How to Save the World

by Lexie Dunne

  “Good,” Sal said.

  I dropped back to my knees. “Raze, are you okay?”

  “No,” my best enemy forever said, giving me a malevolent look. “I got shot.”

  “It’s not life-­threatening,” Sal said.

  “Speak for yourself. It hurts.” Raze writhed in place and I felt my stomach twist.

  “Gail.” Guy had his phone out. “I think I know why they left. Kiki just texted. The kidnapper’s offering up Mobius right now.”

  “Where?” I asked, stomach dropping.

  Guy swallowed hard. “Wrigley Field.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “If there’s somewhere you need to be that’s not my bar, by all means help yourself,” Sal said.

  I looked at Guy. I could feel myself torn in two: I needed to be at Wrigley Field and I wanted to run so far away that it wasn’t even funny. But I couldn’t deny that I was immune to the effects of the Demobilizer, and with Guy and Vicki off the roster and Sam still in the wind, they were down several of their heavy hitters. But Raze . . .

  Sal rolled her eyes. “I can take care of her. Please go away. Feel free to never return.”

  “You should go,” Guy said.

  I looked down. Raze was still bleeding and obviously in pain. But I couldn’t leave her, not when it was my fault that she’d been in this fight at all. I took a deep breath. “I’ll come see you in the hospital and we can set up our fight time.”

  Raze immediately stopped wriggling. “Really?”

  “Promise.”

  “I’m holding you to that. Go deal with that annoying do-­gooder shit. Take any gun you like. Though, really, you need to get your own weapons at some point. I expect you to bring your A-­game to our showdown.”

  “Of course.” I held up the one she’d given me and nodded my thanks as I put the safety back on. I could practically hear Sal’s relieved sigh as we left.

  Outside, Guy tensed, holding his arms out like he was about to take flight. For the first time, I saw his expression flicker. “Right. I think you’re on your own for this one. Stay safe, okay?”

  “How the hell am I supposed to get to Wrigley in time?” Flight. Flight would be such a handy power to have right now.

  Guy looked around. When his gaze stopped on a nearby rack of the bright purple rent-­a-­bikes on the corner, I began shaking my head preemptively. “No way.”

  “If you phase—­”

  “Phasing winds up with me in dumpsters and you saw what happened last time. I nearly became a Gail-­shaped pancake on the concrete.”

  “You’re going horizontally, not vertically. You’ll be fine. And you really don’t have much time.”

  He had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. Guy moved like he was about to wrench the bike out of the rack with strength alone, but at the last second seemed to remember he was powerless. He pulled his wallet out and swiped his credit card through the reader. “Make sure you return it within six hours, or else they’re going to double-­charge me,” he said with a small smile.

  I gave him a sarcastic laugh. He came from one of the richest families in Chicago.

  “Feels weird, you going and me not. I’ll stay here and let the Davenport rep know what’s happening,” Guy said.

  “Thanks.” I had to stand up on tiptoes and grab his face to bring him down to my level, but there was no way I was going off to face a fight of this nature without a kiss. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to linger; after a few seconds, I pulled back and wrinkled my nose at him. “I’ll do my best to survive this.”

  “I like this plan. Good luck!”

  He waved me off as I grabbed the bike and started to pedal. Why had Mobius’s kidnapper selected Wrigley Field? Was he just as much of a showoff as your average garden-­variety supervillain? It just figured. Hell, half of them picked the Bean so they could see themselves in the mirror the entire time.

  Focus, I told myself, pedaling harder. If I was going to get there in time, I had to utilize a skill I could only access subconsciously. This was why I stayed out of the superpower world. Nothing about my life was intentional, really. I’d been given superpowers against my will, been kidnapped against my will, stayed at my job despite misgivings. The fact that the Demobilizer didn’t affect me was just another thing I couldn’t control.

  But maybe I could control one thing. So I took everything Angélica had tried to teach me and I pedaled as hard as I could. Trying to build up as much speed as possible, I attempted to phase.

