Jack breathed deeply. When Sparky turned to look at him, he smiled.
“J—!” Sparky shouted, and Jack let the power flood through him, scorching his veins, setting every nerve on fire with the thrilling potential of something he had never done before.
The world ground to a halt.
Jack caught his breath as every sense retreated to nothing. Sounds faded until all he heard was his own beating heart, and blood pulsing through his ears. The air was motionless. Smoke hung like Christmas decorations above the crashed Jeep's front end. Blood dripped from the dead soldier on its bonnet, each drop barely moving, exclamations on the air.
Sparky reached for Jack, mouth hanging open and bearing his unuttered name. Jenna was suspended halfway through a fall to the ground, hair streaming behind her, hand held out to arrest the impact, her eyes on Sparky.
Jack looked around at the Choppers, all similarly frozen—
But not quite. “Not quite still,” Jack said. His voice did not echo, as if he'd spoken in an insulated chamber rather than in this bloodied London street. The Chopper pulling a gun on him was shifting slightly, his shoulder raising, hand tugging the pistol from its holster, movements as imperceptible as a minute hand on a clock. And Sparky's mouth opened wider, wider, as he shouted his friend's name in terror.
“Oh!” a surprised voice said. “Well. I thought I was the only one.”
The woman in the dress appeared from behind the crashed Jeep and strolled casually across to the standing soldier. She stepped over one of the bodies without looking down, though Jack had seen her shoot the terrified man in the face.
“Who…?” Jack said.
“Name's Fleeter,” she said. She watched Jack curiously as she moved the soldier's hand aside and pulled the pistol from his belt. Then she smiled, and it made her look manic. “I wasn't told you could do this.” She stepped back and aimed the gun at the man's head.
“Wait!” Jack said, his word cut off by the gunshot.
“Why?” the woman asked, all innocence. As she walked towards Jack, he saw the most terrible thing.
The bullet struck the Chopper's face in slow motion. It impacted his skin, entered just below his left eye socket, and sent a ripple of imminent destruction through the man's face.
Jack turned away, not wishing to see any more.
“So,” the woman said, circling Jack so that she could see his face. “You want to help me with the rest of them?”
“No!” Jack said. “Who are you? What are you?”
“Reaper sent me to keep an eye on you. Make sure you didn't get into trouble.”
She had already turned and was walking towards the other soldiers, her wide hips swaying the short skirt. She wasn't pretty, but she was striking. In Jack's eyes right now she was also monstrous, and he was desperate to prevent her continuing the slaughter.
Whatever these Choppers might do, they were still people, each with families and individual stories to tell.
“Why would he worry about me?”
The woman who had called herself Fleeter shrugged. “I just do as he tells me.”
“Just following orders, eh? That's what these Choppers do. Hey. Hey!” She was approaching more of the soldiers and raising the stolen pistol.
Fleeter turned and looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. “What?”
“Don't,” Jack said.
She pulled the trigger. The sound was a crushing impact and then an extended, deafening roar, like a train bursting from a tunnel and then receding. He saw the bullet leave the gun and strike a woman in the eye.
“Don't!” he shouted. He ran at Fleeter and she stepped aside, tripping him up. As Jack struck the ground his anger grew, and the pain from knees and elbows fed it. He delved deep and stood again, turning to the woman, sending a thought, spasming her thigh muscles so that she groaned and stumbled, dropping the gun and hitting the road.
“I said don't,” Jack said. The gunshot's roar was a grumbling echo, fading, fading. “Now you can help me get my friends away from here.”