Kid Normal and the Rogue Heroes

by Greg James

  ‘So, that went well,’ said Mary sarcastically, wandering over to the shelves and poking around inside a crate full of black, book-sized plastic boxes. ‘What is all of this stuff?’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Murph retorted. ‘He doesn’t even really care if we tidy up in here. He just wanted to get rid of us.’

  And with that, Murph swept a pile of books off a dusty old office chair and slumped into it. He was feeling less heroic by the second.

  When Murph arrived home that evening his mum was heading out to visit friends. They passed each other in the front garden.

  She was looking happy and relaxed, carrying a bunch of flowers. Murph, on the other hand, looked like there should be a small, dark cloud hovering over his head, raining tiny drops of purest angst.

  At the end of CT, Mr Flash hadn’t even bothered telling Murph and his friends that the lesson had finished. Sitting glumly in the storeroom, they had gradually become aware that the puffing, running feet and shouting from next door had stopped – and when Mary looked at her watch she realised that it was halfway through break time.

  By the end of the day, the confidence and happiness that had filled Murph Cooper on his way to school that morning had leaked out of him like sawdust from a very old and unloved teddy with a missing leg.

  ‘Whoa, what’s the matter?’ his mum asked him, looking concerned. ‘You were full of beans this morning. Bad day?’

  ‘Bad day’ doesn’t even begin to cover it, thought Murph, and he decided to express this in the time-honoured talking-to-a-parent-after-a-rubbish-day-at-school manner.

  ‘Mer …. s’pose. Dunno.’

  Murph kicked moodily at a small stone, which chipped up satisfyingly and disappeared down the well that stood in the middle of the garden. Normally this would have been a cue to put his T-shirt over his head and run around making the noise of a cheering crowd, but not today.

  ‘Well, I’m here if you need to talk.’ His mum ruffled his hair, which is one of the more baffling things that parents like to do. Why on earth do they think making your hair slightly more messy will solve all your problems?

  Murph was desperate for some advice – but that’s the difficulty with going to a secret school. It’s pretty hard to ask for guidance when your mum isn’t allowed to know that you’re a superhero. Where do you begin? But Murph was feeling down enough to give it a try.

  ‘Well …’ he started.

  His mum perched herself on the edge of the well, patting the bricks next to her for him to do the same. They sat together in a patch of late afternoon sunlight and she wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders.

  ‘You know when you think everything’s going well, and you’re actually getting good at something?’ Murph said. ‘And then you realise that, well, not everyone’s giving you the credit they should?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ nodded his mum. ‘But you’ve got to remember – there’s only one person who can tell you if you’re doing well at something or not.’

  ‘You’re going to say it’s me, aren’t you?’ said Murph with a reluctant smile.

  ‘Of course!’ she replied. ‘There’s always someone ready to put you down – and they’ve always got their reasons for doing it. But it’s their problem. Try not to make it yours. Plus, I’m out tonight – so you get to do the one thing that makes every problem feel a bit easier to deal with.’

  ‘Order pizza?’ said Murph, feeling approximately seven per cent better already.

  ‘Order pizza,’ confirmed his mum, smiling as she got up and walked away. ‘Andy’s got my card. And try not to worry about whatever it is.’ She stopped at the end of the drive and turned back, a fake-innocent expression on her face. ‘Unless … it’s not girl trouble, is it?’

  Murph’s internal mumbarrassment gauge shot upwards. ‘Gah! No! Shut up!’ he snapped, getting up himself and making for the front door.

  ‘Only … Mary seems to have been visiting a lot this summer …’ His mum grinned widely.

  ‘La la la la la la! Can’t hear you!’ yelled Murph, sticking out his tongue at her and slamming the door closed. ‘Now go away! And have a good night,’ he added through the letter box before belting up the stairs to his room.

  He lay down on his bed, his internal cinema screening an unwanted film entitled THE VERY WORST OF MR FLASH, despite his mum’s advice. He could still hear the laughter of the other students – and, worst of all, he could picture the wounded faces of the other Super Zeroes.

