Everywhere I looked below, the roads leading out of Astor City were snarled with bumper-to-bumper traffic. The sound of thousands of car horns filled the air, as if the city itself wailed primally. How many people had gotten out of the city? How many more would get out before the big kaboom? A tiny fraction of the population, no doubt. A densely populated city couldn’t be evacuated in less than an hour. Not even close. How many would die? Thousands, certainly. Millions, maybe.
I just had to find that bomb. Even if I had to wring Amok’s neck to do it.
I increased my speed. Sonic booms went off in my wake as I broke the sound barrier. The landscape below became a blur. I normally did not fly this fast near population centers, but this was an emergency. Some busted windows and ruptured eardrums were better than countless incinerated bodies.
The further we got from Astor City, the more alert Amok seemed, as if he was reluctantly waking from a deep dream. He twisted, looking around, wincing in pain from my earlier blows.
“Where am I? Where are we going?” he demanded. He didn’t sound out of it like he had before.
“I’m taking you far enough away from Astor City so I can beat the crap out of you and you’ll actually care,” I said.
Even though the scenery was a blur, it was obvious how high in the sky we were. Amok gulped, looking wild-eyed and panicked as he looked down. I didn’t think it was the beating he was afraid of. I had picked up and flown with a lot of people over the past few years, and I recognized the look on Amok’s face.
He’s afraid of heights, I thought.
Interesting.
Change of plans. I altered my trajectory. I now moved straight up into the sky instead of in a straight line away from Astor City. Amok’s green-rimmed eyes looked like they were about to burst right out of his head the higher we went. He gibbered something. I couldn’t understand what he said, but it didn’t sound like “This is fun!”
I finally slowed to a halt. We were up so high that the features of the geography below couldn’t be made out. Everything was geometric patterns, like what you saw when you looked out of an airplane window at cruising altitude.
The air was cold and thin here. What there was of it whistled in my ear. Amok clawed the air, but I kept him far enough away that he couldn’t touch me.
“Please . . . down. Let me down. Let me down,” he croaked pleadingly.
“Sure thing,” I said. I put my closed fist in Amok’s face dramatically. Then I opened it, simultaneously releasing my power’s hold on him.
Screaming, flailing, Amok plunged toward the ground like a dropped bag of trash.
CHAPTER 2
With my powers locked onto him so I would not lose sight of him, I let Amok free-fall for several seconds. The way he sawed the air with his limbs, it looked like he was trying to learn how to fly on the . . . well, fly.
I dropped like a stone with my arms folded. I caught up with him, matched his speed, and slowed both of us to a halt. We were still very high up.
“Where’s the bomb?” I asked again. I yelled to be heard over the rushing wind.
Flecks of vomit spotted Amok’s face. The front of his robe was soiled. I wondered if he was peeing blood as I had predicted when I had kidney punched him. Rogues were a lot less scary with vomit on their face and bloody pee in their pants. Amok gasped, sucking in air like a bellows. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you. First just let me down.”
“Nope. Tell first, down second.” I made a big show of lifting my closed fist again, then opening it. I released my hold on him again. He plunged down once more, screaming like a banshee all the while.
I waited a few more seconds. I glanced at my watch. About ten minutes left. If I couldn’t get an answer from Amok, I’d fly back to Astor City and try to locate the bomb on my own one last time. If I couldn’t, when it detonated, maybe I could contain the explosion in a force field and minimize the deaths, devastation, and fallout. Even with my powers augmented by the Omega suit, I didn’t know if I could contain such an explosion once it had already begun. There was a decent chance I’d die trying.
As plans went, that one blew. Literally. I didn’t have a better one.
I dropped again, slowing and then halting Amok’s descent when I was abreast of him. He hung upside down. I left him that way. We were close enough to the surface that I could make out the features on the ground now. We were over a wooded area. I was sure we were no longer in Maryland. Pennsylvania, maybe.
“The clock is ticking. Last chance,” I said. “Where is the bomb?”
