The Supervillain High Boxed Set: Books One - Three of the Supervillain High Series

by Gerhard Gehrke

  He showed her his right hand. She took it and gently turned it over. The knuckles were covered in dried blood, which had come from his nose. “This will sting.” The nurse rinsed the back of the hand with alcohol and cleaned it with some gauze. Two of the knuckles were split.

  She gave him a matter-of-fact look. “This wasn’t from falling. Will you tell me what happened? Or would you rather tell Officer Foster?”

  “Will it make a difference? This is instant grounds for expulsion. I’ll have to talk to him eventually.” The knot in his stomach began to tighten again.

  “Possibly. Is anyone dead?”

  “No.”

  “Then bones will heal and skin will mend. And if there were any broken bones, I would be seeing the other boy, wouldn’t I?”

  “I guess.”

  “So what happened? Maybe we can find some resolution right here and keep it contained within my office.”

  He took a breath. When the nurse put a hand on his arm, it all came pouring out.

  “Everyone was in the student restaurant after the lockdown. Phones weren’t working as usual, but now the TVs were out, satellite and cable both, and even the landlines stopped working. A handful of students tried to leave campus so they could go to the hyperloop station and head home, but they were stopped. As you can imagine, everyone was freaking out. I was too.

  “There’s this girl in one of my classes, Lucille. We don’t get along—I’m not sure why. She’s been going out of her way to provoke me. She has two friends, big guys, who don’t mind doing pretty much whatever she tells them. Paul and Henry.”

  “The other two involved in the fight,” Nurse Dreyfus said.

  Brendan nodded. “I got in line for lunch. It was the longest I had ever seen it, and it was early. I think the kitchen wasn’t prepared for that kind of rush because it’s Saturday. I was going to grab something, anything, and then get out of there, but it was so crowded. Well, it was either bad luck or they followed me, but they were behind me. Paul thought he could get under my skin by calling me ‘Cesar.’ When I just ignored him, he got angry. Lucille never said a word, but she didn’t have to. It’s like they’re under her control. More taunts followed about my hair, my clothes, petty stuff. Like I care that everyone else has nicer things than me? I’m immune to that now.”

  “But something caused the fight,” Nurse Dreyfus said. “Maybe you’re not as immune as you think.”

  “Well, he mentioned my mother by name. I had never told him. Lucille must have looked it up, same as how she found my real first name. Paul started making fun of what my mom does for work and he suggested that she did things to get me my admission here. Then he had his phone out, had a picture of her. It wasn’t anything bad, just a photo from the hospital website. But they had taken the time to look all that up. He wouldn’t leave it alone, even when the line split. He got louder, got too close, wouldn’t back off.

  “So I hit him.”

  “That was Paul?” she asked.

  “Yeah. When he went down, I wasn’t even sure what had happened. I guess I just stood there, almost like I was watching it from a distance. That’s when Henry clobbered me. I got up a few times, and he kept knocking me down. Then some upperclassmen got him and me apart. I never got a shot in on him, just Paul. But I struck first.”

  “You were provoked.”

  “Doesn’t excuse it, does it? I’m still in trouble. What happens next?”

  Brendan could feel tears forming, hated himself for not keeping them down. They stung his swollen eye as he forced them back. But why not tell her? Enough people had seen the fight. It would be a strange relief giving up on this school. He realized his being here was overreaching, and getting sent home meant being with his mom again, and maybe being able to visit his dad wherever he got sent within the federal prison system.

  The knock came at the door again.

  “Wait, please,” Nurse Dreyfus called. Then to Brendan: “This isn’t an insurmountable problem. You stood up for yourself, and that is a good act. But deep down, don’t you want to continue going to school here?”

  “I guess.”

  “That’s not good enough. If you don’t care enough to fight for yourself, then what happens next is truly out of your hands. You will go through life not being any help to anyone. But if you have the will to stand up for wrongs and speak the truth…well, we need students like you here, especially now. Tell me you won’t give up.”

  “Okay, yes, I won’t give up.”

  Her grip tightened, squeezing his arm enough that it hurt.

  “Because your friends here will need you soon.”

  Before he could ask what she was talking about, she went and let the security guard in. All sense of comfort vanished as the guard moved towards him, but then Nurse Dreyfus blocked his way.

  “Just a minute, Officer Foster.”

  “Nurse Dreyfus,” Officer Foster said. “Please step aside if you’re done treating him.”

  “I’m done,” the nurse said. “Brendan is now going to go back to his room to lie down. And you and I are going to talk.”

  “Look, I need to get his statement first.”

  She took Officer Foster by the hand and, ever so gently, like he was a toddler who wandered too close to a stove, maneuvered him over to the counter with Brendan’s file. She kept Officer Foster’s hand in hers.

  Without looking at Brendan, she said, “Brendan, return to your room and take a rest. This situation is resolved in the eyes of the school. If you develop a headache, please return as soon as possible or call for assistance. Take the ice packs with you.”

  Brendan got up and left, but not before seeing an unusual expression on Officer Foster’s face, as if the man was confused about where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. To Brendan, he appeared lost.

