Sidekicked (33 page)

Then there is that rule about trusting your Super, above all else. Following his plan to the end. Believing in him. Even when the odds are stacked against you. Even when you are falling to your death. Of all of them, I think this rule is the hardest to follow.

There is no rule about screaming like a ninny while you are falling to your death. So I'm not doing anything wrong when the bindings around my wrists suddenly come loose and I shriek like a little girl with a bee in her hair.

Then a hand catches my own and squeezes just hard enough that I get the message. I look up to see the Titan, one hand holding on to the chain above him, the other holding on to his sidekick. Finally.

“Gotcha,” he says, then—with more strain than it should take a man who once threw minivans at giant rampaging mechanical scorpions—the Titan swings me out over the edge of the pit, where I land in a heap. I look up just in time to see him clear the edge himself, landing with a force that causes half the lights in the ceiling to shatter. The ground beneath me shakes, and I find myself suddenly dwarfed by the Titan's enormous shadow.

I hear another scream, not as shrill as my own, and see Jenna curled into a ball by the side of the pit. The Fox is standing over her. I don't know what's just happened, but the Fox has those blue arcs of electricity around her eyes and Jenna is in agony. Something kicks in, some instinct even more powerful than self-preservation. I stand up, fingers in fists, ready to charge, when the Titan steps back in front of me, his massive body eclipsing mine.

The nice lady over the intercom tells us we have nine minutes before we are all incinerated. The Fox turns to face us, determined to finish the job before then.

The Titan tilts his head and says to me in a low rumble that I can feel as well as hear, “Get out of here.”

“I'm not leaving,” I say. “I'm your sidekick.”

And for once, it feels right: to be wearing this mask, to be standing here. It doesn't feel
good
—I am scared to death and my legs threaten to buckle beneath me—but it does feel
right
.

Then the Titan turns around to say something to me, or maybe to just lift me up and toss me out of the room by force, but it's a mistake. In the moment that he turns, the Fox is on him, first hitting him with a shock wave that knocks us both off balance, then driving her foot into his chest, sending him tumbling backward. He falls on top of me, all three hundred pounds, and my legs are trapped beneath his hulking frame. I try to push, but he won't budge. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he's struggling to catch a breath. He doesn't move.

And I realize he can't beat her. Not by himself. Not anymore.

The Fox draws her sword. “The cement would have been so much more poetic,” she says. “Preserved for all eternity. But there is something to be said for efficiency.” She steps over the Titan, straddling us both. I've seen that sword cut through steel cable. It will go through the Titan like a ripe melon. And I'm underneath him.

“I suppose it's just as easy this way,” she says. “To just let you go down in the explosion together. All of you. Supers and sidekicks alike. Leaving me truly the only one. Except you, Titan. I want to finish you myself.”

The Fox raises her sword.

And then I hear her, even before the Fox does, moving as fast as I've ever seen her. And I catch that gleam in her eye, her lips curled back, that look of determination engraved on her face, just like the day we met.

The Silver Lynx drives her shoulder into the Fox's back, taking her by surprise and pushing her toward the pit. The Fox twists to attack, swinging hard with her sword, but Jenna ducks just in time, the blade missing her by an inch, the swing knocking the Fox off balance, leaving her teetering on the edge of the pit.

She reaches out with one hand, her eyes wide with terror, but Jenna just stands there, motionless.

Then one foot slips, and the Fox tumbles over. I hear her splash into the wet cement as Jenna scrambles across the stone floor and grabs hold of the control panel, mashing the buttons to close the hatch. The Fox's scream echoes off the walls; lightning bolts shoot out of the pit, striking the ceiling, sending pieces of it crashing around us as the hatch slides into place. Sealing Kyla Kaden, the Fox, the Dealer—the hero and the villain—inside forever.

Jenna kneels beside the hatch, head bowed. I try to catch a breath, which is hard when you have a three-hundred-pound superhero on you.

“You have six minutes to evacuate the building,” the intercom reminds us.

“Little help here?” I grunt.