  I threw myself face-­first over the handlebars and landed in a heap on the concrete. Fifty feet in front of the bike. So. Partial success at least.

  “Ow,” I said to the sky overhead. Perhaps an icy November day wasn’t the best time to ride a bike and learn to use one’s superpowers at the same time. At least I’d been partially successful. Scrambling to my feet, I jogged back to the bike, picked it up, and started to ride again. I pedaled as hard as before, concentrated, and did everything I could to bring the bike with me.

  I jumped forward a block. Reflexes kept me from skidding across a patch of ice, though I clipped a newspaper vending machine with my elbow. I tried again, nearly giving myself a headache as I put all of my focus into my task. This time I jumped three blocks. Then five. A mile. By the time I neared the right neighborhood, I had it down, stretching every bit of speed and momentum I possibly could into the phasing.

  Of course, I overshot Wrigley Field by half a mile.

  I skidded to a slushy stop, looked around at the intersection, and grunted. Quickly, I checked my phone. There were four missed calls from Angélica.

  “Where are you?” she asked immediately when I called her back.

  “On my way to Wrigley Field.”

  “How did you—­oh, you must be with Guy.”

  “I was. Speaking of, you should know Tamara Diesel’s probably at Wrigley Field.”

  “How is that a ‘speaking of’—­I don’t even want to know actually. Yeah, she’s been spotted. When can you get here?”

  “Which entrance are you at?”

  “I’m over on Addison.”

  “Got it. Give me a minute.” I hung up on her annoyed follow-­up question, which she would no doubt scold me for. I jumped over two blocks and pedaled the rest of the way. At least Angélica was easy to spot: she might not have been dressed up in superhero armor, but she had a bright red jacket that looked far too light for the Chicago weather. I skidded to a stop beside her.

  She gaped at me. “Where did you even—­”

  “I phased here,” I said, yanking my hair free of its messy ponytail and attempting to shove it all back into some semblance of control. “So instead of yelling at me, you should pat yourself on the back for being an awesome teacher.”

  She relented with a shrug. “I do that every day. Here.”

  She held up her phone, which showed a feed from inside Wrigley Field, the ivied walls prominent in the distance. A tarp covered the field for the off-­season, but at home plate I could see two figures. One, wearing a ski mask to hide his features, stood over the other one, who was slumped forward on his knees. A sign hung around his chest, but the image wasn’t clear enough for me to make out the words. I could, however, see his face almost perfectly.

  My stomach pitched.

  “That’s definitely Mobius,” I said, keeping my voice steady as I handed the phone back. “What’s the sign say? ‘I’m a major tool’?”

  “Your typical grandstanding. Some nonsense about how the entire stadium is rigged with Demobilizer, and if anybody attacks, the kidnapper’s got a dead man’s switch.”

  “What about gas masks?” I asked.

  Angélica’s smile was made of sharp edges. “Nobody knows if they’ll be effective. Given that there are about ten different supervillains outside of this stadium, nobody else seems to be willing to risk it.”
r />   “So, what? Davenport’s sending us in?” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

  “Not us. You.”

  I swiveled on my heels and raised my eyebrows. I’d heard it perfectly, I knew that, but: “Excuse me?”

  “You saw Brook’s reaction to Mobius—­she won’t be rational about him. Mobius knows you have the Mobium, but he doesn’t know about me. Davenport would prefer to keep me as the ace up its sleeve.”

  I looked at her red sleeve and barely refrained from asking if she was supposed to be the ace of hearts or diamonds. That kind of wondering made me realize I was a little closer to panicking than I had thought.

  “They’re expecting me to just walk out to the middle of Wrigley Field and say, ‘Hey, you, give me the scientist’? This is a terrible plan. But then it seems to be a day for them, so why am I not surprised?”

  Angélica handed me an earwig. She grabbed my arm, stilling my hand before I could pop the little earpiece in. “I know it’s not great,” she said, stepping close and lowering her voice. “And I know you hate him and you have every right to, after what he did to you. But Mobius means a lot to Kiki and she’s important to both of us, remember.”

