Encrypted

by Weaver, Nicole

  Samantha held her shoulder length hair up to the sun as she walked to the city bus stop. Wow, my hair is fricken awesome in the sun...best dye job ever.

  She flopped down on the grass next to the bench hut. A nice place where she could watch for the bus, and still read her notes – not that she'd found much new information about Primes online, but at least she had the bus route for her trip figured out. I don't like lying to Susan about The Pit, but if I told her where I was actually going, she would demand to know more and ruin my surprise.

  The stench of methane announced the bus before its air brakes went off, and Samantha resolutely stepped in line behind an old lady in a pink crocheted coat and hat.

  A light wind blew by, carrying the scent of melted plastic with it. Trying to look casual, she glanced around. The nearby houses seemed okay, but the nearest car had been pushed partly off the driveway. One wheel sat firmly on the lawn, the rest of it hugging the concrete. Scorch.

  Hurling herself to the ground, she army-crawled into the meager protection of the bus shelter. If I warn her, he might hear me and get us both.

  The little old lady still in line didn't even look back.

  Another gust of wind blew a swirling cloud of fine dust directly under the bench and into her face.

  Her cough turned into a choke, as she rolled over and came face to face with a dusty calico cat. It stared at her quizzically but didn't run away. Her eyes darted back to the car through the two-inch space under the wall. He saw my face, which makes me a loose end.

  Suddenly, a small man in a business suit charged out of the house. Frantically dodging the children's toys spread across the concrete, he tripped at the transition from walkway to yard and skated across the wet grass to the side of the car. Using the hood for balance, he scrambled to the driver's seat and dove inside.

  A woman in a purple bath robe came out of the house holding up a paper bag. "Honey, you forgot your lunch again."

  Screeching tires drowned out whatever else she said as the driver rushed off.

  "Ma'am, are you getting on the bus?"

  The wooden bench above her head kept Samantha from jumping very high. "Ow ow. What?"

  A gray-haired old man, in a blue bus driver uniform, frowned down at her from the shelter doorway. "Ma'am, are you in distress? If someone is bothering you, I can take you to the police station; it's on my route."

  Her cheeks burned. "Uh, no Sir. It's, uh, a game that I play sometimes. I'm okay." Samantha crawled out from under the bench and climbed to her feet, slapping the dust out of her clothes as she went.

  "Okay, if you're sure you are all right." The bus driver side-eyed her as he led her towards the bus. When they reached the folding doors, he leaned down and whispered. "If it's drugs, I don't want to know. Just keep it together on my route." He held out his hand for the fare.

  She hesitated, staring at the windows, her headache throbbing hot and cold. Samantha sucked in a few deep breaths; it didn't help. Something doesn't feel right. The cash slid easily back into her wallet. "I'm sorry, I changed my mind."

  Ignoring the look the old man gave her, Samantha ran to the sidewalk across the street and stopped at the empty green van idling there. The hairs on the back of her neck were still standing on end. Maybe the park is the best place after all. No need to travel halfway across town when there are closer places to practice.

  At the corner, she glanced back at the vehicles parked along the road. Weird, that looks like the same van that was parked outside Jon’s house. Under cover of rummaging around in her knapsack, she pulled out a pen and the corner of one page of her notebook to jot down the license plate of the van. Probably just paranoia, but it's better safe than sorry.

  Trying to look confident, she slung her bag over her shoulder and followed the sidewalk down the road. Thus, began the journey of Phoenix Star, who is totally not afraid of a bus ride, from obscurity to fame and glory. A mighty Villain who definitely did not cower under a bench.

  Chapter 11

  Thursday May 20th, 2010

  A never-ending flow of traffic moved across the freeway, far above the skate park. Swoosh, rumble, swoosh. The small animals of the park had long ago adjusted to the sounds in their little patch of greenery in the city.

  Samantha lay quietly on the edge of the ramp at the center of the empty skate park, mostly out of sight from the road. She kept her legs and feet visible to anyone watching from the road...because someone was watching, and she didn't know who they were.