Amok’s eyes bulged down at the trees far below. From up here, the forest looked like a giant green pincushion. There was no way Amok would survive the fall.
“You’re a Hero. You’re not going to let me die if I don’t tell you,” he said. I couldn’t tell whom he was trying to convince: me, or himself. Apparently the prospect of death was a lot less appealing if a fear-fueled orgasm wasn’t blinding one to the horror of it.
“Sure, I’m a Hero. But I’m also the Hero who’s world-famous for killing Mechano. If I’d kill a fellow Hero, I’ll certainly have no problem killing terrorist trash like you.”
Amok shook his head, stubborn despite his fear. “You’re bluffing.”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.” I raised my closed fist again. “Thanks for flying with Omega Airlines. Next and final stop, Splatterville.” I started to open my fist.
“Wait!” Amok cried.
I paused with my hand partially open.
“The Cantor Building,” Amok said, the words rushing out in a torrent. His tattooed green eyes rolled in his head like a slot machine display. “The bomb is on the fifth floor of the Cantor Building. I swear. Just let me down.” The Cantor Building was in downtown Astor City, not too far from Star Tower and the UWant Building. It was closed for renovations that were set to begin next month. Empty. If Amok was telling the truth, it was the perfect place to hide a bomb. It felt like he was being honest, but there was no way to know for sure.
“How do I disarm the bomb?” I asked.
“It can’t be disarmed. That’s how I designed it.” Wonderful. The day kept getting better and better. What was up next, a planet-busting asteroid slamming into us?
Amok was of no use anymore. I released my hold on him and let him fall.
“Nooooooooo!” he shrieked. The cry trailed after him like a streamer. He screamed all the way down. He thought I would let him die despite him telling me about the bomb.
Tempting, but no.
I parted tree branches out of the path of Amok’s fall. I slowed him down before he slammed into the ground. Gradually, to avoid turning his internal organs into pâté. He was out of sight now, but my telekinetic touch was all I needed. I ripped open a man-sized crevice in the forest floor. I lowered Amok inside of it. I covered him with dirt. It was like burying the world’s worst time capsule. The soil was moist but firm, like semi-set cement. I packed it in tight around Amok’s body. When I finished, he literally could not move a muscle. Unless he magically developing super strength, there was no way he was getting out. I didn’t cover his head, of course. I wasn’t trying to kill him, as tempting as the notion was. Amok had hurt a lot of people over the years, and would hurt a ton more today if I didn’t do something about that bomb. If a pack of coyotes or a bear ambled along and made an hors d'oeuvre of his head before I came back to retrieve him—assuming I was alive and not bits of radioactive ash—I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
Nine minutes left. It only took a few seconds to drop Amok and secure him in the ground, though they were precious seconds I hated to waste. However, I didn’t want to drag Amok back to Astor City with me. I wouldn’t reward his bad behavior by giving him a further taste of all the fear and anxiety he had created in the city.
The instant Amok was secure, I zoomed back toward Astor City. I retracted my cape into the Omega suit with a thought as I flew. It slid back into my neck like a retracting tongue. I had only worn it to seem more authoritative to the
hostages and Amok, like when a judge dons her robe or a doctor his white coat. Though they looked impressive, capes usually just got in the way.
As I accelerated toward Astor City, I thought about using my communicator watch to tell Myth what I’d learned. I dismissed the thought as soon as I had it. He already had his hands full helping with the evacuation. Call Truman instead? The problem was, with the roads blocked by people fleeing the city, as a non-flying Meta Truman wouldn’t be able to get to the Cantor Building in time. And even if he could, what would he do to the bomb when he got there? Shoot it? Quip it into submission?
No. I’d take care of it myself. Though I trusted Truman and I especially trusted Isaac, I trusted my abilities and powers as Omega to take care of the bomb more than I did Isaac’s or Truman’s. I wasn’t going to call any other Hero for help, either. After what had happened with the Sentinels, I trusted most other Heroes as much as I’d trust a snarling dog that had already bitten me.