  Right. Kiki Davenport, niece of the worst man on the planet, granddaughter of the second worst. The walking example of you can’t choose your family.

  “I got it,” I said. “I was always going to do it. I’m whining because—­”

  “You’re scared. I get it. But I’m here to back you up if you need it. I’ll be right in your ear the whole time.” Angélica let go of my arm so I could slip the earpiece in. “Where’d you disappear to last night? There was a rumor Eddie had thrown you in a cell.”

  “He tried. Jessie sprang me, and I slept in her base.”

  Angélica raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah, I don’t know why she’s taken such a liking to me lately, either,” I said. “But let’s go fix this problem so we can get the world back to normal and I can go back to work and pretend I’m a regular human again.”

  “By all means.” Angélica jerked her head and I followed her into Wrigley Field.

  This was going to go so well. I could already tell.

  Some of the same Detmer guards from the assault at Union Station had set up shop in the tunnels underneath Wrigley Field, which I imagined very few ­people but stadium workers ever saw. A dank smell about the place made my nose itch, but that wasn’t the worst part of gathering in the little underground room.

  No, that would be the handcuffed figure in the corner.

  “You brought her? Are you sure that’s wise?” I asked, blinking several times at Brook, who of course glared at me. Whatever connection we’d forged yesterday was now completely gone.

  “She’s immune,” the team leader said.

  I looked at Angélica and it struck me that Davenport—­who was regularly responsible for preventing the end of the world—­was pinning its hopes on a prisoner and two ­people that had turned their backs on the organization. At least we were well-­supplied: each of the guards was kitted up with a fancy communication system and state-­of-­the-­art armor. They offered me a set, but I lifted my shirt to show off the armor I already had.

  “The payment,” the team leader said, handing me a shiny briefcase. “You will secure the samples of the Demobilizer and the scientist—­”

  “Yeah, yeah. Give him the money, get the stuff. Deal with it when shit inevitably explodes.”

  The team leader gave me a look that said he was very used to dealing with superheroes and that he did not particularly enjoy his job. I hoped he had a good 401k.

  “It’s not rocket science,” I said as Angélica looked away innocently. “Can I see a map?”

  “Why do you need to see a map?”

  I stared at him. “In case I need to run away.”

  He scowled and pulled up a set of blueprints on his tablet, passing that over to me. “At least try to secure the money if you do choose to run.”

  “No promises.”

  “You won’t need the map,” another guard said. “You’ll have us to guide you.”

  I’d already memorized it. “Yeah,” I said. “Because that never goes wrong. Anything else I need to know?”

  There was, of course: they ran like a military operation, which meant a full briefing. While Mobius and his captor stood over our heads somewhere on the field and supervillains circled around. Clearly they didn’t understand the meaning of urgent. I listened as Angélica stood behind my left shoulder, giving them a look that was as unimpressed as I felt. When they finally released me to walk through the tunnels, she stayed with me, keeping her head down.

  “Doesn’t the kidnapper have cameras watching?” I asked, very belatedly.

  “It’s likely. He’ll just think I’m a civilian.”

  “Yeah, until you punch through some concrete or something,” I said, snorting.

  “I’ll try to avoid that. Dead giveaway and all.” Angélica put a hand on my arm, stopping me. She put her hand over my wrist, which had the little microphone for the guys in the bunker room to listen in. “If it comes down to a choice, take Mobius.”

  “And let the villains get the Demobilizer?”

  “Davenport feels like it’s more important, but . . . Mobius is smart. He could theoretically make an antidote. If it’s possible.”

  “And it’s what Kiki would want?” I asked, raising my eyebrow at her.

  She shrugged, which in itself was an answer.

  “Okay,” I said. “Keep an eye on me out there.”

  “Definitely.” She hit my shoulder, lightly, and I stopped at the end of the tunnel where the players emerged. This time I really was going to meet my maker.