  She listened, with a compact mirror clutched in her hand, angled so she could watch the green van across the road. The first trick she'd tried was to sharpen her hearing, and it had worked surprisingly well.

  "Hey man, this is bullshit. We're supposed to score some coke and pick up babes, not sit here all day watching a skank nap in the park." The voice was sharp, jittery. A tapping sound sped up as he spoke. Maybe a nervous habit?

  The mirror showed the seemingly empty van, but the voice was definitely coming from it. She checked the license plate against her notes again. It was the same van from the bus stop, and probably the same green van from outside Jon's house.

  The second voice was softer, measured. "Listen up Smokey, I'm tired of telling you the same thing every five minutes. This is my job. We get the smack after I get what the boss wants, and the boss wants info on the kid."

  The distant hum far above became a series of rumbles, as a procession of big trucks passed overhead.

  Samantha strained to hear more over the racket. Focus, focus, focus. Cold pinpricks in her ears spread deeper, until even distant sounds rumbled threateningly in her ears. This might be my only chance to find out what they want.

  The first voice, Smokey, whined, "C'mon Super Snitch, I just wanna little hit is all. It's been a long day and I ain't had a hit."

  "Don't use my damn code name, asshole. I'm not in costume, and I don't have any smack on me 'cause it fucks with my concentration. Talking and moving around does it too, so stop flopping like a fricken fish." The measured voice was distracted, trailing off as he spoke. "If you want some, you gotta wait until she leaves the park. Then I'll let you out to find your own shit."

  If drugs can mess with powers, I wonder if there is something like a philosopher's stone that makes powers better, or faster?

  A staccato crunching grew louder, but didn't seem threatening and wasn't coming from the van.

  Smokey coughed. "Stan, why can't I just get out and walk right now? She's taking a nap. She won't notice shit."

  "I told you, she can't see either of us, but she can still hear us. That's why I'm parked way over here...and if you open the damn door, you are going to slam it like you always do. It's really hard to Manifest when people are wondering why the empty van is making noises, and it's worse trying to make the whole thing invisible." Stan's voice dropped to a whisper. "It's not worth it, and Screamdream isn't the kind of person you screw up a job for."

  "I just wanna take a walk..." Smokey began.

  THUD. The rest was lost in a massive boom blasting through the entire skate ramp.

  "IT'S A HALF-PIPE, NOT A JUNGLE GYM. SKATERS only little girl."

  Samantha threw herself away from the sound and leapt to her feet. Pushing her ears back to normal as quickly as possible, she spun towards the speaker and dropped into a fight stance. The migraine burst back into full force, but she ignored it as best she could.

  A pale teenager with a short brown Mohawk and a spiked leather jacket backed up, bumping into a cute Black kid with an Afro and wearing a grey basketball jersey and black shorts. A much larger Latino boy stood behind them in a ripped black t-shirt and torn jeans. Did you guys watch too many 80's movies or what?

  The Latino kid moved in front. "Holy shit. What are you on? I couldn't bounce that fast if someone pointed a gun at me."

  Mr. Basketball didn't say anything. He hung back, out of reach.

  Samantha sighed and sharpened her hearing a little bit. "I'm not doing drugs; I took gymnastics and k
arate for a few years...and you don't have to be a douche about the ramp. I'll move." She stepped away from where they stood and managed a front flip off the ramp, before anyone could respond. It feels easier to land without hurting myself, and I think I could track my direction better than normal in mid flip, so at least I will know which way is up while the good guys pummel me senseless.

  Mr. Mohawk whispered, "Damn dude, you know that's Samantha Gray, right? She saved my sister last night when that fire guy attacked the bus."

  The Latino boy in torn jeans chimed in, "Forget last night, did you see how fast she moved just now? She looked like my uncle after some chicken flipping."

  Samantha ignored them and moved to the middle of the park.

  I feel hungry, but is it because I used my powers, or because I only had toast for breakfast? Staying carefully visible to her stalkers in the van, she pulled a fruit bar from her pack.

