Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  Then I looked at what was going on with the woman’s wounds. Lucky for her, her airbag had protected her from serious injury. She didn’t look as bad as I had feared. Apparently, the engine hadn’t intruded into her side of the interior nearly as much as it had on Cauterized Guy’s side of the vehicle. She did have a big bloody gash on her forearm, but it wasn’t as bad as the man’s leg. No burbling red brook of arterial leakage for her, but her wound did need tending. I got more gauze pads from Phone Woman, applied direct pressure to Passenger Woman’s forearm, and waited for help to arrive.

  After all I’d been through since the SUV had hit the 18-wheeler, standing here was about all I was good for. I needed a mental break. Probably a physical one too.

  Some time later, red lights flashed on the freeway as firetrucks and ambulances arrived. A pair of EMTs rushed over to me and stepped in.

  I stepped out.

  Only then did I realize there was a crowd of people staring at me. Their eyes followed my every move. At least five of them were capturing video of me with their phones.

  What had they seen?

  Probably all of it.

  What had they recorded?

  Probably all of it.

  But hopefully none of it, because I realized my black knit ninja cap was gone. It must’ve popped off during the crash because I didn’t remember taking it off. That meant, now my face was showing.

  Hi, everybody. Doug Moore, Super Human. Yeah, this is my face. Make sure you’re recording it. Smile for the camera.

  I looked down and saw my black clothes were all torn up from the crash. My pants were shredded into streamers. My shirt had gaping holes in it. I hope nobody noticed I was suspiciously not bleeding. Thankfully, my hands were bloodstained up to the elbows from digging around in Cauterized Guy, which made it appear I had been injured too.

  Hopefully no one had recorded me bending and twisting pieces of the SUV like it was made of aluminum foil. If anyone posted video of that, it would go viral. If my face was showing, I would become known overnight.

  Ladies and Gentlemen! The Eighth Wonder of the World! Doug Moore!

  Remember what King Kong did when they put him on that stage? Okay, I’ll admit, I wouldn’t rampage through downtown Manhattan laying waste to everything in my path. I’d want to, but I wouldn’t.

  I’d suck it up.

  Or disappear into the wilderness and live Man-vs.-Wild-style and hope my super powers lasted indefinitely so I could live off the land like a wild mountain lion. What a fricking hassle. I didn’t want to do that.

  What did I tell you about having actual super powers?

  Not fun.

  My only hope was that it had been too dark out here on the freeway for anyone to have captured clear video of my face. Not wanting to be recorded further, I walked into the midst of the wreckage of cars where the emergency crews were working their magic and did my best to hide.

  There, I pulled my brand new Robot phone out of my pocket — the one I had bought today at Best Buy — and discovered the screen was cracked, the case bent, and it wouldn’t turn on. What a waste. Not even 16 hours and it was broken beyond repair. I had gone my entire life without breaking or losing a single phone before yesterday. Not one. Now I’d ruined two in two days. At this rate, I wouldn’t be able to afford being a superhero.

  Time to borrow somebody’s phone.

  Maybe Phone Woman would let me use hers. We had a thing now. Turned out she was busy talking to the EMTs. I didn’t want to interrupt.

  I couldn’t ask the firefighters for a phone either. They were either helping the EMTs, or directing traffic and clearing a lane so the bright river of cars that had piled up behind the wreck could now drive on, rubber necking as they went.

  I didn’t want to ask one of the gawkers to user their phone because I didn’t want them knowing Arnold’s number after I called him.

  I had no choice but to wait.

  While I did, a dozen different firefighters and EMTs told me a hundred times they couldn’t believe I was alive. My Chevy was half its original width and the roof was caved in.

  I smiled a lot and said yeah, it was incredible.

  When they asked me about pulling the SUV apart, I said I found it that way.

  Some of the firefighters nodded when I said that. But a few gave me a sideways look.

  I wasn’t telling them the truth.

