Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

by Chris Strange

  The darkness inside was almost complete. Even through her mask, she could smell ash and dust and melted plastic from the fight.

  The door they entered led to the head office, probably intended for a manager or foreman. Earlier in the evening she’d been too preoccupied to notice the map of Neo-Auckland pinned to one wall. She ran her fingers along the paper. Holes from thumb tacks or pins were left all across the city’s surface, but all the pins themselves were gone. She puzzled over it for a moment, tapping her cheek with her finger, but there were too many holes to make out any sort of pattern. It didn’t matter. Quanta was locked up; it was over now.

  The Carpenter half-heartedly checked the desk drawers and filing cabinet.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Cleaned out.”

  By Quanta or Met Div? she wondered. Never mind. Whatever Quanta’s plan was, he’d have a hell of a time trying to conduct it from a prison cell. “We need to find Sam. There’s got to be a secret room somewhere.”

  “A basement, maybe,” he said.

  It was a good thought. She went out onto the catwalk and increased the contrast on her goggles. At the far end of the warehouse, she could make out a set of shelving lying toppled over like a wrecked ship, spilling its crates onto the cracked warehouse floor. Before the fight, most of the metas had been scattered around this end of the warehouse, near the loading bays. But she’d found Quanta and the Carpenter fighting near the far wall, amongst the stacks.

  “Was Quanta down there when you found him?” she asked. “Away from the others?”

  “Yeah. I just jumped him where I saw him.”

  She put a finger to her lips and tapped them through her mask, thinking. “Let’s see what the bastard was doing down there.”

  It was easy enough to find the scene of the Carpenter’s brief fight. Several crates had been bisected as if by a laser, complete with scorch marks. Now they spewed outdated, boxed kitchen appliances across the floor. Niobe and Solomon split up and tried to trace Quanta’s steps. Their footsteps echoed lightly through the warehouse.

  If there were any trapdoors, they were well-hidden. She made her way around the stacks, careful to inspect any crack or crevice in the floor, but there was nothing. She wanted a cigarette. She looked around with her contrast on the highest setting, trying to picture the warehouse’s layout. If they’d had time, getting blueprints of the place would’ve been a smart idea. She’d already searched the smaller building adjoined to the main warehouse; just offices, bathrooms, that sort of thing. But Quanta had been here, amongst the stacks. Maybe he was getting away for a cigarette too.

  Her eyes fell on the back wall, where a ladder with wheels sat against a huge dusty chalkboard. When she got close, she could make out a crack in the wall behind. She tapped it with her knuckle. The sound resonated. Hollow.

  “Carpenter,” she called. She shoved the ladder out of the way, put her shoulder against the wall and pushed. It gave a little, but not all the way. “There must be a release or a button around here.” She felt along the wall to the side.

  “Here’s your release,” he said.

  “What?” She turned and found a crate hovering in the air in front of the blackboard. The Carpenter’s eyes glowed, his mouth split in a grin. “Wait a minute. Do you think that’s a good—?”

  The crate crashed into the blackboard. Something snapped—maybe a few somethings—and the false wall rotated, leaving a gap a few feet across. Niobe cringed at the noise as it echoed around the warehouse.

  “Bloody hell, Carpenter, you trying to get us caught?”

  He shrugged. “We won’t be if you stop yakking and get on with it.” He stuck his head in the gap. “It’s pretty dark, but there’s stairs here.”

  Now she really wanted a cigarette. Goddamn man-child. He disappeared down the stairway. She followed, pulling her mini-torch from her belt. The beam illuminated concrete stairs and walls streaked with damp.

  The stairs looped back on themselves and brought them to a basement underneath the warehouse. The air was thick and stale. Somewhere, water dripped. A shadowed opening sat in each side of the grey corridor. Nothing moved. Niobe’s spine crawled. She freed her gun from its holster and crept forwards.

