“Lance McKendrick.”
“Good. I’ll get the police to call your house and let your folks know that you’re all right.”
“I’m not going home?”
“Not yet. I want you to tell me everything about that warehouse and the men who chased you. The colonel’s scheduled a meeting in fifteen minutes. So get some rest because it’s going to be a long night.”
“Can you do me a favor first?” Lance asked. “Abby here needs to get back home. . . . Can you take her?”
Paragon nodded. “All right. What about you?” he asked Thunder.
“I’m cool. I’m not expected home for another hour.”
“OK. Lance, you better be here when I get back. I mean it.”
Paragon scooped Abby up in his arms and launched himself into the air.
Lance glanced at the others and then turned in a slow circle, taking in the military vehicles and dozens of soldiers. “So . . . What exactly is going on here?” he asked Thunder.
The boy ignored him, and passed a slip of paper to Roz. “My number. I’m guessing that this isn’t over. You need me, just call.”
“What about Abby?”
“I can contact her. I know where she lives.”
Roz nodded, then Thunder vaulted easily over the low fence and ran across the field.
After a couple of seconds, Lance asked Roz, “Was that guy wearing a wet suit? What a dweeb!”
“He can hear you, you know,” Roz said. “Super-hearing.”
Lance smirked. “Yeah, right.”
Thunder’s voice appeared out of nowhere: “She is right. I can hear everything.”
“Now that’s just creepy,” Lance said. “So, uh, Ms. Dalton? What’s happening here?”
“Call me Roz,” she said. She told Lance about the attack on the power plant, and the fight with Slaughter.
“And the other two just showed up?” Lance asked. “Scubaboy and the cute chick just decided they were superheroes?”
Roz’s eyes narrowed a little. “The cute chick?”
“Um . . . I mean, the cute babe.” He saw her expression of distaste and hastily suggested, “Girl?”
“It’s the cute part that I find objectionable. But, yes, they just turned up. Thunder was able to listen in on the terrorists—they referred to something called The Helotry, but we don’t know exactly what that means.”
“I’ve heard that word before,” Lance said. “Recently, I mean. . . .” He shrugged. “So what were they after?”
“We don’t know.”
“But you said that the power plant isn’t even operational yet, right? That means they can’t have been after the uranium.”
“Plutonium,” Roz corrected. “The plant was finished ahead of schedule . . . ,” Roz said. A frown line appeared on her forehead. “So that could mean that they had to move their plans up.”
“Right. They took advantage of everyone getting the flu and they . . . Wait, how did the bad guys know that they wouldn’t get sick?”
“We think they caused it,” Roz said.
“Nah. . . . They wouldn’t make the whole world sick just to distract everyone’s attention from the attack on the power plant.” It was his turn to frown. “Thunder was right—this isn’t over, is it? They’re planning something much bigger than this. And they want everyone out of the way because . . . I’ve no idea.”
A passing soldier sneezed violently, and Lance flinched. “Oh great. Now we probably have it too.”
Roz stared at him.
“What?”
“You go to school, right?”
“When the mood strikes me. Why? Don’t you?”
“No, I’m homeschooled. But is anyone in your school sick?”
“Sure. Lots of them. So many that school was actually canceled today. My math teacher got it first, then the social studies teacher, then . . . Huh. That’s odd. . . .”
“Only the teachers, right?” Roz asked.
“Yeah. . . . My folks are sick, so are most of my aunts and uncles. But not me or my brother or any of my cousins, that I know of.”
Roz nodded. “That’s what I thought. The plague is only affecting the adults.”
CHAPTER 12
Abby pointed toward the yard at the back of Leftover’s Finer Diner. “Down there. Can you land in the alley?”
Paragon descended, the down-thrust from his jetpack scattering the litter and debris from the alley floor. “You live here?”
“No, I work here. But I need to change back into my work clothes before I go home.”
“And how far is home?”
“About a mile.”
“All right. Get changed and I’ll take you.”
Abby vaulted over the wall, and landed silently. The diner was still open, but the back door was closed so there was no one to see her. She felt a little guilty for having run out on Dave on such a busy night, but reminded herself that such was the life of a superhero.
She ducked into the shed and began to quickly change out of her costume. I’m a superhero. She realized she was grinning but couldn’t help herself. I helped rescue Max Dalton and all those other people! I even fought Slaughter! She shook herself. No, can’t think like that. Paragon was right. We were lucky. She could have ripped my head off.
She pulled on her shoes, put away her costume and sword—and the U.S. Army helmet she’d forgotten to give back—then returned to the yard. She quickly scaled the wall and dropped down next to Paragon.
He was talking to someone on his radio. “Yeah . . . Got it. All right, Colonel. Understood. One hour, then.” He disconnected the call. “There’s no rush. The colonel’s delayed the meeting until we can get more data from the CDC. Probably just as well, because we’re going to have to walk to your place. Some local superhero-spotters saw us flying over the town and they’re searching for us. You know the back routes?”
