They talked for half an hour, eating at the same time. Sparky put away three burgers.
While others talked, Jack cruised his mindscape, probing here and there, tasting potentials unknown and powers already dealt, but he could find nothing that might help him locate Miller. If he'd had a drop of the man's blood, or a shred of hair, or an item that had been of sentimental value to Miller, then maybe he could have used one of his fledgling talents to zero in on the man. But he had nothing but a memory of his brutality, evident in the sad form of Rhali. She sat with Jack and shared his warmth, and Jack felt something strong growing between them. Theirs had been a relationship of contact, not words. He found that fundamentally beautiful.
Without any means to find Miller, they could only go to look for him. Breezer would come, and he would bring Guy Morris, the man who could control a person's actions with a whisper. Order every Chopper to drop their weapons, he would mutter in Miller's ear. And he would.
“Camp H,” Fleeter told them after a while. She sounded confident. “Best place to look if you've no better leads.” It was all she contributed to the conversation. Jack went to ask her how she knew, but there was no need. She was Superior, and still enjoyed acting it.
They gave themselves until six p.m. to find Miller and attempt to ensure a safe exit from London. After that, with six hours left until detonation, they would have to rush the Exclusion Zone one way or another. Jack tried to shut out images of thousands of people crossing those bombed, flattened areas and being mown down by machine-gun fire.
He still found Fleeter fascinating. He had seen her killing in cold blood, and yet now she was here, and she seemed different. She looked exhausted, but there was something else about her as well. A brightness, as if she had discovered life again. She'd told Jack about how she'd guided his mother and Emily out of London, and how for a while she'd taken a walk out there, seeing normal people doing normal, everyday things, unaware of the dreadful events just twenty miles from where they lived. This, she'd said, was why she had returned to Breezer and his people. She wanted to help.
She claimed no allegiance with Reaper. But she was still a monster.
Jack would never forget the look in her eyes when she killed, and he could never fully trust her.
From the moment they stepped out into the fresh air once again, Jack knew that something had changed.
“Least we didn't have to jump from the roof this time,” Sparky said.
“Pity,” Jenna said. “I enjoyed that so much.”
“You did, really. Secretly. Deep inside, you want me to carry you upstairs and throw you off.”
“You. Carry me up forty flights of stairs. I'd like to see you try.”
Sparky grinned and glanced at Jack. “He could.”
“I'm not Superman,” Jack said. But no one replied to that, and he wondered what everyone really thought of him. He still wasn't sure what he thought of himself. He feared the potential he carried inside, and worried that they were untried, untested, and liable to backfire if he used them all too rashly. But perhaps it was merely a question of confidence. Maybe he needed to grow used to bearing such power.
Time would tell. And as he breathed in the strange London air and sensed the changes occurring, he knew that he would be testing more powers very soon.
“Something's different,” he said.
“Spidey senses tingling,” Sparky said.
“What is it, Jack?” Rhali asked. She touched his arm, held his hand. She'd not eaten much—said she was not used to such food, and that in captivity they had sometimes forgotten to feed her for days. But she already seemed stronger.
“Can't you feel it?” he asked them all. Sparky and Jenna walked together, Rhali was with him. Fleeter strolled slightly ahead of them, automatically taking the lead. Breezer and Guy Morris accompanied them, quiet and tense. They never liked travelling in the open like this.