  She shone her beam down the end, where one of the steel doors stood open. The room inside was empty. This door was wider than the other, the steel thick enough to stop a tank. What were they keeping down here, a war elephant? No, she realised. Iron Justice.

  She swept her torchlight across the other door, where it lay crumpled and dented against the wall. Her palms grew damp and her heart raced. What the hell could’ve done that?

  Never mind. I’m here, Sam. It was over. She raced ahead of Solomon, the torchlight bouncing with every step.

  She shone her beam into the cell. A mattress in one corner, stained and leaking springs. No window. No furniture.

  And no Sam.

  She flicked the beam around the room again. “No. Where…?” Someone had sucked the butterflies out of her stomach and left a hole in their place.

  Then she saw the blood, a streak of dark red in the doorway. She bent down to examine it, heart thumping.

  “It’s fresh,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “A couple of hours old, max.” Her pulse pounded in her ears. “He was here. He was fucking here!”

  She didn’t remember picking up the mattress, but the next thing she knew, she was hurling it across the room. It slammed into the wall with a hollow thud and slowly toppled to the floor. She shouted wordless screams that echoed around her.

  Arms enveloped her, and Solomon’s earthy scent blocked out the thick, musty smell of captivity. She struggled, almost putting her elbow into his stomach, but he held her tight. “Easy, mate. Easy.”

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to smoke every cigarette she had. She wanted to go home and climb into bed with Gabby and pretend none of this had ever happened.

  But most of all she wanted to feel Morgan Shepherd’s smug face breaking beneath her boot.

  22: Home, Whatever That Means

  Madame Z

  Real name:

  Keira Hall

  Powers:

  Mental projection, telekinesis.

  Notes:

  Joined the Wardens early in their history, and quickly made a name for herself when she removed the mind-control effects of the Mind Spider from fellow supergroup the Patrolmen. Once her homosexual relationships became common knowledge, fundamentalist religious groups began a smear campaign in the media. After the Wardens disbanded, she left Earth for the lunar colony established by the Alpha League.

  —Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0229]

  “It’s not over yet, mate,” Solomon said as he drove. “With Quanta out of the picture, it’s only a matter of time until we find Sam.”

  Niobe had burned through three cigarettes since they started making their way back to the Old City. Now she twirled her last one between her fingers, glaring at it. “We got nothing. That was our one lead, and we blew it. I blew it.”

  The night was cooling quickly, but she left the window open a crack to help her think. That goddamn false wall. If she’d found it the first time, before Met Div arrived, Sam would have been there. Someone had taken him while they flew away like frightened pigeons. Maybe it was Met Div, but she didn’t think so. No normal had ripped that door off its hinges.

  “We didn’t blow a thing,” the Carpenter said. “You think Met Div could’ve tracked down Quanta and his gang without our help?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused. “Well, all right, eventually. But how many more people would die before they did? We stopped the clock. Saving lives, catching villains. This is what we’re meant for, Niobe.”

  She slammed her fist down on her knee. “Enough, Carpenter. You see those people out there?” She jabbed her finger towards the manicured suburbs. “They don’t want heroes anymore. They hate us. They want to pretend that bad things don’t happen. They wa
nt to pretend they’re safe. They want to believe in their shopping malls, and their four-door imported cars, and their bright economic futures. They don’t believe in us anymore, Solomon. They don’t need us.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You don’t understand. I don’t think you ever understood.” He reached over and picked up the goggles sitting in her lap. “You’ve always looked at the world through these lenses, but they distort things. Sure, the world is dark sometimes. The world’s not a four-colour comic book. But there’s still good, mate, and there’s still things we have to stand up for.”

  “There’s no ‘we’. Not anymore.”

  “Of course there is.” He gave her goggles back and rested one hand on the gear stick. “There always will be. You know why those people think they’re safe behind their picket fences? Because most of them are. When superheroes first came along, the world was at war. We were a bright light in a dark room. Metas helped change the world, Niobe. We made it better. And then when peace came, they began to doubt us. And worse, we began to doubt ourselves. They decided there was no more room for superheroes. And we began to believe it too.”

