Heroes Lost and Found

by Sheryl Nantus

  It took a few moments for me to register my new surroundings, a few seconds more for the fear to set in, making me shiver.

  I was in a cage. My head brushed the cold metal as I sat up straight, making it impossible for me to stand. A thick ugly padlock secured one side, the brand-new shiny steel almost glowing in the fluorescent lights overhead. The room was bare except for a single closed door.

  I stretched out my arms, touching both sides. The metal bars were typical jailhouse material, spaced just far enough apart for my hand to reach out into freedom. But these cages couldn’t be meant for humans to stay in. It was impossible to sit or stand without discomfort.

  They were more suited for animals.

  I gave the bars a shake, testing them. I didn’t have Steve’s strength, but I wanted to see how flexible they were, if at all.

  They were solid.

  I rocked back and forth. The cage didn’t shift, didn’t move an inch.

  This was not good.

  “Hunter? Jessie?” I cleared my throat to keep the fear from taking over my voice. “Hunter?”

  The link was dead. Jammed, rerouted, closed down, whatever I wanted to call it.

  This was definitely not good.

  I shivered. The bastards had taken my clothing, leaving me wearing nothing but my sports bra and panties. Neither of which was Victoria’s Secret, so it wasn’t like I was looking like a pin-up girl. But the psychological aspect didn’t escape me.

  The door opened.

  “Good. You’re awake.” A young man in his early twenties entered. He crossed his arms and looked down at me. “The Controller’s been waiting for you.”

  I blinked, trying to place him. I knew this guy. He’d been at the diner, but I hadn’t seen his features clearly enough to identify him. His long blond hair was pulled back into a loose braid, the edge tucked into his black T-shirt. The dark green fatigues stopped at military-issue black boots.

  Definitely not a Boy Scout.

  My memory flipped through the Rolodex of supers, the ones I’d fought with and against along with the ones I’d watched and, finally, the ones I’d trained with. The wheels turned slowly but they turned.

  “Thrasher?” The code name burned my tongue as I coughed it out.

  “You remember me.” He crouched by the cage, smiling. “Cool. I was supposed to go against you and Metal Mike in a few weeks.” His face darkened. “Too bad about Mike. I was looking forward to that.”

  I tapped the bars. “Not to be impolite, and I’d love to chat further over a good cuppa, but any chance I can get you to let me out of here?”

  He laughed, a low, coarse cough that sent a shiver through my veins. “Not a chance, Surf. I’m not going to have my plug pulled ’cause of you.”

  I reached up and touched behind my ear. A fat, raised pimple throbbed as I brushed over it with my fingertips.

  “Tranq gun. Agency issue. You’ll be okay.” He lifted a finger. “Word of advice. Don’t talk back. He gets really pissed when you talk back.”

  “What time is it?” I said.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You weren’t out for too long. He won’t damage any of us permanently.” He stretched out his hand. “If you don’t remember—here’s my trick. On the off chance you think about trying your mojo on me.”

  The fingers turned to stone, the transformation spreading over his body as I watched. He stood up again, flexing his solid muscles like a statue come to life.

  “Cool, hmm?”

  “What’s your name?” I prompted.

  He frowned. “Thrasher. You just said it.”

  “No, your real name,” I answered. “We’re more than just our code names, pal.”

  Thrasher shrugged, the grey concrete skin reverting back to a pink tone before my eyes. “You are who you are, Surf. Me, I got away from Los Angeles when my Guardian panicked and got squashed by a car. Thought I’d go straight, get a job and an apartment. Maybe a girlfriend.” His lower lip curled up in a snarl. “Ended up bagging groceries in some podunk little store in a crappy little town. Didn’t like it.” He pulled his fingers into a fist, studying it. “This is what I do best.”

  “Killing people? Because you keep working for Dykovski, that’s what you’re going to end up doing. And he’ll end up killing you somewhere down the line, when he gets tired of you or you start asking too many questions.”

