Something hard and heavy smacked me in the back of the head. It sent me sprawling. My last revolver flew from my hand. Then the fist of a raging God battered me into the canyon floor.

  For a while, all was noise and darkness.

  •••

  When I came back to myself, rocks and other bits of smoldering metal were still falling from the sky. In fact, I think it was one of those that brought me back around – a baseball-sized conk to the noggin, a little joke from the same angry God that had swatted me down.

  I smelled burning somewhere, and I hoped it wasn’t my hair. Of all the things I should have worried about, my battered brain was suddenly concerned about having to wear a wig.¹⁶ My skin felt dry as snakeskin. I’d been cooked and flash-frozen in the space of a few seconds.

  16 Which Outlaw has had to do, more than once! The merc lifestyle isn’t easy on long hair. –Ed.

  By some miracle, I hadn’t been hit on the head as hard as last time. That terrific headache was back, though, and I was so dizzy I didn’t think I could get up. I felt like I was clinging to a tilt-a-whirl that had been sucked up in a tornado.

  The sheer dread coursing through my system forced me to look up regardless.

  I found exactly what I’d expected to, and it was every bit as awful as I’d feared.

  Shoon’kwa’s airship lay like a squashed tarantula against the next bend in the canyon – all splayed and broken limbs and wings. Its nose had smashed up against the rock and lifted in a way that the rest of the airship’s sagging body couldn’t support. The whole frame of the airship had crumpled around it as its momentum had tried to turn its spine into an accordion.

  I knew it was a machine and didn’t feel, but it hurt to look at it, the same way that a slow-motion replay of a wide receiver’s ankle breaking hurt to watch. That body just wasn’t meant to look like that.

  Thick, oily smoke boiled out of the engine exhausts. The engine was still making that whining noise, barely perceptible over the ringing in my ears, but it faded away even as I listened. The bubbled cockpit window had shattered. Smoke poured out of that, too.

  My friends were in there. In trouble. Seeing that made the pain go away. Or at least helped me ignore it.

  At the very least Shoon’kwa had to be in that cockpit. She never let anyone else pilot. I didn’t know who else could have been with her. The whole posse, maybe, if they had gotten Elias’s message.

  A vast plume of dust and smoke occluded the sun. The sky had been cloudless before; now everything was gray as ash. I forced myself to my knees. The world spun, but not so hard that it knocked me down again. As I staggered ahead, and for the first time since the airship had crashed, I had a second to think.

  Wolfram had never answered me when I’d asked him what crimes he’d had me out committing. Regular, boring old crimes like bank robberies didn’t make sense. They lacked imagination. Wolfram was too cruel for that. It took imagination to be cruel like he was. That part of Rayyan’s story didn’t make sense. He’d been covering something. There’d been no excessive reports of break-ins or anything where I’d traveled.

  Of course.

  Johnny Dee and Wolfram had been having me steal, all right. But DNA samples. Other mutants’ DNA.

  And my friends’.

  He’s piloting, Rayyan had been about to say about Johnny Dee, before Wolfram had interrupted us.

  A burning white rage drove me to my feet. Dizziness knocked me right to my knees again, but the rage fought back and the rage was winning. I pulled to a stoop, and then wavered to my feet… one step in front of the other, in front of the other…

  When someone grabbed underneath my arm and tried to pull me back, I nearly smashed their skull. Only the gentleness of their grip kept me from doing it.

  It was Josh. His fingers shifted queasily as they repositioned for a better grip. He was pulling me, carefully but firmly, away from the wreck. Ordinarily, I could have overpowered him without hardly trying. Dizzy as I was, I struggled just to stay upright.

  Maybe it was the after-effects of the concussion, but I felt like I had quite a reasonable and erudite argument if only he’d listen:

  “Nngh,” I said.

  He wasn’t moved.

  There was too much ringing in my ears for me to hear his rebuttal, but I was sure it wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny.

  In case he hadn’t heard me, I restated my case: “Nrrgh! Leggo!”

  He gave rational debate a second try after I tugged him to a standstill: “–can’t go in there! It’s on fire!”

