by Nick Place
‘Welcome to your doom, OK Team,’ he says.
I’m wavering in and out of blurriness a little more than I’d like as I try to look tough. ‘It’s going to take more than some jumped-up gardener to beat us, Helmet-brain.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad our Pact is in place, young Focus. I’m going to enjoy your downfall.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Heard it before, quaking with fear, bought the T-shirt, blah blah blah,’ I say. I have no idea what that even means, but luckily my voice is sounding a lot braver than I feel. ‘Let’s get the formalities over, shall we. We are Level D, Grade Three Heroes. What is your rating?’
Bushranger chuckles a classic bad guy evil laugh. ‘We are a mere Category 2, with the occasional Category 1, so treat us kindly please, oh strong Superheroes.’
Torch can’t help himself. ‘Hey, S.T.O.M.P.-brain, does the fact you’re completely cheating affect the rules of engagement? Are you brave enough to throw away your rights as lower level Villains, given you’re souped up to the eyeballs on that artificial crap?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ says Bushranger, with something close to a giggle. But even as he says it, a vine more than 50 metres away stretches a branch to smack Torch across the back of the head. ‘Let’s see how good you little OKers are, shall we, before I have my fun with Focus.’
Swoop Swoop attacks first, the now familiar yellow streak plummeting out of the sky and almost taking out Logi-Gal before we’re even aware Swoop Swoop is there.
Logi-Gal ducks and crouches into a huddle with Torch, grappling with both of his arms. As Swoop Swoop banks for another attack, Cannonball sets himself to fly after her.
‘Cannonball, wait! Stay where you are,’ yells Logi-Gal.
I have no idea what they’re planning until The Gamer grabs Torch around the waist and springs into the air, using special bouncing boots that he picked up on a cloud-based level of whatever universal console game his life is part of.
The Gamer rises into the air holding Torch in front of him as Swoop Swoop sweeps towards them, on a potentially fatal collision course. When she’s only metres away, Torch lets fly with two bursts of flame from both hands, along with some other liquid substance, shooting from canisters attached to his forearms.
‘Perfect!’ Logi-Gal whoops.
I’m not entirely sure of the finer points of their strategy, but my Teammates are working seamlessly as a unit.
Swoop Swoop flaps her wings, but it’s clear something is wrong with her flying. She lurches in the air and almost stalls before flapping desperately to gain more sky.
The Gamer lands with Torch, who grins at me. ‘Flaming honey,’ he says. ‘Logi-Gal’s idea. If we can’t match Swoop Swoop for artificial enhancement, we can artificially slow her down by gunking up her wings.’
‘Nice work!’ I say and I mean it. ‘That’s brilliant. Hey, Cannonball, show her some real flying.’
‘Let’s fire the cannon!’ he yells and soars into the sky, in hot pursuit of the still-hampered Swoop Swoop.
Within moments, he has caught up to the struggling Swoop Swoop, flown a dazzling figure of eight around her and then lassoed her in a glowing rope that The Gamer throws to him in midair. Swoop Swoop lands hard, groans and doesn’t even try to get up.
Cannonball lands neatly next to her and says, ‘S.T.O.M.P. your way out of that, banana-girl.’
Then a figure in blue with a white arrow on his chest appears, pointing his left finger at a tractor, which rises menacingly into the air.
‘Gamer, I think the honours should be yours when it comes to Directo,’ I say.
‘Thank you, Focus. You’re too kind.’ He turns to Directo, arms folded. ‘So, you’re the one who killed me, huh? We need to talk.’
‘But how? What?’ Directo is stunned. ‘You were dead.’
‘You think a truck can stop me? I’m not even on S.T.O.M.P. like you cheaters.’
‘Well, let’s see if you can dodge a tractor,’ say Directo, but even as he throws the tractor, it turns into a giant balloon, and floats harmlessly in the air. It’s wearing a rainbow-coloured mask.
‘Switchy!’ I say. ‘Nice disguise.’
‘Thanks,’ says the balloon. ‘I won’t get in your way and you don’t need me. I’m just here to enjoy the show.’
Directo still looks confused as The Gamer pushes a giant cube that slides fast across the ground and takes him out.
‘Has anybody seen Tomorrow Girl?’ asks Cannonball.
