was feeling... well, nothing, really, just numb and distant and empty. Eventually I just curled up on my bunk and waited for sleep to make the world go away.