The Law of Averages

Book 2: Chapter 153: Spray

Dan was in the middle of escorting a little old lady in a walker out to a transport van, when the call came in. He could barely hear it, over the sound of the howling wind and pounding rain. The tines of his umbrella thrashed violently against their hinges, as the storm tried to rip it out of his hand. His other was braced tight against his charge, keeping her upright and stable as the storm did its best to topple them both. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and his earpiece crackled, “Transport-4, report to control.”

Dan straightened to attention, blinking water out of his eyes as he peered around. He signaled to the waiting van driver as best he could, waving him over with nothing more than shoulder movements and eye contact. The man reluctantly stepped into the rain and took over Dan’s task, as Dan called in, “Transport-4, acknowledged.” He wasn’t sure why he bothered, other than pure habit, as he appeared outside the command tent at approximately the same moment they received his confirmation. He tossed his umbrella into t-space, and hurried to the entrance of the tent, where the rain could not reach him. He pushed aside the front flap’s heavy Kevlar lining, weaved his way through half a dozen volunteers coming and going, and rounded a rack of medical supplies, only to have Jeremy Rawls damn near crash into him.

The man was flanked by a pair of agents, and held a thin tablet in one hand and a stylus in the other. The screen showed a map, upon which an alarming amount of red was flashing. Rawls halted at the sight of Dan, blinking, then nodded an acknowledgement.

“You must be Transport-4,” he said, as if they’d never met before. “Thanks for coming. I’ve got an unusual request for you.”

Dan felt a tingling on the back of his neck. It was a familiar warning: he was about to be asked to do something dangerous.

Rawls turned to his escorts and said, “Go prep the van. I need a word alone with Transport-4.” The two agents obeyed, though not before shooting quizzical looks at Dan.

Great, he thought. More attention. Just what I needed.

“I’m sorry for calling you here,” Rawls said, the moment his agents were out of earshot. They were still surrounded by people, but between the storm outside, and the general chaos within the command tent, nobody would be overhearing them. “I know you value your privacy, but I need your help.”

Rawls appeared to still be under the impression that Dan moonlighted as a dangerous, competent mercenary in the employ of Anastasia Summers. Or maybe he thought Dan moonlighted as Abigail Summers’ boyfriend, and the dangerous, competent mercenary was the real him. Normally, this misunderstanding might make Dan smile. Now, it seemed it was about to inconvenience him.

“Did you know I was a volunteer?” Dan asked directly.

Rawls shook his head. “Pure coincidence, I promise. I didn’t even realize you were on site until I checked the volunteer lists for reasons we’ll get into shortly. I swear, I did not go looking for you, though… if you were hoping to preserve your identity, then you shouldn’t have involved Anastasia Summers. She’s currently in the RED Building causing all kinds of havoc. It wasn’t difficult to puzzle out who you were after that.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Dan said. His enemies already knew where he lived. He was more concerned about general notoriety, but between Rawls keeping mum, and Anastasia throwing a tantrum, Dan figured he was probably in the clear. “Why am I here?”

Rawls nodded, and said, “The storm has knocked out power to a few blocks within the cordon. Cell service is down, and there’s a long line of people stuck out in the storm, waiting for processing. They’re starting to get rowdy, and I’m having to divert men to crowd control.”

Dan checked his phone, noting his lack of signal, and waved for Rawls to continue.

The fed got to the point, “Here’s the problem: five minutes ago I lost contact with a volunteer duo in the southwestern sector.” He spun the tablet around, so Dan could look at it. “Grid G-5, right here. I had men posted on the corners, here and here, but they’re not responding to radio hails.”

“Could be the rain?” Dan posited.

Rawls shook his head. “Unlikely. These shortwaves aren’t really affected by it. I mean, you heard the call to come in just fine, didn’t you? And nobody else is having issues.”

Dan hummed in thought. “If you rule out environmental causes, that leaves technical issues or enemy action.”

“I’m concerned about the latter,” Rawls said. “Thermal imaging is useless in this weather, and my clairvoyants can’t see shit between the rain and the blackout. I’m thinking there’s some kind of interference, either a power or some sort of jamming technology that we haven’t seen before. That’s why you’re here. I can’t risk sending only a handful of men without knowing what we’re dealing with. We’re stretched thin as it is, I can’t afford to lose good soldiers to a trap. But I also can’t spare a large suppression force and simultaneously maintain the perimeter; we’re stuck until I get confirmation that there’s actually something there to face. I need a scout, and I’m thinking you’re better than any I’ve got on hand.”

