Storm Forged

by Patrick Dugan

  I went into history and took my seat. Powell talked to Brunner, Clint, and Ryder. The Redemption version of Neanderthals. Brunner might be the chieftain, but they worshiped Powell.

  “So I popped up and hit Dominion with a burst before she could recover,” Powell said, mimicking the action of firing his weapon.

  “Was she as hot as they say, Mr. Powell?” Ryder asked, barely retaining the drool from running down his weak chin. His nose by far too large for his head and long, greasy blondish-brown hair stuck out at all angles. Thin as a whip like me, but nasty as a rabid ferret.

  Powell grinned his best lecherous grin. “Oh yeah, she had a rack out to here.” The story pumped him up, he made hand gestures and everything, while students both Norm and Gifted came in. “And what an ass. I wish they had shown her off before they ended her, I tell ya.”

  “Man, you should have nailed her right there, Mr. P.,” Clint said. The polar opposite of Ryder in just about every way, except the nastiness. Short with rolls of fat poking over his belt, even more so than last year, and escaping the hand-me-down shirt complete with a couple missing buttons. His face covered with angry, red welts from acne and eczema.

  “Wish I could have, Clint, but I had to face down Cyclone Ranger. He had already fried my whole team; I had a duty to avenge them.” Powell resumed his position with his imaginary gun in hand. “I took a shot, but he moved faster than I’d believe possible. I rolled left, and the car I leapt behind exploded, raining shrapnel in every direction.”

  “Wow,” they all said simultaneously. Powell had told this story a hundred times to these guys, but with Cyclone Ranger in the gauntlet, Powell became a minor celebrity in Redemption.

  “I threw a stun grenade at him, but a wind gust knocked it out of range.” He circled the crew, hands out, ready to pounce. “None of my weapons could touch him, so I waded in for hand-to-hand combat.”

  “Didn’t he scare you?” Clint asked, only to be punched in the shoulder by Brunner.

  “Powell ain’t scared of any dumb Slag.” Brunner’s eyes gleamed with the imagined glory of the fight.

  “I didn’t have time to be scared.” Powell threw a series of imaginary punches. “I dove at him, and we traded blows. The Dissidents all wore body armor, so I had to make my shots count. He swung for my head, but I ducked his blow.” He ducked low, then pretended to uppercut Brunner, who fell like he’d been poleaxed. “And hit him square in the jaw, knocking him out. For all his powers, he couldn’t fight worth a shit.”

  I kept my head down, but a laugh escaped my lips before I could catch myself. Having heard the real story, Powell became so much more lame.

  “You got something to say, Mr. Ward?” Powell said, the light of victory dying in his eyes, replaced by the normal angry look he reserved for us “Slags.”

  “No, sir.” I fought to keep a straight face. “I sneezed.”

  “Sounded more like a laugh,” Powell said, as he moved to stand over my desk. “You think taking down Cyclone Ranger single-handed is funny?”

  Single-handed my ass. What a liar, stuck as the history teacher/babysitter for a bunch of Gifted kids who didn’t even know what powers they possessed. I never cared for Powell before, but now I realized how pathetic he really was.

  “Not at all, sir. You got awards for it and everything, right?”

  From the scowl he gave me, I’m sure I am lucky to be alive. Obviously, I hit a nerve with that one. His face flushed beet red, veins popping out along his neck. I thought he might stroke out.

  “Yes, I did.” He pivoted and walked to the front of the room as Abby and Marcel slid into their seats on either side of me.

  “Get ready for class,” Powell yelled at his fan club. “Didn’t you hear the bell ring?”

  All three practically ran to their seats.

  “What was that all about?” Abby whispered, her face hidden behind her open textbook.

  “A lesson in revisionist history.”

  The rest of the day drifted by. The final bell rang, and most of the kids went home while we all moved to the Air-Lock for “detention.” Since most lived in the Institute’s dormitory, there wouldn’t be much of a difference. For the ten or so of us who still lived with our parents, it was a drag since we had homes to go to. The Air-Lock was the one safe spot in the school though, and the only place where we could kick back and relax on school grounds.

