by Andy Briggs
Before Tempest could regain control, the lip of his platform tore into a metal air-conditioning unit. With a crunch of rending steel the skiff flipped end over end, tearing up the asphalt roofing before coming to a sudden halt against the brick wall of a fire stairwell.
Lorna caught up with her friends as they touched down lightly on the rooftop. The skiff made a crackling noise as something electrical shorted, and streams of black smoke rose from tears in the machine’s undercarriage. The two money-filled cases lay strewn aside, knocked free by the impact. There was no sign of Doc Tempest.
“Where’d he go?” Lorna asked.
Toby scanned the rooftop. The air-conditioning vents offered ample hiding places, but seemed too far for Tempest to have run without them noticing.
“Maybe he can make himself invisible?” warned Pete.
“Great,” said Lorna. “That’s a nice thought. Everybody stay together.”
“At least he didn’t get the money,” said Emily.
Pete knelt next to one of the cases and touched the tip of a note poking out. His mouth was dry. He’d never seen so much money in his life, and he suddenly wished that every bit of it belonged to him.
“How much do you think is in there?”
“Millions,” said a deep voice that made them all turn. Doc Tempest stood on the edge of the roof. “And we could share it all.”
For a moment Toby thought he saw a greedy glint in Pete’s eye. He turned back to Doc Tempest. “It’s over, Tempest. It ends here.”
Tempest slowly shook his head, lightly touching the many bleeding cuts on his immense forehead, all sustained from the crash. “No, it’s not over. Not by a long shot.”
Lorna stepped menacingly forward, Pete following her. “You’re outnumbered, so give up.”
Toby was feeling a flush of confidence in anticipation of their victory. And at that moment Pete’s cell phone alarm suddenly beeped.
To Toby it sounded like the worst sound in the world.
Their powers had just expired. They were now defenseless.
Revenge
Pete scrambled for his phone to silence it, his hands shaking with dread at the knowledge that they were all now powerless and standing on a rooftop with a madman. Lorna faltered and backed away slightly.
But luck was on their side. Doc Tempest’s attention was drawn to the sound of an approaching helicopter. Even from this distance Toby could see the distinctive blue and white markings of a police chopper.
Tempest snarled angrily and turned back to the group, stabbing a finger at them.
“The police have saved you this time! But mark my words: while you have ruined my plans today you have stopped nothing. With my Storm Engine I can control the weather! I will turn rain forests into frozen wastes, swell the oceans to flood the lands, and ravage the world with ferocious hurricanes!” His voice rose to fever pitch. “The weather will turn and my storms will force the world to fall to its knees under my reign!”
Toby was uneasy; the conviction in Doc Tempest’s words felt almost tangible.
Tempest flicked a glance at the approaching chopper, and then scowled at the heroes. “I will have revenge! You have not heard the last of me!”
Rocket pads on Tempest’s boots suddenly erupted, and he was catapulted into the sky at such a velocity that they heard a sonic boom seconds later.
Toby watched the approaching helicopter. “We better get off this roof, unless somebody can think of a good excuse for us being here with stolen money!”
Pete stared longingly at the cases. “Millions … just think. We could have anything. No more problems.”
Emily grabbed his arm, waking him from his reverie. “Pete! We have to go!”
Pete reluctantly allowed himself to be guided across the rooftop. Lorna led the way to the stairwell Tempest’s platform had crashed into. The smoldering glider-disc blocked the green fire door.
“On three, let’s roll this thing off.”
Even with their combined strength, it was a struggle. The machine rolled aside, just enough to allow Lorna to open the door. Inside a staircase offered an escape route down.
Pete cast one last glance at the mayhem—and at the cases of money they had left behind—before he followed his friends.
* * *
Without the benefit of superpowers it had taken forever to walk back home, and their feet were sore. The journey started with them excitedly replaying the events that had occurred over and over, from each of their viewpoints. Toby’s account revolved around him as the central hero—a statement that developed into an argument between him and Pete. Pete accused Toby of choosing a power that was useless against Doc Tempest … and, of course, claimed it was he who had won the day.
Lorna and Emily were smart enough to keep out of that argument. They both knew it was their superior abilities that had defeated Tempest.
The argument had fizzled into an uncomfortable silence as Toby and Pete separated and headed for their respective homes. Before parting Lorna had made them all agree to get together tomorrow and try the Web site again. Pete and Toby merely swapped mute nods—both still fuming.
Pete and Emily walked in thoughtful silence most of the way. They were tired, their muscles aching with the kind of constant throbbing usually experienced after running laps in PE.
They reached Emily’s street, and Pete mumbled about seeing her tomorrow. He didn’t hear her reply as he walked away—his mind was somewhere else.
He was thinking about the money in the cases. He had never really needed anything, although most of his possessions were usually bought on sale or secondhand. His parents worked exceptionally hard. In fact they were seldom ever together at home—something Pete thought was the cause of their continuous arguments. If they were rich, maybe his parents wouldn’t have to work so hard and then they wouldn’t fight?
Pete looked around. His feet had carried him to his own street, and into a gang of thugs.