  Are they embarrassed to be part of my gang now? Murph wondered. Do they secretly want to hone their real-life Capes with the others, rather than being stuck in a junk room with me?

  The weather outside seemed to be mirroring his mood. A gusting wind was blowing the treetops about, and a shadow passed across the window. Then, all of a sudden, the HALO unit in Murph’s pocket let out a small, piercing brrring noise that he’d never heard before.

  He pulled it out and looked at it. The tiny green light on the top was blinking, and the screen was displaying a message in bright letters.

  KID NORMAL … RESPOND.

  ‘Erm.’ Murph coughed and collected himself. That wasn’t how Heroes responded. ‘Hello?’ he continued uncertainly. The message changed:

  GO TO THE BALCONY.

  ‘Sorry, what?’ Murph blurted in shock. ‘Why?’

  NEVER MIND WHY … JUST DO IT.

  Murph paused.

  NOW.

  ‘OK, OK, fine,’ he said, jamming the HALO unit back into his jeans pocket, jumping up from the bed and striding over to the double doors that led out on to his balcony.

  As he pulled them open he realised just how windy it was. Filthy wet leaves from the guttering were swirling everywhere – one of them flew directly into his open mouth. He spat out this unwanted autumnal snack disgustedly, and it was only when he peeled another leaf off his right eye that he noticed what was different about the balcony.

  Hanging in mid-air, right in front of him, was a rope ladder. That isn’t usually there, thought Murph perceptively.

  The ladder had a small, neatplastic sign attached to it.

  HANG ON, it read.

  Without stopping to think, Murph did exactly that. He grabbed one rung firmly with both hands and placed his feet on another.

  The instant he did, he was jerked sharply skywards. Squinting up, Murph realised where the wind was coming from, and what had caused the shadow that had blotted out the sun.

  Hovering just above his house, but making almost no sound, was an enormous black helicopter, its rotor blades churning the air. The ladder which he was now clinging to for dear life swung crazily as it was gradually winched into a hatch on the bottom of the huge machine. Within seconds he had been grabbed by strong hands and pulled inside.

  ‘Extract ion successful,’ he heard a clipped, serious voice say.

  The hatch slammed closed, and Murph felt himself pushed downwards by the g-force as the helicopter shot silently up into the sky and away.

  6

  Shivering Sands

  Once his brain had stopped feeling like a pinball machine full of weasels, Murph picked himself up into a sitting position and looked about him.

  The interior of the helicopter was bare and functional, with black benches along either side underneath a row of round windows. An interior designer might have described it as ‘miminalist’ if there’d been one handy, but this isn’t one of those stories where interior designers pop up willy-nilly.

  Looming over Murph and regarding him coolly with her arms folded was a person with almost zero interest in interior design of any kind. Her job as head of the Heroes’ Alliance didn’t leave much time for wallpapering. Miss Flint was a tall, stern lady with the sort of hair you don’t argue with. Beside her was a broad-shouldered, unsmiling man in a black military-style uniform. Murph realised that he was one of the mysterious people known as Cleaners, who made sure that Hero activity was expertly covered up and kept secret. Once the Cleaner had satisfied himself
that Murph was intact and unharmed, he turned on his heel and walked towards the cockpit at the front of the helicopter.

  Murph struggled to his feet. Glancing out of the window, he could see that they were high above the clouds and moving fast – but there was still hardly any noise. Helicopters on the TV always made a huge clattering sound like a … well, you know. Like a helicopter. This one was smooth and quiet.

  ‘Wow,’ he said to Miss Flint, ‘nice helicopter.’ This is just good manners. If someone has a really cool helicopter it’s always polite to point it out.

  ‘It’s electric,’ said Miss Flint simply.

  ‘There’s no such thing as an electric helicopter,’ said Murph, before he could stop himself.

  ‘Luckily for you, Kid Normal, that’s incorrect. Otherwise you’d currently be approximately three thousand metres above’ – Miss Flint glanced out of the window – ‘the sea – with nothing to support you.’

