Hero Force United Boxed Set 1

by Baron Sord

  I hated to think.

  Super-powers, right?

  When I rolled up the drive at the Beaks’ house, Arnold was already standing outside dressed in black from head to toe. His lycra ninja mask was rolled up on his head, ready to be pulled down.

  I too was dressed entirely in black.

  Arnold dropped into the passenger seat of the Ford. “Why did you have to rent a white car? Couldn’t you have gotten red or black?”

  “White is nondescript,” I countered. “It’s also the most common car color. You wearing your vest?”

  “Yes!” He grunted, irritated. “How many times do you have to ask?!”

  I smirked, “One more than you want. Are you packing?” I was referring to his Glock.

  “Yup, I’m packing.”

  “Good. They will be too.”

  Experience had shown us that guns were the ideal deterrent. Probably better than my fire powers because nobody knew I had them. At best, I was known as the Masked Jumper. Nobody other than me and Arnold knew who Wildfire was. I suspected that, were I to ever threaten people in a tense situation by saying I could shoot fire out of my hands, it would likely be interpreted as a joke. And, I hadn’t shot any fire from my hands since blasting those piñatas at Las Cerdas Hermanas anyway, so I was out of practice — not that I’d had much. Probably had something to do with the fact that the idea of actually blasting people with fire was more than a bit morbid. It wasn’t necessarily a skill I wanted to develop.

  But everyone respected guns.

  Arnold’s Glock was the perfect deterrent. It often made the difference between outright violence and a quick and peaceful resolution. That might change if I ever made my reputation as Wildfire. Who in their right mind wanted to get blasted by Wildfire?

  Nobody.

  But, like I said, nobody knew Wildfire.

  Not yet, as Arnold would say with his usual optimism.

  For now, I was still the Masked Jumper to the few people who knew me, or knew of me. For many, I wasn’t even that. Just some random man in a ninja mask who dropped into their lives during a moment of intense distress.

  What I did not know as I drove my Ford Fusion onto the freeway, was that my reputation as Wildfire was about to explode.

  Arnold mused from the passenger seat, “We need to get a faster car. Hybrids are great for the environment and all, but they’re slow and uncool.”

  “Think of all the money we’re saving on gas,” I offered.

  “Pfft. Sometimes speed and style are worth the price. You’re a superhero now. I mean, the Masked Jumper—” he snorted with total sarcasm because he hated the name, “—should have a sweet ride, don’t you think?”

  “When I’m rich, I’ll buy a Batmobile.”

  “Don’t you mean a Jumper Mobile? Or should I say, the Pajama Mobile? You can get one in powder blue. No, powder pink! Put a big matching bow on the roof. No, a baby bonnet. A gigantic pink baby bonnet! It can even have a pink hero mask over the headlights. Yeah! Then everyone’ll know it’s you! Ah ha ha ha!”

  “Shut up,” I chuckled. “And whatever happened to us being Wildfire and the Machinist?”

  “I told you, we have to issue a press release or something. Run some ads on the internet. I don’t know.”

  There hadn’t been much talk of the Masked Jumper lately on the news. Probably because no one had caught me on camera. I was being more careful. But there had been zero talk of Wildfire. Sadly, neither name had any traction.

  Arnold continued, “Or we start wearing costumes and announce ourselves everywhere we go.” He changed his voice to a loud operatic tone, “Tis I, Wildfire! Kneel before me and the Machinist!”

  “Kneel?” I snorted. “Shouldn’t it be something like bring them to justice?”

  “Kneel before the united forces of justice!”

  “Wait, how about Justice United? You know, for our team name.”

  “That’s actually pretty good,” he said thoughtfully. “But it sounds too much like Justice League. I like the united part. And the force part. Force is always good for heroes, right?”

  “Wait. How about Hero Force United?”

  “That is perfect!” he laughed. “You little genius!” He reached over and pinched my cheek.

  “Stop!” I waved him away with a chuckle.

