Hero Worship (17 page)

There's a loud crash as the battering ram makes contact with the door. The door cracks, splinters, and is ripped off its hinges. The battering ram smashes through and hits me in the stomach. This makes tiny cracks appear in the head of the battering ram, which then spread through the hulking metal like glass shattering. The four SWAT team members holding it can only watch as it falls to the ground in chunks. They look at me, confused.

Time ticks slowly. Everything seems to be frozen. I wait for the men to move. We all look at each other, waiting for someone to do something. I grab the nearest man's rifle and squeeze, collapsing and twisting the metal barrel in my hand as easily as butter. In the hall, other members of the SWAT team pull their triggers. A series of bullets explode from the barrels in orange blossoms. I dodge them, and they pelt the walls and floor.

I move on the men, striking them in the chests, which sends three of them hurtling back through the air. They fly through the hall until they slam into the wall and crash to the floor. The others level their rifles at me again, but before they can pull the triggers, I knock them off their feet. One of the men smashes through the drywall.

The rest of the SWAT team, on the stairs, unleash a flurry of gunfire. The bullets are like giant raindrops that pour down on me. But everything happens so slowly—the bullets hang in the air as if crawling toward me. Some of them tear through plaster and wood, kicking up a storm of debris in the hallway.

I move toward the stairs, zipping there so fast that the SWAT team continues to fire at where I was just standing. Snatching the Kevlar vest of the man closest to me, I hoist him into the air and toss him at his teammates. He crashes into the others, sending them all careening down the stairs.

I grab two unconscious SWAT team members, one in each hand, and lug them into the apartment like I'm carrying bags of groceries. Yvonne and Kent clear out of my way. I set the two men down on the floor. “Take off your clothes,” I say to my friends. I remove the SWAT team uniforms, leaving the men in their underwear, and toss the black paramilitary clothing at Yvonne and Kent's feet. “Hurry,” I say. “We don't have much time.”

My friends get undressed. Seeing Yvonne standing there in nothing but her underwear takes me aback. She blushes as she bends down to retrieve the clothing. “It's not polite to stare,” she says.

Embarrassed, I look away, immediately sorry when my eyes land on Kent, who definitely doesn't look as good as Yvonne in his underwear. “Yeah, dude, it's not polite to stare,” he says.

Yvonne and Kent adjust their outfits, which are a little big for them, but serviceable. I toss Kent a helmet. “Put this on.”

He puts on the helmet, which helps conceal his melting face.

Sirens grow louder as more police cars arrive on the scene. “You should go now,” I say, “before they regroup.”

“What about you?” Yvonne asks.

Heading away from the window, I step out into the hall. A couple of the men moan and stir. I find one that's still unconscious, hoist him over my shoulder, and carry him down the stairs. Yvonne and Kent are in tow behind me. They struggle to move in the restrictive outfits, but they manage.

“I'm going to hang back until you two get safely away, and then I'll zip out of here,” I say. “Let's meet up at home.”

“Do you think it's safe there?” Yvonne asks.

“We'll hurry, collect only the necessities, and beat feet,” I say. We reach the ground floor and sneak toward the front door, careful to stay out of sight.

“What're we supposed to do with him?” Kent asks, propping up the unconscious man.

“Get your teammate medical attention,” I say, winking. “While they're attending to him, you guys sneak away.”

Yvonne and Kent struggle to carry the man toward the front door. Yvonne glances back at me before stepping out into the daylight. They head toward the police barricade. A couple of police officers hurry out and help them lay the unconscious man down on a gurney, which paramedics lift into the back of an ambulance.

There's a flurry of activity surrounding the building. It's chaos. People run, holler, and argue. Chief Wooden screams at anyone within earshot and some who're not. As he surveys his underlings, he spots Yvonne and Kent. His suspicious eyes fix on them. He grabs the shirt of a nearby police officer and points my friends out, pushing the man in their direction. The officer makes his way through the crowd, heading toward Yvonne and Kent.

Desperate to create a diversion, I run back into the building and bound up the stairs, snatching up a rifle. I run to the nearest window on the second floor. Using the butt of the gun, I shatter the glass, then point the barrel into the air and pull the trigger, releasing a stream of bullets harmlessly skyward. People below duck for cover, hiding behind vehicles. The police officer heading toward my friends momentarily forgets what he's doing and jumps behind an ambulance. Yvonne and Kent sneak away through the crowd. Managing to make their way down the street, they turn and disappear behind a rundown building.

Dropping the rifle on the ground, I turn around and see Mystic appear in a green cloud of smoke. “How'd you get in here?” I ask.

“I'm a bounder,” she says.

