Don't Be a Hero: A Superhero Novel

by Chris Strange

  She slipped out of the shadow next to Solomon. “Carpenter. He’s taking the kid to the meat cutting area.”

  “Why can they never take their dates to the pictures like normal folk?” His voice was as strained as the joke. “If I give you a distraction—”

  “I’ll get him. See you on the other side, Carpenter.”

  “Good luck, hero.”

  She slipped back into shadow just in time to sense the Carpenter stand and fling back his cloak. In one movement, he ripped open a pouch on his belt and flung the contents into the air. Twenty balls of petrified wood flew like bullets, curving around the dancing bodies to head straight for Doll Face.

  She didn’t wait to see if they hit. She was already moving up the wall, darting around the boarded-up windows, making her way to the back of the room.

  A shrieking laugh rattled the walls. She couldn’t tell if it was because the Carpenter had hit, or because he’d missed. She was close enough now to make out Sam’s bound and struggling body as Doll Face lifted him one-armed onto a steel preparation bench. The masked creature picked up a cleaver, casually hurled it at the Carpenter, then picked up a smaller knife and turned his cocked head towards Sam.

  Niobe slid back to the floor and darted closer. The improvised wooden bullets were still harassing Doll Face, crashing into him, but he didn’t seem to notice even when they broke his skin and cracked his ribs. Behind her, she could see the Carpenter running amongst the dancing bodies, the remnants of one of the doors hovering in front of him like a shield. Doll Face continued to toss knives at him even as he brought his own blade down on Sam’s bare chest.

  Now. She dropped the shadow and rose shooting. Six rounds flew at Doll Face’s torso.

  He dodged them.

  No. It wasn’t possible. No one was that fast. The creature turned to her, a pink grin painted across his plastic mask. She didn’t notice the flick of his hand until the flying blade pierced her thigh. With a grunt, she dropped to one knee, pain lancing upwards. He’s so fast. Her vision blacked for a moment.

  The Carpenter’s cry brought her back. She saw him topple, a trickle of blood coming from his shoulder where a blade had found a gap in his shield. He was up again in a second, scrambling for cover.

  With a grunt, she ripped the knife from her thigh. The blood didn’t pulse out. No arterial bleeds. But as she tried to get back to her feet, she knew she was already too late.

  Sam’s half-naked body was blue from the cold storage area, his skin torn in a dozen places across his arms and legs. His arms were bound behind him. He looked so small, so broken. He grunted and flopped from side to side. Above him, Doll Face stood giggling, a knife inches from Sam’s chest. Somewhere, a humming stopped. The bodies on the ceiling stopped dancing. O’Connor’s screaming finally ceased.

  “Let’s make the toy sing,” Doll Face said. “Yes, let’s.”

  The point touched Sam’s skin. That was as far as he got.

  A sonic boom exploded from Sam’s mouth. Doll Face reeled backwards, screeching. Niobe went down on her back, trying to keep her brain from leaking out her ears. The ropes that bound Sam’s arms vanished in a burst of smoke, leaving ash in their wake. With an animal ferocity, Sam leapt at Doll Face. It might have been the ringing in her ears, but she swore Doll Face was screaming.

  Sam’s body wasn’t blue anymore. It wasn’t flesh at all. The skin rippled once, and then the boy was covered head-to-toe in chrome. The floor cracked beneath him. The metallic behemoth advanced on Doll Face, the ground shaking with every step.

  Niobe told herself to move, but her legs wouldn’t work. She couldn’t even feel the knife wound in her leg. What the hell was going on?

  Doll Face pounced, blade flashing. It struck Sam’s metal skin and turned. Again Doll Face attacked, and again Sam shrugged off the blow and took another hulking step forwards. In a voice loud enough to shatter glass, Sam screamed something incoherent. Doll Face took a step back.

  Sam’s fists crashed together with Doll Face’s skull between them. Niobe turned away as a splatter of gore fountained out of the villain’s crushed face. Oh God. Bloody hell. When she had the stomach to look back, neither of them had moved. Doll Face twitched like a dying insect. After an eternity, Sam slowly moved his hands apart. Doll Face drooped to the ground. Sam stared at the body, motionless. His metal skin shivered, and then he was just a boy again. O’Connor’s moans were the only sound in the room.

