Brandon Sanderson: Firefight

Prof heaved himself up beside me, then hissed in anger. “Three explosions,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”

“We have to help,” I said, anxious.

Prof knelt silently for a moment.

“Prof …”

“Tia, Exel,” he whispered into the line, “prepare to help the wounded. Take the boat over. Val, David, and I will cross this rooftop and give you cover support from here. Something about this doesn’t look right to me-too much burning, not enough debris. This wasn’t caused by a bomb.”

I nodded. Val climbed up too, then the three of us ran across the rooftop toward the burning one. Tia and the other two maneuvered the boat through the water alongside us.

Prof stopped Val and me beside the rope bridge leading to the next building. People pushed past us, faces ashen, clothing singed. Prof seized the arm of one who didn’t look too wounded. “What was it?” he asked softly.

The man shook his head and broke away. Prof pointed for me to provide fire support, and I knelt down beside a brick chimney, rifle out, covering Tia and Exel as they moved the boat up beside the burning building, then climbed out and onto it, carrying a pack that I assumed had a first-aid kit in it.

I sat, watching as Exel began to bandage the wounded. Tia took out something else, the small device we called the harmsway-the fake box with wires sticking out of it that we claimed healed people. Prof really did the work; he must have gifted some of his ability to Tia before joining me on the rooftop.

Tia would have to use it sparingly, only to bring the worst of the wounded from the brink of death. Miraculous healing would draw too much attention to us. Sparks. We might draw too much attention anyway. We were obviously organized, armed, and skilled. If we weren’t careful, this might very well undermine Exel’s and Val’s cover stories.

“What about me?” Mizzy asked over the line. The young woman still waited in the boat, which rocked in the dark water near the side of the burning building. “Prof, sir?”

“Watch the boat,” he said over the line.

“I …” Mizzy looked deflated. “Yes sir.”

I focused on my duty, watching for threats to Tia and Exel on the burning rooftop, but my heart wrenched for the girl. I knew what it was like to feel Prof’s skepticism. He could be a hard man. Harder lately. Poor kid.

You’re treating her that way too , I realized. She’s probably not even a year younger than you are . It wasn’t fair to think of her as a kid. She was a woman. A pretty one at that.

Focus .

“Ah, here you are, Jonathan. Very prompt of you.”

The voice, spoken in a businesslike tone, made me jump almost to the stars. I spun on the source of the sound, leveling my rifle.

An older black woman stood beside Prof. Wrinkled skin, white hair in a bun. Scarf at the neck, fashionable-yet somewhat grandmotherly-white jacket over a blouse and slacks.

Regalia, empress of Manhattan. Standing right there .

I planted a bullet in the side of her head.

My shot didn’t do much. Well, it made Regalia’s head explode, so there was that-but it exploded into a burst of water. Immediately after, more water bulged up out of the neck in a giant bubble and formed into her head again. Color flooded it, and soon she looked exactly as she had a moment before.

Regalia’s self-projections were apparently tied to her water manipulation powers. I hadn’t realized that, but it made sense.

In order to kill her, we’d have to find her real body, wherever it was. Fortunately, most Epics who created projections had to be in a trance of some sort to do it, which would mean that somewhere she was vulnerable.

Regalia’s avatar glanced at me, then turned back to Prof. This was one of the most powerful Epics who had ever lived. Sparks. Hands sweating, heart thumping, I kept my gun on her-for all the good it would do.

“Abigail,” Prof said to her, his voice soft.

“Jonathan,” Regalia replied.

“What have you done here?” Prof nodded toward the destruction and the injured.

“I needed to draw you out some way, dear man.” She spoke with elevated diction, like someone from the old movies. “I figured that a rogue Epic would focus your attention.”

“And if I hadn’t yet arrived in the city?” Prof demanded.

“Then knowledge of the destruction here would pull you faster,” Regalia said. “But I was fairly certain you’d be arriving tonight. It was obvious that you’d be coming for me, after my last little … calling card arrived in Chicago. I counted the days, and here you are. You are nothing if not predictable, Jonathan.”

Another blast of fire lit the night nearby, coming from a different rooftop. I spun, cursing, and pointed my weapon in that direction.

“Oh dear,” Regalia said in an emotionless voice. “I guess he is going further than my instructions advised.”

“He?” Prof said, voice tense.

“Obliteration.”

I nearly dropped my gun. “You brought Obliteration here? Calamity! What is wrong with you?”

Obliteration was a monster-more a force of nature than a man. He’d left Houston in rubble, murdering Epics and regular people alike. Albuquerque after that. Then San Diego.

Now he was here.

“Abigail …,” Prof said, sounding pained.

“You had better stop him,” Regalia said. “He’s out of control. Oh my. What have I done. How terrible.”

The color vanished from her avatar, and it fell, splashing down into water once again. I looked through my scope, surveying the destruction. Some people swam away from the burning rooftops, while others screamed and crowded across bridges. Another flare of light drew my attention, and I caught sight of a figure in black moving among the flames.

“He’s there, Prof,” I said. “Sparks. She wasn’t lying. It’s him .”

Prof cursed. “You’ve studied the Epics. What’s his weakness?”

Obliteration’s weakness? I searched frantically, trying to remember what I knew of this man. “I … Obliteration …” I took a deep breath. “High Epic. He’s protected by a danger sense tied to his teleportation powers-if anything is going to harm him, he teleports immediately. It’s a reflexive power, though he can also use it at will, making him very hard to pin down. This isn’t just a minor wall-traveling power like Sourcefield, Prof. This is full-blown instantaneous transportation.”

“His weakness ,” Prof prodded as another flare blasted in the night.

“His true weakness is unknown.”

“Damn.”

“But,” I added, “he’s nearsighted. That’s not related to his powers, but we might be able to exploit it. Also, when he’s in danger, his teleportation kicks in and sends him away. That protects him, but it also might be something we can use, particularly since I think his teleportation powers have a cooldown of some sort.”

Prof nodded. “Good job.” He tapped his mobile. “Tia?”

“Here.”

“Abigail just appeared to me,” Prof said. “She’s brought Obliteration to the city. He’s causing the destruction.”

Tia’s response was a series of curses over the line.

I glanced at Prof, looking up from the scope of my gun. Though the sky was dark, all of this spraypaint-glowing around me on the bricks, wooden bridges, and tents-lit Prof’s face. Were we going to move against Obliteration, or fade away? This was obviously some kind of trap-at the very least, Regalia would be watching to see how we handled ourselves.

The smart thing to do was to run. It’s certainly what the Reckoners would have done a year ago, before Steelheart. Prof looked at me, and I could read the conflict in his expression. Could we really leave people to die?