‘Not yet,’ The Gamer admits.
I look around for Bushranger, but he’s gone. Instead, my heart lurches as Golden Boy strides onto the battle ground. A moment later I’m stunned because it’s actually some kind of mutant evil version of Golden Boy, heading straight for me.
In the back of my mind, I know it’s Morphul, but somehow I can’t get my body and brain to accept the fact. I’m quaking with fear, zipping in and out of focus, at the thought of what a nasty version of Golden Boy could do to a low-level Hero like me. Or is it the real Golden Boy, here to de-cape me? Have I run out of time?
Logi-Gal steps in front of me, hands on hips, and calmly says, ‘You’re a badly dressed teenager pretending to be scary.’
Morphul pauses and shakes his head. A darker version of Golden Boy’s usual glow shines off him as he advances.
Logi-Gal continues in a firmer voice, ‘I’m not buying it, loser. You’ve got nothing. All I can see is the real Morphul.’
And suddenly that’s all I can see too. A kid in a dark windcheater and jeans, with a makeshift home-made cape and a black mask. Looking like he doesn’t know what to do next.
‘But how?’ he asks. ‘How did you do that?’
‘I see what I see, Morphul. It’s rational.’ Logi-Gal produces a pair of handcuffs from her bag. ‘Hands behind your back, loser, these are real handcuffs.’
Suddenly I hear Tomorrow Girl’s voice in my head. ‘Cannonball! Focus! I’m in the wine-making shed where they keep the barrels. Help!’
‘Cannonball, did you hear that?’ I say.
‘I don’t know if I heard it or thought it,’ Cannonball says. ‘When did she learn to do that?’
‘Who cares? Quick. Let’s find her.’
I turn invisible and float in cloud form straight through the front door of the winery’s main building, then unlock it so Cannonball can join me. We search every room, but they’re empty. Frowning, I make sure I’m still invisible and pass back through the wall into the yard, and immediately spot a sign pointing to barrel storage.
‘Cannonball!’
‘Yep, I’ve seen it.’
The mist that is me seeps through that wall and there’s Tomorrow Girl, tied to a chair, blindfolded with a bandana. I know she won’t be happy. Her hair is a mess, and she takes grooming very seriously.
She also appears to be alone, but I don’t want to become solid in case it’s an ambush. I remain invisible.
Tomorrow Girl says, ‘I sense I’m about to be rescued.’
I hold my breath, but nothing happens. And then I see it. A shadow on the floor, about thirty metres to my right. Silently and slowly, I float back out of the room.
Cannonball is waiting, anxiously.
‘Okay,’ I whisper. ‘Blink is in there with Tomorrow Girl.
She’s fine, but is tied up. Cannonball, I want a favour.’
‘Are you nuts?’ he hisses. ‘A favour? Let’s get in there and belt him and save my sister.’
‘You can’t just belt him. He disappears, remember? Trust me, this will work.’
I take my secret weapon out from under my cape where I’ve been carefully storing it. It’s all wrapped up in a paper bag and I give it to Cannonball and explain exactly what I want him to do. He looks at me as though I’m completely nuts, but finally nods and flies precisely through a small open window near the roof. Silently he disappears into the room where Tomorrow Girl is being held.
I become a cloud again and pass through the wall. The shadow is where it was be
fore, thirty metres to my left.
Tomorrow Girl lifts her head, as though smelling the room. ‘I’m telling you, creeps. You’ve got seconds left before you’re toast.’
‘Shut up, kid. And stop singing that song! It’s driving me crazy. I HATE girl-band pop,’ says invisible Blink.
‘I’m not singing out loud,’ says Tomorrow Girl, sounding surprised. ‘I always sing this song when I’m nervous. But only in my head. And anyway, girl-bands rock.’
‘Just stop whatever it is you’re doing. Now that terrible song is stuck in my head.’
‘Serves you right. Let me go,’ she says. ‘Then again, don’t bother. You’re history anyway.’
‘I’m telling you, shut up, or else.’
I float ever closer to the disembodied shadow on the ground.
‘Foolish is the creep who heeds not the psychic’s warning,’ Tomorrow Girl says. I love that she can come up with such a hokey line, even when in mortal danger.
The shadow wavers slightly, but then is still. I’m right behind it when I whisper, ‘Boo.’
