Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  Sanjay called two hours later while I was sitting in Arnold’s Prius, waiting for whatever disaster was about to happen here in this shopping center parking lot. As soon as the disaster was averted, I was going inside the Vons grocery store to eat everything in sight.

  “EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!” My robot phone cried stridently. Yes, I had already set the ringtone for Sanjay to be Dr. Who’s Daleks.

  I plugged my nose when I answered so I’d sound stuffed up. “Hello? Cough, cough, cough!” Amateur hour, sure, but every bit helped.

  “Hey, Doug. It’s Sanjay.”

  “Hey Sanjay. Cough!”

  “You sound sick.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is it serious?”

  “I think I caught the flu at Comic Con. Cough.” I had never felt better in my life. The pain from my car accident Saturday and the cliffside fall Sunday were long gone.

  “That’s too bad. Were you up late partying?” Sanjay had a smile in his voice. He was a cool guy (for a boss) and knew how much I loved Comic Con.

  “Something like that,” I whispered hoarsely.

  “When do you think you’re coming back in?”

  I wanted to say, whenever my super powers wore off. Or never, because this experience was giving me a whole new perspective on life. It was too damn short to waste on an awful job. Saving lives was much more fulfilling. Too bad I wasn’t rich like Bruce Wayne.

  “Doug?” Sanjay prompted. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Cough! Maybe I’ll be in tomorrow?”

  In front of me in the parking lot, a huge dude shouting at his phone walked up to a lifted pickup truck. Like the truck, he too was lifted. Huge and burly and wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt, jeans, and bitch-stomping boots. His face was bright red as he shouted at his phone. Dude was having a tantrum as he hoisted himself up into the truck.

  Something bad was about to happen, but I didn’t know what because I hadn’t heard the distress voices. I was too busy concentrating on Sanjay.

  I kept my eyes on Big Ol’ Bitch Boots.

  Sanjay said, “Don’t come in if you’re still sick. Rest up. Then come in. We’ll cover for you.”

  “Thanks, Sanjay.”

  “And remember, plenty of rest and fluids. And Vitamin C.”

  “Yeah,” I said absently.

  A Hispanic woman pushed a loaded grocery cart down the parking lot aisle. Her two little kids followed. A boy and a girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old. Both really cute. The boy cradled a cantaloupe in his arms like a bowling ball, showing off how strong he was. He suddenly caught the toe of his sneaker on the asphalt and the cantaloupe dropped right out of his arms and went rolling away from him at speed. He chased after.

  “Juan! Come back here!” The mom was already running to catch him.

  “I got it!” Juan hollered.

  “No, Juan!”

  The cantaloupe rolled under the back of Bitch Boots’ lifted pickup truck. The reverse lights on the truck lit up. The engine revved and a dense cloud of oily black smoke belched out.

  I was already out of the Prius and running with the phone to my ear without realizing my knit ninja mask was sitting on the dashboard.

  Sanjay was busy chattering away, “Doug? Are you still there?”

  “What?” I said, distracted.

  “I was saying, go to the doctor if it doesn’t get better soon.”

  “Right! Gotta go!”

  Little Juan squatted down on the ground behind the truck tire, reaching for the cantaloupe.

  The truck engine revved with menace.

  Juan was determined to get that cantaloupe.

  I tossed my new-to-me Robot phone aside without a thought. It smacked against the ground as I grabbed Juan just in time to pull him out of harm’s way. I swung around and set him down.

  VROOM!

  The pickup truck’s engine roared as it blasted backward like a rocket. It rolled over the cantaloupe and pulped it. The mom gasped and I grimaced as we both realized that could’ve been Juan’s head.

  The lifted truck smacked into the back of a car parked behind it, breaking a tail light with its high bumper. Bitch Boots wasn’t looking where he was going.

  I was instantly pissed.

  Lifted shifted gears.

  I didn’t think.

  The truck started forward.

  I lunged and grabbed the back gate. The top edge came up to my chin.

  Bitch Boots dropped the pedal.

