by Nick Svolos
Well, that worked, too.
An automated alarm blared, and the stadium’s fire-suppression system kicked in, the sprinklers dousing the flames as I kicked the ERD man in the face to make sure he stayed down.
Backdraft called out behind me, “I can’t fight in this water.”
Tell me something I don’t know. The stunners wouldn’t work well here, either. I did the math. Five more ERD agents would be here in seconds. Four, if Wells stuck by Alvarado. I didn’t want to let this fight get out into the open, but anywhere with a ceiling would be doused as soon as Winters started using his powers. This needed to drag on as long as possible. The Angels needed time. The city’s survival depended on it.
I keyed the King Bee mic. “All units, converge on the players’ parking lot. Avoid Sector Four at all costs.”
Henchmen confirmations rang in my right ear as I led Backdraft back to the maintenance tunnel. We retraced my path to the clubhouse tunnel and took positions at the exit. “Besides Wells, what do they have left?” I asked.
“One guy shoots lasers outta his eyes. Not a big threat to you, but he can wreck your goons. We got a blaster. He’s kinda stocky, so you should be able to spot him. There’s a brawler outta the Detroit office. You’re welcome to take him. I can’t beat him. But our real problem is gonna be The Wobbler.”
“The what?”
“Yeah, I know. Stupid name. Crook out of St. Louis. His shtick is making people dizzy. He just looks at you and trashes your equilibrium. One second you’re at the top of your game, the next you’re down on your knees, the whole world’s spinning, and it’s all you can do to hold onto your lunch.”
“Lovely.” I passed the intel on to the henchmen, adding that that the guy throwing fireballs was a friendly.
Winters cocked his head to one side. “They’re coming. Through the tunnel.” He turned around and backed into the empty parking lot. His feet burst into flame and he took to the air. I followed suit, spotting a few of my Bumblemen as they set up their kill box.
We were about as ready as anyone could be, but even so, I knew this was going to suck.
The laser beam guy came out first. I remembered him from the Coliseum fight, and while it was a pretty cool ability, he couldn’t do much more than harass Ultiman. Bad move, putting a support player in the point man slot. Wells must be losing control of her troops. I dove at him as Backdraft unleashed a fireball behind him, filling the tunnel with flame.
I almost made it, but the agent looked me in the eyes and fired. Agony and blindness filled my damned stupid skull, and I plowed into the asphalt.
One of the henchmen shouted “Cap’s down!” over the comms, calling for covering fire. Something whooshed over my head, and somebody screamed. I had to get out of the way before someone got hurt trying to get to me. I rolled along the ground amid prayers I happened to be going in the right direction.
I opened my eyes to nighttime. I could make out dark shapes outlined against a darker background, flying around and fighting each other. I blinked. It didn’t help.
One of the dark shapes shot something dim and faintly orange at another shadow. The shape dodged and shot back with something gray. I launched myself up at the second guy. I hit him in the gut, causing him to cough out all the air in his chest. I slugged him again, just under the ribs, to make sure he didn’t get it back.
Boy, I sure hoped I’d guessed right. This would be real embarrassing if it turned out to be Backdraft.
I didn’t have time to worry about it, though, because someone tackled me from behind and smashed me face-first into the asphalt. Pain flashed bright in my head, making things kind of swimmy. Thankfully, my body went ahead and followed Three Dollar Bill’s training without waiting for my brain to catch up. My left elbow shot up behind me, connected with something hard, and my right arm slid beneath me to continue the motion. I rolled over, toppling my opponent with my momentum. By the time I got back to my senses I was on top of him, raining blows on his face, pounding his head into the pavement.
My vision was clearing up now. The afternoon merely looked like dusk, and I could make out blood on the man beneath me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered whose it was.
The ERD man kicked out, arched his back and threw me off him. I only sprawled a few feet before I got control of my trajectory. It wasn’t soon enough. The agent launched himself at me and caught me on the side of the head with a flailing right that sent me skittering across the parking lot like a rock skipping across a lake.
