Heroes Lost and Found

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Good. The gang’s all here. Let’s begin your lesson for the day.” Dykovski went down on his right knee, pinning Kit’s shoulder.

  Kit frowned as Dykovski reached out with both hands to touch him, the long slender fingers caressing his skin like a lost lover. He flinched but couldn’t wriggle away from Dykovski’s grip.

  Dykovski ran his fingers through the short dark hair, keeping the good side of Kit’s face pressed to the floor.

  “Inferno here was a good man, a good fighter,” Dykovski intoned. “But he never quite figured out the food chain. Predators and prey. Eat or be eaten. Fight or be beaten down. In the bigger scheme of things, you are all where you are supposed to be, here with me. Your destiny wasn’t to save the world; your destiny is to help me rule it.” He shifted his right knee and pressed down on Kit’s scarred ear, pinning him to the floor.

  “You asshole,” Kit blustered, staring at Dykovski’s left shoe. “You’re fucking scum. You think you’re a big man ’cause you get off beating on people who can’t fight back? You’re a coward.”

  Dykovski ignored the rant and ran his finger down the scarred skin, the fingertip bouncing from ridge to ridge. “And some of you are living on borrowed time.”

  His hand landed in Kit’s front pocket. His fingers wriggled, digging out the small chain and the jammer.

  I tried not to react as Dykovski pulled it free and waved it in the air.

  Harris moaned, unable to hold it in.

  “Did you think I wasn’t listening to you two babbling at each other?” Dykovski pointed at the ceiling. “Hidden cameras. Very useful. Agency issue.”

  I felt nauseous as he dangled the small, slim, rectangular wafer in the air.

  “Why do you think I stripped you down, Surf? I knew you had something on you that blocked my attempts to get your code. Saw it at Cherries ’n’ Lemons. I paid attention when you worked your tech magic. Just had to figure out what and where it was.” He fondled the thin medallion. “I thought it was something in the jacket.”

  He moved in on the jammer with both hands, flexing it between his fingers.

  Kit wrestled under Dykovski’s knee, twisting around in a vain attempt to break free. “You’re a fucking coward. You’re a disgrace to the Agency and to the other Guardians.” Spittle flew from his lips as he tried to pull away. “Why don’t you fight me one on one, man to man. Don’t hide behind your wristband and your gadgets. Show me what you’re made of. Put your money where your mouth is, you bastard.”

  Dykovski ignored him and continued to study the jammer, turning it over and over. He gave a snort, twisting away from Kit’s gaze.

  “Dude, you’re drunk again. Pathetic.” His free hand moved up. “Meltdown, if you please.” Dykovski waved him forward. “Please dispose of this.”

  Harris looked at me, sweat beading on his forehead.

  I gave him a slight nod. There was nothing else I could do or say.

  He stepped out of line and reached out a single index finger.

  Dykovski held up the jammer to it, delicately pressing it up against the rapidly heating skin.

  The black rectangle bent, burned, broke apart in two pieces. Dykovski let go, allowing both halves to drop to the floor. The small chain rattled as it coiled around one shattered half.

  “Thank you. Back in line.” He turned his attention to me as Harris returned to his place between the other two supers. “So much for your high-tech wizardry.”

  Harris’s lower lip quivered as he stared at the floor and the shattered jammer.

  Dykovski patted Kit’s head. “As I was saying before, you’re all living on borrowed time. Tick, tock.” He tapped on the scarred skin with a single finger. “Tick, tock.”

  The finger moved and landed on his wristband. It struck a series of numbers, the click clack reminding me of an old typewriter.

  I’d never heard it before.

  I hoped I’d never have to again.

  The red digital figures came up, growing in intensity like a dying star about to burn out.

  “Goodbye, Inferno. Again.” Dykovski tapped the gold button.

  Kit’s good eye locked with mine, strong and fearless.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  The explosion deafened me, the roar of thunder washing over me as I flung myself against the back of the cage in a primeval urge to get away from death.