  God, I hated him so much.

  The kidnapper spun toward me as I stepped out onto Wrigley Field, home of my ex’s favorite team. If he were awake, Jeremy would be so annoyed to be missing out on an opportunity like this. The tarp crinkled under my feet as I stood there, far too exposed. The stands were empty, giving the place a ghost-­town atmosphere. In the distance, hovering in the gray sky, I could see the blacks and very-­dark-­grays of the flying villains, all of whom appeared to be keeping a healthy distance. I couldn’t say I blamed them. I kept my left hand high in the air, showing that I was theoretically not a threat, and held the shiny briefcase in my right hand. The kidnapper’s eyes went almost comically wide as he took me in.

  I could smell the sharp tang of fear-­sweat on him.

  “Davenport sent me,” I said, feeling stupid. The least they could have done was give me a better script. “I’m just here to pay for the asshole and the stupid antipower juice and leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

  Mobius’s head snapped up, his hair flying in the icy wind. He was shivering, which annoyed me. I really didn’t want to feel bad for the guy.

  “You,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

  “Hi. Do me a favor and shut up.” I looked at the kidnapper, taking in the details. He had kind of a weedy build and, like the supervillains I’d faced earlier, a good few inches on me. Unlike his captive, he wore a parka against the brutality of the Chicago winter. So, he wasn’t very empathetic, but was smart enough to dress for the cold. Must be a Chicago native. “I’m supposed to talk to you, not him. You give me the stuff, I give you this, yes?”

  He gestured with one hand. Apparently talking was not actually going to happen here.

  “Yeah, no, stuff first,” I said.

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “If you want to play the stubbornness game, that’s perfectly fine with me, but trust me, buddy, I’m the best friend you’re going to make today.”

  “Gail, maybe ease back on the sarcasm a little?” Angélica said in my earpiece.

  I cocked my head at the kidnapper. “I mean that. There are a lot of supervillains circling thi
s place and I guarantee you I’ve met most of them, and apart from a really inappropriate sense of theatrics, they all share one thing: they’re not good news. So you give me the stuff and the scientist, and you take this money and everything goes smoothly. Yes?”

  I could hear his pounding heart over the wind. Whoever this guy was, he clearly wasn’t used to dealing with this level of whatever the hell was happening. His hand quivered as he nodded and reached into his parka. Finally, a man who could see sense.

  “You know, this woman is one of my finest creations,” Mobius said out of nowhere.

  I’d been in enough of these standoffs to know that even though I didn’t have a script, this was definitely going off of it. “Shut up,” I said out of the side of my mouth, like he was going to hear me but the kidnapper mysteriously wouldn’t.

  “Elwin, I’m sure you find this fascinating,” Mobius said, though he was glaring. “All of those tests you ran on your subject, all those tweaks you made to my formula, all of your failures . . . they were perfected for this woman right here. Does it hurt you, I wonder, to see the culmination of your shortcomings? Oh, I dearly hope it does, as you always were an idiot.”

  The kidnapper—­his name was Elwin? Really?—­turned to look at me, his eyes wider.

  “My finest creation,” Mobius said, raising his head a little. Proudly. Granted, he looked a little jaundiced and his face was even more Halloween-­mask-­like than I remembered, but at least he had the energy to still take credit for things he shouldn’t. The sign hanging around his neck fluttered against his chest in the breeze. “Gail Godwin.”

  “Great, thanks, announce to the supervillains flying around exactly where I got my powers. I appreciate that, Mobius. Elwin—­”

  “Don’t say my name!” The kidnapper’s hands shook as he put both hands back on his gun. It swung wildly. “Don’t do it! I just—­I just want to get enough money to leave the country. I just want away from all of this—­”

  “Don’t believe him,” Mobius said.

  “As usual,” I said, “you’re not helping.”

  He made a humming noise under his breath. “You look healthier than I expected. Has the metabolism settled yet? I predicted six months, but—­”