  He snorted. “Maybe, maybe not. But going to have fun on the way down to hell, I figure. He gives me what I want and I do what he wants. Nothing’s changed. Welcome to the new boss, same as the old boss.” He got up and walked towards the door. “Like I said—don’t talk back.” He paused and raised one eyebrow. “Nice body. Maybe we can get together later on. Mike had good taste.”

  I resisted the urge to shiver and swear simultaneously.

  Thrasher opened the door and spoke to someone in the next room. “She’s awake, sir.”

  A sharp, rough voice responded. “Dirty little freak.”

  I wasn’t sure who he was talking to. Thrasher stood to one side and snapped to attention, as we’d been taught to do a thousand years ago back in training.

  A man walked in, back ramrod straight, to the point that I looked for the stick up his spine keeping him upright. He wore the same uniform as Thrasher, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who he had to be.

  Nicholas Dykovski.

  He stared at me.

  I stared back, holding his gaze.

  He broke eye contact to glare at Thrasher. “Get out. Go check and make sure our other guest is settled.”

  I squinted at the bright lights overhead, trying to wrestle my thoughts into something coherent as Dykovski strode around the cage, studying me like a lab animal.

  The last person I’d seen before falling into my worst nightmare had been Kit Masters.

  Kit Masters, who watched Dykovski stun me and drag me away.

  Maybe it’d been part of his original plan and he’d adapted, allowing Dykovski to take me and Harris in order to follow back to their base. Maybe he was in hiding even now, waiting for the team to arrive and lead them in here in a glorious rescue of his two favorite superheroes.

  Maybe I’d overestimated his ability to put the good of the many ahead of his own personal revenge train. And Harris and I just got tossed on the tracks with no rescue in sight.

  Either way I was pissed. As soon as I got out of here I’d have some words with Masters, and they weren’t going to be sweet, whispered nothings.

  I owed him a whole can of whoop-ass.

  No problem.

  Except for the madman who looked like he was about to open up a can of whoop-ass on yours truly.

  “Nicholas Dykovski, I presume?” I quipped as the man moved to stand over me, just out of arm’s reach.

  He matched his picture, the short blond hair cropped to a point that it appeared someone had painted his head with yellow dye. Strong, chiseled features reminded me of the classic Aryan posters so popular with Hitler.

  I was in definite deep doo-doo.

  He strutted around the cage, dragging his eyes over every part of my body. His expression was neutral the entire time.

  Goose bumps rose on my bare skin, only partially from the cold. I resisted the urge to shiver, determined to not give an inch.

  “I expect you’ve already tried to call home.” The voice came from behind me. I didn’t turn around, didn’t answer. “Don’t think your buddies are going to hear you.” His knuckles rapped the top of the cage, sending reverberations through the bars and floor. “There’s all sorts of ways to jam the links. I happen to have one. Entire base here is closed off courtesy of a jammer. Not a chance of them hearing you cry for help. Sort of limits all of us while we’re here, but we can get around that. Good old-fashioned intercoms and just plain old yelling seems to work as well.”

  The back of my neck throbbed. I gingerly felt the plug, finding the raised scar still there.

  He circled the cage. “I’m surprise
d to have caught you so easily, Surf. I thought you’d be wiser, smarter. You seemed like it in Toronto and out at the training site.”

  “Sorry to have disappointed you,” I replied. “And the name’s Jo.”

  A thick leather boot shot out and kicked the cage. “Speak when you’re spoken to, woman.”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek, cutting off my snarky response.

  “That’s better. Now, where to begin.” He continued his orbit, allowing me to see him only as he passed by.

  “First rule. Speak when spoken to. When I want to hear from you, I’ll ask you.” Dykovski put his hands behind his back as he continued his stroll. “Because I know you’re a woman and naturally curious, I’ll tell you that your buddy Harris Limox is in the same situation as you are. I don’t know what possessed him to think that I wouldn’t run a full personnel check before agreeing to meet him.”