  The other bad part of the Air-Lock, my phone didn’t get a signal. Marcel had some super antenna he used so he could surf the web during lockdowns, but the rest of us suffered. As I left the building to catch a ride home with Mrs. Hannah and her son Steve, I received a text from my mom.

  “Be a bit late,” it said. “Company for dinner, please straighten up.”

  I shot back a quick “Okay” and climbed into the car to go home. The house was always slightly messy with Mom working so much. I picked up folders and piles of paperwork and set them in the dining room/office. I placed the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned off the kitchen table. The last company we had was Mr. Taylor the night he died. I hoped tonight went better.

  Twenty minutes later, a car pulled into the gravel driveway. I walked into the living room since company always came through the front door and not the messy mudroom. The door opened, and the smell of pizza filled the air. I smiled. Must be important for pizza.

  Mom came in with carrying a Gino’s pizza. No wonder she was late. Gino’s was in the next town over; we drive by it in the bus on the way to our monthly Block visits. Behind her, Wendi held the storm door. My jaw dropped. Wendi Stevens eating dinner at our house. I would have believed The Protector had freed all the Gifted and taken us to Disney World before I ever thought Wendi would be in my house.

  “Honey, can you take this?” Mom said, more to stop me from gawking than from any need for assistance. “I invited Wendi to have dinner with us. I thought she might enjoy a night away from the dorms.”

  Wendi closed the door behind her. “Thank you, Mrs. Ward. It is really nice of you to invite me over. Hey, Tommy.”

  “Hi, Wendi.” I wondered if maybe I hit my head and lay unconscious some place.

  “Wendi, you are always welcome here. Let go eat before the pizza is cold.”

  My mom has to be the coolest mom in the universe. Usually Marcel and Abby would spend the weekend—the permit issuers finally surrendered in their “lost” paperwork war against Mom now that we’re juniors—but this was on a whole new level. I took the pizza out to the kitchen.

  Over dinner, we talked about school and the stupid things our friends did. We laughed, drank way too much Pepsi, and the evening slipped away. We moved into the living room and continued to talk until the phone rang. Mom excused herself to take it in the office.

  “Your mom is really nice Tommy,” Wendi said after Mom left the room.

  “Yeah, she is pretty great.”

  Wendi stared down at her hands in her lap. “Jon and I were born on a farm in Iowa. Our parents brought us here after we failed the testing. Mom wanted to stay and have a farm here, but Dad refused.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what to say.

  “It’s okay. At least I have Jon, and my mother sends care packages and visits every chance she gets. Mom is good people but didn’t have any idea what to do when we failed the test.”

  I reached over and took her hand. “We have a Gift, which makes us special. The Protector made it into something bad.”

  She looked into my eyes. I could tell she wanted to believe me, but it was hard when you spent your life being called a Slag or a Dissident because you’d been born a certain way.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “I do. Before the war, most of the Gifted lived normal lives. The most powerful ones set out to protect all people,” I said. Knowing my dad had been one of them made me feel a pride I had never felt before. He had risked his life and lost his freedom to protect people. “There used to be ones who used their Gifts to do harm, but the majority used their G
ifts to do good.”

  “But all those people died when the Dark Brigade destroyed all those cities.” Her tone indicated she wanted to believe but wasn’t there yet.

  “Yeah, and Omega Squad brought him to justice.”

  “I never thought of it that way.”

  “Mom never let me forget about it.” I smiled. “And you know, you always should listen to your lawyer.”

  She laughed. We sat holding hands on the couch for a while, watching some Food Network show. It was really nice to be together.

  “Tommy, I have something to ask you,” Wendi said, shifting so she faced me. “I’m wondering if you would be my boyfriend?”

  If a safe had fallen out of the ceiling and landed on my head, I couldn’t have been more shocked. My brain screamed say yes, but all that came out was, “Umm.”