  Niobe tore her eyes from him and glanced around in search of the Carpenter. He stood amongst the dangling bodies, eyes wide behind his mask, face pale. Her gaze went to the knife wound in his shoulder, but it didn’t look too bad. He was okay. They were all okay. She breathed.

  When she looked back, Sam was on his knees next to Doll Face’s body. He was dragging his fingers through the gore leaking out of the villain’s skull.

  She took a step forwards. “Sam?”

  He started and turned his eyes towards her. They were blank, his face expressionless.

  “It’s okay,” she said, edging closer. She holstered her gun and raised her palms. “Your uncle sent us to help you. We’re going to take you home, Sam.”

  His lip twitched, but he remained frozen. O’Connor moaned again, and Sam’s gaze shifted to the cape copper hanging by his ankles in the centre of the room.

  “You,” Sam whispered.

  “Ignore him,” Niobe said. “You don’t have to be scared anymore, Sam.”

  She saw the madness behind his eyes. Sam’s face twisted into a snarl.

  He raised his arms, and lightning left his fingers. The blue light crashed across Niobe’s vision, blinding her for a moment, and the taste of ozone covered the stench of death. But it couldn’t cover the strained screams leaving O’Connor’s mouth.

  Smoke poured from O’Connor’s body as the lightning ripped through him. His uniform turned black, and so did his skin. Niobe could smell his flesh cooking. The copper jerked and shuddered like a puppet once more.

  The lightning disappeared as quickly as it had come. O’Connor slumped, no longer screaming. He stank like charred meat. Niobe wanted to spew.

  Sam turned his eyes on her. The metal plates covered his body again, just like Iron Justice. He charged.

  “Spook!” the Carpenter yelled. “Get out!”

  She tried to back away, but she couldn’t. Something invisible was holding her limbs in place, crushing them, keeping her from becoming shadow. She couldn’t even close her eyes. He’s a telekinetic. He’s got me pinned.

  Sam ran at her, his fist growing to the size of a bowling ball, lightning dancing in his eyes. He screeched. Some invisible force hit her, throwing her down. Her head slammed against the metal grates in the ground. The boy bore down on her, and she knew she was dead.

  A body tackled Sam, throwing him off balance. She tried to track what had hit Sam, and then she saw. The Carpenter. Only he wasn’t the same Carpenter she’d seen before.

  A hundred fragments of wood gathered around him, meshing together. They moved as he moved, sticking close to his body like plates of armour. The largest pieces of wood sloped down from his shoulders and protected his chest, while the smaller bits coated his arms and formed a helmet around his head. Like a samurai, her dazed mind marvelled. He gripped his quarterstaff in two hands, holding it like a sword. A moment passed as Sam and the Carpenter stared at each other. The Carpenter opened his mouth to speak.

  Sam attacked.

  Solomon swept to the side, bringing the quarterstaff down on Sam’s shoulder. The boy screamed.

  Niobe tried to stumble to her feet, but the signals from her brain were misfiring, making everything spin. A blast of lightning shot from Sam’s hand, lighting up the warehouse again. The blast slammed into a panel of wood guarding the Carpenter’s shoulder, sending it spinning free for a moment before the Carpenter brought the scorched wood back into place. Solomon planted his feet and leapt forwards. The cut turned into a feint, and the staff took Sam’s legs out from under him. The whole
building shuddered as the boy hit the ground.

  I have to help. She tried to get up. The aftereffects of Sam’s psychic attack were wreaking havoc with her body. She tried again. This time she got as far as her knees before nausea went through her and her legs turned to rubber. No. Get up, damn it!

  The wooden struts that supported the building cracked and groaned. The Carpenter stood, hands in front of him, limbs shaking. Every unattached piece of wood in the building flew at Sam, slamming into him and forcing him against the ground.

  “Spook, get to the car,” the Carpenter said. He sounded strangely calm. “I can’t hold him.”

