12.06

Chapter 12.06 Summary (1005 words)

Leviathan’s destruction, ironically, lessened Shatterbird’s impact. Fewer windows meant less glass to weaponize. Still, the sand was brutal, leaving people with horrific sandburns. Skitter arrived at her claimed territory, finding two ambulances, stripped of glass, attending to the wounded. The air was thick with dust, raising concerns about respiratory health.

The scene was fraught with potential chaos. Hundreds, maybe thousands, were injured, overwhelming the limited medical resources. Panic was inevitable. Skitter, her mind on her father and Tattletale, struggled to focus, but she had to act.

She spread her swarm, using it to amplify her voice, urging calm. She asked for uninjured volunteers, but the Dock residents, unaccustomed to community spirit, hesitated. Skitter realized her mistake – in a crisis, direct commands, not requests, were needed. But she’d already set the precedent of ignoring her, making the situation worse.

Three options remained: look weak and abandon the plan, plead and look even weaker, or force compliance through intimidation. The last option was distasteful but necessary. Before she could act, Charlotte arrived, a timely reprieve.

Skitter had been using her bugs to locate injured people. She pointed Charlotte to a warehouse with a wounded woman and children, then singled out a shirtless young man to assist, overcoming his concern for his injured mother by assigning others to her care. She directed two more men to a bleeding man in a factory, her heart pounding as they hesitated before obeying.

Next, she ordered a man, R.J.’s father, to help a blinded man. He resisted, ungrateful for her earlier help, but Skitter’s sharp question to another bystander, a woman with a makeshift eyepatch, shamed him into action. She sent out more groups, using social pressure to ensure compliance.

The greater problem remained: how to manage the scared, restless crowd awaiting help? They were crowding the paramedics, demanding attention. Skitter, spotting a mother picking glass from her son’s wound, realized a solution. She instructed the mother on safe glass removal, then a plan formed. She needed supplies from her lair, but couldn’t leave.

Using her bugs, she gathered pens, markers, bandages, iodine, hydrogen peroxide, candles, and needles. Retrieving them was tricky – flying bugs couldn’t carry the heavier items. She had her spiders spin silk, creating makeshift harnesses for the bugs to carry the supplies.

Addressing the crowd, Skitter explained a marking system: dotted lines for visible glass, circles for potentially embedded pieces, and a ‘T’ for tetanus shot status. A paramedic confirmed the need for this information. She demonstrated on an old man, instructing him to mark others.

The paramedics needed space. Skitter announced a move to a nearby factory, a safer, more spacious location. People moved, marking wounds and tetanus status as they went. A pinched-faced woman, a doctor, questioned Skitter’s use of hydrogen peroxide. Skitter defended it, arguing it was better to delay healing than risk infection. The woman, unimpressed, took the iodine, her demeanor softening only when tending to patients.

Skitter gathered more supplies, sending her bugs to scout for more. She wished for a working phone to check on Tattletale and her father but knew most electronics were fried. She had to focus on the task at hand, spreading her bugs to detect threats, both on the ground and airborne. She had her spiders spin suture thread, a necessary if imperfect solution.

The doctor criticized the thread’s sterility. Skitter, irritated, defended it as a necessary compromise. The doctor repeated her earlier question about Skitter’s medical credentials, but Skitter was distracted. The paramedics hadn’t emerged from the ambulance.

She found them dead, their necks broken, a patient with a fresh chest wound, still warm but not breathing. They’d been murdered, silently, despite her watch. Panicked, she rushed back to the warehouse.

Inside, she found Mannequin, one of the Slaughterhouse Nine. He held a telescoping blade to the doctor’s throat, his other hand wagging a finger admonishingly. Before Skitter could react, he killed her, arterial blood spraying. He taunted Skitter, evading her swarm with delicate precision on his knife-stilt feet.

Skitter drew her baton and knife. Mannequin extended his arm blades, longer and sharper than hers. He had hostages, speed, strength, and durability. His power, a twisted version of his past as a tinker specializing in self-contained ecosystems, countered hers perfectly.

“Motherfucker,” Skitter snarled, her voice amplified by her swarm. “I have no idea how the fuck I’m going to do it, but I’m going to make you regret that.”