Super Human Page 8

  She briefly wondered if they were brother and sister: They were both—presumably—superhuman, and they were both African-American. Aside from her own family, she’d never heard of any other superhuman siblings.

  The soldiers slowed and spread out as they approached a set of steel double doors at the end of the corridor. Two of them dashed forward and crouched down in front of the lock. A minute later they turned back. Roz saw one of them mouth the words, “Can’t open it.”

  Colonel Morgan frowned for a moment. One of the other soldiers approached him with an explosive charge in his hand and a questioning look on his face. Morgan shook his head.

  Of course, Roz thought. The other hostages must be inside. If we blow the doors, they could be hurt or even killed.

  Then the girl in the homemade chain mail stepped past Roz, brandishing her heavy-looking sword.

  She walked up to the doors, stared at them for a second, then reached as high as she could and swung the sword at the doors, slicing straight through the metal. Two more quick strokes, one on either side, and the doors collapsed inward. The girl ducked aside as the soldiers rushed into the room.

  Roz could see the hostages lying on the floor, their hands and feet bound, their mouths gagged. I have to help them! She started forward, but the boy called Thunder grabbed her arm and held her back.

  It was over in seconds. The remaining gray men dropped their weapons and raised their arms. Thunder allowed the sound to return, and the air was filled with moans and shouts.

  “It’s done. Get these terrorists out of here!” Morgan roared into his radio. “I want them stripped and searched and taken back in separate vehicles, full armed escort, understood?”

  One of his men said, “Medics are on the way, Colonel. But these people aren’t doing so good. They’ve got it bad.”

  The girl with the sword said, “Colonel Morgan? Only the hostages are sick. The terrorists are all fine. Well, apart from the ones that got shot.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “You’re right. Which means you could also be right about the plague being artificial.” Into his radio he said, “Run a complete medical on each of the terrorists. I want to know what makes them immune.”

  Morgan turned to the teenagers. “All right. Good work, you three. Now get out of here and report to Agent Rosenfield.” They lingered for a second, but the look on Morgan’s face told them he wasn’t kidding.

  Roz led the others back into the corridor. “I’m Roz Dalton, by the way.”

  “We know,” Thunder said. “You OK?”

  “Hungry and tired and worried about my brother, but aside from that, yeah, I’m fine. Who are you guys?”

  “I’m Thunder. But this one won’t tell us her name.”

  Roz said, “Well, thanks for the save. You did that thing with the sound, right?”

  He nodded. “I can control almost any kind of sound waves.”

  “And what about you?” Roz asked the girl with the sword. “We have to call you something.” They reached the large room in which Roz had been kept. It was now filled with dozens of soldiers.

  “I’m not sure I should tell anyone my name,” the girl said.

  “It’s Abigail,” Thunder said. He smiled at her shocked expression. “I’ve been eating at your diner for months.”

  “Shut up! People will hear!” She looked around at the soldiers.

  “No they won’t,” Thunder said. “I’m blocking the sound.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’m Abigail de Luyando. Call me Abby. But what’s your real name?”

  The boy bit his lip. “Um . . .”

  “Um? What’s that short for?” Roz said, failing to hold back a smile. “Well, it’s a good thing you were there, Um. That’s a very handy power you have.”

  Abby said, “I just wish I’d had more to do. All I did was slice open a door.”

  They walked outside, stepping over piles of shattered bricks and broken glass. Roz took in deep lungfuls of the night air. “God, that feels good!” She stopped and watched as two medics carried out one of the hostages on a stretcher. The man was clearly in distress, moaning and convulsing. “So . . . It was the flu that knocked out Max and the others?”

  “That’s what it looks like,” Abby said.

  “But one minute they were fine, the next they were in trouble. Max thought it was a weapon.”

  Thunder shrugged. “It is. A biological weapon. The terrorists must be immune. How are you guys feeling?”

  “Fine so far,” Abby said. “You?”

  “No sign of it yet,” Thunder replied.

  They stepped aside as another stretcher was carried out, this one carrying a pale-skinned, shivering woman in her early twenties.

  “So what did they want in there, anyway?” Roz asked. “There couldn’t have been anything worth stealing.”

