Preternaturals
A Superhero Thriller
By Allen Kensington
Preternaturals: A Superhero Thriller
By Allen Kensington
Copyright © 2014 Rodney Maley
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
About the Author
Dedication
To my parents.
You taught me to dream, to work hard, to fail, and to keep trying.
Thanks, Mom and Dad. I love you.
Chapter One
The hero moved along the darkened rooftops with a tenacious speed no other could match. From the street, he must have seemed nothing more than a fleeting shadow in the cold twilight. His feet crunched across iron, stone, and slate as the towering skyline of the city passed behind him. His thighs burned with every effort, but he pressed on, hoping to catch his prey.
The villain was below him, making a cheap getaway in a ridiculously-themed vehicle. Had Dr. Malorius and his henchmen looked up, they could have seen the man, running with all of his might along the low rooftops. Instead, they gunned the engines, issuing a great rumble of noise and accelerating down the lane.
Captain Valour ran, his pace increasing. His piston-strong legs matched speed, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he reached the building’s corner and jumped. The arc of his leap put him just ahead of the villain’s vehicle, and as he squinted against the wind, the asphalt grew in his vision.
Three.
Two.
One.
He landed with a crash upon the car’s oversized trunk, its back end groaning and sparking under his added force. Somehow, the vehicle remained mobile, a result of the structural reinforcement that the villain had added. Captain Valour did not pause. He punched a gloved fist down through the crumpled metal, indenting the axle below. Withdrawing his hand, he readied another blow.
Gunshots exploded in a garish display from the car’s side windows. Bullets whizzed around the hero, but few found their mark. He ripped the trunk’s dented lid from its hinges, and held it up to protect himself from subsequent wounds. Thus shielded, he again plunged his fist through the vehicle’s undercarriage. With god-like strength, he grasped the axle and twisted, holding tight to it from within the confines of the trunk cavity.
The vehicle gave a great lurch, tilting onto its side but losing none of its speed. Handicapped and twirling with reckless abandon, it disintegrated in a whirlwind of destruction, spraying shards of burning metal. A great screech erupted as it dragged across the asphalt. The bulk of the remains came to a halt one hundred yards from the origin of the crash, but miscellaneous pieces travelled much further before their energy was spent.
Shaking away the disorientation, Captain Valour leapt from his hiding place and prepared to meet his foe. He surveyed the wreck before him. Both of the thugs inside were unconscious, blood spilling from their head wounds, but there was no sign of Malorius. Valour looked across the debris field.
A dark figure ran full tilt down the avenue.
Again, he took up pursuit. The battle had raged for hours, and both participants were tiring, superhuman endurance notwithstanding. The sun had shone its last rays upon them, and even under the halcyon glow of streetlights, Valour would not give up. Not this time. This night would end it, once and for all.
He took up the chase, and the Jefferson Bridge soon rose into view. A testament to the city’s postwar expansion, its stone and steel spanned the cold, dark boundary at the city’s south end. Columns of brick rose from the river’s depths, supporting the cables and roadways.
Whether it was to attempt an aquatic escape, or a simple dash across, Malorius was running toward it.
Captain Valour didn’t care. He was gaining on the villain.
Short of the first pylon, Dr. Malorius planted his feet and leapt. His cape fluttered as his body lifted toward the apex of the first tower. He landed with an audible crunch at its top, and Valour wasted no time in following him. He jumped as well, and as his legs crunched a landing, he could see the villain facing him, waiting.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Captain,” the criminal said, his tone calm despite the labored pursuit. “Together we could rule,” he pointed out across the vast cityscape, “over all of them.”
Captain Valour shook his head at the villain’s familiar appeal. “It’s finished, Malorius,” he said with an earnest finality.
“For you, perhaps,” came the reply. “This city has yet to know my true power.” The villain revealed a small device cradled within his hand. With a deliberate and dramatic motion, he pressed the button at its core.
Captain Valour saw the brilliant flash reflected in his enemy’s eyes. He turned, scenes of destruction and inferno meeting him from within the city’s center. A firestorm propagated amongst the skyscrapers, entire buildings engulfed in furious, orange flame. Even at this distance, the fire’s heat brushed against his cheek.
Valour stared. He wanted to help them, wanted to rush back and rescue those who hadn’t been incinerated. His friends were there: city officials, civil servants, and businessmen. Countless were dead already, but even if he moved now, he wasn’t sure he could save the others. Not with Malorius free. He turned back toward the villain.
Dr. Malorius capitalized on his distraction, flying into an attack. A sharp right hook, capable of shattering granite, met the hero’s jaw. Valour stumbled back under the assault, catching himself on the stone lip of the tower’s edge. His fingers pressed into the cold parapet, halting his possible plummet to the roadway fifteen stories below.
