The Ascension: A Super Human Clash Read online

  THE ASCENSION

  ALSO BY MICHAEL CARROLL

  The Quantum Prophecy Trilogy

  The Awakening

  The Gathering

  The Reckoning

  Super Human

  MICHAEL CARROLL

  THE ASCENSION a SUPER HUMAN Clash

  PHILOMEL BOOKS

  AN IMPRINT OF PENGUIN GROUP (USA) INC.

  PHILOMEL BOOKS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.

  Published by The Penguin Group.

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  Copyright © 2011 by Michael Carroll. All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form

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  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

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  Published simultaneously in Canada.

  Edited by Kiffin Steurer.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Carroll, Michael Owen, 1966–

  The ascension: a Super human clash / Michael Carroll.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(Super human; bk. 2)

  Summary: Teenagers with superpowers must try to stop a villain who has traveled from

  the past in order to irreversibly alter reality.

  [1. Superheroes—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.C23497As 2011

  [Fic]—dc22 2010029600

  ISBN: 978-1-101-51625-6

  For Leonia

  Forever

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  PROLOGUE

  SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT, eleven miles from Fairview, South Dakota, the armored superhero Paragon muttered, “Uh-oh.”

  Lance McKendrick forced open exhausted eyes and looked up to see his reflection distorted in Paragon’s dark visor. “Uh-oh? We’re a thousand feet up and flying at two hundred miles an hour. I don’t want to hear ‘Uh-oh’!”

  “Fuel’s getting a little low,” Paragon said.

  Lance knew that Paragon had a very dry sense of humor, but was sure that the hero wouldn’t joke about something like this.

  They had been flying for what felt like forever, but Lance knew it couldn’t have been more than two hours. It wasn’t the most dignified way to travel, nor the most comfortable: Lance was hanging below Paragon in a modified parachute harness that was fixed to the hero’s armored chest-plate, and at first Lance had been worried that the harness’s clips might not hold.

  Paragon had reassured him that wouldn’t happen: He had carried heavier people than Lance many times before, and often for much longer distances.

  But the idea that they might run out of fuel had never crossed Lance’s mind, until now.

  “So,” Lance began, “just out of curiosity…When your jetpack runs out of fuel, does it happen suddenly or sort of gradually?”

  “Suddenly. But I’ve got a small reserve tank that’ll keep us going long enough to touch down. Depending on how high up we are. Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

  “Anything on the radio yet?”

  “Nothing. That flash must have carried some sort of localized EMP.”

  Lance nodded. “Yep, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “You don’t know what an EMP is, do you?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Electromagnetic pulse,” Paragon explained. “A burst of electromagnetic radiation that can short out electronics. Which is why everyone’s radios stopped working.”

  “But your armor’s got electronics, right?”

  “Most of my circuitry is shielded. The radio can’t be, because if I shield it against EMPs, then—”

  “Then it would also be shielded against ordinary radio signals?” Lance interrupted.

  “That’s right.”

  Lance raised a weary arm and pointed straight ahead. “Those lights over there…That’s my school. Drop me there and I can walk the rest of the way.”

  “No, I’m taking you straight home. You’ve already been gone for more than a day.”

  “Yeah, but my folks were sick. They won’t have noticed.”

  A minute later they passed over the Fairview Mall. “Doesn’t seem like it was just yesterday,” Lance said.

  “You’re giving up the life of crime, right?”

  “After the way you embarrassed me in front of all those people? Absolutely.” Lance had been spotted by the mall’s security guards as he attempted to scam a group of shoppers with his three-card-monte trick. He’d managed to evade them, but was then caught by Paragon as he left the mall. “It’s the quiet life for me from now on. No more superheroes, no more saving the world.”

  “Quiet life? I don’t think so,” Paragon said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Look straight ahead. That’s your street, isn’t it? I count eight police cars, at least.”

  “Oh man…My folks must have reported me missing! I’m going to be grounded forever.”

  “I’ll talk to them, if it’ll help.”

  “Yeah, just say you found me or something. Wait…Do they know about the bike?” The previous day Lance had found himself traveling at more than a hundred miles an hour on his bic
ycle, propelled by a stolen jetpack he’d been unable to deactivate. Paragon had swooped down and pulled him out of danger at the last second, but the bike was totalled.

  Paragon slowed and began to descend as they approached the street, then swerved to the left to avoid an ambulance that suddenly screeched around the corner, heading for Lance’s house.