“Sure. Back this way and then we can turn right.” She had to almost run to keep up with Paragon’s long strides. “Can I ask you a question? Why ‘Paragon’? I mean, that’s kind of an arrogant name. And you don’t seem like the arrogant type. If you were, you wouldn’t be hiding your face. Paragon means ‘the very best,’ right?”
“Close. It means ‘a model of perfection.’ I didn’t choose the name. I never even thought about needing a name when I started out. Then there was a newspaper article that said my armor was the paragon of home-built engineering, and the name just stuck.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“A few years. You?”
“This was my first time.”
“You made your own armor?”
“Yeah,” Abby said. “And my sword. It’s a bit crude, though. I saw a sword in the antiques shop but it looked too, y’know, flimsy. Plus it was way expensive.”
“The armor is impressive. Probably wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it’d provide you with a lot of protection otherwise. Do your folks know that you’re superhuman?”
“No. There’s only my mother. Dad left when I was six, just after the four twins were born.”
“The four twins? You mean, quads?”
“No. Two sets of twins, all boys. The second set were born ten months after the first, so right now they’re all the same age.”
“And you’re the eldest?”
“Second eldest. My sister is nineteen. Hardly ever see her, though. She works all the time. My mom can’t work much because she’s in a wheelchair.”
“So that’s why you’re working at a diner at your age. How old are you, anyway?”
“Fourteen.”
“I see. Well, that’s the sort of age most of you superhumans get your powers.”
“But you’re not one of us?”
“No. I’m just a normal person. But like you, I make all my own armor and equipment.”
“What about the jetpack? You could sell that idea and make billions.”
“Abby, most people can barely drive a car along the street without crashing. I’m not going to b
e the one responsible for giving them an extra dimension to mess up in.”
A few moments later they emerged from the network of alleyways. Abby pointed to a large tenement building across the street. “That’s my place there. Thanks. And thanks for the lift too. I’ve never flown before. Apart from being in the helicopter earlier.”
Then a voice came screeching out of the doorway to Abby’s building. “Abigail de Luyando! Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?”
Abby sighed. “Great. It’s my sister.”
The girl darted out into the street. “Mom’s been worried sick. Sicker. And your manager said you told him you were coming home for an hour and that was ages ago. And he said you’d been there since 8:30 this morning! Why weren’t you in school? How long has this been going on? And who is this guy?” She glanced at Paragon, looked back at Abby, then paused. She bit her lip, then slowly her eyes turned back to Paragon. “Oh.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. de Luyando. Your sister here was witness to a crime and she very kindly offered to help the police with their enquiries.”
“I see. . . .”
Abby recognized the look on her sister’s face: She was considering some sort of plan. What’s she up to now?
“That’s all very well, Mr. Superhero, but how am I supposed to explain this to our mother?”
“I could come inside and talk to her myself, if that’ll help.”
“Yes. That might be for the best.”
Oh, very good! Abby tried not to catch her sister’s eye—if she did, they’d both end up grinning.
Abby led them into the building and up the stairs toward her apartment. She felt a little ashamed at how rundown everything was. The wallpaper was long gone, the stairs bare and creaking—especially under Paragon’s weight—and the only light came from a couple of flyspecked yellow bulbs. Abby pushed open the door to the apartment. “Mom?”
She was greeted with another torrent of “Where have you been?” and “What time do you call this?” then her mother saw Paragon and immediately shifted into “important visitor” mode. “Well, look who it is!”
Mrs. de Luyando pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, then expertly steered her chair around the room, fluffing up cushions and straightening the pile of TV Guides on the coffee table. “Will you have something to drink? There’s a beer in the fridge.”
“I don’t drink, but thanks.”
“Coffee?”
“Thanks again, but nothing for me, Mrs. de Luyando. Can’t really drink wearing this armor.”
Abby’s mother nodded. “Of course. You don’t want to remove your visor.”
“It’s not just that,” he said. “More that I don’t like flying on a full bladder.”
“I understand completely!” she said cheerfully, then hissed at Abby’s sister, “Go wake the boys. They’ll be mad if they find out they missed meeting the famous Paragon!” She turned back to him, all smiles again. “You don’t mind, do you?”
He lowered himself into the sofa. “Not at all, no. Actually, it’s been a long time since I had a chance to just sit down for a minute and take it easy. As I was telling your other daughter, Abby’s late because she witnessed a crime. Unfortunately we’re not allowed to talk about the details, but I can tell you that she was extremely brave. If it hadn’t been for her, a lot of innocent people would have been hurt.”
Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Abby sat down opposite Paragon. This wasn’t a scene she’d ever pictured happening.
“Brave she might be,” her mother said, “but I’ve just found out she’s been skipping school to go to work.” Her shoulders sagged. “Abby, you should have talked to me.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Not now, Mom!”