  Tina and Poser were still waiting outside the nurse’s office, and they accosted him as soon as he appeared.

  “Easy, easy,” he said.

  “Oh, now it’s ‘easy, easy?’” Poser asked.

  “Yeah, really,” Tina said. “Have you been practicing fighting during your off hours when you’re not sneaking around with your science stuff?”

  Brendan shook his head as they walked towards the dorms. “Last I checked, I got my head beat in.”

  “Only because Henry got in a sucker punch when you weren’t looking. And you were getting back up before it was broken up.”

  “Yeah,” Poser said, “Check this out.”

  Poser held the phone so Brendan could see it. Brendan groaned as he watched the video of him punching out Paul.

  “One hit!” Tina said. “Just one hit, and you laid him out. With that kind of mean uppercut, you could throw on a pair of tights and go fight crime!”

  11. The Attack

  The seldom-used public address system came to life that Monday morning with a crackle and a warm hiss. Over the PA, Headmaster Appleton wished the students a good morning.

  Brendan sat in his usual spot in English lit, but he kept his eyes both on the door and on Lucille, who was staring ice daggers at him from two rows back. The first time he glanced in her direction, she had mouthed something to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. He didn’t need to translate, though, as her expression said enough. She was pissed, and it wasn’t over. Paul was nowhere to be seen and Henry wasn’t in any of their classes, so for now he felt relatively safe.

  “All of you are aware of the alarming events in the news on Saturday. We’ve been trying to get the phone, cellular, and digital services back online. Even the satellite cable television has stopped working. I’ve been in contact with the local sheriff department, and he has assured me that whatever emergency is taking place won’t affect basic services in our area. We all want to know what is going on and have concerns over the welfare of family and friends. I promise that as soon as any of the affected channels of news or communication are reopened, I will address the student body to let you know.

  “If the stress of this is
making things difficult for you, if you need to process what is happening or just need to speak with someone, our staff is at your disposal at your counselor’s office. Let your teacher know, and they will accommodate your request as per my instructions. In the meantime, we will continue with our daily class schedule. We are restricting all off-campus activities and instructing the student body to not leave school grounds.

  “Again, my thanks for your calm handling of this current crisis and for your demonstration of your maturity. Have a good morning.”

  There were several snorts and smirks at the mention of calm and maturity. Some of his classmates looked directly at him and their grins widened. He ignored them. Even though much of the swelling had subsided, the telltale evidence of his recent fight was impossible to hide. His face was a mask of blue and red.

  Two male students, both the athletic type but who apparently hadn’t yet fallen under Lucille’s spell, got up and went to the teacher to be excused so they could “process.” One elbowed the other as the teacher let them go.

  While the teacher began her lesson, one girl asked Brendan, “What happened to you?”

  Was this the only person in the entire school that wasn’t in the restaurant on Saturday?

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered, and he wasn’t going to tell it. He tried to focus on the teacher, but soon zoned out, staring through the window at the golden sunlight painting the science building across the yard. He was surprised when class ended. He straightened up and collected his things. Lucille walked past his desk without a glance or a word. Maybe the day would be a good one. He wanted to talk to Vlad and see what was involved in putting together a basic radio. The electronics class even had a design for one in the network curriculum as an early extra credit assignment—but the school network was down.

  “This is like school in the Stone Age,” Tina said as the A.V. Club gathered at a table for lunch.

  “Except we have all the tools of the future, but none of them work,” Brendan said.

  “It’s a tease, to be sure. Your face looks better.”

  “Back to your ugly self in no time,” Poser said.

  Someone in administration must have initiated a crisis protocol of comfort food. All of the usual fresh produce and healthy items were still there for the vegans, vegetarians, flexitarians, and pescatarians, but now the midday menu also included mac and cheese with bacon, crispy fried chicken, beef stew, fresh-baked bread, creamed spinach, and vanilla bean ice cream.

  Tina was starting out with a small mountain of ice cream with a dollop of peanut butter on top, and a golden fried chicken thigh. Brendan cleaned out his own plate of mac and cheese before mentioning the radio.

  “It would be easy,” Vlad said. “It would take less than an hour. But do you imagine that this blackout will last long enough to need one?”

  “Everything’s been out all morning,” Poser said. “We could be in for a long outage. Before it was sporadic.”

  “Not entirely,” Brendan said. “But you’d think they would do it at a peak hour to make any kind of statement.”

  There came a murmur of agreements through full mouths. Tina was licking her fingers. Then Soren nodded in the direction of one of the doors: Lucille was coming in. She had Paul by an arm as if he were having trouble walking, while Henry brought up the rear. Paul’s face looked swollen around the mouth. Henry spotted Brendan immediately, and the big sophomore’s jaw clenched.

  Lucille sat Paul down at a table and headed for the food line. She greeted several students along the way, her smile bright, her hands touching shoulders as she passed.

  “We should go,” Soren said.

  “No,” Brendan said, and he was echoed by Poser, Tina, and Vlad. “That would make things worse. Both Paul and I have experienced some kind of reprieve by the administration. I don’t know what might be coming down the pipe as far as academic discipline, but we’re both still here. If there’s any chance of us remaining in school, we’ll both have to behave.”