  Lance dry-swallowed. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Paragon?”

  “I know…. Just stay calm. No sense worrying until we know what’s going on.”

  From the tone of Paragon’s voice Lance knew that the news wasn’t going to be good.

  Outside the McKendrick home, two dozen police officers pushed the crowds back as the paramedics ran from the ambulance.

  This close, Lance could see that every window in the front of his house had been shattered. The front door was in splinters, and much of the brickwork lay scattered across the lawn.

  Lance’s feet had barely touched the ground when he unclipped the parachute harness and darted across the street, skirted around the back of a second ambulance, and ran toward the house.

  A young police officer shouted, “Hey!” and tried to grab him. Lance dodged around her, vaulted the low wall, and was only feet away from the porch when something strong and heavy slammed into him, holding him fast.

  As he struggled to get free of the police sergeant’s grip, he was only dimly aware of the man’s voice. “Ya can’t go in there! Lance, listen ta me—there’s nothin’ ya can do!”

  “Let go of me!” Lance screamed. “Mom! Dad!” He planted an elbow in the policeman’s stomach. The man flinched, but his grip held. Lance’s kicking heels left rough gouges and furrows in the lawn as he was dragged away from the door.

  Then one of the paramedics came out, walking slowly backward, checking over his shoulder as he carefully stepped over the debris-strewn porch.

  Oh please God, no! I know what that means—when they come out backward, it’s because they’re… Lance’s mind shut down then, refused to allow him to finish the thought.

  The paramedic was carrying the end of a stretcher. Moments later his colleague emerged, holding the other end.

  There was someone on the stretcher. Lance couldn’t see who it was: The person’s face was covered.

  The sergeant was still talking, meaningless words of comfort that Lance couldn’t take in. Then once again he heard Paragon’s voice, soft but strong, saying his name.

  He felt a metal-gloved hand rest on his shoulder, gently pulling him away from the police sergeant, and found his face pressed up against the cool steel of Paragon’s chest-plate.

  “…just came outta nowhere,” the police sergeant was saying. “Neighbors say that it was over in seconds…. I mean, they prob’ly wouldn’ta felt any pain, y’know? That’s gotta be somethin’, right?”

  Paragon said, “Sergeant? Please, that’s enough.”

  “I just…Sorry.”

  Lance stared at the stretcher as the paramedics carefully loaded it into the back of their ambulance, and then there was more movement at the ruined porch, and another covered stretcher was carried out.

  Then a third.

  He felt his knees weaken, and he dropped to the ground, unable to watch any longer. “Maybe it wasn’t them,” Lance found himself saying. “Maybe there was someone else….”

  Paragon crouched down next to him. “I’m sorry, Lance. They’re gone.”

  They brought him to the Fairview police station, wrapped him in a thick blanket that smelled of cheap detergent, sat him in the sergeant’s office with a mug of something hot that he didn’t drink, then closed the door on him while they talked about him outside, occasionally glancing in at him through the door’s glass pane.

  Lance’s mind kept wandering, drifting back and forth. Crazy, unconnected thoughts and ideas filled his head, and part of him knew it was just the brain’s way of dealing with such a horrific event. The process reminded him of a cat stalking a mouse: The cat would look away, pretending to be interested in something else, but every couple of seconds it would look back at its prey to make sure it was still there.

  His mother, father, and brother were dead.

  Yesterday, they’d been alive and well. OK, perhaps his folks hadn’t actually been well—like almost every other adult on the planet they’d been infected with The Helotry’s plague. But they’d been alive, that was certain.

  Ever since the battle at Windfield had ended, Lance had been bursting with the need to tell someone the truth about the plague, even though deep down he’d known that wasn’t an option. Can’t ever tell them what really happened, ’cos they’d never believe me.

  But still, it was an incredible feeling, knowing that he was the one who’d got the cure to the superfast hero Quantum, who had then carried it to the rest of the world. I saved everyone, Lance thought. Billions of people would be dying now—maybe they’d even be already dead—if it hadn’t been for me.

  Sure, I’m not a superhuman like Roz or Brawn or Thunder or Abby, but I’m still the one who saved the world. That was all me. My idea and everything.

  But I can’t tell anyone because they’d never believe me and because…because…

  Then Lance looked around the sergeant’s office and realized where he was, and why he was there, and the tears came again.