Dr. Malorius leered at the hero. He raised his fists for another blow. “It’s been quite a rid
e, Captain,” he said, swinging like a wrecking ball. “But we all knew it would end like this.”
The hero leaned back over the open abyss. The tower’s stone pressed into the small of his back, but the villain’s attack swung clear. He wasted no time, bolting upright and delivering a forceful jab to his enemy’s throat. A swift left hook followed.
Malorius staggered, driven both by his lost balance and the precise attacks that Captain Valour had dealt. Another strike came as the hero jumped toward him, driving a rock hard fist down the man’s helmet and across his cheekbone. The villain’s knees crumpled, and his body slumped. Eyes blazing, he aimed his vision at the hapless champion and let loose two rays of heat. Red beams spanned the short distance between them.
The radiant attack slowed Valour’s assault, bringing him to a standstill. He raised his hands, shielding himself from the rays. His gloves burnt away, and his flesh began to blacken, painful blisters rising from his skin. Despite the obvious and worsening injury, Valour did not relent. He pushed against the burning energies, getting nearer and nearer to their source. With another great roundhouse, he hindered their flow.
But Captain Valour didn’t stop there. The hero unleashed a flurry of blows, continuing to pummel the downed villain. His fists slammed against Malorius’ head and helmet, each carrying the force of a freight train. The battered wreck of the villain’s disguise fell away, and the frightening visage was replaced by a bruised and engorged face. Malorius’ eye swelled into a lump of black and green.
The villain coughed, spitting blood. “Is this your plan, Captain?” He managed a jagged smile. “In the end, you’re going to beat me to death?”
“Shut up,” the hero said, pulling his enemy up by the lapels. He held him upright for a moment, staring into the face of his foe. “You’ve killed a lot of good people, Malorius. Friends of mine.” The hero looked to the fires still raging in the city’s downtown. He moved his grip to the villain’s throat. “It’s time you paid for your crimes.” His hand clamped shut with brutal strength.
Malorius clawed at his windpipe as the hero squeezed. Gagging, he raised a gauntlet, flipping a mechanism under his wrist. A colored stream of gas spewed outward.
Valour recognized the cloud, turning away from it. He could smell the sweet scent of the thick fumes. It was one of Malorius’ most foul inventions, a gas that infected the mind, turning its victims toward the villain’s evil will. Using it, Malorius had come close to taking control of the city earlier in the year. Captain Valour had stopped him then, and he had no plan to succumb now.
He held his breath, keeping Malorius pinned at the end of his full-stretched arm. The cloud grew; the villain’s proximity making it difficult to avoid it. While the hero was unwilling to release his enemy, the situation demanded it. As his lungs screamed for oxygen, he had to make a decision.
Tired of the games, Valour whirled, pitching his prisoner through the nearest parapet and off of the tower. Stepping clear of the foul mist, he watched the villain fall twenty stories, then jumped after. He was fifteen feet distant when Malorius struck the roadway, falling upon a passing car and leaving a crater across three lanes. Valour landed hard beside him, his steely legs taking the brunt of the shock.
Malorius was not so lucky. He lay unconscious, near death. The hero approached him, kicking the gauntlet from his hand as colored vapors again escaped it. “Your mind-control gas won’t help you this time, Doctor.” Valour stood over the body, looking down. “I have nothing for it to exploit. My conscience is clear.”
A small whimper sounded from behind, and the hero spun. His eyes met those of a small boy, trapped within the wreckage of vehicle and bridge. A large chunk of twisted metal seemed to pin the youngster in place, little more than his head poking out from the carnage.
The hero cast a glance at the villain, then walked to the boy. “What’s your name, son?” he asked, standing over him.
“Stephen,” the boy said, choking back a sob. His breathing sounded strained and erratic.
“Hold tight, Stephen,” the hero reassured. He stepped away from the scene, taking one last look at the boy. “The doctors will be here soon.” He grabbed Malorius’ unconscious form and raced off into the night.
Stephen lay there, unable to move. The faint sounds of sirens rose in the distance.
Senator Jack Williams forced himself from the memory, now fifty years distant. He could still feel the cool wind against his skin and the heat of that terrible fireball. It was the first of many regrets from that night. Closing his eyes, he pushed it from his mind.
A much newer threat beckoned his attention. He focused again on the speaker before him, Senator Alan from Kentucky. The man spoke with a slight drawl that Jack had come to expect from Southern politicians, but his pronunciations did not mitigate the clarity of the speech’s message. The orator neared his conclusion as Jack again began to listen.