  I hope those guys don't go telling a bunch of people I am super-fast. Now I can't practice the big stuff because of the bad nosy teenagers and the worse private investigators, especially if I manage anything fantastic.

  A nearby tree offered the perfect solution. It stood away from the half pipe, sheltering an overflowing trash can. Still visible to the Green Van Men—and they probably won't bother me while the teenagers are here anyway. She set her alarm for five minutes.

  The now-familiar, cold prickling sensation spread around the inside of her nose, itchy and insistent, until her alarm went off. The trash smell wasn't stronger. In fact, there wasn't even a hint of garbage in the dry air.

  There was no smell even from right next to the can, close enough it should have been pungent and ripe. Great. I broke my smeller. I had to get a crappy power that takes forever to use and then melted my schnozz with it. I can see my reunion with Eddie now: "Oh hey, my Manifestation is the ability to not smell it when you skip a shower." He will be so thrilled.

  "Hey, Samantha, right? You got a minute?" Mr. Mohawk from earlier sauntered up, wrinkling his nose at the trash can. His clean and seemingly pressed jeans were so full of holes that he had to have cut them himself. The black shirt under his jacket was a little more interesting, with a blood splattered smiley face in the center like some kind of joke.

  "I'm James and I just wanna thank you for saving my little sis on that bus. She says if you hadn't helped get everyone out, most of them would have just sat there hiding under their seats until Scorch found them. We owe you one." He held out his hand.

  She nodded, without reaching for his hand. "Please don't tell anyone that I helped. I just did what I could, and I don't want a fan club." Telepathy would come in handy right now, because I'm gonna kick him in the face if he calls me a hero. "Trevor did all the important stuff, and I heard he loves giving autographs, so you should take your sis to see him, okay?"

  James kept his hand out. "I won't tell anyone else then. I just really want to thank you. Bethany means everything to me, and if you ever need a favor, let me know how I can help."

  "Thank you." Samantha hesitated, then took his hand.

  She turned to go, but had a thought and stopped herself from leaving. "Hey James, any chance you want to make it up to me right now?"

  He hesitated. "Depends. What do you want?"

  "Be subtle, but you see that green van over there at the edge of the park? A couple of guys followed me here. Now they are watching me from inside, and I'm worried they'll grab me if I try to leave. I need a solid distraction while I go over the back fence. You game?" She gave him a toothy grin.

  "No shit? I've seen that van in the area before; those are some real bad dudes. Sometimes they ask about kids, but most times they are selling drugs." He glanced at his friends who were still huddled at the half-pipe. "I don't think any of us are up for a fight...but we can help. I'll have the guys get their attention while I yank a few valve stems. They won't notice until it's too late, so you can outrun them. That bring us square?"

  "Perfect..." Not detectives from Jon then, but extremely sketchy. I'm not sure if I'm relieved or more worried."...and thanks for the info. Just wave at me when I can run. Oh, one more thing—they seem to have a pretty good hiding place in the back, so they are still there even if it looks empty."

  James scuffed the dirt with his shoe and looked everywhere except at the green van, then he nodded to himself and took off back to his friends.

  Samantha leaned against the trash and re-tied her shoes. I am either the luckiest, or the least lucky, girl on the planet. Eddie always said we make our own luck though, maybe I should grab a lottery ticket before the universe stops paying attention to me.

  Lingering over her double knotted laces, she watched the van out of the corner of her eye. No one knows I'm a Prime, so why would anyone be following me? I’m pretty sure they’d send the police if they traced me through one of the Villains I’ve been talking to online.

  Across the park, James and his friends pulled each other into a huddle.

  Kevin already has me right where he wants me, all he has to do is wait. Sex ring? Kidnappers? Tweakers trying to score with a babe in the creepiest way possible? Doesn't matter. No way to know how soon they are going to move on me, and I don't want to see how angry they get when they lose my trail.

  The teenagers broke up their huddle and strolled over to the sidewalk in front of the van. The Hispanic kid started doing skateboard tricks while the other two cheered and clapped, leaning against the van. After a moment, two painfully skinny white guys hopped out and yelled at the teenagers.