  Murph peered closely at the fast-moving view and confirmed that they were, in fact, crossing the coastline. He caught a glimpse of a sandy beach and a small pier through the clouds.

  He realised they must be travelling at incredible speed – his town was nowhere near the sea. The one time Mum had driven him to the coast over the summer it had taken absolutely hours. She'd reached the state of maximum anger and annoyance that he and Andy called DEFCON Mum when they were still more than twenty miles away from the nearest whelk. Sitting in a queue of traffic in the boiling heat, they’d seen other cars actually run out of patience and turn around.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jonty, but I simply cannot tolerate this any longer!’ they’d heard a red-faced man shout, as he angrily reversed his expensive-looking car out of the line and away. All three of them had burst out laughing, and Mum’s bad mood had evaporated. Murph smiled at the memory.

  ‘Apologies for the rather … sudden summons,’ continued Miss Flint, sitting down on a bench and gesturing for him to do the same. ‘I hope you didn’t have plans this evening, did you?’

  ‘Well, I was going to order pizza …’ began Murph, but quickly realised that Miss Flint didn’t actually care whether he had plans. It was a question that didn’t really require an answer, asked to be polite – or to give it its correct name, a slightly smug, irritating question.

  ‘You see,’ she continued, pretending not to hear him, ‘I have a bit of a problem.’

  Murph raised his eyebrows, suddenly feeling rather important. Mr Flash might think he and his friends were a complete waste of space, but when the head of the Heroes’ Alliance has a problem, who’s she gonna call?

  He chanted the answer to himself silently:

  Murph Cooper!

  Miss Flint held on to her bench as the helicopter banked smoothly into a turn. Murph slid along it slightly but managed to stop himself with some nimble footwork, and silently congratulated himself. Falling over when the most important Hero of all has just brought you on a secret mission would not be a good look, he thought.

  ‘So,’ he asked out loud, ‘how can I be of assistance?’

  Miss Flint regarded him seriously for a moment before answering. ‘Do you remember the vow you took some months ago, Mr Cooper? In particular, the part that refers to secrets?’

  I promise to keep our secrets, thought Murph to himself, and nodded solemnly.

  ‘Because,’ she continued, ‘you are now being taken to the most secret and secure facility operated by the Heroes’ Alliance.’

  Cool bananas with awesome sauce, thought Murph, but he didn’t say it out loud. He was doing his best to be all serious and Hero-y. ‘What sort of facility?’ he asked instead.

  ‘To answer that, you must first understand that the Heroes’ Alliance is dedicated to fighting crime wherever we find it,’ said Miss Flint. ‘We operate in total secrecy, to keep the general population unaware of the existence of Capabilities. Most cases that our operatives deal with are everyday stuff, perpetrated by ordinary people with no Capes. That’s largely what you and your friends have been involved with over the summer. Good job with that awful Travers woman, by the way. And that work is, of course, carried out without anyone else finding out. We allow others to take the credit.’

  I promise to save without glory, remembered Murph, to help without thanks …

  ‘But when a crime is carried out by someone with Capabilities, well – that’s much more of a threat to our secrecy.’

  The cabin tilted slightly as the helicopter began to descend.

  ‘People like Nektar?’ Murph asked.

  ‘Yes, would-be supervillains or people who use their Capes for evil: Rogues, as we call them in the Alliance. And, even more dangerous still, former Heroes who for one reason or another have turned against us.’ Miss Flint looked grave. ‘These people threaten to reveal our existence to the wider world. That must not be allowed to happen.’

  Murph’s brain was whirring. He’d assumed that by promising to ‘keep our secrets’ he’d just been vowing to tell nobody about the hidden world of Capabilities. But now he realised it also meant actively fighting against people who threatened that secrecy. ‘Are there really Alliance members who … who’ve gone bad?’ he asked.

  Miss Flint nodded solemnly. ‘Rogue Heroes, yes,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s not common but it does happen. And with inside knowledge of Alliance operations, just think of the chaos they could cause.’