I've never met a bounder before, and to be honest, I thought they were nothing more than an urban legend. Bounders can disappear and reappear anywhere their minds can imagine. They travel at the speed of thought.

Mystic peers out the window at the mayhem below. “It isn't easy living with regret.”

“You were reading my mind again.”

“Yes—I
overhead
what you told your friends about your father,” she says. “When you get to my age, you look back at your life and cringe about decisions you made along the way. But there's nothing I can do about that now. I can't change the past.” Mystic can't hide the sadness in her eyes.

Recognizing that there's not much left to say, I head toward the stairs.

“It would've been real easy for you to join the Core,” Mystic says.

With my back to her, I say, “The price is too high.”

“Be careful that your moral compass doesn't lead you into danger,” Mystic says. “People like you seem to disappear in this city.”

“Are you saying you're the one who'll make us disappear?”

“There are others out there far worse than us who have you in their crosshairs,” she says. “I've going to give you one last piece of unsolicited advice—give that data sticker to Chief Wooden. He's an asshole, but he's an honest asshole.”

I speed down the stairs and make my way out the front door, weaving through the barricade of police. Chaos swirls all around me as police officers scramble to reposition themselves for another offensive on the building.

I stop right in front of the chief of police, interrupting him in mid-bark. Startled, he staggers back. “What the hell!” he says. Recognition dawns on his face as he reaches for his sidearm. “Don't you move!”

I grab his wrist and stop him from pulling the handgun from the holster clipped to his belt. “You were right about the Core,” I say. Before he has time to say or do anything, I place the data sticker in his open palm. He glances down at it, and by the time he looks up, I'm already gone.

TWENTY-NINE

One second I'm moving faster than the eye can see, the next I'm as immobile as a giant redwood, rooted in place by the overpass. I can't help but wonder whether or not there will be side effects from taking so much of Dr. Klaus's concoction. If something is too good to be true, then it usually is. I guess it's for the best I'm out of the stuff.

Yvonne and Kent are just making their way back. Kent unfastens the chin strap of the helmet and says, “Help me get this off.” His face is spread across the inside of the visor like a bug that's met its demise on a windshield. I grab the helmet and yank, which nearly pulls Kent over. I yank again and manage to pull it off. His head expands and immediately hangs down in slabs. “That's better,” he sighs. He doesn't even bother undressing, just oozes out of his clothing. “I don't think I could keep my body together for another second.”

“Go pack whatever you can carry,” I say. “We've got to get out of here.”

“Where're we going to go?” Yvonne asks.

“I've got enough money to get a cheap hotel room for a week or two,” Kent says.

Yvonne begins to remove the SWAT gear. “And after that?”

I shrug. “One thing at a time.”

Kent hobbles into the concrete cave. “I'm gonna miss this place.”

Yvonne finishes removing her gear and stands there a moment.

“I'm really sorry, Yvonne,” I say.

“Marvin, we'll get through this together.” She leans forward and plants a kiss on my mouth, then disappears inside.

I stand there a moment, smiling.

“I don't like finding my man kissing another woman,” a voice says behind me. Eliza steps out from behind a pillar. She doesn't move toward me, just stands there at a distance.

“How'd you know I'd come here?” I ask.

“I always knew you lived here with Yvonne and Kent. Yes, I knew it was Yvonne who drugged Streak and that Kent and you were there with her.”

“What do you want?”

“I'm just tying up loose ends,” Eliza says. “You're kind of gullible, Marvin. Once you believed you were trying out for the Core, you were mine.”

“But why kill Mercury?”

Eliza snarls as she says, “He'd grown soft and lazy. I can do a better job leading the Core.”

“That's why you killed him? To be the leader of the Core?”

“You make it sound like I needed some other reason,” she says, circling around me like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. “Darren could fly through the sun without getting a blister. So when I read in the paper about you saving that family, I knew what I was going to do. It was a no-brainer. I told Mercury that I was going public with everything I knew about his criminal activity. That was enough to get him to come after me. He couldn't take the chance that I'd reveal the Core's cozy relationship with organized crime. I mean, come on, Mercury a hero? He rates as one of the worst. He did it all and then some. He was rotten to the Core.”

“You were the good guys.”

“Dr. Klaus gave me your test results,” she says. “When powers develop in most people, the level of power stays basically the same from day one to the day the person dies. But your powers are different. Apparently, your powers are increasing. You could've been the first Level 10 ever recorded.”

“Could've?”

Bright light glows from her eyes as she says, “You're not going to live long enough for us to find out.”