  I made sure to tell one of the female EMTs that Cauterized Guy — I didn’t call him that, just “the driver of the SUV” — had an arterial bleed in his leg and they needed to check it.

  She said, “Yeah, that lady told me you fixed his bleed somehow. She said your hands were sterile and you reached inside to stop it? Is that right? Are you a vascular surgeon?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Then how did you stop the bleed? There was hardly any seepage when I packed and wrapped it.”

  “I burned the wall of the artery with someone’s lighter,” I lied, wanting this to be over with.

  “What? How? How did you get a lighter into the wound? And how’d you do it sterile? Lighters are teeming with bacteria.” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  I shrugged. “That’s what I did. Tell the doctors to look for cauterization scars. I have no idea if I did it correctly.”

  She stared right at me. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you saved his life. His vitals were stable when he left for Scripps. I think he’ll make it.”

  “Oh. Good.” I nodded and walked away.

  I didn’t want to talk anymore.

  The California Highway Patrol officers were here too. They had questions I didn’t want to answer. I could’ve left the scene by running off into the night, but they would likely use the VIN numbers on my Chevy to determine it was mine. Then they’d come calling. Easier to stay here and get it over with.

  One of the CHP officers asked me repeatedly if I’d been drinking. I said no and took a breathalyzer on the spot and passed. CHP stopped asking questions after that.

  A different EMT saw me wandering around. He took one look at my torn clothes and saw my bloody hands. The blood was dry and flaking off by now, but the EMT thought the blood was mine. He asked if I was okay or if I needed anything.

  I said I was fine, but he looked me over anyway and cleaned my hands with peroxide while I sat on the back bumper of an ambulance.

  “You sure were lucky,” he said as he wiped my hands with a damp gauze pad. “Not even a scratch.”

  “Yeah,” I forced a smile. “Total miracle.”

  At some point, a news helicopter arrived and circled overhead. At least they had missed my super shenanigans. Otherwise I would’ve been featured on the 5:00am news in less than an hour.

  For now, I was just another survivor.

  Eventually, flatbed tow trucks arrived to haul away the ruined cars. My Chevy was totaled, so one of the tow truck drivers gave me a business card and told me to call them and my insurance company first thing in the morning.

  Then he said, “Hey, buddy, you got anyone to give you a ride home?”

  “Uhh…” I considered asking to use his phone to call Arnold, but there was a good chance Arnold’s boss Gabe would make him work tomorrow. If Arnold did have to work, he needed all the sleep he could get after our long night of handling distress calls. Good thing he wasn’t here now. He’d probably be dead. Thank fuck he wasn’t. Maybe I needed to reconsider his role as my sidekick before he got killed.

  I sighed and said to the tow truck driver, “No thanks, man. I’ll be fine. I can find my own way home.”

  “Naw, buddy. You look all shook up. And you ain’t got no shoes. Where you live? I’ll give you a ride.”

  I almost said no, but that would look strange, and the CHP were still hovering around. “Okay, sure.”

  I had him drop me off downtown outside a random apartment building. Once his truck drove off, I started walking in the darkness. Didn’t see Jimmy the Pimp, but I did pass two haggard hookers.
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br />   “Hey, babe! You wanna party?”

  “Where you goin so fast, stud muffin?”

  Did they not notice my shredded clothes or bare feet?

  No.

  I suppose at this late hour, not even the hookers were choosy.

  “Come back here, babe! I’ll give you a discount!”

  “I want him! I saw him first! I’ll give you two discounts, stud muffin! Let momma treat you right!”

  “Not tonight,” I muttered and kept walking.

  After a few blocks, I started to notice various aches and pains all over my body. Nothing debilitating, but that crash had taken a lot out of me. I wanted nothing more than to get home and sleep. I would’ve run the 2 miles to Arnold’s house, but I was too tired.

  So I walked.

  Barefoot.

