The Law of Averages

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The camera view tilted as the chopper jerked into a panicked yaw. A wave of brilliant gold and blue scorched the city streets as the chopper ascended into the sky. The thump of a passing shockwave sent the cameraman tumbling backwards into the cabin, and the chopper spiraled briefly out of control.

After a few heart-stopping moments, and several seconds of screaming, a hand appeared over the screen. The view blurred as someone wiped a rag over the camera lens. A face appeared briefly, the reporter from before, and the camera reoriented towards the city.

Atlanta was burning. The blast had extended over a thousand feet in every direction. Streets were melted and cracked, while buildings glowed cherry red from the heat. Cars lined the streets, charred black, and a massive wall of smoke drifted skyward. The villain siren continued to ring, sounding more like a wail than a warning.

The camera drifted back to the office building where the blast originated. The outside was a shattered husk. Every window had been broken, the walls were cracked, the doors were halfway across the street and fused together. Bits of concrete flaked off the building, though it remained standing.

In the parking lot, where the SPEAR Team had stood, a glowing golden dome hovered protectively. It rippled like the surface of the lake, holding strong despite the overwhelming heat that filled the parking lot. The air around it shimmered in a haze like you might see in a desert mirage.

"Holy shit," Abigail murmured.

The camera zoomed out. The reporter reappeared, looking frazzled and sunburned. His hair was tousled and his glasses slightly askew. He stood strong, however, with steady hands and a grim voice.

"We've just witnessed a large-scale villainous strike on the city of Atlanta. A SPEAR Team is already in place and moving in. We urge anyone who can still hear the villain siren to evacuate immediately, or take cover if evacuation is not possible. We are pulling out of the area for now. More news to come as we get it. Back to you, John."

The screen flipped back to the news desk, the anchors managing to look worried despite their eerie perfection.

The female anchor bit her lip, glanced towards the camera, and said, "We are waiting for the official word on the situation. The governor of Georgia has already scheduled a press conference for five minutes from now. We will be bringing you that press conference, along with up to the minute news on this latest attack when we return. Those of us here, at Warner news, urge the citizens of Atlanta to stay calm, stay indoors, and wait for instructions. We'll be right back."

Commercials filled the television screen, and the sound automatically muted itself. The room was silent. Dan could've heard a pin drop.

"Yeah," he repeated quietly. "Holy shit."

Abby watched the silent commercials play out on the television, one hand twisting her hair into knots. "It's a good thing the SPEAR Team survived. That blast was.... bad."

"Good thing," Dan echoed automatically, his mind reeling. "What do you think will happen now?"

She shrugged, the motion looking a little too casual. "SPEAR will go in and deal with whoever is still alive in that building."

"Will the news crews really evacuate the area?" Dan asked with morbid curiousity. Reporters regularly visited war zones, back home. Surely there would be an intrepid camera man or two, willing to risk his life for a good story?

Contrary to his expectations, Abby shook her head with a frown. "Of course. Interfering in a SPEAR operation is a great way to go to prison."

"Oh. Right. Of course," Dan agreed feebly.

"I just can't believe that its been less than a year since the last major villain attack," Abby continued to Dan's utter horror.

"Only a year?" he asked, eyes wide. How often did things like this happen? More importantly, why didn't Marcus mention it!?

Abby looked at his pale face. "You lost track? That Lexington thing was just last October."

"Right. The Lexington thing," Dan said slowly. It was the end of August, currently. "How many died in that, again?"

Abby pondered his question, absently rubbing on a dozing Merrill. "Just a few dozen in the end, I think. But there were, like, thousands in comas, right?"

"Sounds about right," Dan remarked. He needed a cell phone. He needed a cell phone with internet access and a search engine, and he needed it yesterday. How had he survived this long without one?

"Either way, we got lucky. That fireball couldn't have been larger than three or four city blocks, and the evacuation had already been sounded. It could've been way worse." Abby concluded with a helpless sigh.

This was a supremely odd experience for Dan. He was sitting in his friends living room, somewhat calmly discussing the body count of what should have been a major terrorist act. He remembered, back home, when the twin towers fell in New York. He remembered exactly where he had been when he'd first heard the rumor, remembered dismissing the words as an impossibility, as a joke or hearsay. He remembered his parents crying in the living room while they watched the evening news. He remembered the twenty-four hour coverage, the theories, the talking heads arguing amongst themselves. He remembered the huge, sweeping changes that occurred in the aftermath.

Abigail was not nearly worried enough for a young woman who had literally just witnessed an act of domestic terrorism. Her talk about previous attacks boded poorly for Dan's continued sanity. He really needed to go back to the library and finish that damn history book. What the hell had happened in this world to make its people so hardened to tragedy?

Another thought occurred to him, separate from his discomfort. He turned to Abby.

"Is there some sort of volunteer program for helping in the aftermath of villain attacks? Search and rescue, or things of that nature." Dan asked her.

"Yeah, of course," Abby replied slowly. "They usually put a call out for licensed volunteers as soon as the situation is handled. Why?"

Dan hummed to himself. On the television, the commercials were ending. Two worried faces appeared once again, and the news anchors began to speak. Subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen, scrolling quickly through their words while the sound was muted. Pictures of blackened buildings and scorched concrete filled the empty space on the screen.