  He stared out the windshield. The lights of the skyline reflected off his mask.

  “They don’t hate us,” he said. “They just think that if heroes exist, then villains do too. That scares them. But villains exist whether we’re here or not. Someday they’ll realise that. There will always be room for us in this world. Sure, we’ll screw up sometimes, and some of us will do bad things. We’re only human. But we have to keep trying to be better. We can do good, mate. We can be good. Because if we aren’t, who will be?”

  We are the strangers who guard the world through the night. No. She shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. She had been good. She’d saved lives, fought villains. She’d stood side by side with some of the greatest heroes of her generation. And what had that got her? The normals had loved their heroes. Until they got scared. Until those superpowers started to cost normals their jobs. Her old teammates had all given up, retiring injured like Gabby or just sucking down so much booze they couldn’t fight off the flu, let alone Suicide Prime or the Manhunters. She and the Carpenter were no more than mercenaries now. They couldn’t hold back the darkness on their own.

  “I’m leaving Earth,” she said, quieter now. She put the cigarette between her lips, but didn’t light it. “Me and Gabby. We’re going to the Moon.”

  He pulled onto the highway, and the industrial district fell away behind them. “Oh.”

  “Oh?” she said. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  “I’m thinking. Gimme a break.” She could see him turning the words over in his mind.

  The silence grew thick. He had the look of a disappointed parent. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. “I know what you’re thinking. But there’s nothing here to stay for. We’ll be safer up there. It’ll be easier to protect Gabby. And she won’t have to worry about me getting into trouble.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Is that what you guys were arguing about?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Because she worries about you?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “What are you, the love doctor?”

  He smiled and gestured in front of him. “Look around you.”

  She stared out the window. “What? The city?”

  He shook his head. “This car. Who put it together for us? Who fixed it?”

  “Gabby, but—”

  “Those goggles. That gun. All them gizmos on your belt. Who made them for you?”

  “You know damn well who made them,” she said, pulling her goggles close to her stomach. “Make your point.”

  He shrugged. “Just doesn’t seem like the sort of thing she’d do if she didn’t want you out here doing this.” He switched lanes to overtake a late-night driver. “My wife doesn’t like me going out, ‘cause she doesn’t get it. She was never a hero. But Gabby was the Silver Scarab. You really think she doesn’t understand why you’re out here every night?”

  She chewed her lip. “That doesn’t mean she’s not worried about me.”

  “I never said it did. Heck, I was worried about you a couple of hours ago when we were about to walk into Quanta’s hideout. We’re pals. But that’s not why she’s upset.”

  “Oh, so you’re not a love doctor, you’re just a psychic,” she said.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You’ve been keeping things from her. Not telling her what the case is about, or how dangerous it’s likely to be. You’ve tried to insulate her. Stick her in a box full of cotton wool. Don’t let her worry her pretty little head. Am I warm?”

  Niobe realised she was chewing the end of her cigarette. The Carpenter’s grin grew wider when she didn’t say anything.

  “She’s not upset because you go out,” he said. “She’s upset because you’re leaving her behind.”

  No. Gabby didn’t want to be a hero. The nightmares she had were bad enough. “That was all a long time ago,” Niobe said. “Before Kiloton nearly killed her.”

  “So she’s a little broken. We all are. You, me, Quanta. Even Senior Sergeant Wallace. She doesn’t need you to protect her from the world. I reckon all she wants is your love and respect.”

  She turned the cigarette in her fingers.

  “Take it from me,” he said. “She’s no different from half the metas in this city. In her heart, she’s still a hero. She wants to help you. But if you keep pushing her away….” He shrugged.

  She stared out the window, where a sliver of the Moon hung above the lights of Neo-Auckland. It was safe up there. No matter what Solomon said, that was what they wanted. Right?