  Didn’t bother my feet any. But the rest of me ached and my energy stores were nearly depleted. I wouldn’t be surprised if extracting and releasing all that heat from the freeway asphalt while operating on Cauterized Guy had drained a big chunk of my energy.

  Whatever the case, I needed sleep and food. And water. Man, was I ever thirsty. No different than what happened when you worked out hard.

  After a night like tonight, I couldn’t begin to imagine what tomorrow would bring.

  Who was I kidding?

  Tomorrow was the last thing I wanted to think about now.

  When I walked through the side gate at Arnold’s house, I decided to skip the food. Trudged straight to the guest house where I leaned my head under the bathroom sink and drank at least a gallon of water before diving into my bed to sleep like the dead.

  —: Chapter 11 :—

  “Wake up!” Arnold stood outside my open bedroom window, wrapping the frame with his knuckles.

  “Sleeping,” I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head.

  “Come on, man! It’s almost one o’clock! The Con only goes a few more hours.”

  I rolled over and looked at him. “Aren’t you working today?”

  “No. The boss said take Sunday off. So let’s go already.”

  I closed my eyes and immediately began sensing emotional distress flickering around me like a constellation of misery. The red devil bats were back. Fortunately, the emotional messages were hazy and echoey and I couldn’t make out any specific details.

  That was a massive relief.

  I couldn’t deal with one more hair-raising event.

  Not today.

  Not until I had a chance to get my head on straight. I was still sore from my crash last night. Yeah, I definitely wasn’t invulnerable.

  And I was starving again.

  But I needed a shower first. While the water trickled over me, I saw my skin wasn’t visibly torn, and there was no bruising, but I felt like I had spent the better part of last night tumbling around inside an industrial rock crusher.

  After showering, I wolfed down enough food for five men. Instead of driving, I forced Arnold to walk downtown with me as part of his sidekick training.

  Once inside the crowded exhibit hall, I was happy to discover the minds surrounding me created a cacophony of giddy but slightly tired excitement (SDCC attendees were always dragging their feet by the time Sunday rolled around). Their enthusiasm was more than enough to blot out the background noise of hazy red distress messages in my head. Fortunately, no one here at the convention was in distress.

  After a few hours, I was genuinely enjoying myself.

  Arnold cracked an unending string of jokes and made witty observations about comic books and the cute women in costume.

  At one point, Arnold asked, “When’re we gonna go see Lady Liberty?”

  “Uhhh…” I had been avoiding her end of the convention center all day.

  Arnold grinned, “She should be at the Crash Comics booth, right?” He held up a map of the exhibit hall floor and pointed at it. “Right here, right?”

  I rolled me eyes, “You’re gonna make me do this, aren’t you?”

  “You kidding? I want to meet her and tell her what a bucket-head she is for not giving you her number.”

  “You can’t say that,” I groaned.

  “Okay, I’ll be nice about it. I will casually mention your stellar credentials.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Let’s go,” Arnold chuckled as he dragged me toward the booth.

  When we got there, I was shocked.

  It was mobbed.

  On Friday, Lady Liberty had had plenty of fans coming to visit her, but it was nothing like this. Hundreds of people were lined up behind the red belt stanchions.

  Suddenly it was the Lady Liberty show here at the Crash Comics booth. She sat behind a table signing autographs. Stacks of issue #1 of her comic book surrounded her like a towering comic book cityscape. Behind her was a 7-foot tall vinyl banner with a blow up of the issue #1 cover. That hadn’t been there Friday.

  LL was smiling while she signed book after book and did photo-ops with fans. Nobody wanted Mistress Victory or S&M’s autographs like they had on Friday. That explained why the two of them were managing the long line and moving fans to and from the signing table.

  Jeff Strickland hovered beside LL and handled the cash.

  I peered behind their table and saw a big cardboard box brimming over with money. Too much money to count. Jeff also had a Square card reader plugged into his iPhone for online payment.

