Super Human Page 22

  “What is your name, woman?”

  “I am called . . .” She frowned as she sought the correct word in the Sumerian tongue. “Slaughter.”

  “Slaughter. You are a warrior.”

  “The greatest warrior of this time, Lord Krodin. Until now, of course.”

  Then the building trembled. From far away came the sound of crumbling stone and the clash of metal on metal.

  “What is happening?” Krodin asked.

  “Our enemies, Lord Krodin. They have come to destroy you.”

  “Destroy me?” A smile crept across his face.

  “They too are superhuman. A girl who can move objects without touching them, another girl who is as fast as a cheetah and stronger than ten men. And a giant.”

  “Then let us greet them, Lady Slaughter. And when they are dead you will show me this America. I expect that it will be a little different from the Egypt of my time.”

  Roz used her telekinetic shield to protect herself and Abby from the flying debris and concrete dust as Brawn tore his way into the side of the building.

  Most of the remaining guards inside the complex had scattered and run when they saw Brawn, but a few had stayed to fight. They’d shot at him, driven a truck at high speed into his leg—Brawn had angrily kicked it over—and two of them had even leaped onto his back and tried to strangle him. They’d been there for almost a minute before he’d noticed them and flicked them away.

  And now a handful of civilians were trying to sneak past the blue giant.

  Roz decided that she wasn’t about to let them escape. They might not be soldiers, but they were part of The Helotry and therefore bore a responsibility for everything that had happened.

  “Abby? On your left.”

  “I see them!” Abby called. She grabbed the nearest one—a woman covered in dust and scratches—and threw her to the ground. “Who’s in charge?”

  The woman’s eyes were wide with fear—she couldn’t stop staring at Brawn.

  “Answer me or I’ll turn him loose on you!” Abby yelled at her. “What do you know about the virus?”

  “N-nothing! That’s a separate division.”

  The woman’s colleagues abandoned her, running in every direction. All right, Roz thought. The older ones are usually in charge, and they’re the ones who can’t run too fast.

  She picked a white-haired man and telekinetically tripped him up, then dragged him facedown toward her, his hands desperately scrabbling at the rubble. Either this guy’s very light or I’m getting stronger.

  She crouched down next to the man. “Same question. The virus.”

  “I swear, we don’t know anything about it! Our task was just to get the reactor online and hooked up to the Pyrokine!”

  “You must know something. How come you’re immune?”

  “They injected me with a vaccine last month.”

  “Where?”

  He looked confused, almost embarrassed. “In my left buttock.”

  “I mean where did it happen? Where can we find stocks of the vaccine?”

  “A place about sixty miles north of Dallas. A ranch. We were brought there, injected, brought back. That’s all I know!”

  “No, you knew that this was going to happen!” Roz balled her fist and slammed it down into the man’s face. “Billions of people are going to die because of you!”

  “Please! It’s not like that!”

  Roz hit him again. There was a walkie-talkie clipped to the man’s belt—Roz pulled it free, hit the talk button. “This is Roz Dalton trying to get in touch with anyone in the CDC.”

  There was only static in reply. Roz repeated her message. After a moment, a voice said, “Roz? Doctor Gertler. Where are you?”

  “At the Windfield power plant. Some of The Helotry are already here. They’re going to try to bring back the Fifth King as soon as the leaders arrive. That’s only a few minutes away. We . . .” Roz realized that both Abby and Brawn had stopped fighting and were backing toward her. The walkie-talkie slipped out of her hand and clattered to the ground.

  Two figures were coming out of the dust-filled building.

  On the left was Slaughter. She grinned at Roz, nodded, then drew her index finger across her throat.

  The figure on the right was Pyrokine, floating a few feet above the ground. Blue-white fire wreathed and swirled around his body.

  Roz felt her heard skip a beat. “Oh my God. . . . Pyrokine.”

  “Watch him,” Abby said quietly. “He’s not as crazy as Slaughter but he’s much more powerful. He can—”

  “I know what he can do,” Roz said. “I don’t know how I know, but I do.” The half-remembered dream was closer now, so close she felt as though she could almost touch it.