  ‘So, what happens once you’ve brought a Rogue to justice?’ Murph whispered, feeling like he was on the edge of something huge. ‘Or a Rogue Hero?’

  Miss Flint stood up without speaking, and walked to the cockpit, where three black-clad Cleaners were busy at the controls. She pointed through the large windscreen.

  ‘We bring them here,’ she told him grimly. ‘We bring them to Shivering Sands.’

  ‘Sands Control, HALO Five on final approach. Deactivate security systems. Landing on Tower Two,’ said a Cleaner into her headset.

  Murph squinted through the glass, trying to make out what was ahead. The helicopter shook slightly as it passed through a layer of thin cloud.

  ‘Roger, HALO Five, clear to land,’ crackled a voice over the radio.

  Below them in the sea was an enormous bank of wind turbines – line upon line of them, turning lazily in the breeze. Then the helicopter banked to one side and, with a start, Murph saw their destination clearly. Rising out of the waves on huge, stout metal legs was a series of large, circular metal forts. They were old and dilapidated, discoloured with patches of brown rust. Their tiny windows were grimy and rimed with sea salt.

  Shivering Sands looked for all the world like a deserted, forgotten ruin left out at sea to gradually fall apart.

  But as they flew directly over the towers and banked sharply once again, Murph realised this was far from the case.

  At the heart of the complex was one central tower, with bridges leading out like the threads of a spider’s web to the other towers arranged around it. Several more of the huge black helicopters were parked on top of the towers. And while the sides of the buildings still appeared rusted and rotting, their tops looked brand new. They were black and shiny, with red and green landing lights arranged in careful rows across them. Murph could even make out black-clad figures scuttling here and there. More Cleaners.

  One of the Cleaners guided the electric helicopter in as it made a smooth landing right in the centre of an outside tower.

  Murph watched as the pilots flicked switches in a businesslike manner, swiping at a large touchscreen control panel that bore a close resemblance to his own smaller HALO unit. He would have liked to linger, but at that moment Miss Flint tapped him on the shoulder and led him to the back of the cabin. There was a dazzling light and a smack of salty breeze as a ramp extended, and Murph was led down on to the metal platform. The air was chilly, full of the sound of gulls and the mashing of waves far below. He could make out the banks of wind turbines in the distance, but could see no sign of any coastline off in the haze.

  ‘Welcome to Shivering
Sands,’ said Miss Flint, holding out a hand to indicate the structures all around them.

  ‘It … it’s a prison,’ Murph realised.

  ‘Probably the most secure prison on the planet,’ she confirmed. ‘Let’s get inside, shall we?’

  She led the way down a sleek staircase to a fortified door, which slid open automatically as they approached. Once the door closed behind them, the noise of the sea and the gulls was silenced.

  They were in a spotless, brightly lit air-conditioned hallway. As Murph had suspected, the aging, rusting exteriors of the towers were a disguise. Inside, Shivering Sands was state of the art. He looked around at the gleaming metal fittings, finding himself unable to stop wondering what the hand dryers in the toilets would be like.

  A woman with a clipboard was approaching.

  ‘Status report, please,’ Miss Flint commanded.

  ‘Normal operating conditions,’ the woman replied efficiently, and her commander gave a satisfied nod.

  ‘Very good. Is everything ready at Tower One?’

  ‘They’re prepared for your arrival.’

  Miss Flint turned to Murph. ‘This way, then, Kid Normal. I hope you don’t have a problem with heights.’

  And without further explanation, she led the way to a large set of double doors set into the curved metal of the tower wall.

  7

  Rogues’ Gallery

  The sign beside the doors wasn’t the sort that inspires confidence.

  SECURE FACILITY was stencilled on it in bright red letters. NO ACCESS TO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. EXTREME DANGER OF DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY. This was followed by a forest of smaller writing, which Murph didn’t stop to read. He caught a glimpse of the words ‘mutilation’ and ‘violence’ and thought he got the gist of it.