Blink shrieks and appears in front of me, looking wildly around. I become visible and flick his cheek with my finger and, snap, he’s gone again.
I turn to cloud. His shadow is to the left, about four metres away, right where I expect it to be.
Again I drift.
Tomorrow Girl says, ‘Torch, is that you?’
Which shows her psychic powers still need honing.
I float behind Blink again. ‘Yo Blink!’ I shout in his ear.
This time he lurches back into visibility and I see genuine fear in his eyes. I tap him on the side of the face. Then he’s gone again. Sure enough, his shadow is four metres away to the left.
Still invisible, I drift so I’m right in front of him, then make my right fist solid and punch invisible Blink in the stomach.
He gasps and this time, when he becomes visible, he doesn’t just disappear again.
‘How are you doing that?’ he asks.
I become fully visible and stand in front of him, fists on hips.
‘Training, hard work and eating all my vegetables,’ I say. ‘It helps to be a genuine Superhero, and not a S.T.O.M.P.- chomping wannabe like you.’
Blink snarls and disappears. And that’s when I hear the ‘splat’.
Cannonball is standing four metres to my left, holding out a cream pie and Blink has just run straight into it, doing his usual post-disappear move. Hanging in the air is the shape of a cream-covered face and then the rest of Blink’s body becomes visible to join it.
‘Gotcha,’ says Cannonball.
‘Classic comedy,’ I grin.
Blink shrieks and his body disappears, but there’s an ‘oof ’ sound from the side wall as his body hits the floor.
‘Plus,’ I say, ‘if your only move is to jump four metres to the left whenever you vanish, you’re eventually going to hit an obstacle. Like you just did.’
Blink wavers back into sight and rubs his head.
‘You might have beaten me, Focus, but the Bushranger awaits,’ he says nastily.
Cannonball is untying his sister’s hands and feet. He helps her smooth her hair back into place.
‘Good point,’ I say. ‘And now I’m all out of cream pies.’
CHAPTER 21
THE KNIGHT-HOOD PACT
All around us the trees in the orchard are silent and still, but menacing for as long as the Bushranger remains free to control them. Swoop Swoop, Morphul and Blink squirm around helplessly at the feet of The Gamer, Torch, Cannonball and Tomorrow Girl.
‘Don’t even think about wiggling out of those ropes,’ says The Gamer. ‘I’ve spent a whole level winning bonus knotting skills. You’re not going anywhere.’
Meanwhile, Logi-Gal is trying to talk me out of the final showdown.
‘This is foolish, Focus. You don’t have to fight him solo. Who cares what some dusty old Pact in Gotham decrees? You’re going to get yourself killed for a Pact you didn’t even have to sign? It’s completely illogical.’
‘Of course I have to do it,’ I say. ‘If Golden Boy or somebody steps in, I’m de-caped.’
‘And that’s worse than being dead?’ Logi-Gal asks, hands on hips.
‘In a way, yeah,’ I say. She has no idea how becoming a Superhero has changed my life. I can’t imagine existence as a non-Hero now I’ve had a taste of it.
Cyclone Tracy steps forward. ‘We’re coming too, Focus. But only as observers. We can step in if we believe you’re life is in danger, but if we have to save you, you’ll be deemed to have lost the Pact.’
‘It won’t happen,’ I say and my visibility is surprisingly good given I may be moments from serious bodily harm or worse. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Switchy gives me the thumbs up. I exchange nods with Cannonball and Torch, give The Gamer a grin that hopefully looks braver than I feel. I don’t look at Logi-Gal as I leave. I know she’ll be frowning and shaking her head.
Switchy becomes a giant video camcorder to record the fight, presumably for Hero HQ, while Cyclone Tracy walks quietly off to one side, the breeze rising slightly as she moves. Cannonball and Tomorrow Girl follow behind. Tomorrow Girl is humming softly, ‘Grl-Stars That’s who we are . . .’
I walk into the orchard, between two rows of hulking trees, bearing oranges, or maybe mandarins. I skirt around a little wooden shed and step into a large clearing. My full attention is on the fruit, keeping an eye out for movement among the trees. But they remain silent and still, like a frozen army.