  Harris let out something between a cry and a shout. I pulled my hands down in time to see him charge at Dykovski, who was still on the ground, Kit Masters’s half-empty skull crumbling under his knee.

  Thrasher and Hot Foot grabbed Harris by the arms, dragging him back and keeping well clear of his hands.

  “Dude, not here. Not here,” Thrasher mumbled. “Not worth it, not worth it.” He glanced at me for a second, and I saw the fear in his eyes.

  Dykovski stood up.

  The plug had done its job, severing the spinal cord and blowing most of the skull away, the detritus shooting towards the wall. The blood and brains smeared across Dykovski’s black shirt and camo pants sent a spasm through me, threatening to return the two sandwiches and anything else in my stomach.

  “Crappy government tech. Second time’s the charm, I always say.” He looked at his bloody hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Told him once he didn’t have two grey cells to rub together. Guess he did have more than one. Inferno, I stand corrected.”

  I couldn’t think. I sat there and shook as Dykovski wiped his hands on his shirt with a stoic look.

  Harris stopped struggling. Instead he stared at the dead man, his mouth slightly open. Thrasher let go of his arm, joining him in a silent inspection of the body. Hot Foot shuffled his feet from side to side, looking everywhere but at Kit.

  “That felt sort of good,” Dykovski announced with a wide grin. “Sort of like having Christmas twice in the same week.” He slapped his hands together, the noise deafening in the quiet room. “All right, then. Meltdown, back to your box for a bit of rest. Same with you two boys.” He glanced down at me. “I think I’ll leave you a roommate for a bit. Give you something to think about.”

  I pulled my knees up and hid my face, burying myself in aching, bruised muscles. The door slammed and left me in silence.

  Chapter Ten

  I shifted in the cage, every move becoming more uncomfortable. It’d been the better part of an hour since Kit’s death, and some things just couldn’t be put off forever.

  “Thrasher,” I called out. A minute later I repeated myself, hoping to sound as friendly as possible under the circumstances.

  The door opened. Hot Foot walked in, rubbing his eyes with one hand. The dazed look told me he’d been asleep. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting.

  “Thrasher’s busy. What?”

  I shifted against the bars. “I hate to bother you, but I’d like to use the bathroom. Thrasher said to call him if I needed to go.”

  The middle-aged man stroked his chin, pressing his lips together into a thin line. I saw him assessing the risk and the fear in his eyes if he made the wrong choice. I couldn’t blame him given recent events.

  “Look, I’ll leave the door open. You can watch if you want, but I have to warn you, I’m nervous about that sort of thing.” I spread my hands. “Dykovski won’t be too happy if he comes in here and finds I’ve messed myself now, will he? You want to clean it up?”

  Hot Foot grunted. “Wait here a minute.” He didn’t look at Kit’s remains lying a few feet away from my cage.

  I couldn’t stop looking at them. The lone eye continued to stare at me, the unwavering brown orb daring me to do something, anything to save myself.

  Problem was, I couldn’t think of anything.

  Hot Foot returned a minute later, carrying the key in one hand. He knelt by the cage and fiddled with the lock. “Bathroom’s over there. Don’t close the door the entire way.” He coughed. “Don’t be too long. Boss is in a fit over something, been yelling up a storm in his room.” The door swung open, the bo
ttom edge of the metal dragging through the puddle of drying blood.

  “Oh?” I crawled out of the cage. “Running out of people to kill?”

  “Don’t be fucking with the Controller,” Hot Foot snapped. “You’re lucky to be alive. If you knew how much he hated you and your buddies—” He broke off, shaking his head.

  I held back my response. He wasn’t the enemy, Dykovski was. There was no point in causing more friction.

  “Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes cleaning up.” I staggered towards the bathroom.

  The small room was barren of all but the basic necessities—a thin sliver of white soap sitting on the porcelain sink, a stack of paper towels wadded up behind the faucets waited to be used.

  I left the door half open.

  The polished steel mirror was warped in spots but reflective enough to show me what a mess I’d gotten myself into. Dried blood caked my upper lip, and I stopped counting the yellow, blue and black bruises after reaching double digits.

