The zombie's companion was stopped by what he had just seen. He let his sights dip, but not long enough for Bagabond to act. He backed up and waved the gunship back down as he brought up the Uzi.
"Kill anyone left standing," Bagabond heard him shout into his radio headset. She was looking down the barrel of his gun even as she was flying with hundreds of birds that simultaneously attacked the helicopter. It exploded, raining burning debris down onto the border guards' office and setting it ablaze. She was the puma that appeared from the forest and sliced away the assassin's abdomen, spilling his intestines onto the Guatemalan dirt. Then she was none of those creatures. She was helping Uman limp toward the flames marking the border. McCoy appeared, to take his other arm.
The Kaibile colonel, knowing he had been betrayed by his allies and defeated by the people he considered beneath contempt, raised his own Uzi to kill them. Suzanne saw it, but she had used all the strength she had in the last two minutes. She tried to concentrate, but there was nothing there. No contacts.
Balam left the jungle in midair and crossed the dirt in two bounds. Before he could react, she knocked aside the gun and, with a single swipe of her claws, she tore out his throat. Standing over him she threw back her head and howled.
Suzanne was crying, uncontrollable tears of pain and exhaustion running down her face, cutting paths through the dirt.
"She remembered Chotol."
The Color of His Skin
Part 4
"You were wonderful again on Peri's show last night," Jo Ann told Gregg as he entered the office. Her skin was more emerald than usual, as if flushed. "My God the pictures Mr. McCoy took, that awful Faneuil ..." She shook her head, and a warty finger impaled the morning paper. "The response has been good - if you ignore the minor riot near J-Town afterward."
"I heard about it on the way in. How bad was it?"
"Mostly just taunting and some bottle and rock-throwing back and forth between jokers and nats. No one killed, anyway."
"That's good." Gregg said. "So what are they saying?"
"Well, let's see ..." Jo Ann fluffed out the pages, scanning. "'The Davis-Hartmann revelations, coupled with the 60 Minutes expose and other reports, and now Josh McCoy's startling photographs from Guatemala, make a compelling portrait of ugliness in action,'" she quoted "I like that one. But Pan probably doesn't like this: '... The knot of reporters around Rudo and Herzenhagen abruptly doubled in size late last night....' Ummm ... a little further down: '... Sources within WHO say that the board is pressuring Rudo to either answer the increasing accusations or to resign....' Pretty interesting. How about this, from the editorial page: '... President Barnett's request that the Senate reconsider a mandatory virus testing bill has set off a vitrolic exchange of words between the opposing conservative and liberal camps. This observer wonders whether we are not seeing a reflection of the increasingly violent polarity of the public....'"
Jo Ann dropped the paper back down. "You get the drift, boss. Every magazine from Time to the Sun has had an article about the Sharks, pro or con. Some are blaming the conspiracy for everything from the Dodgers' loss in the World Series to the last recession, at least those who aren't saying that it's all hogwash and the only way to eradicate the disease is to sterilize the carriers. I'll give you one thing - no one is sitting on the fence with this. You sure have an impact when you try."
See, Greggie? I told you. Use the Gift wisely and you'll he rewarded....
Gregg chuckled. "I guess. And you're still smiling. What else is up?"
"Good news," Jo Ann said. "Got a FedEx letter from Marilyn Monroe's lawyers this morning. They're dropping the defamation of character suit they filed. And Hannah's in your office."
"You have a really idiotic smile, Jo Ann. Did you know that?"
"Hey, I'm not the Cheshire Cat around here." Jo Ann turned dramatically away and flicked on her computer. "I'll be busy writing letters. I won't hear a thing."
"Jo Ann - "
"Your visitor's waiting. Get in there."
Shaking his head, Gregg went into his office as Jo Ann began rattling the Macintosh's keys. He shut the door behind him. "I have to get a new secretary," he said. "This one treats me like a younger brother - when she's not bugging my office at a client's request. I should have fired her when I had the excuse."
Hannah smiled. "Jo Ann believes in you," she replied.
"Uh-huh," Gregg said, going around his desk and sitting. Hannah's blue-green eyes followed him. He found that disconcerting, and pretended to study his appointment book. "And how about you?"
"I'm beginning to get there."
Gregg looked up. Neither of them said anything. Gregg felt inside himself for the Gift, the power, and he reached out with that newfound sense to see within her a surprising multi-hued swell. He let the Gift touch her, wonderingly.
Greggie! Stop it! The voice came suddenly, wrenching his gaze away from Hannah's. He fell out of the Gift with a grimace.
"Gregg?"
This isn't what it's for. Leave her alone.
I haven't DONE anything.
You can't. You mustn't.
It's MY Gift. MY power. I can use it as I choose.
No, you can't. Don't you see? You can't even THINK that....
"Gregg?"
"Sorry. Just a twinge - I ... I pulled a muscle yesterday."
You can't ...
Gregg glanced at his watch. "We're supposed to meet the WABC people this afternoon, right? Why don't we hit lunch and decide what we're going to say? McCoy's pictures are going to stir the pot even more, and we should be ready for that."
... can't ...
Gregg rose and went to the door. He opened it, watching her as she nodded to Jo Ann and took her jacket from the rack.
He smiled.
But I can. Once again, I can....
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
In the time since the War for the Rox, and especially in the last few months, Jokertown and the district surrounding it had increasingly become polarized, armed enclaves. During the daytime, there was little trouble as long as you kept to main streets and avoided alleys and other lonely places. During the day, jokers and nats mingled on the sidewalks, and if they avoided one another or if there were stares, words, or an occasional more intense incident, well, that was the chance you took.
But at night ...
Walking in or out of Jokertown was like passing through a border. A nat violating the unmarked boundaries risked being harassed by vigilante bands of jokers. A nat in J-Town was well-advised to wear a mask. Nor was it any less dangerous for a joker walking out of the district, for a block or so away, youthful nat gangs bullied hapless jokers.
At night, there was violence. There were fists, knives, clubs, and guns. There was blood and even the occasional death. At night, if you wanted to move in or out of J-Town, you drove. Even then you stayed to well-lit streets, you kept the doors locked and the windows up, and unless there were other cars, you didn't stop for lights or signs.
In the erratic, block-wide no-man's-land girdling Jokertown, the order of society had broken down entirely. In that space, a joker moved: a limping, assymetrical travesty like two different bodies bisected down the middle and glued together. In the shadows of the boarded-up buildings, other shapes moved with it.
"Hold up a second John!" Gregg tapped the minivan driver on the shoulder. "Can you pull over?"
The driver, a bearded nat, glanced over at the woman sitting in the passenger seat. "Debra?" The woman shrugged back at John, and he looked at Gregg in the rearview mirror. "Here? You two call the shots, but you're out of your minds if you want to take a stroll in this place." John turned the wheel of the minivan over until they bumped the curb.