He recognized them instantly: Jake Hunter’s gang. There were three of them. Scuffer, Knuckles, and Big Tony. All about a year older than him, dressed in torn jeans, dirty sneakers, and worn leather jackets.
“I’m tellin’ ya,” said Scuffer in a low voice. “I saw ’im fly. There’s somethin’ not right.” He clammed up the moment he spotted Pete and watched him with narrow, ratlike eyes.
Knuckles took a long drag on a cigarette that was cupped in his hand, trying not to cough from the smoke, and then threw away the butt in disgust. Big Tony shoved the remains of a burger into his mouth, ketchup dribbling down his chin.
Pete’s sore muscles tensed and his legs turned into jelly. He knew he’d have to run, and he was convinced his legs wouldn’t carry him. How he wished for superpowers right now—then he’d put an end to the last two years of bullying he’d endured. He continued walking, careful not to make eye contact, waiting for the shouted insult or the sound of charging footsteps … but there was nothing.
He realized that Scuffer had mentioned seeing somebody fly; what if he had witnessed them earlier?
“Hey, Professor!”
Pete’s heart sank. Scuffer had detached from the group and was walking menacingly toward him. At least their ringleader was missing: Jake Hunter, the one bully that no kid wanted to mess with.
Pete tensed and faced Scuffer. “What?”
Scuffer was brought up short. Usually the Professor, like all of their victims, never stayed around to chat, but today Pete was staring straight at him. For once the bully was lost for words.
Pete experienced an unexpected surge of confidence. “I said, what? And the name’s not Professor.”
Scuffer could never make eye contact at the best of times, and his eyes darted around. He took a step back. Pete straightened himself from the slouch he was accustomed to walking with, and broadened his chest as he shoved past.
Nothing else happened. Stunned, Pete looked behind him. Sure enough, the gang was staring at him, its members mumbling among themselves. Something was clearly w
orrying them.
Pete smiled to himself. Could they sense the difference? He satisfied himself with the thought that if they had seen him fly, then they could see he was a real hero now, and not somebody to be messed with.
There was no way Toby could sleep, not well anyway. He was physically tired and as soon as he got home he jumped into bed, sinking into the blankets. But his mind refused to rest.
Tempest … flying … the resin-rifles and energy blasts …. It was like something out of a video game, but so real he could smell the flames from Lorna’s laser vision and the thick smoke rolling off the bank. And something else, a sickly smell coming from Tempest, as if he hadn’t showered … well, ever.
Who was he? With a deformed head like that, Toby was sure he would have been on television before now. What could have happened to make somebody look like that?
Something else bothered him too—his superpower had been useless. It annoyed him that Pete had been right about that. Of all the cool things he could have had … well, it was a lesson to choose wisely next time.
He flicked through the bundle of comics Pete had left behind and that his mother had dumped in his room. The immense possibilities were only just occurring to him. What they could achieve … what they could become …
Toby’s stomach rumbled, and he realized that he couldn’t remember when he had eaten last. His bedside clock said 9:30 p.m.
He crept downstairs, noticing his mother was on the computer, immersed in whatever work she was doing. He headed for the kitchen, but stopped as he passed the living room. Lorna was on the sofa, staring at the television.
“You’re not tired either?” he asked.
Lorna looked at him with a grave expression and beckoned him over. “You better see this.”
Toby sat beside her. The television showed a dark street with flashing blue police lights and a reporter standing in the cold, clearly unhappy with her assignment. It was a discussion between the reporter and the newscaster, who was sitting in the warm studio.
“Police said it was an armed gang of at least five people,” said the reporter.
Now the images made sense to Toby—it was the bank they had been outside earlier. Toby opened his mouth to say something, but Lorna shushed him as she listened.
“And how much have the police recovered?” the studio anchorman asked.
“The police recovered all the stolen money, estimated to be worth approximately ten million.”
Toby sat up in his seat. “Ten million! Wow! What’s that amount of money doing in a local bank?”
“I don’t know. They never mentioned us though,” said Lorna.
“Isn’t that a good thing? How would they explain a bunch of superheroes flying around?”
“They didn’t even mention Doc Tempest. They said it was just a group of ordinary thieves.”
Toby thought for a minute. “This might sound crazy, but what if this kind of thing happens all the time? Maybe it’s covered up, kept secret so people don’t panic.”
Lorna nodded. “Do you think so?”
“Somebody made that Web site. Those powers must come from somewhere, maybe even someone. And other people must be able to access the site too. So there must be other heroes out there.”
Lorna looked thoughtful, twirling a strand of her hair as she always did when thinking. “Where do you think Hero.com comes from?”
In the comic books, groups of heroes were always banding together for the greater good, and Toby remembered that Tempest had asked if they were part of the Invisible Brigade. “What if a group of superheroes got together to share their skills?”
“Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know. For the greater good?”
“Or maybe they’re all too old to run around and they just want to retire?”
“Yeah, or they discovered there were too many villains for them to fight alone.” He stopped. The thought of there being other villains troubled him.