Despite the blow, my vision was getting better and so were my faculties. Adrenaline’s a wonderful thing. I rolled, planted a foot, and shot into the air as the brawler blasted past a few inches beneath me. I heard a henchman shout something, but the communicator had fallen out of my ear. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something I had time to fix. The black-suited government thug was coming back at me again.
I met his airborne charge head-on, forcing my body forward to build up some momentum of my own. It was like some idiotic, macho game of super-chicken, and neither of us was backing down. We collided in mid-air and fell to the ground, punching, kicking, and occasionally biting. Well, I was biting. Brawlers seemed to regard that as a cheap move. I regarded it as an extra weapon.
I couldn’t give a blow by blow of the moments that followed if my life depended on it. It all happened so quick, and yet it felt like it went on forever. I was operating on instinct, reflex and fear. There was no art to it. None of that “sweet science” nonsense you hear the boxing commentators talk about. Just the brutal and ancient struggle of two primal beasts settling matters with the tools at their disposal.
All I knew was that, at the end, I was on my feet; the other guy wasn’t. At some point my hand wound up in possession of one of those concrete parking blocks. It was now nothing more than a hunk of twisted rebar with a few clumps of mangled cement hanging off its bloody structure.
I dropped it. Looking across the battleground’s shattered, blasted, and melted surface, I saw bodies strewn haphazardly about. One of them was Backdraft. I yanked off my mask and put the King Bee device back in place. “Who’s left?”
Reggie’s voice came on. “Watch it, Cap. We lost track of the vertigo guy. He’s still out th—”
I didn’t catch the rest of his transmission, but in hindsight, I really didn’t need to. The world turned upside down and slammed me in the face. Nausea overwhelmed me as I struggled to my hands and knees. I heaved saliva and blood onto the parking lot before falling into it.
I was beaten. Fresh and on a good day, I might be able to shake something like this off. Today was not a good day, and I was far from fresh. I didn’t have anything left.
“Scatter.” I coughed out my final command while I still could. “Grab Backdraft … if you can … rally … at point Charlie. Good … luck.”
Rally point Charlie was Mickey’s bar. If I made it back with them, the drinks would be on me. It looked like the boys would be buying their own tonight. Oh, well, at least they’d earned it. Maybe they’d raise a glass to my memory.
A foot worked its way under my battered ribs and rolled me over. My vision cleared enough to see the most beautiful sight. Herculene stood there, looking down on me.
Only, there was no love in her eyes. Something else was wrong, too.
I slurred, “Herc, why’s your face all burned?”
She glared at me with hatred and contempt. “Go to hell, Conway,” she said as she brought her foot up, smashed it down into my face and the world turned off.
***
The smell of grass. I felt the blades pressing, cool and green, against my cheek. It was nice. I thought I’d just lay there for a while and enjoy it. Yeah, that’d be nice.
“Welcome back, Conway,” a voice said.
Alvarado’s voice.
Dammit.
I went ahead and opened my eyes. No use putting this off. Alvarado grinned at me, although from a safe distance. My hands weren’t bound. I supposed they didn’t have any
portable containment gear with them. I pushed myself up to my knees and took a look around. No, they didn’t need it.
Alvarado wasn’t alone. Wells and the two remaining ERD men stood with me at the center of a triangle. I wasn’t going anywhere, so I leaned back on my heels and let my body regain its strength.
“I’ll say this for you guys, you sure know how to show a fella a good time.”
“A ‘good time?’ Is that what you think this is?” Alvarado glared. “I’m gonna bury you so deep, the sun will burn out before you see it again!”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “My God! Are you serious? Where the hell did Bedlam dig you up? Is there some vast wellspring of idiots back in Washington where they get guys like you?” I laughed again, this time deep and hearty. It felt good. “Never mind. I just answered my own question.”
“He’s a real joker,” one of the ERD guys, the one to my left, commented. I didn’t recognize the voice. Was it Pseudonym or The Wobbler?
God, and here I thought my moniker was stupid.