  My mind raced down a different path, the logic helping to quell my rising fear. If he thought it was my plan to lure him in and not Kit’s, there might just be a silver lining to this whole storm cloud. If he didn’t even suspect Kit was still alive, it might be a wild card working to our advantage. If Kit came in with the team, it’d be a hell of a shock to Dykovski to see his dead super gunning for his ass.

  I was getting pretty tired of working on ifs.

  “Sending Meltdown out as bait wasn’t your best move. As soon as I saw him online and offering to join up, I knew it was you setting up a trap. So I played along and now here you are, little lost super girl, all alone.” Another boot to the cage, perilously close to my fingers. I sat cross-legged with my hands tucked into my lap, assuming my meditation position.

  “I’ve been watching you, you know. All those cute tricks you’ve been pulling. Calling out for supers to come to you in Toronto, forming that team. Defeating the aliens.”

  A thick gob of saliva landed on my cheek. I didn’t flinch.

  “I wasn’t surprised when they were able to wipe out the Alphas. Weak, pathetic supers all prancing around playing at being warriors. All buddy-buddy with their Guardians who never taught them to be tough. To survive. Instead we gave you good food, good toys and got you laid whenever you had an itch. I told them to build an army, you had to break the supers down, rebuild them the right way. Give you a chance at surviving. And we know how all that went down, a wholesale super slaughter ’cause they weren’t disciplined and they sure as hell didn’t follow orders. I was right and the Agency knew it. They all know it now.”

  I ground my teeth together again, clicking them in a classic SOS rhythm. It was the only Morse code I knew.

  “And then you pop up out of nowhere, flouncing around with your pitiful attempt at being a real hero. Got lucky, pulled in some muscle. Next thing you know you’re all fucking heroes. Well, except for that old broad who died. Pity, that. She had some real moxie, she did.”

  It was hard to keep from scowling.

  “And now we fast-forward to my man GroundPounder.” He continued his circle. “Damned bastard got too cocky, thought all he had to do was take you out and your team would crumble. Add to that his mishandling of Wind Witch and, well, you did me a favor by killing him.” He kicked the cage again. “Except that I had plans for him. And her. Now you think I’m just going to walk into your little trap like an idiot?”

  “Well, I was sort of hoping.” It was out of my mouth before I thought about it.

  His hand shot between the bars and grabbed the back of my neck. He yanked hard, sending my shoulders crashing against the cage. The impact reverberated down my spine, the pain gathering into a ball at my tailbone. He couldn’t use his full strength on me with the bars limiting his movement, but it was enough.

  “Did we forget the rules already? Let me give you a reminder.” His other hand flew from the side, smashing into my right cheek.

  I tasted blood.

  Dykovski released me, letting out a laugh as I fell over.

  Sparks flew from my fingers when I pushed myself back up, automatically readying a response.

  He waggled a finger in front of the bars. “Before you think about turning your little tricks on me, think about this.” He displayed his wristband, the now-familiar black attachment plugged into one side of the bracelet. “I die or go unconscious, this goes off. Guess what happens then.”

  “Fuck you.” I spat out a mouthful of blood, just missing his boot.

  “Wrong answer and not yet.” He crouched in front of me with an evil smile before reaching in and grabbing me by the neck. His short fingernails scraped across the red irritated skin left by Kit’s attack.

  “Let’s go right back to the beginning, to where you understand that I’m the boss here and you’re the rookie needing some instruction.” He smirked as he dragged me forward. “I don’t have to take you out of there to make you hurt, Surf.”

  He was right.

  A half hour later he left, a sneer on his smug little face as the door slammed behind him.

  I lay on the cage floor, curled in a fetal position and gasping for air. My left eye threatened to swell shut, the bruising growing with every second. My right side ached, and I was afraid to inspect the damage. I coughed up another mouthful of blood and hoped it was from my cut inside cheek and not internal bleeding.

  Still, it could be worse.

  Hunter and the others could be with me.

  I sat up, trying to tamp down a scream as my right leg protested. “Hunter? Anyone?” I called out over the link.

  Silence.

  I swiped at my eyes, pushing down the fear and the tears until later.

  Save the world. I couldn’t even save myself right now.

