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  “You’re asking me?” Thunder said. “You’re the thief. That makes you one of the bad guys.”

  “It’s not like that,” Lance said.

  “You take things that don’t belong to you. In what way does that make you not a bad guy?”

  Lance couldn’t think of a good reply. He’d always been able to justify his actions to himself, but now that someone was asking him, all of his answers seemed pretty weak.

  “You know what I think?” Thunder asked. “You don’t have the ability to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

  Lance shrugged. “Nothing I’ve done has been really bad.”

  “In your opinion. All right, what’s the best job you ever pulled? The most successful in terms of money.”

  “In one go? The sandwiches,” Lance said. Just thinking of the word made his stomach growl. “I made just about six hundred dollars from that.”

  “So tell me about it.”

  “Right. Well, there’s this industrial park on the edge of Fairview. Not a lot of companies, but some of them are huge and there’s hundreds of people working there. The nearest place that sells food is like two miles away. I was going through on my bike one day about lunchtime and the traffic was really heavy. I realized that it was because pretty much everyone who worked in the park was going out for lunch. So I printed up a bunch of flyers listing lots of different types of sandwiches and how much they cost, and at the bottom it said that I’d be around every day at eleven to take orders. First thing the next morning I went around the entire park and left a bunch of flyers in every office and factory. I went around again at eleven and took all the orders. I made sure the prices were low enough that everyone would want them.”

  “And I suppose they all had to pay in advance?” Thunder asked. “You kept the money and never showed up again.”

  “Exactly.”

  Thunder sat up and faced Lance. “Don’t you feel guilty about that?”

  Lance shrugged. “Not really. No one lost more than a couple of bucks each.”

  “Imagine you were one of your victims, then. You’re sick of having to go out for lunch every day, so when someone gives you the chance to have food brought to you, you jump at it. And then lunchtime comes around and you think, ‘Sandwich guy’s taking a long time,’ but you wait anyway. You keep waiting. And half an hour later you’re thinking, ‘It’s too late to go out for lunch now!’ If you made six hundred dollars and the sandwiches were only two dollars each, that’s three hundred people going hungry.”

  “I’m pretty sure no one died from missing one lunch.”

  “So they’re hungry, and upset that they’ve been ripped off. How are they supposed to concentrate on their work? Suppose that one of them is on the edge. He’s not doing too well in his job, trouble at home, whatever. Then you steal from him, make him go hungry, and the next day he comes into the office with a gun.”

  Lance couldn’t help laughing at that. “If someone was that close to the edge I wouldn’t be responsible for anything he did.”

  Thunder sighed. “I’m not getting through to you, am I? Look, let’s see those gloves you stole from the warehouse.”

  Lance rooted through his backpack, fished out the gloves, and threw them to Thunder.

  “Thanks,” Thunder said. He removed his own gloves and pulled them on.

  After a moment, Lance said, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You’re going to lecture me about the gloves, right?”

  “No. I’m keeping them.”

  “But . . . They’re mine!”

  “They’re mine now. In fact . . .” Thunder got to his feet. Holding on to the truck’s side wall to steady himself, he walked over to Lance. “I want the backpack too.”

  Lance pulled his backpack closer. “Get stuffed.”

  “I’m bigger and stronger than you are. I’m going to take it anyway.”

  “All right. You’ve made your point.”

  “I made my point ages ago. You’re just too dumb and too selfish to understand it.” He suddenly straightened up, turned his head toward the front of the truck. “What was that?”

  Lance looked. “I didn’t hear anyth—”

  Thunder reached down and grabbed hold of the backpack. “Sucker!”

  Lance wasn’t going to let go. They struggled for a moment.

  “Man, what’s in this thing?” Thunder asked. “It’s heavy.”

  “Let go! My mom gave me this for my birthday!”

  There was a long, slow rip and the backpack’s contents spilled out onto the floor of the truck. The grappling gun slid toward the back of the truck and Lance made a dive for it. When he looked back Thunder was holding the two pages of numbers.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Same place I got the keycard to get into The Helotry’s warehouse. From that guy’s briefcase. I think it’s some sort of computer code or something like that.”

  Thunder pulled off the gloves and threw them aside—Lance snatched them up—then peered down at the pages in the semidarkness. “Oh man . . . You had this all along! You idiot!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Thunder jabbed a finger at the first page. “These numbers here are the exact longitude and latitude of the Midway power plant! Look . . . Today’s date, sunset and sunrise times. These are the road numbers leading to the plant. . . . God, this column here: They look like Social Security numbers. Could belong to the people who work there—and these are license plate numbers!”

  He flipped to the next page. At first glance it was almost identical to the first, but the numbers were different. The lists of Social Security numbers and license plates were longer. Thunder frowned as he stared at the coordinates. “Windfield . . . That’s only a few hours’ drive from here, I think. There’s a nuclear power plant there too. Went online a few months back.”

  Lance shrugged. “So . . . ?”