“Have a good giggle, Conway,” Wells added. “It’ll be your last. You might have spoiled our plan, but you’re still taking the fall.”
“That’s cool. I ain’t even mad, ‘cause you’ll be in the next cell over, toots.” Keep them talking, Reuben. Keep them here.
I turned to Alvarado. “How’s the family? Jenny’s tum-tum feeling better?”
He came unglued at the mention. He lunged at me, throwing a decent left that probably served him well fifteen years ago. Age had taken a bit of the edge off, though, and I was bulletproof. Alvarado cried out in pain and backed off to a safer distance, rubbing his hand.
I just smiled at him. “So, what’s the plan, Alvarado? What mad fantasy have you guys cooked up to get out of this mess?”
“You think I’m going to tell you? What do you take me for?”
Oh, you gonna hand a guy like me a line like that? Careful what you wish for. “Well, let me make an educated guess. Your bosses are sending a helicopter. It’s gonna get you and your little gang out of the country until this dies down. I’ll be discredited. That part’s easy. I’ll bet Bedlam has plenty of media types on the payroll. Judges, too, and they’ll get one to rule my evidence inadmissible. I’ll have a convenient accident in my cell to shut me up for good. Then, when things are back in place, they’ll bring you home and give you your jobs back.”
“Not bad,” the other ERD guy said. I gave him a once over. He looked more or less like the other guy, but with one difference. All his weight was on his right leg. The leg whose knee I hadn’t ruined that morning. I sang a little tune in my mind. I know who you are.
“And all that’s gonna happen because Bedlam’s oh so tolerant of failure,” I continued. “Yep, everybody knows big, evil organizations that operate from the shadows are totally willing to put themselves at risk when it comes to bailing their less competent minions out of trouble.” I winked at Wells. “Especially the ones who’ve failed them twice.
“So, to answer your question, Bob, I take you for a mid-level bureaucrat who’s in so far over his head he doesn’t even realize he only has a few minutes to live. I take you for a fool.”
“Shut up,” Alvarado ordered. The rapid-fire thupping of an approaching helicopter reached our ears, echoing around the stadium.
I shook my head. “There’s only three people here capable of shutting me up, and you’re not one of ‘em, Bobby-boy.” I turned to the ERD man on my left. “Hey, Wobbler. How do you think they’ll do it? A hit squad? Naw, that’ll leave too much of a mess to explain. Oh, I got it! A bomb in the chopper. That’s the ticket. Probably even set it off near downtown so they can blame it on The Angels. I can see the headline: ‘Vigilantes Murder FBI Agents in Act of Revenge.’” I shrugged. “Too bad you’re not indestructible.”
“How … how do you know that?” he asked. His stance told me he was getting very nervous. My arguments were hitting home.
I tapped my head. “Mental powers. I read a study once. Ninety eight percent of folks like you don’t get invulnerability in the bargain. Nature makes up for it by giving you a better brain. The median IQ for mentalists is about fifteen points higher than the general population. Which begs the question. Why are you still here?”
He took a step back, glancing at Wells. “I’m not at liberty to discuss—”
I interrupted him. “Au contraire, mon Frère. You have all the liberty in the world. You think that your boss over there is going to fry your brain with that chip in your head. Lemme share a little secret.” I rose to my feet.
It was time.
“I scrambled the codes.”
I threw myself to the right, putting my weight and momentum behind my elbow and drove it at Pseudonym’s throat. I caught him on the chin on the way in, knocking his head back before I struck his Adam’s apple. My blow lost some of its power, but it still dropped him to his knees, trying to suck some air down his crushed trachea.
Wells tapped at the device on her wrist like a starving squirrel hoping for a food pellet. It didn’t do her any good. Once the vertigo wielder realized he wasn’t dead, he unleashed his fury on her. She fell to the ground, retching.
Alvarado drew his sidearm and pumped two irrelevant slugs into my chest. I just laughed and threw Pseudonym’s gagging form at him. He dodged, nimbler than I’d have expected from a man his age, rolled, and came up onto one knee, choosing a better target this time. He fired a three-round volley and The Wobbler went down, clutching his belly.