Dan figured there was nothing unreasonable about the request, at least from Rawls’ point of view. It made perfect sense to ask the man who had successfully tracked a Geist to be your scout. Dan had already proved himself competent, and within his particular specialization might genuinely be the best choice. Rawls had gotten lucky, and he was seizing the moment tight.

Though…

“You were looking over the volunteer lists because you were hoping to find a scout,” Dan accused. “Are you going to ask some random civilian to go if I refuse?”

Rawls shrugged without shame. “Ex-military was my goal. Statistically, there should be at least one or two in a group of volunteers this large. There are four, as it turns out, and I would have gone through them in order of capability. If they’d all said no…” He furrowed his brow, considering it. “Our sensor upgrades are powerful, but designed to be used in conjunction with a squad. I don’t have anyone who can do this; not half as well as you, or someone with a more specialized upgrade can. I’d have either waited until the CIA sends an operative, or moved out in force and hoped for the best. I honestly couldn’t say which I would’ve chosen.”

Rawls spoke in the past tense, as if Dan’s acceptance was a foregone conclusion. After a moment’s thought, Dan realized that it was. He was keenly aware of his own advantages, and he wasn’t about to let someone else go and get killed, when he could do the job safely. Abby could flay him later; he was doing this.

That was how Dan found himself on top of yet another building, cringing away from the storm. He shivered in his poncho, and braced his umbrella against the battering wind. Dan crouched low, pulling his hood up, and scanned the floor below him with his veil in a brief, hurried motion. He cleared it quickly, looking primarily for bodies, living or dead, and ignoring pretty much everything else. He found only empty cubicles and empty rooms. This was the last location the missing volunteers had radioed in to clear. Where were they?

Dan crept towards the edge of the roof, keeping low in case someone was watching through the darkness. Over the wind and rain, he could just barely make out the sound of a door rhythmically crashing against its frame. His veil danced through layers of plaster, down the metal frame, and felt for—

The glass was broken. Nothing to panic about. Debris from the storm could have easily done that. But, then, where were the volunteers? Had they moved on? He’d memorized the evacuation plan, so he knew that the neighboring diner should have been the volunteers’ next destination. Dan peered through the rain, shielding his eyes as he looked towards where he knew there was another building.

He couldn’t see a damn thing.

Lightning flashed high above, and he thought he might’ve caught the outline of a roof, but an instant later and it was gone. Dan grumbled at the storm, and mentally flicked through the inventory of his hammerspace. He had flashlights and lanterns and even a flare gun, but all of those would give away his position if this was, indeed, some kind of trap. He added night vision goggles to the list of useful things he should carry around at all times, and sent his veil back into the floor below him.

Left with no other recourse, he could only work with what he had. Dan would fully investigate the building he was on before moving on to the next. He checked the walls, first, looking for bullet holes and lead. He checked the floor for spent brass, and found nothing. The volunteers probably weren’t armed, but the federal escorts that were parked on each corner most definitely were. They would have presumably come running if the volunteers encountered issues.

Next, he searched the cubicles, looking for purses, jackets, wallets and keys. Signs of inhabitance, proof that there were people here, who may have left in a hurry. He immediately found several such articles of clothing; a few rain jackets tossed over the backs of chairs, a handful of umbrellas, and two purses. The discoveries sent more tingles racing down Dan’s spine, and he pulled his poncho tighter around himself. Who would forget an umbrella in this kind of weather? Or a jacket?

He considered the positioning of the chairs. He’d earlier catalogued their general shapes and locations, but hadn’t really processed the implications. Most were pushed away from desks, sitting out in the lanes between cubicles. One had rolled nearly thirty feet, and rested against a wall. One was on its side, legs hanging in the air like a dead animal. His veil ran along its shape, tasting the faux-leather and chrome. It dipped past them, ran across the floor, felt the nylon threads, felt the individual grains of dirt and dust and human skin.

Felt the coppery tang of blood.

It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things. A few patches, here and there. Not much more than a nosebleed or three. And it wasn’t deep. There was no pooling. It was more of a… spray. And as Dan looked closer, he found it more and more. On the floors. On the chairs. On the walls. A light mist. A sprinkle. It coated the room, so light that even his veil could barely tell it was there. It was a trail, and it lead outside, through the door with the broken glass, out into the pounding rain.

Lightning flashed again, brighter this time, and thunder boomed in Dan’s ears. The distant diner flickered into view, and for a brief moment, Dan could’ve sworn he saw a shadow in its window.