  “No one knows yet. They didn’t make any demands,” Abby said. She checked her watch and sighed. “Great. It’s past nine. I’m probably going to be fired. And when I get home I’ll be grounded.” To Thunder, she said, “So what about you? What time do you have to get back to Atlantis?”

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “Forget it.”

  Roz said, “I’ll need to know how to contact the two of you.”

  Abby asked, “Why?”

  “Well, this isn’t over. That woman escaped.”

  “What woman?”

  “There was a woman in charge of the terrorists. I didn’t get to see her face but I definitely heard her voice. She wasn’t with the others when we found the hostages. How did she escape?”

  “No one escaped,” Thunder said. “The whole place has been surrounded for hours.”

  They looked at each other, then down the hill toward the two medics ahead of them carrying the stretcher.

  Abby shouted, “Hey! Wait! That’s not—”

  The young woman rolled off the stretcher, landed on her feet. In one swift movement she jabbed her left fist into one medic’s chest while kicking back with her right foot at the other’s head.

  Abby began to run.

  She heard Roz shout, “Abby, no!” but she didn’t turn back: Roz and Thunder had already played their part—now it was her turn to go into action. She pulled her sword from her back as she ran.

  CHAPTER 11

  Abby raced down the hill, but the woman was waiting for her: She snatched up the aluminum stretcher and swung it at Abby. Abby blocked it with the blunt edge of her sword. They stood for a moment, their weapons locked against each other.

  “You’re strong, little one,” the woman said through gritted teeth. “Stronger than I am, perhaps.” She had pale skin, shoulder-length brown hair, and green eyes.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman took a step to the left. “Someone who isn’t dumb enough to stay in Roz Dalton’s line of sight.” She suddenly let go of the stretcher, and Abby staggered to the side, the sword slipping from her hand. Abby ducked down as the woman swung a punch at her face, and made a grab for her legs.

  The woman jumped, somersaulted over Abby, and twisted as she landed. Abby rolled to her feet, but the woman was faster: She suddenly pivoted on her right foot—her left flicked out and clipped Abby across the chin. Abby reeled backward, spotted her sword, and made a dive for it.

  Then Thunder came charging down the hill, straight for the woman. She didn’t hear him coming: He slammed into her back and sent her sprawling.

  But she recovered much faster than he did. She hit the ground face-first and kicked her legs backward, flipping over on her hands. She landed on her feet and bounced again, spinning around to face him.

  Thunder had landed on his back and was pushing himself up when the woman came down feetfirst on his stomach.

  Abby jumped for her, but the woman—still with one foot on Thunder’s stomach—simply smiled and waited.

  Abby swung her sword. The woman threw herself backward and kicked up, knocking the sword out of Abby’s grip, sending it straight into the air.
I need a wrist strap! Abby thought.

  The sword reached its peak and began to fall—Thunder was directly in its path. I can catch it! I—

  The woman threw herself at Abby, knocking her to the ground, then rolled off before Abby could grab hold of her. Abby stared upward. No! The sword!

  Less than two feet above Thunder’s chest, the sword suddenly shifted to one side. It landed point-first next to his right arm, its great weight driving it more than six inches into the dirt. Abby jumped up, looked around, but the woman wasn’t there. “What . . . ? Where is she?”

  Roz skidded to a stop next to Thunder. “You two all right?”

  Thunder groaned, sat up clutching his stomach. His voice weak and wheezing, he said, “Yeah, I think so. Thought I was dead meat there. Thanks. Where’d she go?”

  Roz pointed straight up—the woman was a shrinking dot against the night sky.

  “Who is she?” Abby asked.

  “I’ve never met her before, but Max has. She’s dangerous. Completely psychotic. Very fast and very strong. And she’s absolutely merciless. She’s also one of the few people whose mind Max can’t read or control. She calls herself Slaughter.”

  Lance McKendrick clenched his teeth to prevent them from chattering with the cold.

  Though Paragon had flown in a straight line and at a relatively constant speed, Lance had been battered repeatedly by turbulence that left him swaying wildly from side to side. His armpits chafed from the jetpack’s shoulder straps and cold wind brought stinging tears to his eyes.