  “Now all we need to do is issue that press release and build our secret hideout. Then we can watch the money and chicks roll in the front doors of the Hero Force United Hotel.”

  “Hotel?” I chuckled.

  He smirked, “What are we going to call it? The Hero Force United Hideout?”

  “Why not?”

  “Hells to the yeah, baby! Hero Force Hideout! High five!” He held up his hand.

  I slapped it.

  “No, wait!” He gasped. “Hero Force Hangar! If you ever figure out how to fly!”

  “Maybe,” I sighed. Flying was still a distant dream. I hadn’t had any time to play around with it. “We’ll figure something out.”

  “Whaddya mean, maybe? Think of all the badass fighter jets we’ll buy!”

  “Buy?” I laughed. “With what money?”

  “Okay, you be the fighter jet!”

  Would that I could. I sighed, “What happened to Hero Force Hideout?”

  “We’ll have both,” he grinned. “A hideout and a hangar.”

  “Yeah,” I smiled. “Too bad we’ll need to be billionaires to buy either. Speaking of money, have you got any ideas yet about making any? Because I’m close to broke again.”

  “How about we rob from the rich and give to the poor, meaning you?”

  “We’re not robbing rich people. Being rich doesn’t make you a criminal.”

  “Ah ha ha ha,” Arnold laughed sarcastically. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No.” I glared at him.

  He frowned, “Okay, fine. We rob legit criminals. Mobsters, gangsters, anyone who kills people and steals bank.”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that money isn’t theirs.”

  “Okay, we rob their taxes.”

  “Their what?”

  Arnold rolled his eyes, “Do you think criminals pay taxes on the money they steal?”

  “No. Of course not. Criminals rarely pay taxes.”

  “Exactly. We take what they would pay if they did pay taxes, and keep it for ourselves.”

  “But it’s stolen money. And that’s robbing from the government, which is really robbing from the people, which includes us.”

  “No,” he chuckled, “that’s robbing from robbers.”

  “I’ll have to think about it. You know, maybe we should change your name from the Machinist to—”

  “The Machinist. You have to emphasize the the.”

  “Fine. We’ll call you the Swindler.”

  “That’s not half bad,” he grinned. “Reminds me of the Riddler.”

  “The Riddler is a villain, Arnold.”

  “A rich villain,” he chuckled.

  “Who doesn’t pay any taxes,” I emphasized.

  “Nor should he,” Arnold smirked, getting in the last word.

  There was a strange logic to his overall argument, but we needed to focus on the potential killing I was predicting on the outskirts of San Diego County in the next hour. Hopefully this time I wouldn’t be the one doing the killing.

  Four deaths hanging over my head was four too many.

  And hopefully, nobody else died either.

  —: Chapter 43 :—

  Thirty minutes later, Arnold and I ended up just north of Lakeside on the 67 and turned left onto Slaughterhouse Canyon Road. A fitting name for a shooting death. And yes, that was the actual name of the road. More fittingly, it was nestled in a desolate range of rolling and rocky desert hills in the middle of nowhere.

  “What’s out here?” Arnold asked as we drove past a tin roofed building set on a huge dirt lot. A sign on the building read A-1 Ready Mix. Parked all around it was a
fleet of orange concrete mixing trucks. “Is this a cement factory? What’s with all the cement trucks?”

  “Concrete. They make concrete.”

  “Sorry for being a software engineer,” Arnold groused. “Construction engineering isn’t my thing.”

  “Construction engineering isn’t a thing. It’s civil engineering.”

  Arnold smirked, “Is that the apt description?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckled. “The aptest.”

  Behind the big dirt lot with the concrete trucks, several acres worth of hillside had been gouged and scraped away by the heavy equipment sitting parked for the night behind the tin buildings. Tracked excavators, bulldozers, wheel loaders, and haul trucks.

  Arnold said ominously, “This looks like the perfect place to dump a body.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “If we don’t get there in time, that might be exactly what will happen.”