  “That’s you thinking rationally,” Vlad said. “You’re making assumptions for Paul.”

  “What if he’s not doing the thinking?” Tina said.

  “It’s a risk I’ll take. I won’t fire first.”

  Lucille got a heaping tray of food and brought it over to Paul. He gazed dully at it and her and then began to eat.

  “Can we please stop staring at them?” Brendan asked.

  “How bad did you hurt him?” Vlad asked.

  Brendan was wondering that himself.

  ***

  The buildings cast their shadows across the walkways between the buildings as the late afternoon sun got low.

  It had been a productive afternoon, and Brendan felt good. He wasn’t bothered by the swollen eye unless he touched it. All of the teachers in his classes kept things light and engaging. And he had a finished radio in his pack, mounted on a breadboard and powered by a nine-volt battery. Vlad had been correct: it had taken exactly an hour to build the thing.

  A student walking behind him yelped. Brendan turned and saw she had fallen to her knees, a hand on her shoulder. A second later she went completely limp and pitched forward to the ground.

  Brendan raced over to her, thinking maybe she’d been stung by a bee and had a reaction. A few other students were nearby, too, and one of them yelled, “Ow!” He fell, too.

  Then Brendan saw them. Two men in dark clothes and masks were crouch-walking in his direction. Both carried short black weapons held up in front of their eyes. The weapons made spitting sounds. Two more students went down.

  “Run!” Brendan yelled. He turned and began sprinting as a tiny black dart whizzed past his face. He heard a pffft-pffft-pffft behind him. Another student went down to the pavement. Brendan dodged randomly to the left, then ran straight, then ducked. Two more darts just missed him.

  He made it to the corner of the humanities building where he had his civics class. A small group of students were heading the opposite direction and he almost collided with them.

  “Watch it!” an upperclassman said. A dart struck the boy, and he collapsed.

  Brendan flung himself into the building lobby, where a dozen students were walking around, most going towards the exit.

  “There are men with guns coming!” he shouted. Most of the students ignored him. A couple laughed. He went to a fire alarm and pulled it down, and the bell began ringing. Then he heard screams behind him. One of the masked men was at the door firing point-blank at the cluster of students.

  Pffft. Pffft.

  Students were now running away from the entrance and down the hallways or up the stairs. Another girl fell. The man in the mask paused to reload. A tall kid Brendan didn’t know was just standing in front of the man, frozen in place. Brendan grabbed him by an arm. “Move it!” He ran down the hall.

  The student followed, soon overtaking Brendan. There were closed doors to either side of the hallway. They emerged into another lobby with more stairs. Suddenly there came a crash from a high window. A small canister fell into the lobby and began spewing smoke. Gray gas quickly choked the hallway.

  From up ahead he heard the staccato pfffft-pffft-pffft of another weapon discharging darts. They were surrounded.

  The boy slipped from his grip, still running forward. Brendan tried the first door to his right. Locked. Tried the next across the hallway.

  It opened.

  At first he thought there was no one inside, but from behind a large desk he heard whimpering. He shut the door and turned the bolt. He hugged the wall and found himself holding his breath. The door shook. He heard a man outside say something in a low voice. Maybe they have radios. The students behind the desk was mewling louder and louder, begging someone under her breath, and asking for her mother. He wanted to tell her to shut up but was afraid to add to the noise.

  He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down.

  A pair of sharp pops came from outside, followed by a brief silence, then two more pops. Gunshots. He had
heard the real thing a couple of times, and had played his share of video games with faithful audio effects. He thought that two different people were shooting but he knew sound could play tricks, and he wasn’t crazy enough to look. Was this the police, here after…how long had passed? A minute? Thirty? His heart raced and sweat made his shirt stick to his body.

  The panicked girl screamed with every report from the gun, and the others hiding with her tried in vain to calm her down. Brendan took one of the student desks and pushed it against the door. Then he moved another.

  “Someone help me,” he hissed.

  A girl rose from behind the desk, keeping her head down as she headed over. There was a window, but whatever shootout was taking place seemed to be occurring on the opposite side of the building. They stacked up a dozen desks and chairs and got down with the others. The panicky girl was now sobbing softly while a classmate stroked her hair, promising that everything was going to be okay.

  Brendan worried about the windows. How many assailants were there? Just the two? A dozen? And what if the gunshots came from attackers who weren’t interested in shooting students with darts? He could only pray the darts were tranquilizers. Without knowing what was going on, trying to leave would be stupid. What would his father do?

  What he wouldn’t give for a giant-sized jet-powered drone with a blaster right at that moment. But he dismissed the thought. Stupidity like that had gotten plenty of people killed when they ran up against vigilantes who weren’t interested in playing by any set of supers rules, be they hero or villain, working as individuals or in small groups. Sometimes they were armed with bats. Sometimes they carried pistols, shotguns, and rifles.

  Brendan patted the wood of the teacher’s desk. It was a solid piece of furniture. Maybe Tina would know if it could stop a bullet, but for now it was good enough. “We’re safe here,” he said to the sobbing girl, and saying it made him feel better.