  There was plenty of hot water, and I let it run to calm my nerves, the steam filling the small room despite the door still being partially ajar. My bladder let out a sigh of relief as it emptied, making me at least three pounds lighter by my estimation.

  “You about done?” The nervous shout jolted me out of my inspection. “I don’t have all day to play babysitter.”

  “One second more. Thanks for being so patient, I really appreciate it.”

  A last wipe across my face with a damp paper towel and I walked out, feeling a bit more civilized despite my lack of clothing.

  “What’s your name?” I stood by the cage, delaying the inevitable.

  “Hot Foot.” He glared at me. “Get back in the cage.”

  “I mean your real name,” I prompted again, hoping for more success than I’d had with Thrasher.

  “Oh, that.” He laughed. “Don’t remember, don’t want to remember.” He ran a finger over his ear and worked on digging out a piece of wax. “Going to build a whole new world and burn down the old.”

  I crouched down and waited, prolonging my freedom. “With Dykovski as your leader? He’ll kill you as soon as he gets tired of you.”

  “Maybe.” The scene around me shifted, changed, and I was in the cage and the lock was back on and I had a few fingerprints in places I didn’t like. “But you’ll be ahead of me in that line, so I’m okay with it.”

  “Maybe,” I replied. “But wouldn’t you rather be your own man making your own decisions?”

  The speedster paused by the door, smirking. “Good night.”

  “What time is it?” I asked as the door swung shut. “What time is it?”

  The lights went out, leaving me in the darkness with Kit’s body. I could smell the burnt, charred flesh and the blood, the remains moving towards eventual decomposition and all those other lovely bodily functions we don’t like to think about happening when someone dies.

  I curled up as far as I could from the corpse and tried to sleep, tried to plan some sort of attack, some sort of rescue.

  All I got was a headache.

  “Wake up, sunshine.” The stern voice jolted me awake.

  I blinked as I looked up at Dykovski. He wore a clean black shirt and dark green pants.

  “I hope you slept well.” He nudged the nearby body with a booted toe. “Or at least well enough to behave yourself. Another day, another dollar.”

  My internal clock screamed bullshit. It hadn’t been that long since the lights went off. I smiled, determined to play out his little mental game. “Slept like a baby.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I flinched, preparing for the incoming attack. Instead something landed on my head, light and smelling of man sweat. My nose wrinkled at the unfamiliar smell.

  “I thought we’d go for a walk. Get dressed.”

  I unfolded the black T-shirt. “Sorry, I’ve sort of gotten used to going haute couture. But thank you.”

  One end of his mouth moved downward into a snarl before he caught himself.

  My mother didn’t raise any stupid supers. I knew the game. Screw with my body then screw with my mind to break me down, make me more pliable for his warped logic.

  He knelt and undid the padlock. “Come, let’s go for a stroll.”

  I uncurled myself and got out of the cage, suppressing my shivering. It was still damned cold in the room, and I was sure that was on purpose.

  “Come.” Dykovski put his hands behind his back and walked towards the open door. “Let me show you around your temporary home.”

  I followed, leaving the shirt behind.

  “I was a bit hard on you yesterday. I realize that now.” The next room held a single wooden desk, typical guard post. An empty chair showed where Thrasher and Hot Foot had sat watching me, the small black-and-white monitor displaying Kit’s body and the empty cage.

  Dykovski unlocked the door on the other side of the room. “But I think you’ll come to find me a friend and confidant, given the circumstances. We could really make an excellent team, Surf. With me as your Guardian there’s so much we could do.” He dragged out the last word, turning it into a suggestion.

  Again I bounced between shivering and throwing up.

  We walked into a living room, the floor covered with a standard military-issue grey carpet, thin and scratchy under my feet. Thrasher sat on the sofa with Hot Foot, their attention on the video game running on the large flat-screen mounted on the wall. They glanced at Dykovski but said nothing, focusing more on the first-person shooter images as they saved the free world from aliens. Hot Foot’s hands flashed on the controller so fast I couldn’t see his fingers.