  The armored hero hadn’t spoken during the flight, and Lance started to wonder what was on his mind. Maybe he’s thinking that looking after me is the last thing he needs. For all I know, he’s got a wife and kids at home.

  That made him think about his own family again. He prayed that his brother Cody had made it home OK from practice, because if he hadn’t, then their parents were home alone. I’m going to be grounded until the end of time for this.

  After more than an hour, Paragon’s amplified voice said, “How are you holding up?”

  Lance shouted back, “I’m kinda more concerned about how you’re holding me up!”

  Paragon laughed. “I’m not going to drop you, don’t worry.”

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Almost. Look straight ahead.”

  In the distance Lance saw a thin ring of light on the ground, rapidly growing as they approached. At the center of the ring was what looked like a nuclear power plant. Paragon slowed, dropped down to a height of about eight yards. Lance could now see that the ring was formed from the headlights of dozens of army vehicles and police cars.

  Paragon said, “Hey, kid. Do me a favor. There’s a switch on the left side of my helmet, just below the jaw. See if you can reach it.”

  Lance awkwardly stretched up his left arm and found the switch. “That it?”

  “Yeah, it’s my radio. Hit it, will you? And then shut it off when I’m done.”

  Lance pressed the switch, then heard Paragon say, “This is Paragon contacting FBI Special Agent Rosenfield.” A pause. “Understood. Put me through to whoever’s taken over the operation.” There was another, longer pause. “Colonel Morgan? This is Paragon. I’m approaching your position from the southeast. ETA one-zero-zero seconds. Paragon out.”

  Lance hit the switch again, and Paragon dropped even closer to the ground—Lance didn’t want to know how near they were to the treetops, but he could imagine the branches and leaves brushing the soles of his sneakers. When they were close enough for Lance to make out individual people, Paragon slowed almost to a stop, and drifted down.

  Lance felt the asphalt under his feet. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed if Paragon hadn’t been holding on to him.

  “You OK?” Paragon asked.

  Lance nodded. They had landed between two covered army trucks and were now surrounded by soldiers.

  A middle-aged man in uniform came running. “Paragon? Colonel Morgan.” He looked briefly at Lance, then turned back to the armored hero. “Good news is the situation here has been dealt with.”

  “So I just flew hundreds of miles for nothing?” He didn’t sound happy.

  “Not exactly. Come with me—I want to fill you in on the latest development. You’re not going to like it.” He looked at Lance once again. “Did someone forget to tell me it’s Bring Your Kid to Work Day?”

  “How old do you think I am?” Paragon asked. “No, he’s not mine. He’s a stray I picked up along the way. Long story.” To Lance, Paragon said, “Stay put. Touch nothing. Talk to no one. Got that?”

  “OK. . . . Only, how am I going to get home? My folks have no idea where I am. And they’re sick. They need me.”

  “Should have considered the consequences before you decided to go breaking and entering, shouldn’t you?”

  “Then someone has to let them know where I am!”

  Paragon leaned closer. “That’d be a lot easier if you told me your real name. Now stay put.”

  Lance watched him follow the officer into a large, dark, unmarked truck. Now what do I do? He stopped a passing soldier. “Is there anywhere I can make a phone call?”

  “I look like a tour guide or something?” The man pointed back over his shoulder. “Ask one of those cops back there. Most of them are local.”

  Great. More cops. Like I haven’t spoken to enough of them already today. Lance started toward the police officers when he spotted a trio of people who were much more approachable: teenagers.

  They were walking down the hill from the power plant, and from the look of their clothing Lance could see that they were superheroes. Or wanted to be, at least.

  The pale-skinned girl stopped in front of him. “You’re the one who came in with Paragon?”

  “That’s right.”

  The boy gestured toward the jetpack on Lance’s back. “You his sidekick or something?”

  Lance resisted the temptation to pretend that he and Paragon were equal partners. “Not really. Do you know where I can find a phone?”

  “Try a phone booth,” the boy said. “They’re famous for that.”

  “Yeah, very helpful,” Lance said. He turned to the girls in the hope that they’d be more friendly. “Where would I find a phone booth?”