  “So it means that the guy Paragon caught in Fairview wasn’t just one of The Helotry’s henchmen—he was way up at the top of the pile!” He slapped the first page down on the floor. “This is everything they needed to know to take over the Midway power plant. And this one about Windfield . . .” He thrust the second page at Lance. “It has tomorrow’s sunset and sunrise times. Lance, this is where they’re going to strike next!”

  CHAPTER 20

  4,456 years ago . . .

  Shortly before dawn, Krodin strode out onto the balcony of his palace. The city was unmoving, the silence broken only by the gentle flap of flags in the morning breeze. Soon, the city would awaken and the humans would set about their daily routines.

  He sometimes—though not often—wondered whether they were happy. There were no voices of dissent, but then such a lack can be caused by fear as much as contentment.

  In the bedchamber behind him, his wife, Alexandria, stirred. She was lonely, Krodin knew. She could not connect with him and now that the children were grown and had families of their own, Alexandria spent her days working on her tapestries and pottery, tending to the palace’s rare plants, or often just sitting on the balcony and staring at the city for hours at a time.

  She had few friends, for almost no one was brave enough—or foolish enough—to put themselves in a position that might attract the notice of the king.

  Alexandria was an old woman now, almost sixty. They had been together for thirty-five years, and she had borne him four strong sons and three beautiful daughters. She had been his constant companion and had done everything he asked without question.

  But she had never loved him.

  Krodin didn’t know whether he was capable of loving or being loved. His parents had died when he was barely out of childhood, and his memories of them were tainted by the cruel, harsh time in which they lived. Every day had been a struggle against hunger, against the elements, and against the heartless, brutal despots who constantly battled over the land.

  But that was a lo
ng time ago. There was no one left alive—save for Krodin—who remembered their names.

  Krodin’s older brother Kurgal had left home when Krodin was six, and the last Krodin heard, Kurgal had a wife and five children. By now, Kurgal’s descendants would likely number in the hundreds.

  For a moment, Krodin wondered how many of them he had killed in battle.

  Below in the courtyard, the people of his citadel were gathering. They did this often: They stopped and simply stared at him. Sometimes they would kneel, praying to him. He had never requested this level of adoration, but it gave the humans some comfort to believe that they were in the presence of a god.

  Alexandria approached him on the balcony. As always, she kept her head lowered in his company. He turned to her. Her once-lustrous hair was now gray, her fine skin mottled and wrinkled, her slender frame now weak and bent with age.

  “Good morning, Lady Alexandria. Did you sleep well?”

  “I slept.”

  Krodin noted that she hadn’t answered his question, but set it aside. The wife of a king should be allowed certain liberties. He turned once more toward the city. In the dark courtyard below, many more people had gathered, and still more were coming. He wondered whether today was another of their holy days. They seemed to have quite a lot of them.

  The sky to the east was tinged with red. “This will be a fine day,” he said to Alexandria.

  “As you say.”

  Krodin considered her response. It was customary for his people to always address him as “Lord,” but of late, Alexandria had taken to omitting that honorific. He didn’t care about that, but it troubled him that he didn’t know why her attitude had changed.

  “Lady Alexandria . . . I have conquered the known world, united all the people under one banner.” He gestured toward the flags adorning the square below: Each had a white background with a blue eye inside a golden sun, the old symbol of the Azurite Order that Krodin had adopted as his own. “I am immortal, unaging, wealthy beyond measure. No man can match my intellect. I am fluent in a dozen languages, a hundred dialects, and I have a perfect memory. I am the greatest warrior and the greatest king this Earth has ever known. Out of all the millions of people under my rule, I chose you—and only you—to be my companion. I have named this city in your honor. You have everything you could ever want, yet you are not happy.”

  “As you say.”

  He turned to face her again. “What can I do to make you happy?”

  “There is nothing you can do now. But in the past . . .”

  “And what could I have done?”

  “You could have stopped,” she said.

  Krodin frowned.

  Alexandria repeated, “Stopped. You have conquered the known world. But for what reason?”

  “I . . . do not understand.”

  “You have butchered countless thousands of people, set nation against nation, people against people, brother against brother. You have terrorized the human race with your pointless bloodshed.” She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked at the silent crowd in the shadows below. “It is very likely that every one of these people has lost a brother or a father or a son in one of your wars.” She stepped back. “I would like to know why you have done these things.”

  Krodin’s frown deepened. “Why? I am the strongest, the most powerful—”

  “That does not explain why. What have you achieved but immeasurable pain and suffering?”

  “I have united the world!”

  “You have united the survivors of your conquests. But what of the dead? We humans did not ask for your rule, Krodin. We do not desire it. And we do not need it.”

  Krodin felt his heart quicken. “Be mindful of your words, Alexandria. If any man spoke to me in such a manner I would—”

  “Yes,” she interrupted. She raised her head and looked into his eyes. “You would strike him down. Set your men on his family. Burn his village to the ground. You are strong, Krodin. Mighty. Fearless. Undefeated. But in so many ways you are weak.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Weak?”