  Sam screeched. A shockwave rippled through the air, sending the fragments of wood flying away. The Carpenter crossed his arms in front of him, trying to ward off the force of the sonic boom. It was useless. He went down on his back, the quarterstaff knocked from his grasp. And then Sam was on top of him. The boy snarled and raised his fist.

  Before he could strike, Solomon grabbed his wrists and pulled him into a stranglehold.

  “Sam, stop,” the Carpenter said through gritted teeth. “We’re trying to help.”

  Sam snarled and kept fighting. The Carpenter’s quarterstaff flew into the air and hammered the back of Sam’s head. As the boy tried to shake it off, the Carpenter shifted his weight and rolled, putting himself on top. Even through her dizziness, she could see the muscles in Solomon’s arms bulging as he tried to hold the boy down. Niobe finally got to her feet.

  “He’s getting stronger by the second,” the Carpenter yelled. “You’ve gotta—”

  Sam wrenched an arm free of the Carpenter’s grip. She saw it coming, but she was too slow. Solomon’s eyes widened behind his mask.

  Sam drove his fist deep into the Carpenter’s chest. The wooden plate shattered, and she heard the Carpenter’s ribs crack. The rest of his armour dropped away in an instant, nothing more than useless fragments of timber. Sam clambered to his feet, snarled once more, and tossed the hero aside like a doll. The Carpenter fell with a thud against the wall.

  “Carpenter!” Her head pounded.

  There was something sticking out of a crack in Sam’s armour. A sliver of wood dug deep into his shoulder, blood trickling down the metallic skin. Sam clutched at it, a stream of nonsensical whispers tumbling out of his mouth. “They want to put me in boxes, cages, they want me to be alone, alone forever. Run, run, have to run.”

  Niobe stumbled forwards, drew her gun, switched to stun rounds. Doll Face drove him mad. Totally mad. I have to knock him out. I have to get him help. She didn’t get to fire the first shot.

  Sam turned to Niobe and screeched out another sonic boom. Her ears popped. She fell back, her head striking the corner of a preparation bench. Black spots floated in her eyes.

  There was another scream, and a whoosh of displaced air. Something crashed; the whole building shook. The place was going to collapse, she was sure.

  But when she blinked away the static in her eyes, the building was still standing. It was brighter now. It took her a moment to notice the crumbling hole in the centre of the ceiling, directly above where Sam had been standing. For a moment, she spotted a dark spot silhouetted against the sky. He was heading south. He can fly as well? Jesus Christ.

  She struggled to her feet. Her thigh screamed at her, but she pushed the pain aside. Coughing up dust, she stumbled along, using the benches to support her weight. “Carpenter.” Her voice was thin. She coughed and tried again. “Carpenter, we gotta get to a phone. He’s going for the city. We gotta warn Met Div. Carpenter.”

  The Carpenter was slumped against the wall, his mask askew. But it was the bloody, open wound in his chest that drew her attention.

  No no no no no no no.

  She dropped to her knees, ripped off her gloves, and touched her fingers to his carotid artery. Nothing. His wrist. No pulse there either. No, God, no.

  She grabbed his ankles and pulled him away from the wall, his torso thumping on the floor. He was limp. His wide-brimmed hat dropped into the pool of blood. “Carpenter, hey.” She slapped his face. “Hey!” He didn’t move.

  She pulled off her mask and put her ear to his lips. Breathe. Please. Nothing.

  Okay. Okay. She tore off his shoulder-cape and tried to wrap it around him to cover the hole in his chest. She couldn’t get it under him; he was too heavy, and her fingers kept slipping in the blood.

  “Hey,” she said. “You can’t be dead. Remember what you said? You have to be alive, you have to be a hero. ’Cause if you aren’t, who will be?”

  He didn’t reply.

  There had to be something else. She couldn’t do CPR, his sternum was shattered. There was no way to do chest compressions. She slapped her forehead again and again. Think!

  Cardiac massage. They’d taught her that in the Wardens. His chest cavity was already open, broken and torn as it was. She didn’t hesitate. The shattered ribs scraped her hand as she reached through the hole and searched inside his chest. Where was his heart? Goddamn it, where was it?