  Wendi pulled back, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you, but you are so nice to me, and I have liked you for a long time, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you.” She stood up and looked for an exit.

  I leapt to my feet behind her. “NO!” I yelled, not meaning to. “No, I mean yes, I will be your boyfriend. I was shocked is all.”

  She turned to face me. “Why were you shocked?”

  I turned red as a beet. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

  “Everybody knows I like you.” She smiled at me. “That’s why Brunner knew to use a note from you to get me alone.”

  I must have scowled. I wanted to kill the bastard.

  “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Wendi said, taking my hands in hers. She pulled me close and kissed me.

  Mom stood in the office doorway. “So, I leave the room for a minute, and you two are kissing. Tommy, this seems to be becoming a habit.”

  I love my mother more than anything, but I could have killed her at the moment.

  Wendi giggled. “Sorry, Mrs. Ward,” she said with a wicked grin. “I had to give my boyfriend a quick kiss.”

  Mom sagely nodded. “Boyfriend, is it? Well, I have to get Wendi back before curfew, so finish up you two.”

  We both laughed, though I think it sounded a bit forced. The second kiss more than made up for it. Imagine that. I was dating Wendi Stevens.

  The gods of fate had blessed me for a change.

  14

  Over the next couple of weeks, Wendi and I spent as much time together as we could. She ate lunch with me and hung out in the Air-Lock after school. It should have been the best time of my life, but the tension of knowing the Gauntlet approached had me freaked out.

  Mom was worse. She jumped at every sound, snapped at every little thing. I would find her sitting, sobbing or staring out the window like a mannequin at a department store. She was losing Dad all over again.

  I walked in the house after school. The Norms at school were excited. Kids my age had been too young to watch Dominion’s match. It had been nine years since the last Gauntlet. I felt ashamed I had ever watched the show, but the thrill of seeing Gifted using their powers made me watch.

  Mom sat in the office watching the leaves fall. “Mom, why don’t you get an injunction to stop the show?” I said, hoping a good legal fight would snap her out of it. “You could file an injunction against it and make a judge rule on it.”

  She didn’t respond. Time to try again.

  “Mom, you are the most feared lawyer in Montana. If anyone can save Dad, it’s you,” I said. Mom never backed down from a lost cause. The great defender of those who couldn’t defend themselves.

  Nothing. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a silent goodbye to her husband and the father I never knew.

  “We can’t just sit here and let them kill him.” It came out a bit louder than I should.

  Her icy gaze swiveled from the window to me. Okay, maybe the last part went a bit over the top, but she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and fight.

  She stood up, her face never betraying any hint of emotion. It was bad. “You don’t think I haven’t thought of that?” Her stone-cold voice scared me more than the fires burning in her eyes. “You think I want to sit here and watch my husband be torn apart? The robot pulled Dominion’s arms out of her sockets and paraded them around the arena while she bled out on the floor.”

  “Oh.” According to Blaze, the Gauntlet had started out as a yearly event, but after they had killed off the most powerful Gifted, it became a special event. Nobody wanted to see a death match with Fireworks Farley. He’d be dead before the intro finished.

  “I watched as they mauled a beautiful woman because of her Gift. I would do anything to save your father.”

  “Then let’s do it!” Now we were getting somewhere.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? You are the best…”

  Something behind her eyes broke, and the cold shattered. “Because of you, Tommy,” she screamed. “If I try to fight it, they could figure out you’re his son, and I can’t chance it. I can’t save him because of you.” She gasped, her hand going to her mouth, tears streaming down her face

  I turned and ran out the front door.

  “Tommy, come back, I didn’t mean it,” chased me down the street.

  I ran as fast as I could, but I couldn’t outrun the words. My father would die, and it was my fault.

  I ended up checking into the Institute dorm a few hours later. Spare rooms were set aside for visiting parents, Reclaimer brass, and the like. If your parents traveled outside the safe zone, the kids stayed here. Mom had fought to have Marcel and I released to go to Connecticut with her for a deposition one summer when we were too young to be left alone, but it was shot down faster than tequila in a frat house.