  And then a third figure emerged from the dust. A tall, bronze-skinned, bare-chested bearded man. He was looking at them with curiosity, as though wondering in which order he would kill them.

  “Three against three,” Slaughter said. “I’d advise you to stand down, but there’s no point. We’re going to tear you apart anyway.”

  Beside Roz, Brawn went into a crouch. A growl rumbled in his throat. His muscles tensed.

  He launched himself at the Fifth King.

  “How much longer now?” Lance asked. The jeep raced along the deserted freeway—Thunder was keeping them a mile behind The Helotry’s forces—and the wind whipped at his hair, stung his eyes. He found it hard to believe that less than a day had passed since he’d been rocketing along a similar freeway on his bike.

  “Not sure,” Thunder said. “They’re not talking much.”

  Lance grabbed Thunder’s arm and pointed to the left. “There! Those towers—that’s the place!”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Well, it’s not Disney World. Point your super-hearing over that way and see what you can pick up.”

  After a second, Thunder nodded. “You’re right. That’s the place. . . . Sounds like there’s a lot of fighting going on.” He suddenly grinned and pumped the air with his fist. “Yes! Abby and Roz are there—they’re OK! Well, they’re in the middle of a battle but . . . Whoa . . . Brawn is with them!”

  “What? Aw, no!” Lance put his head in his hands. “But that guy’s a total animal!”

  “No, I mean, he’s with Abby and Roz—he’s on our side!”

  “I always liked him,” Lance said. “Floor it!”

  “We’ll catch up with The Helotry—they’re already slowing down.”

  “Catch up? We have to overtake them! Can you do anything with your powers to slow them down even more?”

  “I can make them all deaf—that should disorient them.”

  “Go for it, Thunder!” Lance grinned. After a moment, he said, “Hey, I still don’t know your real name.”

  “This is true.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, I’m not going to tell you. What’s the point in having a secret identity if you tell people who you really are?”

  “Hello? Your mask is long gone, remember? Everyone can see your face.”

  “No, I made a vow never to reveal my identity.”

  “Right. Well, instead of that couldn’t you have made a vow to not have such a dumb superhero name? I mean, Thunder? It sounds like a dinosaur farting in a cave. What made you choose that one?”

  “There’s already at least two guys called Shockwave. And Thunder’s a good name. A lot of people are scared of thunder.”

  “Huh. If it was fear you were after, you should have called yourself The Monster Who Lives Under the Bed.”

  Thunder sighed. “You never, ever stop talking, do you?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “Well, I hope you kept the receipt—Whoa! Crash! One of The Helotry’s jeeps just hit the median and another one plowed into the back of it! I’ve blocked all sounds from reaching their ears, but I can still hear them. . . . It sounds like they’re trying to coordinate everything through hand signals.”

  “Nice work. Off-ramp’s coming up on th
e right.”

  Thunder slowed the jeep down to twenty miles per hour: The road ahead was almost blocked with The Helotry’s soldiers and jeeps. Many of the men were staggering about, tapping at their ears and shaking their heads.

  Thunder grinned. “Hey, I’ve just thought of something. . . . Balance is controlled by the fluids in the inner ear.” He pointed to one of the few men who was standing still. “Let’s see what happens to that guy.”

  The soldier suddenly swayed back and forth, then toppled over.

  Lance laughed. “Oh, that is priceless! Do them all!”

  “I would if we had time.” He steered the jeep around some of the lurching, disoriented soldiers, then onto the off-ramp. “Almost there. Lance, you stay out of sight when we get there, OK?”

  Less than a minute later they reached a turnoff leading to the power plant. The road and the fields on each side of it were covered in small craters, fragments of metal debris, and the unmoving bodies of The Helotry’s men.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign,” Lance said.

  Thunder steered around the wreckage of a Sikorsky S-70 helicopter. “Abby, Roz . . . Can you hear me?”