Then Paragon said, “Forgive me for asking, Mrs. de Luyando—”
“Call me Alison.”
“Alison.” He gestured toward her wheelchair. “You live on the fourth floor. On the way up I saw that the elevator was out of commission, and it looks like it’s been that way for a long time. How do you leave the apartment? If that’s not too personal a question.”
Abby’s mother covered her mouth with her hand and coughed. “Excuse me. I don’t go out often, Mr. Paragon. My girls carry me down. Sometimes our neighbor helps too. But it’s not so bad. Abby’s pretty strong for her age.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, which was broken by the return of Abby’s sister and her brothers. The boys—all dressed in identical pajamas—clustered around Paragon, staring at him with their mouths open.
Abby said, “From left to right: Tyler, James, Elvis, and Stefan.”
“Elvis?” Paragon asked.
Mrs. de Luyando said, “It was that or The Beatles.”
Abby’s sister groaned as she sat down on the arm of the sofa next to Paragon. “Mom, that joke is so old it should be put into a nursing home.”
Abby said, “Oh, and you’ve already met our big sister, Vienna.”
Half an hour later Abby accompanied Paragon out of the apartment. The superhero’s presence had not gone unnoticed: It seemed that everyone in the building was in the hallways as they passed, many of them shivering and wrapped in blankets but still not willing to miss a chance to see a superhero so close. Some of the people reached out to touch his armor as he passed.
When Abby opened the main door, there was a sudden cheer: The street was packed with people all craning for a better look. They quickly broke into a chant: “Par-a-gon! Par-a-gon!”
“I hate this part of the job,” Paragon said to Abby, keeping his voice low.
A horn blared, and the crowd grudgingly parted to allow a new cherry-red BMW to pull up in front of the building. A thin white woman in her early thirties climbed out. She was dressed for a romantic night out: little black dress, heels, expensive platinum-blonde hairdo. For a moment Abby thought that the woman must be an actress or a pop star.
Oblivious to the crowd, the woman glided over to Paragon. “Mr. Paragon. When I heard you were here I just had to come and see you!”
“Thank you,” Paragon said, moving to step around her.
She blocked his way. “You must allow me to introduce myself. Catherine-Jane Avery.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Avery. Now, I must—”
The woman put her hand on his chest. “No, really. One of his tenants told Daddy you were here and I have to say he’s very excited. He wanted to come and meet you in person but he’s a little under the weather at the moment.”
Paragon tilted his head toward her. “His tenants? Your father owns these buildings?”
“Oh yes. Daddy owns a lot of properties. Terribly wealthy. Self-made man, like yourself of course!” She laughed at her own joke.
“And is your father a good man, Ms. Avery?”
“Certainly. Generous to a fault.” She gestured toward her car. “My birthday present. Gorgeous, isn’t she? Now, Daddy’s told me that he’d love to meet you. A sort of man-to-man thing, I suppose. Two influential men sitting down to solve the problems of the world, I would expect.” She handed him a business card. “I’m sure you’d have plenty to talk about—you have so much in common. And he’d be willing to pay you handsomely for your time, of course.”
Without even looking at the card, Paragon passed it to Abby. “Ms. Avery, did you know that there is a woman living on the fourth floor of this building who is in a wheelchair?”
Avery’s perfect smile slipped a little.
“And did you also know that the elevator has been broken for over two years? Your father has apparently refused to have it fixed because he claims that it’s not cost-effective.” He moved closer to the woman. She stepped back. “Instead of buying you a new car—which I imagine it’s safe to say you didn’t actually need—he could have spent those thousands of dollars repairing the elevators in all of these buildings. He could have fixed the heating, replaced the antiquated wiring, repaired the plumbing, installed wheelchair ramps . . . or sorted out any of a hundred other areas of neglect.
”
She looked down at her feet. “I’m sure that any oversights can be explained.”
“Explained?”
“I mean, rectified. Fixed.”
“They can. And they should have been fixed years ago. Ms. Avery, your father is not a good man. He is a selfish, greedy, uncaring man. Please do not compare me to him.”
The apartment room was small and dark. The windows’ heavy blinds were down, the only light coming from their rectangular outlines. The air was warm and stale, tinged with the lingering scent of bitter incense. There were no pictures, ornaments, or any fixtures. The floor was bare wooden boards.
At the center of the room, an old woman sat on the only piece of furniture: a basic wooden chair. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, and she sat straight upright. Her face was mostly in shadow, but there was just enough light coming from the windows to see that she was skeleton-thin.
“So. It is done. Everything that you were instructed to do has been accomplished.” The woman’s voice was rough, but strong. Slaughter nodded.
“Speak up, girl.”
“It’s done. Just as you instructed.”
“The men performed adequately?”
She nodded again. “Considering that they were under-equipped and didn’t even have the new body armor, yes. I still think we should have waited.”
Super Human Page 9