  When the truck shot forward, I ripped the gate off the back. The truck didn’t stop. For a split second, I seriously considered launching the gate at the back window like a missile in hopes that it would slice Bitch Boots’ head off.

  I didn’t.

  Not that he’d notice either way. He was already brainless.

  A second later, the brake lights burned an angry red and the truck screeched to a stop, laying down 20 feet of rubber.

  Furious, Bitch Boots exploded out of the truck. He looked for the missing gate. Saw me holding it in one hand like it weighed nothing.

  “Looking for this?” I smirked.

  Bitch Boots growled, “What’d you do, asshole?!”

  “What did I do?” I snorted, “You nearly ran that kid over!”

  The mom was kneeling in front of Juan, making sure he was okay. The daughter leaned against her shoulder. Mystified, the mom said to me, “You saved my son’s life.”

  Bitch Boots lumbered toward me, totally unaware of the disaster I’d averted because he was too self-absorbed to notice.

  “What the fuck?!” he barked. “You broke my truck!”

  “I didn’t break it,” I lied. “Did you not hear me when I said you almost ran this kid over when you backed up just now?” I turned to point at Juan.

  CRACK!

  Bitch Boots laid me out with a meaty fist.

  My head slammed into the pavement hard, but no stars.

  Bitch Boots towered over me like a mountain.

  I glared at him and pushed myself up to my elbows.

  “DON’T GET UP!” he yelled, jabbing a finger in my face like he had officially ended this conversation.

  “Ay Dios mio!” The mom yelled as she trotted over to me. “What is wrong with you?!” She was yelling at Bitch Boots.

  He pointed at her and roared, “YOU SHUT UP!”

  “You hit him!” The mom snarled. Juan and his sister both cowered in fear behind her.

  Bitch Boots growled at her, “How about I hit you?!”

  The mom gasped.

  I started to stand up slowly.

  “SIT DOWN, DUMMY!” Boots roared. “UNLESS YOU NEVER WANNA STAND UP AGAIN!”

  I ignored him. Stood and took a step forward.

  He kicked at my crotch with his boot.

  As I expected, his leg traveled in slow motion. My super powers had also granted me enhanced processing of visual information. Whenever I went into fight mode, everything went slow-mo.

  I slid sideways and backed up a few steps, suddenly unsure of myself as my own anger raged. I was very afraid that if I started in on Bitch Boots, I just might kill him. One murder on my conscience was enough to last a lifetime.

  The mom shouted at Bitch Boots, “I’m calling the police!” She frantically dialed her phone with one hand while shielding her kids protectively behind her.

  Bitch Boots grabbed for her phone, but she pulled it away.

  The kids screamed and scattered.

  Bitch Boots went after the mom, straight-arming her in the chest. She went flying backward and stumbled onto her side on the unforgiving asphalt. Somehow, she managed to hold onto her phone.

  Boots loomed over her and clamped his fist around her wrist.

  The mom shrieked, “Ow! Let go of me!”

  With his free hand, Boots pried her phone from her fingers.

  “Stop!” she screamed.

  “Mama!” the little girl cried.

  I couldn’t take any more of this. I lunged, launching my fist into Boots’ ba
ck. It was the only available target. My fist crunched against bone, somewhere between T12 and T9, the bottom three vertebrae in the ribcage.

  Boots crumpled onto the mom in a heap, pinning her to the ground.

  I rolled him off of her.

  Mom scrambled away and grabbed her kids while she made sense of the situation. Gasping, she said, “That man is loco!” She looked at me, looked at him, and held onto her kids.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her calmly.

  “I think so.” She checked her kids. “Are you okay, babies?” Sobbing, they both threw their arms around Mom. She soothed them, hugging and kissing them sweetly.

  I stood over Bitch Boots and glared at him.

  He gasped for air. “Huck! Huck! Huck!”

  “Having trouble breathing, buddy? It’s about time somebody knocked the wind out of your sorry ass, don’t you think?”

  “Huck! Huck! Huck!” His face turned purple. His eyes swiveled crazily, somewhat like a frightened horse with four broken legs. He spasmed from head to toe. It was pathetic, really. Someone needed to put him out of his misery.