  Abby’s voice appeared next to them. “Thunder? You’re alive!”

  “So far. We’re almost with you now. How are you guys doing?”

  Roz said, “The Fifth King is real. He’s here. I’ve never imagined—Thunder, is Lance with you?”

  “Yeah, we’re both—”

  “Go! Turn around and leave this place! Just keep going and don’t look back! Oh God, he’s out of control. . . .”

  There was a deafening crack, and something blue streaked into the air from the grounds of the power plant.

  It reached its apogee within seconds, and came plummeting down toward the road.

  Thunder stamped on the brake pedal. The jeep went into a skid, hit a fence post side-on, snapped through it, and slid halfway into a ditch.

  The blue object plowed into the road with a trembling crash, and lay still.

  Shaking, Lance and Thunder climbed out of the jeep. In front of them, the road had a new crater, and at its center was the giant, unmoving figure of Brawn.

  CHAPTER 30

  Krodin flexed his fists. That had hurt. The blue giant was the strongest opponent he had ever faced. And yet I bested him, he told himself. Even in this future world with its flying metal carriages, I am the greatest warrior.

  He watched the battle for a moment. The woman called Slaughter was a ferocious fighter, but that very ferocity was her weakness. She lacked control.

  At the moment she was grappling with the dark-skinned girl, who was also clearly untrained. But what the dark girl lacked in training and experience she more than surpassed in natural skill. Of the two, she was by far the better fighter.

  The girl swung her strange-looking sword with enough force to remove a man’s head. Slaughter caught it by the blade, twisted it out of the girl’s grip, and cast it aside.

  Slaughter struck a vicious jab at the girl’s throat, but it wasn’t quite fast enough: The girl ducked aside and in the same motion she dropped onto her hands and swung her feet into Slaughter’s midriff.

  Krodin also found the fight between the pale-skinned girl and the burning boy fascinating to watch. This girl was extremely well-trained, but she appeared to have only the strength and speed of a human. She would not be a match for the burning boy if not for her arcane power.

  As she launched punches and kicks at the boy, he was also reacting as though struck from behind by an unseen force.

  A fist-sized stone raised itself from the ground and streaked toward the boy’s head—but he waved a hand at the stone and it immediately turned to flame and disappeared.

  But Krodin could see that the fight was restrained, that neither of them wanted to engage fully in battle.

  Krodin shook his head. I will have to train them myself. Why does the fire-boy not simply use his magic to turn the girl into flame? Why does Slaughter not change tactics? She has the power of flight—she could lift the sword-girl into the air and throw her against the side of the building. Or she could pick up the sword and use it against her.

  Then a low growl reached his ears, and he smiled. Ah, the blue giant awakens and returns for another beating!

  The giant ran toward Krodin, leaped into the air, and crashed down in front of him, teeth bared and hands in grasping claws.

  He struck with his right hand, and Krodin stepped to the side. The giant whirled about, lashed out with his left. Krodin grabbed the smallest finger on the giant’s hand and wrenched it back. The giant roared in pain, scuttled away clutching his hand.

  Are these beings truly the greatest champions this America has to offer?

  He spotted the dark girl’s sword protruding from the ground, and walked over to it, pulled it free. Its balance was odd, clearly made for someone with great strength.

  He swung the sword lightly and briskly, as though slashing at weeds. A good weapon.

  In the Sumerian language, he called to Slaughter. “Enough play. End this battle now.” He tossed the sword to her.

  Somehow, the sword passed far out of the woman’s reach. Puzzled, Krodin looked around. He had missed his target. Trickery of some kind. I do not miss. I can shoot an arrow on the darkest night and always hit my quarry.

  He saw the burning boy launch a ball of blue fire at the pale girl. Of course. Her ability to move objects—she diverted the sword’s path.

  The blue giant attacked again, this time from behind. Krodin ducked down and rolled backward, passed between the giant’s legs and landed on his back. He kicked out at the backs of the giant’s knees.