A burst of energy erupts from her eyes. I jump out of the way as the blast hits the ground where I was just standing. Zipping into the concrete cave, I speed down the corridor. I glance back and see Eliza's silhouette framed in the doorway. “Sorry, Marvin. I really did like you,” she says. The next blast from her eyes makes a deafening noise as it strikes the concrete. She rotates her head as the energy beam shoots out of her eyes and burns through the walls, which burst into flame and melt like lava oozing from a volcano. The fire spreads, moving deeper into our home.

She's just visible behind the smoke and flames. She blows me a kiss and is gone.

Black smoke from the concrete burns my lungs. Coughing violently, I race off to find my friends. Yvonne and Kent are in the living room. Kent sticks his nose into the air, sniffing. “Do you guys smell something burning?” he asks.

“We've got to get out of here,” I say. “There's a fire heading this way.”

“A fire?” Kent says. “What's it burning?”

“The concrete.”

“How is that possible?” Yvonne asks.

“Eliza,” I say.

Running out of the living room, we see the blaze heading toward us. “The overpass will collapse,” Yvonne says.

“The only way out is the crawl space,” I say. “Come on.” We race deeper into the concrete cave, putting as much distance between the blaze and ourselves as we can.

“Where are we going? The crawl space grate is in the kitchen,” Kent says.

“The fire has spread past the kitchen,” I tell him.

“Then how're we going to get into the crawl space?” Yvonne pants.

The corridor comes to an abrupt end. The slab of concrete over our heads angles down until it makes a perfect point with the floor. This is the farthest point of the concrete cave. Six inches of cement separate us from freedom. The road rests just above us. I walk as far as I can before I have to get down on my hands and knees and crawl on all fours. Yvonne and Kent follow my lead. The black smoke chokes us. It fills my nostrils and makes me retch. I stare at the stress point where the concrete comes together. The blaze is growing increasingly brighter as it moves toward us slowly and methodically, like a slasher from a horror movie stalking its teenage prey.

Pointing to the stress point, I say, “I'm pretty sure if a lot of pressure is applied to this point right there, it'll crumble.”

Fear and apprehension are on my friends' faces. “That's your plan?” Kent stammers.

Pulling back my fist, I muster what's left of my strength from the blue concoction and throw a punch at the stress point. My hand lands with a deep thud, and I feel the vibrations from the impact traveling deep into the concrete. The initial punch doesn't do much, but that wasn't my intention. As I pummel the concrete again and again, striking it to a uniform beat, I hope Dr. Klaus's serum lasts long enough for this to work.

“Marvin, what are you doing?” Yvonne screams. I can barely hear her over the sound of my fist smacking the concrete. It's like a jackhammer. The area around us gets brighter as the fire moves closer. Kent and Yvonne gag and cough as the thick smoke closes around them.

I feel the concrete under my feet wobble as the repetitive force of my punches causes rhythmic waves. I steady myself and continue to pound my fist against the wall.

I hope the book
Strange Phenomenons Explained
was right about the seismic wave toppling the city's walls during the Battle of Jericho.

My friends try to cover their noses and mouths as they choke on the black smoke. The fire is nearly on top of us now. Looking at Yvonne and Kent, I shout, “Scream as loud as you can. Now!”

Chalk it up to fear, but my friends supply me with bloodcurdling screams. Joining in their chorus, I yell at the top of my lungs. The shouts cause the concrete near me to crack. I feel the ground beneath my feet shift and wobble, like ripples caused by a rock being tossed into a calm and peaceful pond. The giant slabs of concrete begin to shift and crack. The stress point opens, revealing the crawl space below.

“Move it!” I yell, pushing Yvonne into it. She scurries forward on her belly. Kent pours himself in and slithers after her. I drop down and follow my friends. The heat from the fire burns the back of my legs. It nips at my heels as I hurry down the tiny space. My face sinks into Kent's gooey backside.

Crawling out of the passageway, I stand up in the utility corridor. I lead my friends to the rusty ladder. “Hurry! Move!” I climb up the ladder and out through the manhole cover. Breathing in deeply, I notice that the fresh night air has never felt so good.

We lie on the ground. “Is everyone okay?” I ask.

Yvonne coughs violently, but finally manages to catch her breath. “Yeah,” she says.

“I'm okay … I think,” Kent coughs.

The concrete lets out a final scream. The overpass support columns twist and buckle. A section of the bridge dislodges, plummeting to the freeway below and revealing the moon on the horizon. A mountain of concrete rains down. It's the loudest noise I've ever heard. The wreckage is extensive. Chunks of concrete are strewn about. Steel beams, twisted and bent, stick out of the rubble. Smoke rises out of the debris. From what I can see, there are a dozen or so vehicles crushed underneath the concrete and metal, and another hundred vehicles jammed up in either direction, with many of the drivers jumping out to help dig people out of the mangled vehicles.