  I wasn’t going to do it.

  Father Time seemed to have that under control. If he wasn’t up for the task, I was sure the Specter of Death would step in and collect. No, I didn’t want that. But I did savor the idea for a moment before letting it go. I didn’t want Boots dead. I just wanted him to learn his lesson.

  The mom was busy on her phone, talking to the 911 dispatcher.

  I looked around for my Robot phone. Found it. The screen was cracked, but at least it still turned on. I didn’t bother to call 911 because the mom already had.

  Did I wait for the cops to arrive?

  No.

  I was so irritable and hungry, I didn’t care.

  I walked into Vons.

  Never looked back.

  While I strolled the grocery aisles, I absently threw food in the cart. In the bread and deli aisle, I opened a pack of roast beef and shoved the entire wad of meat into my mouth, chomping on it mindlessly. Tossed four loaves of wheat bread in my cart. Grabbed a gallon of whole milk, which I started drinking right in front of the wall of refrigerators.

  It was terrible. How can people be so cruel? I just don’t understand. The voice wasn’t a distress call. It almost sounded like the mom outside. Yes I saw what happened. That imbécil in the truck almost ran over my Juan! If it wasn’t for that other man! See my cantaloupe over there? That could have been my son!

  There was a pause.

  No. I didn’t see what happened.

  Who was she talking to?

  That nice man saved my life! And my son’s!

  Another pause.

  I don’t know how he broke the truck! The back just came off.

  A third pause.

  Was she talking to the cops? I’d been shopping inside Vons long enough for them to have arrived.

  No, not him! The idioto! He’s crazy! He almost ran my Juan over! That’s why I called 911!

  She was definitely talking to the cops.

  It was anybody’s guess why I couldn’t hear the thoughts of the officer. I took my sweet time inside Vons because I didn’t feel like getting hassled outside.

  No, I don’t know where the other man went. My name? It’s Yasmin Ortega. Can I go now? I really need to get my kids home.

  When I got to the grocery store registers, I waited in the longest line I could find. The bill was almost two hundred bucks. Protein was damn expensive. At the rate I had been going, I would eat through all of this food by tomorrow. If this kept up, there was no way I could afford a monthly food bill of $5,000 or $6,000. That was $60,000-$70,000 a year in food alone. I didn’t even make that much money working at YouDoIt. I was a software tester, not a coder. Arnold had a point about monetizing this process.

  Saving lives 24/7 was incredibly expensive.

  When I walked out of Vons with my eight bags of groceries dangling from my arms, my skin crawled. I already knew what to expect, but it didn’t make seeing it any easier.

  Three San Diego Police officers in their imposing black uniforms and big black duty belts stood talking to the mom, Yasmin Ortega. Her kids clung to her legs. Three police cruisers were lined up in the parking aisle. Reds and blues flashed. You would think there had been a murder.

  Then I noticed the ambulance.

  Had there?

  Had Bitch Boots died?

  From one punch to the back?

  He had been struggling to breathe. Struggling hard.

  The EMTs already had Boots on a gurney and were sticking him in the back.

  How bad had I hurt the guy?

  Did I really care?

  And did I really want to deal with this?

  No, not now.

  And not ever.

  Moments later, the ambulance drove past me and pulled into the street with its reds and whites flickering, but no sirens.

  Time for me to make my choice.

  Go to my car and risk arrest, or go the other way and risk becoming a fugitive.

  What to do?

  I went the other way.

  I’d worry about the backlash later.

  Screw you, Boots.

  You were asking for it.

  Okay, maybe I didn’t mean it quite like that.

  —: Chapter 18 :—

  Good thing I didn’t stop to talk to the cops.

  If they had arrested me, I wouldn’t have saved a toddler from drowning in a backyard pool two hours later.

  Here was the message from the red devil bat of distress that flapped into my head before the disaster:

  …What do I do? She’s not breathing! Oh shit oh shit! I don’t know what to do! How do I do baby CPR again? Crap! Where’s that pamphlet?!

  It sounded like whoever was supposed to be watching the little girl wasn’t paying attention.