  Samantha watched from the corner of her eye as James slipped away in the commotion. After a moment, he popped back into view, waving, then all three of them took off down the street to the bewilderment of the tweakers.

  Samantha bolted for the chain link fence separating the park from the back alley. Navigating the rusty chain link kept her too focused on climbing to check behind her until she reached the top. The park stood empty: the van was gone.

  Cold mud splashed across her jeans as she hit the ground on the other side of the fence. It's not fair, flyers don't have to deal with mud, or getting chased around on the ground. She glanced over her shoulder, but the park was still empty. Racing down the alley, she dodged large puddles and leaped smaller ones until she burst out into the sunlight at the end of the dirt track.

  My best chance is to get to the goth boutique. It's close enough I can get inside before the creepers can get there to see where I went. Disguises and safety. It's perfect.

  Two blocks later, she squeezed through the crowd passing by outside the little boutique shop.

  She ignored the sales lady, snatched a shirt and a hat from different racks, then slid into a changing stall. A change of clothing for disguises would have come in handy earlier. I should start carrying spare shirts in a fanny pack or something.

  S: Hey I have to cancel lunch. Creepy guys following me.

  Can't talk to her right now, especially not while Jon is paying attention to who I talk to.

  Suz: Wait, what? Are the Foster Monsters on to us?

  S: Idk. Maybe someone else

  Suz: Come on Samantha, we've been talking about seeing each other in person for months.

  S: I'm sorry. We have been texting, and I can't talk to you right now

  Suz: What about planning how we are getting you out of there. Mom says you can stay with us, but only if you stay indoors until you turn 18. That leaves half a week of video games and you are free.

  S: Idk. I'm sorry. I can’t talk to you today. We will have to try to meet in a few days.

  Suz: That could be a problem. Mom insists we celebrate my parents’ anniversary at the cabin. It's a 6-hour drive and we won't be back until Monday.

  S: The monsters might try to lock me up by then, but I'll call you Monday if I can. I'll go camping until I turn 18 if I have to. I just need to move my stuff quickly while they are at work.

  Suz: It isn't the worst plan ever. I swear I'll be there for you Monday. Call me, okay?

&nb
sp; S: k

  Samantha swallowed a few Ibuprofen, dry, from her belt pouch for her headache. There was no one else in the store, so she paid for her new clothes and slipped out the back door.

  I shouldn't skip lunch but it's just not the right time to talk to Susan. Still, maybe Jon's house is safest right now with creeps following me around town.

  She rolled her hair into a ponytail and stuffed it under her hat, then hurried down the street towards Jon's. Her head throbbed hotly all the way back to her room.

  Chapter 12

  Thursday May 20th, 2010

  Some buildings are mere brick and mortar, while others stand for something more. The headquarters of the Prime Crisis Agency in Arbor City aspired to the latter, with a plaque at its iron front gate inlaid with the words "Liberty and Justice for all." The mightiest of Villains would think twice before challenging the Heroes behind those gates, at least in theory.

  Each PCA team assigned to a city would always be composed of a strong Prime, and Nulls trained to support their leader. Such teams focused on lone Villains, the newly Manifested, and Nulls using advanced technology. Ultimately, cities across the US would receive their own dedicated PCA representatives and eventually full teams of Primes would begin replacing the tactical PCA teams.

  The sprawling complex spread out over three city blocks, rising as high as five stories in some places, and sinking as deep as three floors underground. Its walled perimeter and floodlights ensured no Villain would approach unseen. Though each building was decorated with the same gold and white trim on the outside, the PCA itself was not the only tenant of the facility. One building remained under outside control, dedicated to a team of Heroes named Starstuff.

  According to the government, heroically inclined Primes would slowly become more available as a slowly increasing rate of Manifestations continued across the world. As numbers allowed, each team would be trained to work together as an elite unit capable of taking down the most powerful of Villains and sent to hotspots around the United States. Until that day, the PCA put the few groups like Starstuff on display—officially sanctioned Hero teams designed to take out the biggest threats and mightiest Villains.