Jenna crawls over to us, then helps pull the Titan up. I manage to scramble to my feet, amazed that nothing's broken. The red lights above the computer console flash the word
WARNING
in big red letters.

“Do you know how to shut that thing off?”

Jenna runs over to the computer console and starts madly pressing buttons. Finally she brings her fist down on top of it, and it shatters in a shower of sparks. Sometimes I forget how strong she is.

“We have to get out of here,” I say.

“What about the other Supers?” Jenna shouts. “They're locked away deeper in the building. Some of them can barely move.”

“I'll go.” The Titan's voice booms from behind me. “You two get out of here.”

I turn to protest, to demand that I go with him, but he is already out the door.

“Drew,” Jenna starts to say, but I interrupt her.

“Later,” I say. I grab Jenna's hand and we take off down the halls, turning one corner and then another, coming to a T junction. Somehow or other I've gotten turned around and can't tell which way to go.

“How the heck do you get out of here?” I scream, but Jenna's just as lost as I am, keeps looking back over her shoulder as if she expects the Fox to be behind us, dripping with wet cement, a sword in her hand and blood in her eyes, like something out of a zombie movie. I start to go right and give Jenna a tug—when suddenly a brown hand shoots out of the wall and grabs hold of my shirt, like something else out of a zombie movie.

I shriek and try to pull away, but then a face appears in the wall as well, surfacing from the stone like a bubble bursting.

The Wisp smiles and steps through the concrete, her eyes wide, pulling Kid Shock behind her. Mike looks completely freaked. His hair is still punked out and his cast is charred black. I can almost see smoke coming out of his ears.

“That was . . . wrong, on, like . . . every level,” he says, looking over his body to make sure no parts were left inside the wall.

“Where are the others?” Jenna asks, and I realize Mike and Nikki have no idea what's happened. Who they are really talking to.

“Gavin and Eric are outside, fighting off the rest of those bots, and some lady on the intercom keeps saying this place is going to blow in, like, three minutes,” Mike says.

Two, actually, the voice over the intercom tells us. I grab Mike by his cast and pull him along, Jenna and Nikki right behind. “I think it's that way,” Jenna says.

We are never going to get out in time.

I look at Nikki. “Can't you just pull us all through?”

“Yeah—maybe—if I knew which way was out!” she says.

“I think at this point any way is out!”

We have one minute.

Then Mike reaches into his pocket with his good hand and pulls out the watch. Mr. Masters's watch. We all take each others' hands as he presses the button.

The next minute is a blur as Nikki pulls us all through one wall after another, hand in hand, headed straight until we suddenly find ourselves in the sunlight near the main entrance. Eric and Gavin are there, a dozen security drones lying in pieces at their feet, and a whole host of officers, agents, and emergency personnel fanned out behind them. From behind me comes the voice counting down from ten, and I yell for everyone to run. Jenna takes my hand and pulls me along as we dive for cover behind the first police car we see. I suddenly feel something very heavy on my shoulders and look up to see Stonewall draping himself over us again, his granite body prepared to shield us from the blast.

I smell something—sulfur, maybe—and look into Jenna's eyes. And then suddenly I am powerless.

I can't see anything but bright light.

I can't smell anything but heat.

I can't hear anything but the explosion. The sound is deafening. Jenna squeezes my hand as the sky falls.

W
hen I can finally open my eyes again, I see the heroes through the smoke. With their badges and their hoses and their bags. Running through the fire and the debris, wearing their thick coats of armor, breathing through their masks, holding their guns down beside them, hoping not to use them. They move without thinking, trusting their instincts, trained, like all heroes, to choke down their fear. The paramedics and firefighters follow behind the police officers, till someone raises his pistol and gives the order to halt.

I'm probably the first to see them clearly and recognize them for who they are. The Titan emerging through the thick black plumes, Kid Caliber draped over his shoulder, just like before. Behind him are Hotshot and Cryos and the Rocket.

At the back of the pack stumbles a man in a blue-and-gray sweater vest, his glasses busted, his bald head chalked black with smoke. He lets one of the paramedics pull him toward a waiting ambulance, then turns to see us all huddled together.