  “Yes. Weak. You have taken so much, and it is not enough. But a man with a house full of gold that he does not spend is no richer than a man with no gold. You could have stopped when you took Egypt. None of the other nations would have dared to stand against you. They were not a threat, yet you still waged war on them. Whole nations have been destroyed simply because you feel that you must prove your strength. You are weak because you cannot exist without the reverence of the people. You cannot simply be.”

  “You are old, woman. Your mind fails you; you say things you cannot believe.”

  “No. I say things that you do not want to believe. But deep inside, you know, do you not? You know that every empire falls. Nothing is eternal, save death.”

  He turned his back, stared out at the lightening sky. “Leave.”

  Alexandria said, “Do not dismiss me. You are stronger than we are, this is true. But that does not make you better than us. Kill me for speaking and you will only prove my point.” She hesitated for a moment. “There is a woman who lives on the edge of the city. Some say that she has a second sight. The people go to her for guidance at times. She tells them of her dreams of their future. Like you, she is more than human. You are not alone.”

  “Impossible. I would have heard of this woman before now.”

  “You hear only what your subjects allow you to hear. These people below do not worship you, Krodin. They despise you. When they kneel in prayer, they are not praying to you—they are praying to their gods for an end to your reign.”

  “And the people know of this woman, this future-teller?”

  “Everyone knows, Krodin. She came to me months ago. She told me that there is an energy inside you—and inside herself—that makes you more than human. A sapphire glow that changes you, gives you your godlike powers. But you do not truly control this energy. One day it will break free. It will consume you. You will become a pillar of fire. The woman saw this in a dream, she told me. But it was a true dream. It will happen. You will die.”

  “And how will this supposed death occur? When?”

  “She told me that one day the light of the breaking sun will strike your face, and then we will be free of you forever. It will be a day of great celebration. And the world will continue without you, Krodin. In time you will be all but forgotten. For all your conquests and carnage, you are not significant.”

  “It is superstitious nonsense, Alexandria. You should not believe such tales.”

  “But I do believe, Krodin. And you should too.”

  “Do not presume to tell me what I should believe, woman!”

  “Ah, belief. . . . You once asked me if I believed in the gods, in the paradise to come and the underworld for the evil. I was uncertain then. But I have learned much in my time with you. This is the underworld, Krodin, a place where evil rules and the innocent suffer. An underworld created by your cruelty and selfishness and weakness. But the paradise will come, when you are gone.”

  “Enough!” Krodin bellowed, his voice echoing across the courtyard. He stepped toward her, raised a powerful fist.

  Alexandria stepped back, though her face showed no sign of fear. “Our marriage is over, Krodin.”

  “You do not decide such things, woman!”

  “No, it is not my decision. It is the decision of the fates.” She looked away from him, and faced the east. “Good-bye.”

  Krodin stared at her, thinking that his wife had finally lost her mind. But her eyes glinted in the dawn light and there was a smile on her face, and he realized that he had never seen her smile before. Not once in thirty-five years.

  For the first time in his long life Krodin felt something close to fear. He turned toward the city. The sun rose; its light spilled over his face. Far below, the crowds began to cheer.

  And Krodin looked down at his body and saw that it was aflame.

  CHAPTER 21

  Something slammed nearby, and Abby o
pened her eyes. For a moment she had no idea where she was. She was looking through dust-streaked glass at a dark path that seemed to stretch off into an infinite blackness.

  Then she felt the warm vinyl of the truck’s seat beneath her and she remembered that she was a superhero on a mission.

  The truck had been pulled over to the side of the road, and from the sounds outside, Thunder and Lance were arguing again.

  Abby slid over to the door and groped for the lever, then pulled the door open and jumped out. The only real light came from the truck’s headlights—the streetlights were out and the sky was overcast.

  She followed the voices to the far side of the road. A pair of weaving flashlights showed the others beside a small car that had run into a streetlamp.

  Lance was holding one of the flashlights on Thunder and Roz as they helped a middle-aged woman out of the driver’s seat. The second flashlight was hovering a few inches above Roz’s shoulder, its beam swiveling to point to wherever Roz looked.

  They lowered the woman to the ground and Thunder checked her pulse and airway. The woman was moaning, her limbs flailing weakly. Her eyes and nose were streaming, and her skin was drenched in sweat. “I don’t think she’s injured,” Thunder said. “She’s sick, though. Got it pretty bad.”

  “She can’t have been going fast, at least that’s something. If she’d been speeding . . .” Lance shook his head, then aimed his flashlight at the hood of the car. “What do you think? Streetlights went out as she was driving and she couldn’t see where she was going?”

  “What about her car’s lights, then?” Abby said.

  Lance’s flashlight swiveled in her direction. “Oh yeah.”

  Thunder took off his padded army jacket, wadded it up, and placed it under the woman’s head. He unclipped a radio from his belt. “I’ll see if I can raise anyone on this thing, but I’m not expecting much.”