  The blue man pitched forward, screaming even louder this time. Krodin walked over to the giant and kicked down hard on a certain part of the small of his back: at a point that Krodin knew would temporarily paralyze a human.

  He had already decided not to kill the giant. He would make an excellent trophy to take back to Alexandria.

  The thought of his city reminded him of his wife. She would be long dead now, her bones turned to dust and scattered by the winds. His sons and daughters, their children, their grandchildren . . . All gone.

  But I am not forgotten. More than four thousand years and my followers are still loyal. Surely no other leader could make such a claim.

  There was movement at the edge of his vision, and Krodin turned to see two more children approaching. Two boys. One dark-skinned, the other pale.

  The battlefield instantly fell silent, though Slaughter and the burning boy were still fighting the two girls.

  Strange, Krodin thought. Another piece of trickery? Or more magic from these superhumans? No matter. I can fight as easily without sound as with.

  He stepped toward the two boys, and the ground seemed to sway and shift. He heard a large fly—perhaps a hornet—buzzing about his head and he absently swatted at it. The buzzing grew louder.

  He looked, but there was no insect. Still the noise increased in volume, and with it came a high-pitched shriek, like the scrape of metal on stone.

  The noise vibrated through his skull, so loud now that he could feel his teeth chattering.

  From the concentration on the dark boy’s face, Krodin knew that he was the cause.

  The sound ripped at him like the strongest wind, shuddered his bones, was now so ferocious that even his eyeballs were trembling.

  A useful ability, Krodin thought. Surely this would kill an ordinary man. But he was not an ordinary man, and he knew that the boy could not continue this assault indefinitely. Krodin sat down, and waited.

  Abby heard Lance shouting, “Oh for crying out loud! He’s just sitting there taking it!”

  Everyone—even Slaughter and Pyrokine—paused in what they were doing long enough to stare at Lance.

  Slaughter had Abby’s left arm up behind her back, had her own arm around Abby’s throat. “What is wrong with that kid?” Slaughter said.

  Abby jabbed with he
r right elbow, felt it scrape uselessly against Slaughter’s rock-hard ribs. She stepped back, hooked her foot around Slaughter’s ankle, and pulled it forward.

  Slaughter shifted her stance to compensate, and Abby jumped up, spun about to free her arm, and at the same time swung a kick at Slaughter’s chest. Slaughter blocked the kick with a down-sweep of her forearm, carried the movement through into a lunge, and locked her hands around Abby’s throat.

  Abby threw herself backward, knowing that she couldn’t break Slaughter’s grip—she wasn’t trying to. She tucked her legs up, slammed them against the woman’s hips and pushed. Unbalanced, Slaughter began to topple forward.

  Abby landed on her back, with Slaughter’s hands still on her neck—and her feet pressed into the woman’s hips. She kicked up and back, pushing Slaughter over her head.

  Finally, the woman’s hands came free.

  But Slaughter didn’t land on the ground—she had turned her fall into flight. She hovered out of Abby’s reach. “Got to hand it to you, little girl. You’re good. But you don’t have what it takes. You don’t have that killer instinct.”

  Abby took advantage of the lull to catch her breath. She peered at Slaughter, tilted her head slightly to the side. “Is that a gray hair?”

  “You little—!” Slaughter launched herself at Abby once more.

  Abby spun out of the way, rolled across the ground, and passed over her fallen sword. She came to a stop faceup just as Slaughter threw herself onto her.

  Slaughter stopped, her face inches away from Abby’s.

  She shuddered, the color drained from her skin. She swallowed, twitched. A thin line of red trickled from her mouth.

  No . . . Abby looked down to see that her sword was buried almost to the hilt in Slaughter’s stomach. The woman’s eyes flickered, and she slumped forward on top of Abby.

  And then Abby heard someone rush over to her. Abby shook her head. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Lance said. He pushed Slaughter aside, grabbed Abby’s arm, and pulled her to her feet. “She was trying to kill you. She did this, not you.”