Lorna was thinking along the same lines. “Remember all those jobs on the Web site?” she said with concern. “There were a lot.”
“And we stopped one of them. We did really well, Lorn. It’s something we should do again.”
Lorna nodded, once again thoughtful. “You realize that with these powers … we could be famous.”
Toby noticed the new copy of a celebrity gossip magazine next to her. She was becoming addicted to reading them once their mother had finished flicking through.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he cautioned. “We can’t run the risk of people knowing who we are.”
“Why? Think of the money we could make. The parties we’d go to,” Lorna said in a dreamy voice.
“We have to be careful,” said Toby. “Imagine if somebody like Doc Tempest knew where we lived?”
Lorna shuddered. The glamorous life was suddenly forgotten as the danger became apparent. “Then we’re going to need something to hide our identities. Like the costumes in Pete’s comics.”
“No! Absolutely not!” said Toby. This had been part of the angry conversation on the way home. Pete was enthusiastic about wearing a costume to hide their identity, and a Zorro mask over their faces. But Toby thought that was stupid. He hated dressing up—there was no way he was going to wear a costume.
“I just think it’s for the best,” Lorna murmured. “Since you’re so against being famous.”
Toby stood as his stomach rumbled again, reminding him that he had been on a quest for food. “Lorn, a caped costume is something that’s not going to happen. My find, remember? My rules. No way.”
He walked out of the room, leaving Lorna biting her lip. For once she didn’t want to argue with her brother. The scale of the superpowers made these arguments seem petty.
She looked at the clock and wondered when her mother would be off the computer, and preferably out of the house, so they could at least peek at the Web site one more time.
She crossed her fingers, hoping it would be soon.
Slamming the mouse angrily against the desk, Pete shut down his arthritic computer. Since his return he had trawled the Internet in the hope that he would stumble on Hero.com, but to no avail. Pete sighed heavily. He hated arguing with Toby, but he couldn’t help himself. To make him feel worse, he’d had nothing but a background soundtrack of his parents arguing in the kitchen since he’d been home. The topics were always the same: bills and money. He glanced around the living room. It wasn’t bad, but even he could tell it could do with some decent furniture and a new coat of paint.
The image of the cases filled with money drifted across his mind. All that cash would surely solve his problems at home. It would certainly stop his parents from fighting. Money solved everything. Didn’t it?
He wondered what spurred Doc Tempest on to become a villain. As he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, Pete could easily imagine his pockets overflowing with wads of banknotes. Was it really a bad thing to use superpowers to forge a better life for yourself?
But he knew the answer. Years of reading comic books had formed Pete’s morals. Unfortunately he knew the difference between right and wrong. Plus he had no doubts that using Hero.com powers to perform an unscrupulous act would get him banned from using the Web site. And that was too terrible to contemplate. He’d just have to make the most of the hand he’d been dealt.
He slammed his bedroom door shut to block out his parents’ voices. He was a hero, and he’d act like one no matter what.
Problem is, the villains always seemed to have the most fun.
* * *
A weekend wasted!
Pete and Emily had both visited Toby and Lorna in the hope that they would have another chance to try the Web site. But that opportunity never came; Sarah seemed to be working on the computer all day, and she had made no offer to leave them alone in the house.
Lorna had dropped a few hints to her mother, that perhaps she would enjoy going for a walk? This simply raised Sarah’s suspicions, and Lorna gave up on that
approach.
Toby started to worry that their mother had discovered their intentions, and was making sure the children didn’t get to spend any time on the computer.
A phone call on Saturday evening drew Sarah away from the machine. The joy in her voice turned into melancholic tones as it appeared their dad wouldn’t be coming home as planned; the dig was keeping him away for at least another week.
As Lorna and Toby listened from the top of the stairs, Toby began imagining his father with superpowers, traveling the world. He could only guess at the adventure he was embroiled in now. No doubt something big that kept him away from home for so long. Their mother’s gentle sobbing brought him back to reality. He swapped glances with his sister, and Lorna walked down the stairs to console her mother. Toby would have liked to go too, but he knew they would probably end up arguing.
Sunday dragged like only a Sunday can. Pete called, and Toby let Lorna talk to him. The two friends hadn’t spoken since the mission, and neither seemed willing to make a simple apology.
It was clear their next dot-com adventure would have to wait. And with a sense of utter despair, Toby realized tomorrow was back to school—their midterm break was over.
Back to school … could that sentence sound any more agonizing?
Pete’s shoulder hurt as he was slammed against the wall for the third time. His backpack slipped, school-books tumbling into rain puddles. He had attempted to repair his glasses with glue but had ended up making them more lopsided, and now they had glue-prints over the arms too. His only other option would have been a pair of thick, cheap glasses he’d been given free by the optician. He’d thought that wearing those would make him more of a magnet for bullies.
Now as he looked up at the hulking figures of Scuffer, Knuckles, and Big Tony surrounding him, he realized that his glasses didn’t make any difference. He realized too that standing up to Scuffer the other day hadn’t changed anything. The bully might have been distracted then, but today it was business as usual.