  I checked my phone: ten voice mails and even more texts. I deleted them all. I spent the night talking to Wendi, Marcel, and Abby, but had to lie about the subject of the fight. Even Marcel had to be kept in the dark.

  School came and went on Friday. Gradually, the calls and the texts stopped. I read the last one, and all it said was, “I’m sorry. Come home when you are ready.”

  I couldn’t face her yet. I stayed another night at the dorms, but when I woke on Saturday, I had to go home. At eight o’clock, the show came on, and I couldn’t let Mom watch it alone.

  After lunch, I walked home. Even in September, Montana ran toward cold, or maybe my nerves made it feel that way. Either way, I wished I had a jacket with me. I rehearsed all the things I wanted to say. I thought over how my dad’s life meant more than my safety. I thought I was ready.

  I opened the door. The loud squeak announced my arrival. I barely got the door closed when I was tackled by a hundred and twenty pounds of mom. She grabbed me and hugged me hard. I should have pushed her away, told her how hurt I was, how she had no right to blame me, but all I could do was hug her back and cry.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said over and over. She meant it to her core, but I still hurt. We spent the afternoon talking, and she kept apologizing until I finally had to tell her to stop. Things would get better, but it would take a while. I didn’t know how long it would be.

  They dedicated the hour pre-show to showing clips from Omega Squad’s greatest crimes. We skipped the pre-show since it lied. Omega Squad being portrayed as villains didn’t sit well with either of us. The Protectors wanted to justify their murder of my father to the masses, and the TV did that.

  We sat talking, waiting for eight o’clock to arrive. I fidgeted in my seat; Mom kept pacing to the kitchen for no apparent reason. The time dragged like slogging through molasses with concrete shoes on. It was its own special kind of torture.

  The clock showed 8:00, and I turned on the TV. “Welcome to Saturday Night Showdown,” Desmond Roberts’s voice boomed through the speakers. Reclaimer enforcers wished to be built in his image, with a pencil thin mustache and a gleaming bald scalp. His dark skin glowed on the screen, making him larger than life.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, strolling across the stage, which stood twenty
feet above the arena floor, the protection barrier flickering a ghostly blue below his feet. “You’ve seen the footage. You know this man to be a Dissident.” He paused, allowing the crowd to work itself into a frenzy. “In fact, he is one of the most heinous war criminals we’ve ever captured, and tonight he enters the Gauntlet!” he screamed into the microphone.

  The crowd thundered their approval as Roberts strutted across the stage, basking in their adulation. They beat on the seat backs; those armed with signs showing their hatred and ignorance waved them.

  “Let’s go over the Gauntlet rules.” His tone was charged and powerful. He stroked his mustache and launched into it. “Each week our contestant will have a new challenge to face. Each week the challenges become increasingly difficult. Normally, if a contestant yields, the match is over, but not in the Gauntlet! All fights are to the death!”

  The crowd burst forth with another wave of noise, invigorating Roberts. Old carnival barkers had nothing on him.

  “Let’s go to the arena!” Roberts said as the lights dimmed over the audience and flared over the killing floor.

  His voiceover continued as a camera panned the area. “If a contestant reaches ten victories, they win, and we will never see them in the arena again, but that has never happened. Justice may be blind, but she can sure kick some ass!”

  I squeezed Mom’s hand. “Mom, you don’t need to watch this. No one has ever lost the first challenge.”

  She smiled a weak smile at me but didn’t move. “I have to watch. Has anyone made it to ten matches?”

  “Supreme Samurai made it to the eighth match, but his sword broke.” Since we found out about Dad, I had watched every episode from all the previous Gauntlets. I needed to know what he’d be up against. “Dad doesn’t have equipment to break. He’s the strongest Gifted around. He’ll make ten.”

  She held my hand a bit tighter, but she didn’t smile. “I hope so, but they really can’t let him win.”

  “Bring out Cyclone Ranger!” Roberts said, his deep voice resounded through our living room.