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have time to help him. My hands dug into the turf, and I crammed as much grass and moist earth into my ears as I could before launching myself to my left.
Wells recovered and shouted at where I’d been a split-second before. Most of second base burst into a storm of dust and turf as her scream tore a furrow across the infield all the way into the expensive box seats along the third-base line.
Her scream reverberated around the stadium, shattering the glass in the press box and executive suites. While I was spared the worst of it, Alvarado crumpled to his knees, his hands making a futile effort to save his eardrums.
Wells was about to reload her lungs, and I wasn’t about to give her another shot at me. I sped straight at her. No time for evasion. My hand darted to my belt, half a handful of pyro-pellets dropping into my fist. All I had left. I prayed it was enough.
In another instant, I was upon her. Her mouth opened to end me. At this range, she’d liquefy my organs. I crushed the pellets in my hand and rammed it forward, palm first.
Right into her face.
Her scream damn near tore my hand off, but my palm deflected the blast upward as her head erupted in smoke and fireworks. My arm flew back behind me, wrenching my shoulder out of its socket. The torque spun me around, and I crashed into the bent and twisted rotors of the broken helicopter.
I heard Lucy Wells writhing on the ground, gagging and coughing on the smoke, unable to get enough air in her lungs to breathe, much less use her abilities. I tore myself free of the wreckage. I ran over to her, searching for some sort of gag to stuff in her mouth. Something to muffle her abilities if she recovered. The best solution I could come up with was pretty distasteful. Hating myself for doing it, I crammed her mouth full of right field and clamped it shut with my hand.
The Wobbler moaned in agony, alive for the moment. He’d need help to stay that way. Even from this distance, I could see he’d lost a lot of blood.
I thought of choking Wells out, right then and there. I knew I should. But dammit, I’m an idiotic, old-fashioned man. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, I kept my good hand over her mouth and dragged her behind me to the gut-shot ERD man.
Herculene appeared from the shadows growing around first base, the right side of her face obscured under burned flesh.
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about Pseudonym.
“Conway, you bastard, you’ve ruined everything. Why won’t you just die?” She took two lunging steps and launch
ed herself at me. I moved Agent Wells to the side and braced myself for the inevitable.
A flash of white streaked down from above. It crashed into Pseudo-Herculene’s back, crashing her to the earth, her momentum plowing her forward through right field. The real Herculene surfed her doppelgänger’s back until it came to a halt at my feet, grinning all the while. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve always wanted to try that.”
“Not at all.” I grinned, resisting the urge to grab her and hold her close. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Well, it just so happens …” she replied, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. The AngelJet crested the lip of the stadium behind home plate, followed by a phalanx of LAPD helicopters. “… I brought friends.”
***
“Feeling better?” Herculene asked.
“Much, thanks,” I mumbled, finishing off a protein energy bar. I was pretty sure this was my eighth. Empty wrappers littered the ground between my feet. “So, what happened after that?”
“Well, once SpeedDamon got the beacons set up, Ultiman cut him loose to get Sinfonie to the hospital. She’s awake now, but it’ll be a few days before she’s back to normal. Joe’s with her.” She giggled. “Last I heard, she hijacked a nurse to feed her ice cream. Speedy’s still there, standing guard over them.”
I nodded, enjoying the sensation as more tension drained away. I watched as the techs, cops, paramedics, and security men from the Tower did their jobs. They’d already stabilized The Wobbler and sent him off to the hospital. All of the ERD agents were in custody. Over at home plate, Dawson argued with some guys in suits. I couldn't see if they were feds at this distance. More likely Dodger front-office people, wanting to know when they could get started on the repairs. Looking around at the stadium, I could see the old gal needed it. Up in the stands above the third base line, I spotted Ratna moving around, keeping her camera busy, skillfully frustrating the efforts of the cops to remove her.
“I’m still having trouble getting my head around it,” Herculene commented.