Besides, if you want something done right, do it yourself.
I flew as fast as I could, which was pretty bloody fast these days. The world became a blur. I had hidden an electronic beacon on top of the UWant Building almost a year ago after I had gotten lost on the way back to Astor City while flying from San Francisco in the middle of the night. Embarrassing. Getting lost would be more than merely embarrassing now.
Using my watch to hone in on the UWant Building beacon, I slammed to a stop in the air above the emerald green glass building, the city’s tallest. My pulse pounding, I twisted in the air, anxiety and adrenaline making me burn even more precious seconds while I got my bearings.
There. The Cantor Building, a gray and red rectangular structure, a midget compared to Star Tower and the UWant Building, both of which towered over it.
I flew to the smaller building, and dropped down to what I estimated was the fifth floor. The streets were packed with honking cars, bumper to bumper, like rush hour on steroids. At least the people stuck here at ground zero would be killed instantaneously, unlike people on the periphery of the city and in the surrounding suburbs who’d probably die a long, lingering death from radiation poisoning. Every radioactive cloud has its silver lining.
I scanned the floor with my telekinetic touch. Lots of junk, trash, and construction supplies. Nothing that looked like a bomb. Shit! Had Amok been lying? Wait. I counted a column of windows from the ground up. One, two, three, four, five, six. Damn it! I was one floor too high. So much for my estimation. What a time for such a stupid mistake.
I scanned the floor below the one I had just swept.
There! That had to be it.
With a spherical force field around me, I swung out and down, like a wrecking ball. I crashed into the wall of the fifth floor, slamming through it with an inward spray of metal, cinder block, and drywall.
Since I had a lock on what I had found with my telekinetic touch, I didn’t have to wait for the dust to clear before striding through the empty office I had burst into, down a hallway, and into an area that appeared to be an employee break room. An open, unplugged refrigerator was against the wall. An unrecognizable piece of food rotted and stank on one of its shelves. Flies buzzed around it. A nearly empty vending machine was next to the fridge, with two bags of potato chips inside of it that looked lonely and forlorn.
A second vending machine, this one for the Blast brand of sodas, was overturned with its back facing up. Resting on top of the soda machine was a device that was a bit shy of the length, width, and depth of the vending machine it rested on. Looking like something an auto mechanic and a mad scientist might join forces to create, the device was a rat’s nest of tubes, large cylinders, and wiring. On the top of it was a glowing digital display. Its countdown matched the countdown on my watch. Two thick iron chains crossed over each other on top of the device. The chains were bolted to the floor, securing the device and the vending machine in place.
I didn’t need Amok to paint me a picture to know this was the bomb. And putting it on top of a Blast vending machine? Amok must have had quite the chuckle over that one.
Five minutes left. Fuck! I’d been cursing a lot the past few minutes, something my devout churchgoing parents wouldn’t have approved of. Then again, if there ever was a time for profanity, this was it. There might not be time for profanity—or anything else—later.
I had trained in the use and defusing of explosives when I was Amazing Man’s Apprentice. I had used that knowledge to help me defeat Iceburn. Nothing I had learned from the Old Man prepared me for something like this, though. Looking at the bomb and its maze of wires and components, I didn’t know where to even begin to deactivate it. If I started tinkering with it, I might set it off. If I had advanced degrees in mechanical engineering, nuclear physics, and supervillain douchebaggery, I might have taken a stab at it. But as it was, I didn’t dare. Too risky.
Okay, trying to defuse the bomb was out. Could I instead throw a force field around it and contain its explosion? Maybe. I had absorbed the massive amount of energy that had resulted when I destroyed Mechano, after all. But I had no idea what kind of explosive yield the bomb would produce. Maybe it would be small enough for me to handle. Then again, maybe not. I couldn’t take a chance on all these maybes. Not when so many lives were at stake.