  “It’s got fire suppression systems!” And they ought to have been coming online any second now. Any second–

  He shook his head, but didn’t try to pull me back again. I’d gotten enough of my balance back that he wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. Instead, he supported my good shoulder as we staggered toward the wreck.

  It took me a moment too long to realize that I was feeling better. Breathing more easily. The pain in my head was fading.

  A strange warmth passed between Josh’s hand and mine. When I glanced down, I caught a flicker-flash of energy crackling between us. I slowed.

  He didn’t just have a regeneration power. “You’re a healer,” I said, abruptly.

  “I don’t like to talk about it,” he said.

  He didn’t have the power to reshape just his own body. He could do it to other people, too, just by touch. Not bad for an untrained talent. He had a real potential to be powerful.

  For right now, though, his talents were limited. Color fled his face. He sagged, and the energy flowing between us halted. He’d been pushing himself a lot these past few days, and I doubted Wolfram’s gang had let him eat or sleep well. I still wasn’t in great shape. My ears rang, my eyes remained scratched and blurry, and I was covered in cuts and bruises. But I could think and speak coherently.

  “Where’d you come from?” I asked him.

  “From hiding,” he said, with a tone of voice that suggested it would have been nuts to expect him to have been anywhere else. “Hard to miss something like this happening. Came here and found you.”

  “Just me? Where’s–”

  My senses were so well attuned to the click of a revolver’s hammer that I heard it above the dying whine of Shoon’kwa’s engines. I instinctively spun, placing myself between the sound and Josh.

  It was Rayyan. He haltingly levered himself up from behind a fragment of twisted hull plating. His clothes were blackened and his hair was singed, but, unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have been hurt worse. He’d found one of my lost revolvers. He had the tremulous glee of a bad poker player – too excited to hide the fact that he’d been dealt a good hand.

  I didn’t have time for this. My friends were in that airship, and probably hurt. But Rayyan had a bead on me, and there was no cover nearby.

  “It looks like the Blackguard Network can at least come out of this with a couple hostages,” he said. “Wonder who’ll pay more, Outlaw? Your friends? Or mutant eliminationists?”

  A weight on the back of my belt told me that, somehow, I’d managed to keep one last gun – Dad’s old Beretta M9. But it was in a bad position to draw. Both my hands were visible, and Rayyan had a solid bead on both Josh and me.

  “OK,” Rayyan said, “let me tell you how this is going to go.”

  The center of his chest exploded in a fine red mist. The blast tore a neat hole through the center of his shirt.

  Rayyan’s eyes bulged. The thunderous report of the Desert Eagle echoed up and down the canyon, and set my ears ringing again.

  He stumbled, his knees already failing, and turned. “I didn’t think you could shoot that well with your off-hand,” he said, somewhere between awe and incredulity.

  “Neither did I,” Wolfram growled.

  Wolfram had propped himself against a boulder about fifteen yards back. His gun leaned against it, resting in his left hand.

  Rayyan raised his hand as if to shoot back. Then the fact that no more oxygen was reaching his brain finally caught up with him. His heart had been pulverized. He’d been a dead man standing, running down his clock, since Wolfram’s shot had landed. He collapsed.

  “I should’ve known better than to try to link up with him,” Wolfram said, in the same even-keeled tone he might have used to say he hadn’t liked a particular brand of detergent. “Don’t need anybody. Should’ve stayed independent.”

  He looked worse off than Rayyan had. It wasn’t just his clothes that were charred. Some of his hair had burnt away. The scalp underneath was a web of angry red welts. And, of course, his right hand was streaming blood where I’d shot it. His clerical collar was charred, and so was the skin on his neck. I’d say that he looked as bad as I felt, but for once that would have been overselling my various miseries. Not even I felt that bad.

  He’d braced his new gun hand against the boulder to steady it. He kept his aim on Josh and me.

  As much as I couldn’t stop thinking about the weight of that last gun on my belt, I kept my hands visible. Maybe if Josh hadn’t been here, I would have tried my luck. Because his life was at stake, too, I had to be all responsible.

  “Outlaw,” Wolfram said. “I don’t know that I’ve forgiven you yet.”

