Tim Lebbon - Reaper's Legacy

“You’ll always be my best mates,” he said, admitting that everything was different.

“Yeah,” Jenna said.

“Pussy,” Sparky said.

Jack smiled.

“Company,” Sparky said softly.

“Where?” Jack asked.

“Someone watching from that café window. What, you didn’t detect them with your Spidey senses?”

“Eat me. Who is it?”

“You won’t taste as good as those burgers. Someone dressed in black. Looks like your old man.”

Jack stood and turned around to look at the café, making it very clear that they knew the watcher was there. This wasn’t Shade, of that he was sure. It was someone surveying the ground before emerging.

Jack waved. The figure didn’t move, and for a moment he thought perhaps it was a trick of the light. Then the shadow shifted, and seconds later the café door screeched open.

Reaper emerged. He looked around the street and grinned. He’s so bloody confident , Jack thought, and that was another aspect alien to his father. His dad had been a humble man, never confident in much of what he did. He could never please his own father , Jack’s mother had told him once when he’d asked about this, and it was an answer he had never wanted elaborated. Jack had always done his best to please his parents, and they had always been full of praise for him.

“Hi, Dad,” Jack said. Reaper raised an eyebrow but did not reply.

“Dude, that black coat thing…” Sparky said. He trailed off, chuckling, and Jack threw him a sharp glance.

“Glad I amuse you,” Reaper said.

“Yeah, well.”

Reaper growled. It was almost sub-audible, like rocks grinding together in the depths of the earth, and the table they had been sitting at flipped onto its side. Jenna fell backwards in her chair, and Sparky stood and stumbled back.

“We don’t need this!” Jack said. The strength in his own voice surprised him, and deep down he touched the star that might give him his father’s power. But it was a sickening touch, repulsive. A power simply for destruction. He wasn’t sure he could ever bring himself to fully use something like that.

Reaper sighed and looked around as if nothing had happened.

Jenna stood and Sparky went to her, but she pushed him away. Jack watched until they both caught his gaze, then he pursed his lips and shook his head.

“Your friend not here yet?” Reaper asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Jack said, glancing at his watch. “I thought we’d agreed—”

“I arrive and depart to my own schedule,” Reaper said. He seemed to be avoiding looking at Jack. Maybe that was a good sign—that he felt uncomfortable looking at the son he was doing his best to shun—or perhaps it was simply that he could never care again.

Jack could have pushed another memory onto him. There were a thousand good times he had grasped hold of since Doomsday, but now they all felt very personal to him. The more memories he pushed onto Reaper, the more sullied they became.

Besides, that was cheating. His father still possessed his own mind, and it would surely be best and more honest if he decided for himself.

They spent a strange twenty minutes waiting for Breezer and his people to arrive. Sparky and Jenna stood close together, whispering, immersed in their own private world. Jack righted the table and sat down again, trying to act calm and slow his galloping heart. Reaper strolled. He never passed out of sight, but neither did he stop close to them for long.

Jack watched, and several times he almost stood and went to talk to him. But there was little left to say. Reaper had come, and from that Jack took as much comfort as he could. Surely, at least a small part of what Reaper was doing was in an effort to rescue his wife and daughter? Jack could only hope.

Breezer appeared right on time. Four people came with him, and though Jack had seen them all in the office block, he did not know their names. Two men and two women, none of them hiding their nervousness. They only had eyes for Reaper.

“Thank you,” Jack said, standing to welcome Breezer. He extended his hand, and Breezer looked surprised. He took Jack’s hand and shook.

“I wasn’t expecting to see him,” he said, inclining his head towards where Reaper was standing in front of an old clothing shop. The window was shattered, naked mannequins splayed across the floor and pavement like moss-covered corpses.

“It bugs him that he’s never been able to find Camp H,” Jack said.

“It would. He’s Superior.” Breezer seemed nervous, but also retained some of the qualities that seemed to have made him de facto leader of this small group of Irregulars. He exuded strength and confidence, and Jack knew he would be calm under pressure. “So now what?”

“Nine of us here together, at least,” Jack said. “You think…?”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll see nine, especially out in the open,” Breezer said.

“Hope so.”

“Your plan depends on that?”

“Yeah.”

Breezer nodded, smiled. “Sounds pretty uncertain to me.”

“Yeah,” Jack said again, and he smiled back. “That’s me all over.”

Breezer’s smile seemed heartfelt and honest, and Jack began to hope he had made a friend. But he knows about Nomad’s touch , he thought. He sees my strengths, knows some of them … how can I take anything for granted?

He turned away, troubled, and walked towards Reaper.

“Soon,” he said as he approached the thing his father had become.

“I hope so,” Reaper said.

“Mum always used to like this chain,” Jack said, pointing at the shop’s name.

Reaper only stared at him, giving nothing away. Then he said, “So, I should go to meet your Irregular friends, don’t you think?”

“Just don’t kill them all,” Jack said coldly.

“What makes you think I would?” Reaper asked.

“You’re so good at it.”

They didn’t have to wait very long.

Jack, Sparky, and Jenna had returned to their table and stood around it, talking in subdued whispers. Reaper and Breezer had faced each other, exchanged a few words, and then parted again. Reaper went back to strolling around the street, sometimes apparently studying his surroundings, at other times engrossed in thought. He seemed unable to stay still for very long. Breezer and the people with him sat along the kerb, two of them smoking, the others passing a bottle of whiskey back and forth. And it was from one of these that the warning came.

“We’re being watched,” the woman said, standing and squeezing her eyes so tightly closed that her face became a mask of wrinkles.

“Yes,” Reaper said.

“No. I don’t mean your shadow man. I mean by someone from afar.”

“The girl the Choppers have working for them?” Jenna asked.

“Maybe,” Jack said. “But…I think I hear something.”

One by one, they all looked up. A drone buzzed so high up that its sound was a whisper, its shape and form little more than a flash of reflected sunlight.

“Checking us out,” Sparky said, giving the thing the finger.

“And when they see who’s here, the Choppers won’t be far behind.”

“Reaper,” Jenna said.

“And Jack,” Sparky said. “Mate, no risks, huh? That Miller bastard, he was looking at you like he wanted to chop you up.”

“Miller won’t be chopping anyone else up,” Reaper said. He’d drifted closer to them, and now he stood almost as if he was part of the group.

“So what now?” Breezer asked.

“Now we wait,” Reaper said. He cocked his head, smiled. “But not for long.”

They came four minutes later. Not the royal blue Land Rovers that Jack had seen before, but smaller, faster shapes moving along the streets like errant shadows. They were almost completely silent but for the whish! of disturbed air, and the occasional crackling of wheels crunching over grit or litter. He saw six initially, but as he and the others crouched down ready to spring aside, he realised that there were more.