  “They’re not dumping mine,” Arnold chuckled.

  “No.” I swallowed hard.

  Unlike me, Arnold wasn’t invulnerable, with or without his SAFEMAX vest. It may have had incredible stopping power against bullets, edged blades, and spikes, but it wouldn’t do shit if Arnold was rammed by a haul truck going 30mph, or crushed under the steal treads of a 10-ton excavator. Word was still out on whether or not I was 100% invulnerable (99% maybe, but definitely not 100%). By comparison, Arnold was flimsy. With his vest on, he was 1% invulnerable at best.

  “What are we looking for?” Arnold asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  The full moon overhead gave everything an eerie silvery cast. This late at night, the canyon felt abandoned. We drove past another collection of dark businesses that were closed and gated. Armstrong Crane & Rigging, which had dozens of heavy cranes parked outside in rows. Canyon Sand & Gravel. Holt Corporation, which had their own fleet of green painted heavy construction equipment. And several other random business that lacked obvious signage.

  The road went from paved to gravel as it continued past the last of the businesses. Then it turned to dirt and snaked deeper and deeper into the canyon until the rugged hills towered around us.

  I was getting the idea this road might lead to nowhere when I saw a small sign on a post that read Deep Canyon Quarry & Mining.

  “Is this it?” Arnold asked.

  “I guess?” I scanned the dark hills in the distance.

  “Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?”

  “It feels like it.”

  “So let’s check it out. Go stealth mode.”

  “Yeah.” I turned off the Ford’s headlights, running lights, and dash lights before continuing slowly down the road. It curved and turned a few times before emerging into the deepest and largest canyon so far.

  On the left we passed a number of rusty roofed buildings, cargo containers, and heavy equipment. Beyond them, the surrounding hillsides were torn away by blasting and excavation equipment. Ahead stood row after row of piled rocks, each pile arranged in a neat cone approximately 40 feet tall.

  Scattered around the immense quarry were tall boxy metal structures bristling with trusses, stairways, and handrails. Rock processing equipment. Angled conveyor belts, crushers, washers, separators. This was a working quarry.

  We made a circuit of the roads that mazed through it in my rented Ford without seeing anything suspicious.

  “There’s nobody here,” Arnold said quietly. “Are you sure we have the right place?”

  “No, but it feels like it. I don’t know where else to go.”

  “Why don’t we park back near the main entrance and wait? See if anybody comes in?”

  “Okay. I’ll look for someplace inconspicuous.”

  I drove back to the collection of rusty roofed buildings and parked behind a corrugated cargo container. There, we had a clear view of the entrance road.

  “Now what?” Arnold asked in the darkness.

  “We wait.”

  The desolate canyon was dead silent.

  Arnold played with his Glock in the gleam of the full moon, making sure it was loaded and functional.

  “Would you quit playing with that?” I hissed. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “Why? You’re bulletproof.”

  “You’re not. And it’s distracting.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you, I’m wearing my vest.”

  I rolled my eyes, “Wearing a bulletproof vest isn’t the same as being bulletproof. And quit playing with the Glock already!”

  “Fine.” He rested it in his lap. His knee bounced restlessly. Less than five seconds later, he sighed, “No wonder cops eat so many doughnuts when they do surveillance. It’s boring.”

  “Try counting sheep.”

  “Why? To put me to sleep?”

  “Just shut up and count sheep. I’m listening for approaching cars.”

  “Oh. One, two, three, four, five—”

  “Silently!” I hissed.

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Hm, hm, hm, hm, ten. Hm, hm, hm—”

  “Shush!” I glared at him.

  He glared back and bleated, “Ba-a-a-ah!”

  “Was that a sheep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bleat silently. Please.”

  He sighed and shut up.

  Ten minutes later, headlights cut the darkness. A big black SUV drove slowly past our position, its tires crunching gravel as it went.