  The memories came back to her one by one, every fight, every hurt look in Gabby’s eyes. Every miscommunication. She touched the goggles in her lap, crafted with such care by the woman who loved her. Her beautiful, brilliant Gabby.

  Goddamn it. He was right. And he’d never let her forget it.

  “When’d you become such a goddamn guru, Carpenter?”

  “Us old guys gotta have wisdom,” he said. “How else are we supposed to impress the ladies?”

  They were silent for a while, but it was a peaceful silence. She’d been so dumb. But she’d make it up to Gabby. The city had gone quiet again, everyone sleeping safe and sound. At the top of the tallest towers, red lights blinked to warn off aircraft. Aside from the police dirigible hovering near the Old City, the night sky was clear. By now, Quanta and his gang would be in chains. The news would be filled with celebrations, and people across the city would be breathing sighs of relief.

  She tried to summon some pride, but it didn’t come. She’d been wrong too often to pat herself on the back. She’d made Gabby cry too many times. And she hadn’t saved Sam yet.

  Solomon must have read her thoughts. “We’ve done all we can tonight. Go home, get some rest. Talk to Gabby. Make up with her. That’s what I’ll be doing with my wife. God knows if I don’t spend some quality time with the family, Kate’s gonna string me up by my toes.”

  “By your toes, huh? You’re into some weird sex, Carpenter,” she said.

  Solomon threw his head back and laughed harder than the feeble joke deserved. She didn’t know whether it was the sleep deprivation or the aftereffects of the adrenaline, but a second later a laugh bubbled up inside her too, and soon they were both cracking up like a pair of drunks. The giggles washed over them, subsided, and then came again for no reason. The harder they tried to stop, the harder they laughed. Christ, it felt good.

  Twenty minutes later, they pulled up behind her apartment building. Solomon wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” She opened the door.

  “We’ll find him, mate,” he said.

  She glanced back at him and smiled. “Yeah.” She shut the door and waved. He blinked the lights once, then pulled away and headed back towards his house.


  She walked up the stairs, put her key in the door of her apartment, and opened it. As soon as she stepped inside, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. Part of her was telling her to get back out there and find Sam. But she knew she couldn’t walk another step without falling asleep on her feet. Besides, the Carpenter was right. In the morning, she had amends to make.

  She went to the kitchen and drained two glasses of water, then opened the door to the bedroom. It was dark inside. Gabby would be asleep. Turning on the light would wake her, so Niobe kicked off her shoes in the darkness, dropped her coat to the ground, peeled out of her bodysuit, and snuggled beneath the covers. It was a little cold. She reached over, feeling for Gabby.

  She wasn’t there.

  Blinking, Niobe sat up in bed and flicked on the bedside lamp. The bedroom was still as a tomb, and the duvet on Gabby’s side was crisp and unwrinkled. There was no light creeping out from under the bathroom door. Gabby was nowhere.

  Niobe threw back the covers and padded naked to Gabby’s wardrobe. Her heart felt like lead as she pulled open the doors. All Gabby’s favourite clothes were missing. “No,” Niobe said to the empty room.

  She flicked on the light to the bathroom. There should have been two toothbrushes in the cracked mug by the sink. There was only one. “No.”

  Niobe came back into the bedroom, and her eyes fell on Gabby’s bedside table. A quarter inch-thick sheaf of paper and a small plastic box sat next to her old clock. Niobe’s legs shook like a rag doll’s as she crossed the room.

  She looked at the box first, shaking it as she picked it up. Ammunition. The bullets looked like her charged rounds, but with a sharpened tip and a thick black coating. There was something scribbled on the box lid. Prototype shield-breaker rounds.

  She put the ammo box down and turned her attention to the pile of papers. A note was paperclipped to the top page. Trembling, she picked it up and perched herself on the edge of the bed.