  There. Her hand enveloped something wet and tough and meaty. She squeezed it. Squeeze. Squeeze. Blood spurted from his chest. Her hand slipped, she couldn’t get a good grip, her fingers kept slipping into shadow. Her cheeks were wet.

  She didn’t know how long she knelt there, with the cold concrete biting her knees and her hand in Solomon’s chest. His face didn’t flicker, not once. The sun shone through the hole Sam left in the roof. She wasn’t cold, but she shivered.

  When she finally removed her hand, her coat sleeve was sodden with blood. She straightened the Carpenter’s mask, bent over his face, and pressed her lips against the stubble on his cheek.

  He was the masked man, the hidden man, the endless watcher.

  He was the stranger who guarded the world through the night.

  He was every man.

  He held back the storm,

  And he made the light shine through,

  Until the night took him.

  “Sleep well, hero,” she said.

  25: There’s Always a Way

  Omegaman

  Real name:

  Frank Oppenheimer

  Powers:

  Enhanced reflexes, able to phase-shift through stationary or slow-moving objects.

  Notes:

  Younger brother of Dr Atomic and second-in-command of the Manhattan Eight. Despite his pacifist tendencies, he acted as the supergroup’s assassin during World War II. Brought before the House Un-American Activities Committee for alleged Communist ties. Later acquitted. Whereabouts unknown following the death of Dr Atomic.

  —Notes on selected metahumans [Entry #0002]

  For thirty-six hours, they kept Morgan in darkness. Not what usually passes for darkness, where after a while your eyes adjust enough to make out shapes and movement. This darkness was so thick he could almost feel it drowning him with each breath.

  He had the cell memorised by now. Six foot by eight, thick concrete all around, with an approximately six inch thick steel door. If he stretched while lying on the mattress, he could touch one wall with the top of his head and reach the other with his feet. A metal toilet and basin were the only other fixtures in the cell.

  He pressed his palm against the cool wall. He’d known it would be hard if he got caught, but he hadn’t known how hard. They brought him food and drink, but that wasn’t what he needed. It was light that sustained him, that gave him his power, and they gave him none of that. Granted, it would have been immensely foolish for them to do so, but that knowledge did nothing to quench the hunger in him. They’d even used some Unity Corporation tech to drain him of his reserves after they captured him. The hypocrisy annoyed him. Most of that technology had been developed by metas. Now the authorities sought to use it against them.

  At least his headaches had dulled in here. It was the quiet, he thought. The only sounds here were the ones he made himself. It was peaceful, in a way. I’ll miss that if they grant me bail. The ludicrousness of the thought made him
smile into the darkness. The Senior Sergeant said he wouldn’t be taken to the courthouse for his hearing. A telephone system would be set up to allow him to give statements and hear the case against him from the comfort of his cell. A gross breach of his legal rights, of course, but the Chief Justice, the Prime Minister, and the heads of the AAU had all agreed that it was for the best.

  No matter. If it came to trial, he had no hope of ever being acquitted, whether he was physically in court or not.

  His lunch had arrived an hour ago, but it lay beside him uneaten. It was decent fare; most meals came with potatoes or bread, and a good range of fruits and vegetables: tomatoes, peas, apples, bananas. He was having trouble summoning an appetite, but he knew he should eat. The winds of fate could change quickly, and you had to be ready to put up sails. He prodded a tender spot in his top gum with his tongue, and reached for the tray.

  It wasn’t a noise that alerted him, so much as a feeling of presence. He smiled. “My dear Dr Oppenheimer, I was beginning to think you had forgotten me. You never write, you never visit.”

  Something struck his cheek, and his head snapped around. Purple spots swam through the darkness, accompanied by lightning bolts of pain shooting through his bones. He tried to reach out, and realised he’d fallen onto his side. Blood filled his mouth. He pushed himself up on shaky arms. A hand closed around his throat and pulled him the rest of the way.

  “Where is my nephew?” Frank Oppenheimer’s voice hissed in his ear.

  Morgan couldn’t speak if he wanted to. His windpipe screamed in agony as Frank’s palm crushed it, and his lungs started to burn. The purple spots returned, the only colour in a room of black. For a moment, his confidence slipped, and doubt entered his mind. He’ll kill me if I’m not careful.