An entire section of the overpass is missing, and a car dangles over the side with people trapped inside. “We've got to help,” I say, leaping up. I'm tired. There are twinges of pain in my legs, but I force myself to ignore it. Whatever I'm going to do, I've got to do it fast, because I'm going to crash soon.

Joining a handful of people, I rush over to the red sedan hanging over the edge, awed by the gaping hole in the bridge. I'm jarred back to reality by a man with gray hair wearing a business suit who's yelling, “Grab it before it falls!”

With about ten other men, I take hold of the car's back end and hold on for dear life. Through the rear window, we see a woman scrambling from the driver's seat into the backseat, where a small boy is fastened into a car seat. The three-year-old boy has big tears running down his chubby cheeks.

“On the count of three,” the gray-haired man says, “pull as hard as you can!” I didn't notice before, but Yvonne is standing next to me, holding on to the car. “One. Two. Three!”

I pull with all my might. When I don't feel the car budge, I redouble my efforts. The men and Yvonne grunt and curse as they struggle to pull the sedan to safety, but the vehicle doesn't move a single inch. The woman in the car frantically unbuckles her son, who isn't making it easy for her. He flails his arms and kicks his feet, deathly afraid.

“Pull harder!” someone screams.

I hear a popping noise, and one of the men falls to one knee, grimacing in pain. He scoots out of the way and Kent takes his place, pulling hard, which stretches his arms unnaturally long, like rubber bands.

“It's not working!” Yvonne yells.

There's a sound of metal scraping against concrete, and for a split second I think we're making progress, but instead of the car being pulled back, it slides a few inches forward, dangling even farther over the edge. Clutching her son, the mother tries to roll down the back window. The car tilts forward, its hood pointing down as if inspecting the hundred-foot drop.

“Someone do something!” a woman screams from behind us.

The sedan lurches forward. Three men run up and try
to open the back doors, but they're jammed. The car teeters, and as it settles, it begins to slide forward.

“Let go! Let go of the car or you'll be pulled down with it!” someone screams.

Everyone lets go and jumps back, helplessly watching as the mother and son start to go over the edge. I'm the only one still hanging on. “I will not let go!” I scream. I'm pulled forward as the car slips farther over. The tips of my sneakers protrude over the ledge. The woman sobs as she clutches her son to her chest.

I dig my heels into the ground and say, “I will not let this happen!”

Everything goes silent. I don't hear the mother scream, nor her son cry. I don't hear the cries for help of the people trapped inside the rubble. I don't hear my friends shouting my name. I don't even hear the rustling of the wind as it whispers across the landscape. The only thing I hear is the beating of my heart.

Standing at the very edge, I clutch the back of the car. I'm afraid if I move, I'll forfeit what remains of my power and the car will slip from my grip. The gray-haired man walks over and peers over the ledge. The woman in the car opens her eyes and stares at me, confusion on her face.

“Can you pull the car back up?” the gray-haired man asks.

I step back, and the car moves with me. I pull it back up onto the overpass, stopping when it's a safe distance from the edge.

A group of men rush over and pry open the back door, helping the woman and the small boy out. The woman runs toward me, still clutching her son. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she says. She wraps her free arm around me and gives me a hug. Her tears of joy wet my cheeks. “You saved our lives,” she says. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” I say, smiling.

The crowd of people breaks out in applause. Yvonne gives me a warm smile, and the sight of her standing there amid the rubble and debris under the blue sky makes me feel like I can soar.

“Way to go!” someone says.

“What's your name?” a lady asks.

“Marvin,” Kent says, draping his arm around my shoulder. “My best friend.”

The gray-haired man points. “They need help.”

My friends and I stand at the edge and look down at the wreckage below. People are still scurrying about, digging others out of the rubble. “Let's get down there,” I say.

We all run down the embankment and race to the nearest pile of rubble. People are trying to move jagged blocks of concrete away from a truck. A man is trapped inside. The people stand aside as I begin heaving enormous pieces of concrete. I can hear them say, in hushed tones, that I'm a hero. Once I've moved the heaviest debris, the people clear the rubble and help the man out of the truck, and I move on to another buried car.

After disrobing, Kent dissolves and oozes into the rubble. He looks like a stream of thick, fleshy liquid. He's gone for a few moments but then his torso reappears, shaping back into its normal form. The bottom half of his body remains in the rubble, like he's waist-deep in water.He points down and I hear him tell people who've gather around, “There's a man buried under there.” Following his directions, people begin clearing away the wreckage. Kent moves on to another pile, again melting into the remains of the overpass.