  The shorter, dark-skinned girl said, “Nearest one I can think of is on the edge of town. About ten miles away. But if it’s an emergency, you could ask one of the cops to put a call through on his radio.”

  “Thanks. I’ll . . . Maybe I’ll wait.”

  Then she said, “Hey, can you fly me back to town? I’m kind of in a hurry. The colonel told me to get a lift from one of the army trucks but they can’t turn around ’cos the road is so narrow.”

  “Out of gas,” Lance said. “Sorry.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  As they moved on, the girl smiled at Lance and he felt his knees weaken. Wow. . . . He ran after them. “Hey, hold up. Why don’t you get the guy on the motorbike to give you a lift? He’d be able to get through the traffic no problem.”

  The girl looked around. “I didn’t see anyone with a bike.”

  “Well, there’s one around here somewhere. I saw a helmet on the side of the road back there.”

  “Ah. That’s mine, actually.” She removed her army helmet and ran one hand through her hair.

  “So you’ve got a bike but no helmet?” Lance asked. “I mean . . . You have a helmet but you don’t have a bike.” In his head, a small voice was reminding him of his pledge to never make any friends. He mentally told the voice to shut up.

  “Yeah....”

  Then the other boy said, “Abby, I thought you were in a hurry?”

  “Thunder, what did I say about not using my real name?”

  Paragon’s voice boomed out. “I told you to stay put and not talk to anyone!”

  Lance cringed and turned to see the armored hero striding toward him. “Sorry. I just need to get in touch with my folks.”

  Paragon stopped
in front of Roz. “Good to see you again, Ms. Dalton. Your brother’s in good hands, but they still don’t know exactly what they’re dealing with. The virus is still spreading and it’s almost certainly artificial.”

  “What’s the prognosis?” Roz asked.

  “There is none, at the moment. According to Colonel Morgan’s people, it’s looking like it has a communicable rate of about eighty percent. But they’re still collating the data, so that figure could be way off. Could be that some of the infected just have the ordinary flu, or even just a cold. And it’s not just America: It’s broken out in Europe, Africa, and Asia.” He paused. “I won’t lie to you. At least four people who contracted it have died, but again we’re not entirely sure whether there’s a direct connection. The medics are trying to isolate whatever it is that’s keeping the terrorists immune. If they can do that, they might be able to construct a vaccine or even a cure.”

  “Did the colonel tell you about Slaughter?”

  “He did. You three were lucky she didn’t kill you on the spot. The first rule of dealing with Slaughter is that you do not run toward her. You run away. She’s too strong and too fast for all of you put together.”

  Abby began, “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?” Paragon’s visor swiveled toward her. “I doubt any of you even laid a hand on her. She’s way out of your league, understand? She didn’t have to face any of you—she could have just flown away. She chose to let you fight her. She was testing you. You failed.”

  The boy called Thunder said, “I tackled her to the ground. I blocked the sound so that she couldn’t hear me coming.”

  “Well, good for you. Let’s just hope she doesn’t remember that.”

  “And she said that I was probably stronger than she was,” Abby said.

  Paragon sighed. “All right, kids. It’s time to close your mouths and open your ears. A few months back Slaughter threw Titan through a moving train. Before he could recover she picked up one of the cars and smashed it down on top of him. The car wasn’t empty. It was a miracle that none of the passengers were killed. Last time I tangled with her was in Manhattan: She got away when she started throwing civilians a hundred feet into the air. She didn’t care where they landed, but she knew that I’d have to let her escape so I could catch them. That’s the sort of person we’re dealing with here. She is a cold-blooded killer, and if she discovered your identities she wouldn’t hesitate to murder every single member of your families. Don’t go patting yourselves on the back because you faced down Slaughter and survived. You didn’t win. She let you live. There’s a huge difference, and if you can’t see that then you should go home, throw away your costumes, and abandon the idea of being a superhero forever.” To Roz, he added, “That includes you too. You do not mess with Slaughter. Even Max wouldn’t tackle her on his own.” He turned to Lance. “What’s your name? And don’t tell me it’s Jason Myers. I want your real name.”