  “Is that good or bad?” I drawled. “I lost track.”

  He smirked.

  That comforting weight on my belt vanished. The cool barrel of my Dad’s Beretta pressed into the side of my head. A hand gripped my shoulder – not to hold me, but to let me know that whoever it was could feel any hint of my starting to move.

  The hand on my shoulder was gloved, and what I could see of the sleeve was all black. I caught a glimpse of auburn hair.

  Black Widow.

  “How do you want to do this?” Black Widow asked Wolfram, in a voice that was hers and also wasn’t. “Shoot them here and now? Or do you still think they’ll be ‘of use?’” From this angle, I couldn’t tell if she was banged up. There was no sign of the rest of the team.

  “Bold of you to assume we’re still on the same side, Johnny Dee,” Wolfram said.

  “That crash was more complicated than you think,” Black Widow said. “They were fighting back.”

  “You know you can’t make it on your own against the survivors,” Wolfram said. “That’s why you’re trying to make nice with me now. Pretend you hadn’t meant to kill me.”

  Black Widow’s voice dropped dangerously. “If I wanted to betray you, I could do a lot worse to you.”

  “You picked your time. Now you’re too cowardly to follow through.”

  “Hey. I never needed you. I could have gone it alone.” Even speaking through Black Widow couldn’t hide the tremor in Johnny Dee’s voice. That was how I knew, immediately, that Wolfram was right. Johnny Dee had tried to kill everybody here. And now events were getting away from him, and he was second-guessing. Backing off.

  Johnny Dee had an incredible power, and a lot of hate to back it up. But no guts. No follow-through.

  Wolfram phrased it more succinctly: “You don’t have the guts.”

  I risked a slight glance aside. Perhaps wisely, Johnny Dee hadn’t tried to hold onto Josh. Given Josh’s mutant talent, he wouldn’t have had anything reliable to grab. But Josh had halted in his tracks a few steps away. He’d gone rigid from fear.

  I was being held hostage for Josh’s good behavior. Damn it. I really don’t do the damsel thing very well.

  “I’m starting to get it,” Johnny Dee said, through Black Widow. “I know why you’re always so damn reluctant to kill people you should’ve disposed of long ago. You wanted to have extra levers against me.”

  “You can only control one person at a time,” Wolfram said. Strangely enough, I got the idea that he wasn’t talking to Johnny Dee. He wanted me to know this. Maybe Josh, too.

  “Don’t tell me things I already–” Black Widow stopped. I wondered if Johnny Dee hadn’t figured out the same thing.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Josh inch closer. I braced for him to do something stupid. At least I knew Johnny Dee couldn’t be controlling anyone else on my team right now. I just had to hope they were still alive.

  Johnny Dee found Black Widow’s voice again. “The more prisoners and hostages you took, the less power I had overall. So, if something happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to control the whole operation.”

  “I planned to use you,” Wolfram said. “I’d have been a fool to trust you.”

  “This would have gone so much smoother if you had,” Black Widow snarled. “I’d be in control of everything now.”

  “You never could’ve handled it. You’re a loser, Johnny Dee. Always have been, always will be.”

  Wolfram’s aim shifted minutely. It was very slight, but all my battle instincts screamed that he was aiming at Black Widow. I couldn’t let him shoot her any more than I could let him shoot Josh.

  Damn. Surrounded by hostages. And I was one. Worst possible situation. No time to plan it out – I just had to act.

  Luck chose just that instant to intervene. Behind Wolfram, metal clapped against metal. One of the airship’s dorsal hatches had opened. I caught a glimpse of a slender figure struggling out. It had black hair with a cheeky silver streak.

  Neena.

  Seventeen

  Wolfram’s attention wavered. Johnny Dee glanced toward the airship, and the noise Neena had made shoving the hatch open.

  And I slammed the back of my head into Black Widow’s face.

  Johnny Dee didn’t feel his puppets’ pain. I had to aim to cause actual damage. And head injury.

  My head slipped free of the Beretta’s barrel. Johnny Dee reacted fast. Black Widow pulled the gun backward, and the barrel brushed the tip of my forehead. Moving faster than I could think, I grabbed Black Widow’s hand and wrenched it away. I guided the Beretta’s aim as near to Wolfram as I could manage.