As Abby reached for the remote, Dan made a decision.

"I think I'll go and help."

Abby blinked. "You're licensed?"

Dan replayed her earlier statement in his head. "Licensed?"

"Yeah. It's not like they just let any random person help. You have to take a training course to get licensed. It's supposed to be really intense, too," Abby said with a concerned frown. "You didn't really think you could just show up did you?"

"Er, I just thought they might need the help," he replied sheepishly.

Abby shook her head wildly. "You'd hurt more than you'd help if you didn't know what you're doing."

"I guess," Dan aceded uncertainly. He didn't really see how an extra pair of hands could ever hurt. There were trained volunteers back home, sure, but he doubted that help had ever been turned away during major disasters. At the very least, he was another body able to move crap around.

This had to be some sort of cultural difference, though, so he wasn't willing press the issue. Maybe Mercury could give him a better explanation. In the meantime, Dan would just...

Would just what?

Just sit around?

Dan would just sit around and be useless?

No.

Suddenly, Dan found that thought intolerable. There had to be something he could do, somewhere he could actually contribute, even if it was only a little. He was tired of just sitting back and doing nothing. It was time to act.

"I'll try to get a license, then," he decided firmly.

"That's a great idea! Teleporters are really hard to come by." Abby's exclaimed, but her enthusiasm faded quickly.

She grimaced. "I'd offer to join, but my upgrade is worthless at search and rescue."

"They turn you away if you don't have the right upgrade?" Dan asked, slightly perturbed.

She shrugged. "Sort of? I might be able to get a license but I wouldn't be much use practically speaking."

"What is your upgrade, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Proprioception Pro," Abby replied quietly, rubbing Merrill's belly.

Dan rolled the name around in his head.

"That sounds like a Pokemon," he decided, trying to inject some levity into the room.

"What?"

"What?"

They stared at each other for a moment. Abigail broke first.

"My upgrade: it's called Proprioception Pro," she repeated with a hint of confusion in her voice.

"I have no idea what that is," Dan admitted.

"Proprioception is your, uh, body sense I guess," Abby said haltingly, mulling over her response. "It's how you know where all your bits are, relative to the rest of your body, and how much strain you are putting on them."

"Oh. Neat."

"It's very neat," Abby said, regaining some cheer. "Also, necessary. What P-Pro does, though, is it allows me to access someone else's proprioception by touching them. It let's me know the difference between you wimping out and actually being exhausted."

Dan blinked, slowly. His head fell back onto his seat. "Goddamnit."

"Yup." Abby's tone had a hint of smugness.

"Why would anyone design a power so specific?" Dan lamented.

Abby gave a dignified sniff. "It's extremely useful for people in healthcare. Most nurses use it, and some doctor's as well. Knowing the state of your patient is invaluable, and we haven't yet invented a way to beam that information into someone's head."

Dan sighed. They had gotten off track, somehow. He should be in shock at the moment, having just watched a fairly explicit video of a city block on fire. Maybe he was in shock, him and Abby both, and this was just an easy diversion. Or maybe this whole situation was just too surreal for him to process. Maybe he was still just too disconnected from this world, this place that wasn't his.

Merrill hopped over to him and snuggled onto his knee, shattering his mopey thoughts. He glanced towards Abby, only to see her focused on the television. The sound was still muted, but subtitles scrolled along the bottom at great speed. The news caster from the helicopter had returned, and was looking slightly cooked.

A few tiny stress lines appeared on Abby's eyes as she read; little crinkles, nearly unnoticeable, but they meant the world to Dan. She wasn't as dissociated from the tragedy as she was pretending to be. It comforted him to realize that.

"So your power isn't useful for search and rescue. What about first aid?" he asked, breaking the silence. Abby enjoyed helping others. Maybe he could find her a role.

She jumped slightly. "What?"

Dan pointed at the television. "First aid. You said that you'd volunteer if you could be useful. I'm sure there's some way for your power to help people who are injured, right?"

"I, uh," Abby floundered for a moment and Dan realized that he might have misjudged the situation. "It's just— I'm technically not certified for first-aid, so I can't act as a medic, and my power isn't good for much else."

"You don't have first-aid training?" Dan blurted out incredulously. Sure, he didn't either, but he wasn't a personal trainer.

Abby shrunk in on herself.

"Blood makes me uncomfortable," she admitted weakly.

Dan opened his mouth, then shut it, slowly. He shrugged helplessly. "Ah."

Dan didn't try to press the issue. The teaspoon's worth of tact that he possessed screamed at him to shut up. This was clearly none of his business.

"It's good that you're trying to help, though," Abby repeated. She tried for an encouraging smile, but it came out slow and timid.

He smiled back anyway, puffing out his chest dramatically. "I guess I'm just a really swell guy."

She snorted slightly, but still appeared glum.

So Dan chucked Merrill at her. The mouse landed on her head, and Abby fell back with a yelp. Merrill worked her magic, squeaking cutely while wriggling in place, and infused fluffy joy directly into Abby's brain. The girl giggled, then smiled, then laughed.

Dan considered it a win.

Tonight, he could interrogate Mercury about the horrific details of this world. Tomorrow, he could volunteer for search and rescue training.

For now, he had a friend to comfort.