  “You’re cheating.” Thrasher nudged Hot Foot’s foot.

  “Not really. Computer’s too slow to work at my speed. I’m the one with the disadvantage here,” he shot back with a toothy grin.

  Dykovski chuckled as he patted the heads of the two men. “Don’t break it, boys. Might be hard to get another one where we’re going.” He waved a hand at the plush recliner in the corner. “Here, have a seat.”

  I resisted the urge to leap into it and wallow like a pig in fresh mud. “Where’s Harris?”

  Dykovski pursed his lips. “He’s fine. Now, about us…”

  “There is no us, Nicholas. There is you and there is me.” I pointed at the two men on the sofa. “How long before you kill all of us? Just like Kit.”

  Thrasher gave me a sideways glance, gaze quickly darting back to the screen. Hot Foot didn’t turn away from the game.

  “Inferno was long past his expiration date. I really thought the bastard was dead. Never even considered he might still be alive, never in a thousand years thought he’d have some sort of dud plug. Thank you, by the way, for flushing him out. God knows how long he’s been waiting to make his move. Better that we clean the mess up now than later.” He pointed at the chair again. “Please, sit.”

  A few steps took him to a mini fridge in the corner. He swung the door open to reveal a stack of sodas and chilled chocolate bars, one shelf filled with wrapped sandwiches.

  “You must be hungry. Please, help yourself.”

  My stomach hummed with want. I crossed my arms in front of me, willing my fickle system to behave. “Harris. Please.”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, have it your way.” A snap of his fingers brought the two supers out of their gaming haze. “Anyone check in on the rookie lately?”

  “Took him to the bathroom an hour ago, boss,” Thrasher said. “Seemed fine to me.”

  “Good. Continue.” Dykovski led me to the other door. I was getting confused with all these doors and rooms. It was an underground maze, set up specifically to confuse anyone who wasn’t already familiar with the layout. Another Agency cache.

  The hallway was badly lit, the few emergency lights flickering as we moved down the corridor. Dust bunnies collected in corners, waiting for my feet to disturb them into commuting to another location. This location had been mothballed for months before
our arrival.

  A small flicker of hope burned in my mind. If I was lucky, the Agency had emptied this out before abandoning it. Meaning Dykovski didn’t have as many toys as before. It wasn’t much, but anything that kept more tech out of his hands was a good thing.

  We strolled along the long passageway, Dykovski keeping his hands behind his back as I stretched out cramped and aching leg muscles. My bare feet twitched on the cold floor, but I couldn’t spare the energy to fly.

  “I’ve decided that I’d like you to lead my team, Surf.” The comment came out of nowhere.

  I laughed and then braced myself for an incoming blow.

  Nothing happened.

  “I’m serious, Surf.” Dykovski stopped and unlocked a door. “You’re strong, smart. You showed me yesterday you could lead them. You think on the fly and make things happen. That’s a good aspect of being a leader.”

  “I already have a team,” I replied. “And a Guardian who doesn’t beat the shit out of me.”

  “Ah, yes. Hunter Dillon.” He chuckled as he walked through the doorway. “And before that, Mike Pratt. Metal Mike.” He said the names as if spitting out sour milk. “We’ll discuss them later. I think I can make you an offer you can’t refuse.” He laughed at his own joke.

  The room was identical to the one I’d left a few minutes ago, the same small cage in the center of the otherwise empty room.

  No dead man, however.

  Harris glanced up. He sat cross-legged in the cage, looking bored. My first instinct was to ask him why he hadn’t burned through the bars and gotten out.

  My second one, the survival one, kicked in. He’d have gotten about as far as Kit had if he’d tried to escape.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Sure.” He smiled, his attention darting over to Dykovski before coming back to me. “Just fine, thanks.”

  Dykovski turned to me. “Good. I appreciate your loyalty to your friend. It shows responsibility for others, and I like that in a leader. Now let’s talk.” He leaned on the cage, oblivious to Harris scuttling to the other side. “You’ve had a pretty good run as a rogue, Surf. But it’s time to come home and do your duty.”