Bushranger steps out from between two trees, about fifty metres ahead of me. He looks huge in the dim light, his metallic head enormous and bizarre.
‘Prepare to meet your doom, Focus.’
‘You planning to beat me with clichés?’
He roars. ‘Always the disrespect! Always the lack of appreciation for a world class Super-Villain.’
I fold my arms. ‘Who is officially on a low rating and is cheating by using S.T.O.M.P. Really world class, you loser.’
‘How dare you. How dare you insult the Bushranger.’
‘I’m going to do more than that, Bush-brain,’ I say, and I find that I’m genuinely angry. ‘I’m going to kick you from here to next week and you’re going to know you were beaten by a Superhero who was clean, who was fighting using natural abilities, who didn’t need to take some artificial S.T.O.M.P.’
‘I think not,’ he says. ‘You’re just going to eat fruit.’
‘Well, that’s Plan B,’ I say.
And suddenly his army of trees springs into life and I am pelted by oranges that are like rock-hard bullets. A few hit me, sure to leave nasty bruises, before I can will myself into a mist and watch them sail through me. I float straight at Bushranger and turn solid to land a punch, but am immediately hammered by flying oranges and almost knocked out. Luckily the shock of it sends me into invisibility and I catch my breath as oranges soar into the clearing from the back of the orchard, all missing the Bushranger, but landing right where I had been.
‘I had no idea that fruit trees had such good throwing arms,’ I say. ‘But you’re going to have to try harder, Helmet Has-been. Elephant Head does this to me most days.’
‘You dare mock my fruit army! Become visible so you can meet your doom,’ screams Bushranger.
I make my fist solid for the moment it takes to clobber him in the stomach and then back away, drifting quickly so that I’m standing right behind him.
I become visible. ‘Hey, trees. Over here,’ I yell, and then I’m a cloud again.
The oranges land like rocks, but they’re all hitting the Bushranger, until my invisibility wavers and I start to get smacked about the back. Something hard and large slams into me. I turn invisible again and momentarily enjoy the satisfaction of watching the Bushranger get battered around for a few seconds before he can mentally tell the trees to stop throwing the fruit.
But then, even though I’m invisible, I realise the back of my head is reall
y hurting and I can feel something sticky. I turn semi-solid, feel around with my hand and realise I’m bleeding. The solid object that hit me must have been a branch, and not an orange.
I’m feeling giddy and realise the wound is worse than I’d thought. My visibility waxes and wanes as I see stars, and I can’t stop myself from becoming solid. A whole new wave of oranges and branches slam into me and I feel fear for the first time.
Then suddenly the trees stop throwing fruit and begin to sway.
The Bushranger looks around in surprise, and frowns.
‘The killer blow, trees!’ he screeches. ‘Land the killer blow! Focus is hurt. Do it now!’
But the trees don’t respond. The whole orchard is swaying and dipping and bobbing. Then I realise that their branches are all synchronised, going up and down together, with the trunks moving in time.
Grl-Stars
That’s who we are
Girls and stars Yes we are!
Her-oes!
And we’re girls
We like to
fly
And we like to twirl!
Tomorrow Girl isn’t actually singing, but her voice carries into my head and clearly the trees are hearing her too. They’re all dancing, like a mutant timber girl-band doing a dance routine. Hundreds and hundreds of trees across the orchard swivel their trunks and wave their branches to the tune as Tomorrow Girl mentally sings to us all.
The Bushranger screams in fury.
‘What are you doing to my trees? How dare you make them dance. I control the trees! I am the Bushranger! They obey me!’
Tomorrow Girl is dancing beside her brother, doing the sort of moves girls learn after serious time in front of a bedroom mirror, hairbrush held as a microphone. The trees sway and dance like crazy, along with her.
‘Leave my trees alone. Trees! Listen to me! Stop dancing! I demand you stop dancing! Throw fruit! Pelt him.’
Tomorrow Girl continues her dance routine. ‘It’s not my fault if trees prefer dancing to fighting,’ she grins. ‘Find a new army, Helmet Head.’
The Bushranger frowns and turns his attention to the grass. Immediately, the tufts of grass near my feet grow and mutate, reaching for my throat. But even before I turn invisible, a burst of flame incinerates the grass with a puff of smoke. And they shrivel with a grassy squeal.