  Black Widow’s finger depressed the trigger. The shot went off so close to my ear that I didn’t hear it, just the agony of ringing afterward. A splash of blood blew out of Wolfram’s shoulder.

  Black Widow fought to point the Beretta back at me. With a whispered apology, I straightened her arm, and then slammed the heel of my palm into the back of her elbow. With a crack I hated to feel, her arm folded back in a way it had never meant to.

  I really do not do the damsel thing well.

  Johnny Dee may not have been able to feel his puppets’ pain, but he also couldn’t make their bodies work through that kind of shock. The Beretta dropped to the ground.

  Then things went wrong. Well, more wrong.

  All that work and luck and skill to shoot Wolfram, and he barely flinched. That’s one thing about gun fights that westerns don’t often show you: people don’t often drop instantly when they’re shot. A bullet isn’t an off-switch. Even Rayyan had had a few seconds of coherent action and Wolfram had shot him right through the heart. Any pain and shock hadn’t caught up with Wolfram yet. His weapon hand remained steady, propped against the boulder.

  I drove my foot behind Black Widow’s ankle, tried to trip her and drive both of us to the ground, but she braced herself and held firm. Josh slammed into us from the side, trying to shove us down.

  My breath caught. I couldn’t move in time. I was too startled. Too slow. And, in the back of my head, there was a voice that said my reflexes weren’t what they used to be.

  The boom of Wolfram’s Desert Eagle echoed through the canyon an instant before Josh’s body convulsively jerked.

  The three of us crashed to the ground. Josh landed hard atop me, limp.

  I pushed to my feet. I had no time to feel. Not while Johnny Dee was still in control of my friend’s body. I hadn’t even taken a breath before I rolled over, set my palm atop Black Widow’s head, and slammed it into the dirt.

  Difficult thing to do, give somebody a concussion without accidentally cracking their head open. I hadn’t exactly practiced. I was repressing a million out-of-control emotions all at once. But, somehow, I think I managed it. Black Widow’s whole body jerked, but she didn’t go limp. And then, suddenly, she yelped in surprise and pain.

  I didn’t figure Johnny Dee could have faked pain that convincingly. Black Widow was herself again.

  The firecracker report of another distant weapon echoed between the canyon walls. Wolfram shuddered. Then he exhaled, as if in relief.

  The Desert Eagle slipped from his fingers. He fell facedown onto the rock.

  Neena stood atop the airship, a one-handed grip on her pistol.

  The distance between her and Wolfram should have been too far for a hand weapon, but I bet she hadn’t even needed to aim. That was how her luck powers worked. If she consciously put herself in situations where she needed a thousand to one shot to win, she got it. Every time. I’m not jealous.¹⁷

  17 She’s jealous. – Ed.

  I repositioned Josh, propping his feet on a rock and setting his hands on his stomach. He took great gulps of air. His forehead shone with sweat. He stared at the sky without really seeming to see it. He was in shock. His ratty, filthy shirt was deep red with fresh blood.

  He may have had a healing factor, but that didn’t mean he was indestructible. He wasn’t Wolverine; his body had to have limits. He’d been struck in the stomach. A quick feel around his back didn’t find any exit wound. I hated to think about what had happened to his gut if that high-caliber bullet had shed all its energy inside him.

  “Idiot,” I told him.

  He must have been more aware than he looked. “You’re welcome,” he muttered. Even sounded a little miffed.

  Black Widow cradled her arm. She lay on her back and made no move to get up. She was herself, but not entirely back. I’d had to be pretty rough on her. The human brain wasn’t made to take that kind of punishment. I just hoped she had the cognitive capacity to figure out what was happening. Just the thing I needed was to fight a punch-drunk super-spy.

  She understood enough when I placed her hands on Josh’s gunshot wound, and told her to keep it compressed. She nodded and did as I asked. For whatever good it did. Blood immediately welled up between her fingers.

  “What they said was true, you know,” Josh said. “About me being in anti-mutant groups. I was in the Reavers, before I found out what I was.”