The Law of Averages

Dan was not licensed for crisis response in Florida, so he was forced to sit on the sidelines and watch from the shore as officers and orange-vested volunteers scoured the water for survivors. The Key West PD had blockaded the entrance to the ocean highway, but there was no hiding the damage. The enormous concrete and steel roadway connecting Stock Island to Boca Chica was a blasted, blackened ruin. The majority of the debris had ended up in the Atlantic, but the edges of the highway had been melted into slag.

Dan wore his heavy boots as he walked along the coast, every step crunching through broken glass. He watched through binoculars as Coast Guard boats skirted slowly along the water, shouting on megaphones for survivors. The broken remains of cars bobbed in the water, here and there, most burnt beyond recognition. Luggage washed up on the shore, spilling their guts across sand and rock. Wet clothing and towels, shoes, broken heirlooms, all carried along the tide.

A small crowd gathered at a nearby pier, the group quietly watching the rescue efforts. Dan moved down to join them, taking note of other such gatherings all along the shoreline. The sound of gulls and boat engines filled the air, accompanied by the distant shouts of officers. The sea glittered in the afternoon sun and the waves lapped gently against the shore. It should have been a beautiful day.

Dan wandered over to the edge of the pier and leaned against the barrier. Nearby, a family of four watched a boat-mounted crane pull the mangled corpse of an SUV out of the water. The youngest child, a boy of maybe ten, had his phone up and recording. The parents held each other close, while the older daughter played fitfully with her hair.

"A terrible thing," a man said from beside Dan.

Dan glanced at him. He was old, grey haired and wrinkled. His bright Hawaiian shirt flapped in the breeze, and his large, shiny aviators reflected the sun at their edges. He looked like a man who, up until a few minutes ago, had been thoroughly enjoying his vacation.

"Terrible," Dan agreed solemnly. He turned back to the broken highway. "Did you see it happen?"

"Was sittin' right over there," the old man replied, pointing to a distant restaurant whose windows had been blown out. "Had a pair o' headphones on, else I might've lost what's left of my hearing. Shockwave tore 'em right off my head. Damn lucky my glasses were in a pocket."

Dan nodded. "People are saying it was some kind of fire bomb?"

The old man snorted. "I've seen bombs. That weren't no bomb. Almost a perfect sphere of fire, it was. Big, bright, and round. No mushroom shape, and hardly any heat past the blast zone. And I had a good feel for that too, being right here. That heat was nothing special. Hotter than usual, sure, but I ain't burnt like that there bridge." He pointed at the melted edges of the highway. "That tells me there was something else at work, if'n you know what I mean?"

Dan side-eyed him. "You're thinking this was a villain attack?" That thought wasn't far from Dan's mind.

"What else could it be?" the old man asked with a shrug. "Country's in an uproar. Perfect time for some crazy bastard to do some senseless violence. Who knows how those people think."

"Right," Dan offered without conviction. His phone buzzed in his pocket. "Excuse me."

Dan stepped away, checking the caller ID with a frown.

"Granny Terminator," he muttered, reading the words on his screen. He answered the call, and pressed his phone to his ear. "This is Daniel."

"Newman," Anastasia greeted emotionlessly, "I've got a job for you."

"Pretty sure I don't work for you," Dan replied.

"You're staying in my home, eating my food, taking advantage of the safety and hospitality I offer," she told him flatly. "You owe me."

"Take it up with your granddaughter," Dan recommended, picking at a nail. He made sure to be as loud as possible, and was rewarded with the sound of grinding teeth.

"Do you think the situation is amusing?" Anastasia Summers growled at him. "Is it possible for you to muster even the smallest fraction of discipline?"

"I think you're trying to cajole me into helping you, rather than ask like a normal human," Dan replied. "What is it you want, anyway?"

There was a brief pause, as Anastasia obviously considered threatening him once more. She must have decided that getting to the point took priority, as she said, "You've obviously heard about the explosion?"

"Obviously," Dan drawled. He glanced at the bridge. "I'm looking at it right now."

"I've secured a place for you in the investigation, acting as an outside consultant," Anastasia told him.

Dan blinked. "I am completely unqualified for that."

"Believe me, I am more than aware," Anastasia said. "That's not the point. Whether you contribute to the investigation in a meaningful way or not, you'll be involved, and you'll report back what you learn."

"You've got enough pull to plant me on the investigation, but not to learn the results?" Dan asked incredulously. "You obviously have a detective in your pocket. Why not ask him?"

He could almost hear her scowl. "I'm finding myself less trusting of others than usual. I will take no risks given the location. If this was meant to be a message to me, or some kind of attack gone wrong, I need to know immediately. Our interests align in this, Newman. I believe that you are motivated to be honest with me."

"'Our interests align?'" Dan echoed mockingly. "You mean we both love Abby? Why not just come out and say it?"

Anastasia ignored him, bulling forward with her request. "Circumstances are forcing me to extend a modicum of trust to you, Newman. Don't make me regret it. I'm certain you want to be involved every bit as much as I do."

"Fine," Dan conceded, because Anastasia was correct. He needed to know what had happened here, and if Abby was in danger. He had no allies among the FKPD, nobody he could go to for information. Dan had absolutely no idea if his fears of a People attack were justified or not. If working with Anastasia would bring him into the loop, then it was a small price to pay.