  A sign on the signing table said a copy of the signed comic and a photo-op cost $25. I couldn’t blame Jeff for working the supply-and-demand situation in his favor. Getting an autograph and photo-op from celebrities like A-List actors Hugh Jackman or Chris Hemsworth or Patrick Stewart (when they were here at the show) could cost anywhere from $50 to $100 or more. $25 for a photo-op with an actual superhero was a bargain.

  Next to Jeff was a second table with a couple of Crash Comics staffers sitting behind it. They wore Lady Liberty T-shirts and were selling pre-signed copies of the LL comic to customers who didn’t want to bother waiting in line or couldn’t afford the photo-op. This line was as long as the one for photo-ops, but it moved more quickly.

  All I could think was… wow. Just wow.

  Lady Liberty had become a star overnight.

  And, as far as I could tell, her identity was still secret.

  Good for her. Sincerely.

  I muttered to Arnold, “Can you believe this?”

  “Yes. Absolutely yes. You watched that news video, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look at all that money. They’re literally raking it in.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed.

  “No, I mean literally raking.”

  “I get it. It’s a figure of speech. I know what it means.”

  “No, you don’t. Picture it. You’re standing in the yard at our house, and it’s covered with hundred dollar bills like it’s fall in money country where the money trees grow. The ground is covered in hundreds. Covered. We’re talking millions of dollars lying on the ground. Billions. And you’re using an actual rake to make a giant pile of money in your own damn yard.”

  “I can picture it,” I grumbled jealously, smiling despite myself. It was a potent image.

  “We should be cashing in on this too. All we need are some rakes.”

  “No. No way.”

  Arnold shook his head. “You’re right. We need to get you a name and a costume first.”

  “No, Arnold. This is not about the money. It’ll never be about the money.”

  He was ignoring me and said, “But first, you need to have a chat with Lady Liberty.” He pushed me toward her.

  “No, Arnold. She’s mobbed.”

  “So get in line.” Arnold shoved me in the direction of it. The end was nowhere in sight.

  When we passed in front of Lady Liberty sitting at her table, I looked away. I didn’t want her thinking I was stalking her again. She had made it clear yesterday that our connection would be fleeting.

  She said, “Doug? Is that you?”

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nbsp; Before I could react, Arnold was pushing me up to her.

  “Hey,” I muttered. I wiped my forehead, partially because I was suddenly sweating and partially because someone must have written STALKER on it when I wasn’t looking.

  LL took a moment to finish signing a copy of her comic and handed it to the man buying it. She offered him a final smile while Mistress Victory ushered him away.

  Now it was just me and LL.

  Arnold said, “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  Lady Liberty looked at him. Her cyan eyes shone behind her blue masquerade mask like gemstones.

  I had forgotten how incredibly gorgeous she was.

  No I hadn’t, but seeing it first hand was nearly overwhelming.

  “Hi,” Arnold mumbled, grinning at her stupidly, clearly as stunned by her impossible beauty as I was. I knew he was stunned because that was the fewest words I had ever heard him say.

  I didn’t want LL to feel weird about Arnold staring at her, so I said, “Lady Liberty, this is my friend Arnold Beaks.”

  “Best friend,” Arnold corrected, still grinning like an idiot.

  She whispered something to S&M, who politely told the next people in line to wait for a moment.

  “How are you?” Lady Liberty asked me.

  “I’m good,” I smiled. “How are you? You look like you’ve been busy.”

  “You have no idea,” she practically gasped. “Things went crazy on Saturday.”

  “You can say that again,” I said. The last two days had been insane.

  “Oh, they were crazy,” Arnold said pointedly.

  Confused, LL said, “Were you guys here yesterday? I didn’t see you.”

  Arnold opened his mouth to speak.

  I kicked his shoe. I wasn’t going to tell her about my recent super-heroics, which included me murdering Ice Statue in that alley. I might tell her in private, but definitely not surrounded by this huge crowd. I said, “No. I, uh, we both had to work. Isn’t that right, Arnold?”