Alan held up a picture of a little girl for everyone in the subcommittee’s meeting chamber to see. “Three months ago, this grade-schooler burst into flame as she threw a tantrum in a grocery store. Purple fire covered her body, melting nearby packages and charring display cases.” The senator grimaced, wiping at his eye. “I’ve seen the security footage, and it’s obvious that she had no idea what was happening to her. She screamed as the fire danced over her body, and as her frantic mother tried to calm her, that woman too was engulfed.” He put her picture down on the podium, staring at it for a moment. His face held real emotion. “No one was prepared for this sort of thing, and in the end, the entire building came down in the blaze, killing seventeen.”
Senator Alan looked up, holding another picture. The blurry photo revealed a large, hairy monster somewhere between man and ape. “Recognize this one?” he asked his fellow politicians. “This delinquent dubbed himself ‘the GRRilla’ as he robbed a branch of DeFalco State Bank a few months back, holding police in a standoff and threatening the lives of thirty-five hostages. After a grueling three-hour negotiation, this man, if that’s indeed what he was, tried to run. He chucked entire cars at the pursuing police as if flinging a toothpick.” The senator gestured as he told the story, meeting the eyes of his colleagues. He held up two more photos. “That’s when these two men, Kyle Robinson and Robert Larsen, stepped in to help. Preternaturals themselves, if you’ll excuse me for using the popularized term, they thought they could help. They fought this GRRilla as he escaped still holding a hostage and a large amount of the bank’s reserves.”
Senator Alan changed tone, pacing as he told the story. “As you know, Kyle and Robert were firefighters and family men, used to handling themselves in a crisis. They were intelligent and well-trained emergency responders, and they battled that hairy beast to edge of town, wrenching the hostage and most of the money from his hairy claws. Their combat was long and destructive, and in the end, all three of these men died from their resulting wounds.”
He shuffled the pages in front of him, banging them on the podium. “I’m not a man who claims to understand the mysteries of this world. Lord knows, there’s far too much for me, or any of us, to fully comprehend, but I do know some things. Simple truths. Among them is the fact that parents shouldn’t have to be afraid of their own children, and innocent people shouldn’t have to fear for their lives because a monster has been let loose in their midst.” He lifted the handful of pages, waving them at the audience. “These stories, they are but two examples, I’m sure you’ve heard others. The list seems to grow by the day.”
Jack nodded to himself. The list did grow. Although the government was already suppressing most of the incidents from the public, some stories slipped through. Many of the major news outlets had been remarkably helpful in stemming the publicity of the so-called “preternatural events,” but even their reach was not comprehensive. It had taken years for this crisis to culminate, ever since the unfortunate incident which peppered the population with super beings. As the public’s awareness grew, more reports reached the eyes and ears of the cit
izens.
A particular failure was fresh in Jack’s mind. Not long ago, a well-known website had unraveled the account of Dr. Darwyn Kroncik, a brilliant paleontologist. The scientist had created experimental, microscopic robots programmed to analyze and duplicate the semblance of excavated remains. The nanites were injected into the soil of a prehistoric dig site, allowed to wrap and penetrate fossil bones, and resurfaced to combine above ground in an approximation of the living animal.
The invention had worked well, winning Kroncik numerous accolades. He seemed the rising star of scientific circles, and zoos and museums clamored for the results of his technology.
Unfortunately, his notoriety served to make his fate all the more shocking. While the exact cause remained unclear, Kroncik had somehow injected himself with the infinitesimal machines. Targeted to the specifics of dinosaur DNA, the nanites had pulled the man apart in their search. What was reassembled remained intelligent, but transformed, base and brutal. Jack tried not to think about it, knowing that somewhere within the scientist’s genetic introns, the resulting creature had dwelt, waiting to be released.
Now called “Iguanus,” the monster had gone on a rampage, slaughtering innocents for food and pleasure. He began with his own fiancé, and when they found her, few bits of skin remained to cover the body. Her skull had been crushed between powerful, crocodilian jaws, starting a trail of corpses that had yet to end. For long weeks, he had terrorized the city, leaving others in his wake.
The monster had since gone into hiding, leaving the police department helpless to stem the fear. No one had yet found him, and while the public hadn’t learned of any subsequent attacks, fear and paranoia grew. Iguanus was still out there, and anyone could be his next victim.
This event, and others like it, had spurred the Senate to form a special subcommittee to investigate the problems that preternaturals represented. Given his past, Jack was a logical member. He had spoken on this topic before any attacks had occurred, and always seemed to know this day was coming. Few understood the true reasons for his concern, but most recognized his commitment to managing this strange, new population. Despite any political differences, everyone wanted to appear active in finding a solution.
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