Anton Strout - Dead Waters

“Really?” Connor asked, a fixed look of skepticism on his face.

I shrugged. “Something like that,” I said. “I’m out of my element there. You’ll have to ask the technomancer.”

The credits were rolling now and Jane was finally able to take her attention away from the screen. She nodded. “It was easy peasy,” she said. “Even without my power, I could have done it.”

“Awesome,” Trent said, agitated. “Can I at least get a popcorn or something?” He leaned forward, looking over at Jane. “Is he a cheap date? He is, isn’t he?”

“Don’t get fresh,” I said, pushing him back into his seat. “I’m not going to get you a popcorn. This isn’t a date.”

Trent looked at me, horrified. “You’re so not my type.”

“What?” I asked him. “Not evil enough for you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “Just the wrong set of chromosomes. Sorry.” He turned and looked off into the darkened theater. “What if they notice me?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got the situation under control.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Like when you tried to capture them last time? No offense, Mr. Canderous, but I take very little comfort in that.”

“No,” I said. “This time we’ll get them. Your friends know more about the reborn professor than they let on about, maybe even the water woman. Look at it this way—at least you’re not tied up this time. That’s an improvement for you already.”

Trent looked around the half-full theater. “What about the rest of these people?” he asked.

“We shut down the theater for the day,” I said, “and filled it with any available agent we could spare.”

“It’s far emptier than I’d like it to be right now,” Jane said.

“Elyse is so going to catch on to this plan,” Trent said. “She’s going to sniff them out before they even sit down. She’s smart like that.”

“Don’t worry about your old friends,” I said. “Right now, you should be more worried about all of us in here.”

“Great,” he said, but sounded unconvinced.

“Fine. If you want to worry about something, worry about your pals not showing up. If they don’t, there’s going to be trouble for you.”

“I’m with Simon on this one,” Jane said. “I don’t think they’re going to show. Why would they come out for this at all when they can just watch them on television?”

“It’s not quite the same,” Trent said.

“Exactly,” Connor said from a few rows ahead of us. “Movies were meant for the big screen . . .”

I shushed him as the coffeehouse curtain opened and Trent’s three friends walked in. Jane, Trent, and I sank lower into our seats, doing our best to keep unnoticed, hopefully so we could get the drop on them once they settled in.

The three students were still in the clothes they had escaped in the other day. Elyse wore her hair pulled back in a short ponytail, but Mike and Darryl both looked like they hadn’t showered. I could have been wrong, though. Maybe bedhead was all the rage at NYU right now. Mike looked like he was trying to pick the best seat in the house, which made sense considering the fact that he was always carrying a camera on him and probably planned to bootleg the film. He found what he considered to be at least a passable viewing spot, and then started into the row before Elyse and Darryl did. “Hurry,” he whispered. “The credits are already rolling.”

“So what?” Darryl asked, ducking down as they worked their way across the aisle.

“It’s the best part!” Mike said, practically spilling his drink as he tripped over something.

“Shh!” Elyse said, and sat down once Mike stopped.

As they finished settling in, the new film began and the screen filled with a shot of a graveyard. It reminded me of Good Mourning: How to Tell a Funeral Party from a Zombie Horde , the short training film I had been shown during my initiation into the Department.

Jane grabbed my arm. I turned to her. She looked worried. “This film is clean, right?” she asked. “I don’t want to have a repeat of Mason Redfield’s resurrection.”

“Looks like we’re going to find out, I guess,” I said.

Trent leaned forward in his seat, staring ahead at his old friends. “I don’t believe it,” Trent whispered. “Is Mike. . . bootlegging this?”

“Oh,” I whispered, “is that where you draw your criminal line now?”

“Stop bickering and get ready,” Jane said, standing up. Connor was already up, right behind the group of them, and had his hands on the back of Elyse’s seat.

“On behalf of this theater’s management,” Connor said with some volume behind it, “you’re under arrest. . . mostly for being dicks and attacking us the other day.”

“Shit,” I heard Elyse hiss out. The three students jumped up out of their seats, but Connor grabbed Elyse with both hands. Mike climbed over the seat in front of him. It was like watching a blubbery baby trying to escape its crib and would have been comical if not for the fact that he actually was getting away. Darryl turned toward Connor and swung for him, bringing his arm down across both of Connor’s. His grip on Elyse broke and the girl pulled away, crouching forward.

Using the agility I had witnessed during her last escape, she pressed herself into a handstand on the seat in front of her, knocking Connor back over the seat behind him as her legs swung up.

“Stay here, Trent,” I said. I stood and pulled out my bat, extending it. “Try not to get stabbed this time.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. The young student looked stunned by the chaos erupting all around him and stayed in his seat.

I ran down our row after Jane until I hit the aisle, then started down toward the fight in front of me.

Mike had made his way to the front of the theater now, gracelessly but effectively. Elyse continued walking on her hands along the tops of the seats after him. She flipped off the last one when she hit the front row and stuck her landing like a pro before running to join Mike. I ran after her as Darryl ran down his row toward the aisle leading up to the coffeehouse.

“Heavy Mike,” Darryl shouted. “Memory card. . . now!”

Several agents were trying to subdue Elyse and Mike, but they were pulling their punches since they were dealing with humans for once. Elyse was a scrapper and gave them as good as she got, her gymnastic flourishes holding them, along with a knife she now held in her hand. Mike was doing his best to push off any of the attackers who got past her, all while holding his camera over his head and out of reach. He popped open a slot on the back of it, pulled the memory card free, and flung it across the theater, aiming high. Darryl, tall as he was, had no trouble plucking it from its trajectory while he reached down with his other hand into his front pocket. He fumbled out his smartphone. The glow of its display along with the film playing gave him enough light to slot the card. He slammed it into his phone and held it straight out in front of him while he backed up the aisle.

Several short movie clips flashed onto the phone’s screen—scenes of Central Park and several different shots of subway stations. With each bit of film, the screen gave an audible pop and crackle , producing a steady stream of creatures into our world. Birds from the park and shots of rats on the subway tracks. The aisle started to fill with them, adding to the chaos all around us.

“That works,” Darryl said, examining his work, “but I meant the other card.”

“I already gave it to you!” Mike shouted.

“Oh, right,” Darryl said with an embarrassed shrug. He popped his memory card out of the phone while he fished around in his pocket for the other one. It came out in his hand and he slammed it in the phone. Darryl pressed on the keypad, then, backing away, held the phone out in front of him. I stepped back, waiting for whatever monstrosity they threw at me next.