  I lay there for a few minutes, waiting until the worst of the throbbing subsided. At least Harris was still alive, according to what Dykovski had said. It wasn’t great, but it was a start.

  I catalogued my assets. Me. Harris. Clean underwear. My mother would be proud.

  Possible assets. The team. They’d find me with or without the GPS in the jacket or with my link being active. Jessie would find a way. Hunter would.

  All I had to do was stay alive until they arrived.

  I licked my lips, tasting the coppery tang of blood.

  My best option for now was to play along and see what I could find out. Maybe try and break through Thrasher’s defenses and get him to reconsider his career options.

  Not like I was doing anything else at the moment.

  I leaned back, pressing against the bars. The cold metal helped to relieve some of the pain, but a handful of painkillers and a hot shower would have been better.

  A hot shower with my favorite Guardian to take care of me would be heaven.

  A painful muscle spasm in my right hamstring brought me out of that pleasant thought.

  Dykovski wouldn’t kill me. He needed me for his personal ego boost and to help recruit other supers and keep them in line. No better way to scare the kiddies than to have your own private super woman/superstar on a leash.

  Didn’t mean he had to keep me happy.

  My line of thinking snapped with the blare of a siren, the rising tone blasting from a small speaker set in the far upper corner of the room. The metallic scream set my already-frayed nerves on edge, twisting my befuddled mind into new knots.

  I struggled to turn around, trying to listen to get information.

  A shout and the sound of running feet came from the adjoining room, retreating from the area. Either I’d just been abandoned to my fate, or the trouble was coming my way and they were running interference.

  Neither option gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

  I grabbed the bars and tugged again. Good American steel. The welds at the top and bottom were secure.

  The padlock didn’t move as I yanked on it. No give there, shiny, new and strong. Without a hairpin and lock-picking skills I was stuck in the cage until someone came to let me out.

  A low rumbling rolled through the floor, the vibrations shooting through the base of my cage
and up the bars. I touched the cool metal, frowning as I tried to find the source of the shaking. It was almost like having one of the old streetcars chug on by the bookstore in the middle of the night.

  The shaking stopped.

  I pulled a full charge into my body, wincing as my muscles protested the effort. Something was happening, and I wasn’t going to get caught with my pants down. Or panties.

  My pulse shot up in anticipation of a rescue. Maybe Kit had brought them here, maybe they were taking the complex apart looking for me.

  “Hunter!” I called out. “Steve, Peter, Rachael, anyone? Can anyone hear me?” I shook the bars again, my panic giving me a burst of strength. “I’m in here. Can anyone hear me?”

  The far wall burst apart, showering me in pieces of concrete and dust. The larger rocks bounced off the top of the cage with a resounding clang while the smaller ones made their way in, digging into my exposed skin. I covered my eyes, trying not to add blindness to my list of current negatives.

  When I opened them, I saw a familiar figure sprawled on the floor within arm’s reach of my cage, gasping and coughing for air.

  Chapter Eight

  Thrasher got to his feet and roared, throwing his arms open in a bring-it-on gesture. His shirt smoldered with small dots of flame peppering the surface, the stone skin impervious to any damage. He ripped the remains of fabric off and tossed it to the floor.

  He didn’t even glance at me but charged back through the opening, head down and yelling. A crash came from nearby, making the ground shudder under my feet.

  I banged against the cage bars, feeling more helpless than ever. The temperature in the room increased, cutting down on my external shivering but increasing the dread inside.

  “Hunter? Anyone? What’s going on?”

  A screaming came from the other room, mixed in with loud cursing. I placed it as Thrasher’s voice filled with anger and frustration.

  The door flew open. I recognized the other super from the diner, a middle-aged bald man who looked as if he’d stepped into too many lawn rakes. He ignored me as he sprinted towards the hole in the wall, wearing the same uniform as Thrasher and Dykovski.

  He scrunched his chubby cheeks together in an imitation of a fat baby about to have a temper tantrum. He bounced for a second on the balls of his feet before sprinting out of sight at an incredible speed.