  “This is it,” I said. “I can feel it. We should follow on foot.” I double checked the dome light was off before opening my door. “Put your mask on.” We both went ninja. “And leave your wallet and phone in the car.” I put mine in the center console like always and he did too. I handed him the keys and said, “Here, take these.”

  “What for?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this. If anything goes wrong, run back to the car and drive home.”

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Okay, fine. Drive to Lakeside. There’s a Valero gas station there just off the 67. We passed it coming in.”

  “I saw it.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you there if we get separated. Take the keys.” I jingled them.

  “If you insist,” he took them reluctantly. “But remember, we are a team.”

  “I remember,” I said impatiently. “Do you have the zip-ties?”

  He scowled, “Yes, Dad. I have the zip-ties. I always have the zip-ties.”

  “Right, right,” I grinned, glad he was here. “Be prepared, right?”

  “No,” he shook his head, “it’s be prepared mutha-fucka. Say it with me, be prepared mutha—”

  “Shhh!”

  The black SUV was already shrinking into the distance, the brake lights now two faint red dots. It rounded one of the tall cones of crushed rock and disappeared.

  I said, “I’ll follow them. You stay here.”

  He nodded, “I’ll watch your six.”

  “Perfect. And watch the entrance.”

  “Yup.”

  I ran ahead.

  Something about this situation had me more nervous than usual. When I turned the corner of the first crushed rock cone, another pair of headlights lit up the road behind me.

  A second vehicle entered the quarry.

  I hoped they hadn’t seen Arnold on their way in.

  I bolted behind the nearest rock cone and scampered up the sloped side. Fortunately, the rocks were the size of large gravel, so they didn’t go clacking loudly down to the bottom. Moving uphill did kick up a fair amount of dust, but hopefully nobody would notice in the relative darkness. A few seconds later, I was at the peak.

  The second vehicle was another big black SUV.

  It had not stopped that I could tell, which meant they hadn’t seen Arnold. I scanned the distance, looking for him.

  After a moment, I spotted movement in the shadows of one of the rock processors. Arnold came out from under a metal stairwell and trotted down the gravel road in a crouch, his Glock pointed down in both hands. />
  The countless hours he had spent playing Call of Duty over the years were actually paying off. Arnold knew his way around a battlefield. And he had real shooting experience from all his time at the range.

  Hopefully he would be okay on his own tonight. This place was far too big for me to keep an eye on him at all times. Which begged the question, would I hear Arnold’s distress in advance if he were on the verge of finding himself in trouble? Logically, I should because I heard everyone else’s, but I really wasn’t sure because so far I had never heard Arnold in any real distress. He was surprisingly cool under pressure.

  Below my position, the second SUV drove past and turned around another rock cone, disappearing deeper into the checkerboard of evenly spaced cones.

  Planning to follow, I tried to leap off the peak of my cone. My intention was to land on the next one over. Unfortunately, my jump was too hard for the soft gravel. I couldn’t get solid footing. Instead of leaping high in the air and landing gracefully on the far cone, I managed to merely kick out a spray of gravel behind me and topple forward. Landed on my face a third of the way down the mountain. Whoops. Unhurt, I stood up and bounded down to the bottom in a series of large leaps.

  Now on the ground, I followed the SUV as it crept through the winding maze of cones, keeping my distance. I didn’t want to catch up to them until I knew what was going on. There was no obvious person to save.

  Yet.

  I stopped and watched the SUV travel past the last of the towering rock cones. It pulled into a flat area and parked near the first SUV. This part of the quarry was surrounded on three sides by tall vertical rock walls that had clearly been hatcheted out of the hillside by the mining operation. It was very isolated from view and probably from sound too.

  From my current position, I couldn’t hear the wind noise coming from the cars on the nearby 67, which meant nobody driving by on the 67 could hear us either. If shots were fired now, I was confident they wouldn’t be heard by anyone outside the canyon.

  Before I could decide if that fact was good or bad, one door on the first SUV opened and somebody was kicked out onto the gravel. The body rolled to a stop, hands tied behind its back.