  But I was.

  I was jumping over the backyard gate of a random suburban house when I heard the little girl splash into the water. I dove in fully clothed as she sank to the bottom, little bubbles coming out of her mouth. I grabbed the toddler and launched off the bottom of the pool. We broke the surface together. She was coughing and sputtering as I hugged her to my chest and swam sidestroke over to the shallow end of the pool.

  She was fine.

  A teenage girl around 16 years old walked out of the house wearing a bikini. She screamed when she saw me and dropped her glass of Coke and ice cubes. It shattered on the concrete deck and scattered glass shards everywhere.

  “What are you doing?!” the teenager screamed.

  “Your kid fell in the pool,” I grumbled. Still standing in the water, I set the toddler down on the deck on her butt. Little thing wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. She had on white diapers and a cute little red T-shirt that was printed with yellow seeds like it was supposed to be a giant strawberry. Poor little thing was soaked.

  “She’s my sister! Give her to me!” The older sister ran over, heedless of the glass on the ground. “Ow, shit!” She stumbled and fell down on all fours. “My foot!”

  “Watch out for the glass,” I smirked.

  Apparently, Big Sis didn’t pay attention to anything past her own nose.

  I hopped out of the pool.

  The little strawberry toddler looked around, confused. Her face slowly screwed up and she started to cry.

  I picked her up and cooed, “You’re okay now, baby. Everything’s okay.”

  “WAAAH!” Strawberry Girl cried anyway. Right in my ear. Yeah, she wasn’t choking on water.

  I said to Big Sis, “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Sadie.”

  I bounced wailing Strawberry Sadie in my arms. “Come on, Sadie. Let’s get away from the pool. Where it’s safe.”

  “She knows how to swim,” Big Sis snarled defensively. “She went to Aqua Babies.” Like that was an excuse. Big Sis sat down on the concrete while trying to pry a piece of glass from the sole of her bloody foot. “Ow, ow, ow!” she whimpered.

>   I carried Strawberry Sadie over to a lawn chair near the green grass and sat down holding her in my lap. I didn’t want her walking on broken glass.

  I said, “Your sister is like two years old. What were you doing leaving her out here alone? You should’ve been watching her.”

  “I didn’t! I was in the kitchen getting a Coke! She was in the living room! I could see her!”

  I smirked, “You didn’t see her walk outside, did you?”

  “What do you know?!” Big Sis barked.

  “I know it only takes a second for Sadie to fall in the pool, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Yeah, I was pissed. Stupidity and carelessness should never be the excuse when it came to an infant drowning.

  Big Sis growled, “Who’re you anyway?! And what’re you doing in my backyard?!”

  “Don’t be mad at me,” I snorted. “I saved your sister’s life.”

  “No you didn’t! I told you, she can swim! Ow, shit! This really hurts!” She was still struggling to work the glass shard out of her foot and her fingers were red with blood.

  Sadly, our arguing was making Strawberry Sadie cry even harder.

  Right in my ear, no less.

  I grimaced as she let loose.

  “WAAAH! Wuh, wuh, wuh, WAAAH!” Not only did her shirt look like a giant strawberry, her face did too.

  “It’s okay, Sadie,” I muttered. “You’re okay, baby.”

  I set Sadie down on the lawn chair and crunched my way across the broken glass in my running shoes, heading toward her big sister. I had a moment to think I could probably walk barefoot on broken glass without getting cut, unlike Bruce Willis in Die Hard. I knelt down beside Big Sis, water dripping from my jeans and gray T-shirt.

  “I can’t get it out,” Big Sis whined.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tanya.”

  “Hold still, Tanya. I’ll pull it out.” I glanced back at Sadie, who was sitting and wailing on the lawn chair. She was safe. To Tanya, I said, “Give me your foot.”

  She did.

  I added, “And keep an eye on your sister while I do this.”

  “I am,” she huffed with infinite teenaged irritation.

  I carefully pulled the glass out.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” She winced the entire time.

  I held up a sliver of bloody glass and looked around for a trash can. Didn’t see one.