Mr. Masters just shakes his head, but I can see, even from here, that he's smiling.

I stand up as my own hero limps through the acrid smoke toward me. His shirt and pants are ripped. There are burns on his arms and a cut on his forehead, but he doesn't seem to even notice. Instead he asks me if I'm all right.

I look at my friends, all huddled together. Nikki and Eric and Mike and Gavin, whose skin is back to normal. I nod, then glance at Jenna, but she's not looking at me. She's looking at the Titan. The Titan extends his hand toward her, and I suddenly realize what's going on.

“You understand,” he says to her. “I don't have a choice.”

“I know,” she answers. “Just . . . just give us a minute.”

Jenna stands up, but instead of reaching out for the Titan's hand, she leans over Mike and grabs the watch, Mr. Masters's heirloom, which has barely had time to reset. And in that moment before she presses the button, I know I will never see her again. She will escape. A minute will pass, and we will all look around to find her gone. Vanished. Lost in the smoke.

Then she reaches out for me instead.

Suddenly everyone is frozen. The fires and the smoke, the ashes and soot hanging in the air like fat black snowflakes. The sirens silenced. The Titan stands like the statue he almost became, his hand still stretched out to the girl who almost let him die. The members of H.E.R.O. still huddled together. It's just Jenna and me; all the rest is painted backdrop. She lets go of my hand and bites her split bottom lip. I can still catch a faint trace of Purple Passion beneath the layers of smoke and sweat that carpet us. And I don't know what to say. Part of me wants to tell her to go, to run. Part of me wants to scream at her, to ask her what she could possibly have been thinking. Part of me wants to tell her I'm sorry, for not being there sooner. But she doesn't give me the chance.

“I was going to be a hero,” she says. “At least that was the idea. But somewhere along the way, it got . . .”

“Complicated,” I finish for her.

She nods.

I have so many other questions. I want to know how long she knew about the Fox. If she had helped the Dealer or the Jacks with their crimes. If she was the one who planted the playing card in my locker that day. I want to know if she would have gone through with it if I hadn't been there, if she would have just sat back and watched the Titan die. I want to know if she wanted me to find her all along. But mostly I want to know the answer to that question—the one she asked that day on the bleachers. Because, finally, I think I know what the question is.

“Jenna . . . ,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Just shut up for a few more seconds, will you?” Jenna pauses, her eyes locked onto mine, and the hand that takes mine is cold and trembling, even with the fire raging behind us.

Then, before I can even catch a breath, she leans in close and kisses me again.

And the world starts to spin.

I
t's Tuesday, but you probably could have guessed that.

It's Tuesday, and the cafeteria's dalliance with health food is over, which means it's back to sloppy joes—though the salads with eraser ham are still available as an alternative.

It's Tuesday, exactly one week since the explosion that tragically ended the life of one of the finest Supers Justicia has ever known. One week since the rest of the city's Supers were rescued in dramatic fashion by one of their own. One week since the Dealer was at last—and for good this time—defeated.

At least, that's the story. It was the Titan who spun it, in a very rare, on-the-scene interview that was replayed at least two dozen times that night and many nights after. According to him, the Fox was the real hero, swooping in to rescue everyone at the last minute before engaging the Dealer in a fierce final battle that cost both of them their lives.

The story went down easily enough, at least for the masses, who still had something to believe in. As far as the OCs were concerned, that was exactly the way it should have ended, the way it was destined to end—in an epic showdown that claimed the lives of both hero and villain alike. It was sad, yes, but blockbuster. And it made for great TV.

There were other stories, of course, the return of the Titan foremost among them, though quite a lot was also said about the group of sidekicks determined to rescue their Supers as well. Even the Sensationalist received some attention—as much for stealing a police car as anything else. Still, it was generally agreed that the group of mysterious young vigilantes was a promising bunch, and better still, we all managed to stay in character, keeping our identities intact—something Mr. Masters was most proud of.