With my heart in my throat, I walked around the vending machine and bomb, bending over to examine them as quickly yet as thoroughly as I could. I didn’t see any pressure or dead man switches. I gently probed the setup with my telekinetic touch, paying special attention to the underside of the bomb, halfway expecting the thing to blow up in my face as a result. If you hadn’t heard of a booby trap before, it would sound awesome, especially if you were a dude. But I had stumbled into enough booby traps since becoming a Meta to know the name was misleading—they were not at all awesome. However, if there were any booby traps in place here, I didn’t recognize them as such.
The first good news of the day. This meant I could move the blasted thing. Blasted thing. Definitely no pun intended.
Two minutes left. No time left to be delicate or pussyfoot around.
With my powers, I snapped the chains securing the bomb in place. I flung them aside. They clanged to the floor. I latched onto the bomb with my mind, enveloping it in a force field.
With my personal force field up and the bomb in telekinetic tow, I slammed through the break room ceiling, shot through the floors above, and punched through the roof of the Cantor Building.
No time to figure out where to go other than straight up.
I rose faster than a rocket. The bomb dangled behind me like a scarf blowing in the rushing wind. Soon I had left Astor City far behind. Even so, I kept rising. I did not dare let the bomb detonate in the atmosphere. Even if a high-altitude detonation didn’t kill anyone immediately, the wind would carry the radiation God only knew how far to sicken and perhaps kill countless people. A slow death was still death. I needed to make it to the Karman line, the boundary sixty-two miles up that was between the Earth’s atmosphere and outer space.
I screamed up, higher and higher into the sky. Through the clouds of the troposphere, past the stratosphere, into the mesosphere. The sky transitioned from blue to violet to almost black. Little time remained according to my watch.
Here would have to do.
I released my hold on the bomb. I moved slightly to the side and slowed down, but not too quickly or else the forces at play would tear my body apart.
The momentum of the bomb sent it rocketing past my decelerating body. Though the air was mighty thin this high, the speed of the bomb was such that its air wake sent me tumbling. I spun, end over end, out of control. Even so, I had the presence of mind to track the bomb as it continued up, up, and away.
The bomb shot into the blackness of space. It exploded without a sound in the dark vacuum. I didn’t see it, but I felt it with my telekinetic touch.
I righted myself and slowed to a complete stop. My breathing was labored and my heart raced. I felt like
I had just completed a race. I guess I had. My trophy was an intact Astor City and still living citizens.
I’d done it. It wasn’t saving the entire world as apparently I was destined to try to do as the carrier for the Omega spirit, but this was far better than nothing. First save the city, then the world. Hopefully. The saving of a thousand cities begins with a single city. Or something like that. I was no good at riffing on clichés when I’d just averted a disaster and my heart was still pounding a mile a minute.
There wasn’t much breathable air left in the force field surrounding me, but I couldn’t help but linger to admire the beauty of the planet below. I never tired of looking at it. I hoped I was up to the challenge of dealing with the threat to it the Sentinels had warned was looming. I had worked my fingers to the bone over the past couple of years to prepare myself.
As I feasted on the sight of the world below, a question that had been nagging the back of my mind this whole time came to the forefront, waved at me insistently, and demanded my attention:
When I had dangled Amok in the air earlier, would I really have dropped him a third and final time to let him fall to his death if he hadn’t told me where he had stashed the bomb?
I mulled it over as the world turned.
As someone who was supposed to be a Hero, I didn’t much like the answer.
CHAPTER 3
I stood on top of the emerald green UWant Building in my Omega suit. It was the tallest building not only in Astor City, but in the entire country. From up here, I could survey almost the entire city with my powers. I was capeless because, being alone up here, I did not need to impress anyone with my Heroic authority. Intimidating terrorists and bossing around hostages was not on tonight’s agenda.
I perched on the edge of the roof’s observation deck with my arms outstretched. Even after all these years, I still needed to move my hands and fingers to use my powers. Athena, one of my Academy instructors, had unsuccessfully tried to break me of the habit; unfortunately, moving my hands and fingers seemed necessary to trigger my powers.
Rogues Page 2