  Because Mom and Dad and Cody are dead.

  A few minutes later—or it could have been an hour, Lance had no way of knowing—the door opened and Paragon walked in. He pushed the door closed behind him, dragged a chair over next to Lance, and sat down. “You OK?”

  Lance stared into his now-cold mug and shook his head.

  “There’ll be a full inquest. But…Lance, it was over in seconds. It looks like they were all in bed when it happened.”

  “How were they killed?”

  “You don’t need to hear the details. Not now.”

  “Tell me.”

  “You sure you want to hear this?”

  Lance raised his head, saw his reflection in Paragon’s opaque visor. “Tell me.”

  “Their necks were snapped. Your folks were asleep. They wouldn’t have felt anything. But Cody…He has marks on his arms, cuts on his knuckles. He put up a fight. It didn’t do much good, but—” Paragon stopped abruptly, then reached out toward the door and closed the blinds. “Lance, look at me.” He raised a hand to each side of his helmet. There was a soft click, and the visor swung open.

  Lance stared. “You…You’re younger than I thought.”

  “I just turned twenty-two.” He smiled. “If you look carefully, you’ll notice that I’m black too. Didn’t expect that, did you?”

  “Never crossed my mind one way or the other.” Lance returned the smile. It was easier to do than he’d expected. “So why are you showing me this now?”

  “Because I’m trusting you with my most valued secret. No one has ever seen Paragon’s face before. I’m trusting you because…Lance, you’re a thief and a burglar and a con man, and in theory you’re the last person I should be able to trust. But you saved the world. You had no powers, no weapons, but you still put yourself in harm’s way many times over the past couple of days. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. And you need to be brave for a little while longer. You get me?”

  Lance started to nod, then shook his head. “Not really.”

  “It’s not over, Lance. There’s a reason your house was targeted. We’re going to take you away from here, put you somewhere no one will ever find you. The police want you to stay with your aunt and uncle in Wisconsin, but I’ve told them that’s not safe enough. I’ve talked to Max Dalton, told him everything…. He’ll take care of things. And if you want, he’ll help you to forget, or at least ease the pain. He can do that, block parts of your memory. Said he had to do the same to Roz and Josh after their parents were killed.”

  “I don’t want to forget them!”

  “I know…. But it could make things easier.”

  “No. Dalton’s a jerk. I’ll get th
rough this without his help.”

  Paragon stood up. “I understand. But he can be a useful guy to have on your side.”

  “Who did this? Who killed my family?”

  “The police didn’t want me to tell you, but you’ll find out eventually…. Lance, in a situation like this we have a tendency to blame ourselves, but you have to understand that this is not your fault, got that? It’s all too easy to look back and say, ‘If I hadn’t done this, then she’d never have come after my family,’ but that’s just not the case.”

  Lance shuddered, and drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You said ‘she.’…Oh no…. Please don’t let it be true!”

  “I’m sorry, Lance. It was Slaughter.”

  CHAPTER 1

  THREE WEEKS later…

  In the bathroom of her apartment in Manhattan, Roz Dalton winced as she slowly unwrapped the bandage covering her left hand. Dr. Holzhauer had told her that everything was fine: The artificial skin was beginning to knit well with her real skin. “You’re lucky you’re fifteen,” Holzhauer had said. “That’s about the perfect age for this. Any younger and you’d outgrow the skin, much older and it’d take longer to heal. It should settle down in a year, two at the most, but soon all you’ll have is a few faint scars.”

  Roz piled the strip of bandage on the edge of the sink and then held her hand up to the light. The new skin had been closely matched in color to her own skin, but Doctor Holzhauer had warned her that it would always be that color: It would never tan.

  Roz’s older brother, Max, had paid for the operation. He hadn’t told her how much it cost, but he’d made it pretty clear that it hadn’t been cheap. “Holzhauer’s a genius,” Max had said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was one of us.”

  As with almost everything else he did, Max had an agenda: “Artificial skin is going to be a huge market in the next few years. The right investments now will pay off a hundred times over.”

  Like he needs the money, Roz thought. She wasn’t sure whether Max was a billionaire yet, but she knew he had to be close. His superhuman ability to read—and sometimes control—other people’s minds made him an incredibly astute businessman. Max always got what he wanted in a negotiation, and sometimes Roz wondered whether he was controlling the other people. Or, worse, reading their darkest secrets from their memories and blackmailing them.