Anastasia passed along the meeting information, and texted the picture and name of the man Dan was meant to speak to. Time was of the essence, so Dan set off immediately, blinking himself up to the bridge, a short walk from the police barricade. He was careful not to appear out in the open. The police were jumpy at the moment, and Dan didn't want to get shot.

"Hold up there!" an officer called as Dan approached. He and his partner stepped forward to meet Dan. "Sir, you need to leave. This area is off-limits for your own safety."

Dan nodded genially. "Completely understood, gentlemen. I was just hoping you could radio Detective Hauss for me. My name is Daniel Newman, and he should be expecting me." Dan produced his driver's license for examination.

The first officer frowned down at it then glanced at his partner. The two exchanged a brief, hushed conversation, before the officer stepped away and said something quietly into his radio. Dan kept a neutral expression planted on his face, as the remaining officer examined him with undisguised suspicion. After a few minutes, the first officer returned.

"You're clear for entry, Mr. Newman," he said. "Detective Hauss is down there." He indicated below the highway, by the shoreline.

Dan thanked the man and made his way over. A large tugboat approached in the distance, pulling a wide barge. By the shore, a group of officers waited while a police boat pulled itself beside a makeshift pier. Detective Hauss stood among the group, clearly giving orders. Dan called out to him as he made his way down to the water.

"Detective Hauss!"

The man turned to Dan with a furrowed brow. His face perfectly matched the picture, a grizzled, light-skinned man with short, dark hair and a thick moustache. He frowned up at Dan, until recognition finally crossed his features. The frown twisted briefly into a scowl, before settling into a neutral gaze.

"You must be Mr. Newman," he commented, stepping away from his party to meet Dan. "Mrs. Summers' consultant."

"I am," Dan said, shaking the officer's hand. "Thanks for having me." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Uh huh." Detective Hauss seemed unimpressed by Dan, but was gracious enough not to comment on it. "Listen, Mr. Newman. We at the KWPD like to keep an amicable relationship with Mrs. Summers. She's a powerful woman, and more than a little... vindictive when she doesn't get her way. So, you will be allowed onto the scene as per our agreement. That being said, there are some ground rules."

He stepped forward, meeting Dan's eyes. "You will not disturb the scene without my permission. You will stay out of the way of my men. You will follow any orders given by myself or another officer. In exchange, you will be given full access to our findings, and will accompany me for as long as you deem necessary. You will speak to nobody outside of the KWPD about this arrangement. You will not speak to any reporters. Should someone ask your identity, you will refer them to me. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Dan replied immediately. "Where do we start?"

"The water," Hauss said simply. He pointed at the nearby boat, and then the barge. "That's our destination."

Dan, Hauss, and a handful of other officers loaded up onto the police watercraft and set off for the barge. They carefully weaved through the debris scattered in the water, and unloaded onto the back of the flat platform. Several of the tag along officers lined up at the edge of the barge, which was parked almost directly below what used to be the ocean highway, right at the epicenter of the blast.

"Get started, boys," Hauss ordered.

The four KYPD officers stood before the water and held out their arms. The ocean trembled, its waves shuddering. Dan's ears hummed, and the barge shifted minutely. Bits of broken steel began to lift out of the water. Broken husks of cars, huge steel cables, twisted rebar, every piece of metal lost to the waves was slowly, slowly raised back up.

Magnetism, Dan realized. These cops were a bunch of little Magnetos.

"Good," Hauss said, after a few moments of observation. He dug into his vest and produced a tablet, then turned to Dan and motioned him further down the barge. "Come on, Mr. Newman, we've got surveillance footage to review." He jiggled the tablet. "Let's see what Mrs. Summers specialist has to offer."

Not much, unfortunately. The surveillance footage matched what the old man at the docks had told Dan. There was a soft glow, almost discernible in the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon, followed by an indescribably bright flash of golden fire. The glow ballooned outward, consuming the bridge in a bulbous sphere of swirling liquid flame. It was easily two hundred feet across, more than likely twice that. It lingered there for a handful of seconds, looming like a gigantic, combustible mountain.

The grainy footage showed the ball of crackling fire shimmer, twist, then rapidly condense into itself. The tiny, brilliant mote of golden flame vanished in a puff of displaced air, followed immediately by a massive shockwave that raced across the water, tore through the sand, and crashed into the camera. The view jerked violently as the camera was torn free from its hinges. It spun across empty space, and the screen went black.

"Well fuck," Dan summarized. He'd seen something like that before, in form if not function. There had been a villain attack on Atlanta, back when Dan had first arrived in Dimension A. The enormous fireball had taken out several city blocks, though the villain had been killed by a responding SPEAR Team, so a repeat performance was unlikely.

Hauss looked like he wanted to agree. The detective seemed to search around for something to say, but was interrupted by shouts from behind. The pair turned in time to see something small and dark drop onto the barge with a quiet clang. Several of the officers called Hauss over, and Dan followed the man at a jog.

What Dan saw stopped him in his tracks.

Laying, broken, against the steel floor of the barge was a horrific sight: A skeleton, charred almost completely black, barely larger than a child. It remained remarkably intact, held together with tendons and muscle that were clearly on the verge of giving way. And around its neck, badly charred yet still recognizable, a steel collar lined with needle-sharp teeth.