by Drew Hayes
“Last chance,” Vince said, taking a step forward. Flames began swirling in his hands as he prepared to release a dual barrage of fireballs. “Let Mary go.”
At long last George’s thrusters came online and showed a ‘Ready’ status.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” George replied. His robotic face wasn’t really equipped to smile, though it did put forth an impressive level of effort. He activated the thrusters and began to lift off the ground.
It was only because of his enhanced hearing that George was able to make out the gunshot over the roar of his leg engines. He did see the barrel of the six-shooter in Nick’s left hand flash, and that was the last thing he saw for several seconds. A white-hot explosion of light erupted in front of his eyes, blinding his sensors and forcing him back to the ground. He heard another sound, the soft whistle of an object in free fall and put two and two together. The idiots had shot something to blind him so Adair could drop that stupid rock on him. It was a completely brainless plan and the only person it might genuinely hurt was Mary. Coach George threw up both his arms, gauging the rock’s strike point on sound alone. He managed to deflect it with his forearms, shattering it into a dozen pieces that scattered along the ground.
It was only after George had lowered his arms and shaken his head in a vain attempt to get his visual sensors back to full functionality that he realized his left shoulder was considerably lighter. A quick glance to the rear confirmed his suspicions as a blonde figure holding a brunette one sped across the sky.
“You little shits,” he cursed.
“Come on, did you really think we’d be stupid enough to fight you with Mary in danger?” Nick taunted. “A little misdirection is the key ingredient in any theft.”
“I suppose it is,” George agreed. “What was that thing you shot at me?” His vision was finally clearing up as his system compensated for the damaged lenses.
“Phosphorous bullet: a little something one of my real teachers whipped up years ago,” Nick replied, his own face having no trouble displaying its cocky grin.
“Nice job there, kid, sincerely. Though I’m curious how you expected the rest of this to play out. You do realize I can easily catch that girl, right?”
“Actually, we didn’t even know you could fly,” Nick replied. “But it doesn’t really matter.”
“And why is that?” George asked.
“Because Mary isn’t here to get hurt anymore,” Vince answered.
The silver-haired boy took three steps forward and the inferno broke loose.
151.
Alice rocketed through the air as fast as she dared move with Mary’s thankfully light frame clutched in her grasp. She didn’t know how the small girl was still asleep, though she was smart enough to guess it had something to do with the metal headband wrapped around her skull. Alice glanced behind her to see if Coach George was somehow following her. She’d been so shocked when he lifted off the ground that the rock had slipped from her grasp. It was fortunate Nick had fired in time for the plan to work so she could steal Mary away in the confusion. Still, she had no idea how they were going to keep him busy long enough for her and Mary to get away.
Alice slowed the pace at which she was cutting through the air. She needed to get Mary awake, which meant stopping to take off the headband. It was a risk, because Coach George might catch up to her in the time it took. Alice thought it was even riskier to continue through all this without Mary’s help, though. Vince had assured her they could handle Coach George. Alice slowed to a hover and she lightly descended to the ground.
She would trust in her friends.
* * *
George skirted another fireball and nearly stepped into a column of focused flames. George wasn’t someone who normally feared a little heat; however, the flames that Reynolds was pumping out were intense enough to make him concerned for his inner circuitry. He pulled back and raised his arm to take aim, but the burning road made getting a precise bead on his target quite difficult. It certainly didn’t help that Vince’s attacks didn’t need to be precise to be troublesome, as the boy had clearly spent his two weeks crafting the art of the area blast. Before George could get a shot off, a blazing wall rose up in front of him, obscuring his vision entirely.
Vince soon burst through it, reabsorbing the energy around him while doling out new bursts of power. So far the dance of these two warriors had been one of distance by necessity. Vince was keeping the area around him at high enough temperatures that George would sustain damage to enter it. This kept the older combatant’s exceptional strength and skill restrained while giving Vince a temporary advantage. George knew the kid never absorbed too much power, so sooner or later he would run dry and George could put a swift end to this foolishness. Vince released another flurry and George hurried to get out of the way.
From a safe distance Nick watched calmly as the world burned around him. Most people probably would have been surprised to see Vince fare so well against his former coach, given his performance all year. Nick was not one of those people. He had long ago noticed the pattern that indicated Vince was an “all on the line” kind of fighter. He was good most of the time, yet he could never tap into his true potential. That was, of course, unless his back was to the wall. Then the guy could come out of his corner swinging. And if it was his friends in danger instead of himself... well, that was when you saw what good ole Silver was really made of.
Still, he couldn’t keep this pace up forever and they both knew it. Even if the fire’s energy didn’t run out, his own eventually would. He was using a lot of movement to try and keep George on the defensive and that would take its toll. Nick had originally planned to get to the truck and slip Hershel some whiskey; however, a series of poorly timed fireballs had cut him off from access to it. That was okay; Nick knew he would get the chance to play his roll soon enough. He just hoped it was at a point before all hope of victory was lost.
* * *
“Come on, come on, wake up already,” Alice said, bobbing through the air. She’d peeled the band off of Mary and taken back to the skies; however, the telepath had remained unresponsive.
“They need you, Mary. We need you. I need you. I don’t know what to do without you,” Alice pleaded to the unconscious form cradled in her arms. “I don’t know if I should even be running away right now. I know I can’t help, and I’d only be a distraction, but... I’m tired of only being good at running away.”
Alice moved upward in the air, hoping the chilly breeze would snap Mary into the waking world.
“You know when you fought Chad in the midterms and I ran away? I hated that, and I almost came back. Nick convinced me that sometimes being a Hero means knowing when to retreat, though. Knowing how to apply your assets so that don’t they get in each other’s way. Looking back at that moment now I can’t believe I fell for that bullshit. Then again, I fell for a lot of his bullshit. God, Mary, please wake up already. I want to talk to you, to tell about everything that’s happened, to get your opinion on what I should do. But most of all I want to save our damn friends. And I can’t do that. We need you.”
Alice began flying faster, causing the wind to tear at her eyes and whip her hair about violently.
“We need you, Mary. So please wake up.”
* * *
George got off a series of shots, driving Reynolds back as he rolled away. It was bad luck that George’s projectiles were bolts of energy, but good luck that Reynolds had never experimented with his repertoire enough to see if he could absorb them. Now was not the time to try and find out, so the kid had to dodge. Finally given a bit of breathing room, George decided he had wasted enough time with this grudge match. There was no doubt he could still outfly the Adair girl, but every minute this went on meant finding her would be more difficult. Since Reynolds seemed to still have gas in the tank, George decided on an alternate method for victory.
He dashed toward the truck, able to leap past the surrounding flames that had deterred Nick, and hopped in
the back. He emerged moments later, right arm holding Hershel’s battered body and left arm wrapped around his throat, choking off any protests Hershel might have been voicing. For good measure, George finally used his thrusters and rose several feet into the air.
“Enough!” George screamed at his top volume. “Unless you’re in the mood for barbecued hostage, I’d refrain from any more pyrotechnics.”
Vince stopped in his tracks, a half-formed fireball reabsorbing into the hand that held it.
“There’s a good student, finally doing as you’re told,” George said from his airborne perch. “I swear, kid, if you’d shown that much spirit through the year you could have been second in the class.”
Vince returned his verbal volley with only a vicious stare.
“No demands that I release your friend? Good, glad we’re past that phase. Now, here is what is going to happen. I’m going to fly off with your buddy in my possession. When I catch up with Alice, I’m going to trade him out for Mary. I’m then going to fly away and you all are never going to see me again. Clear?”
Vince only glowered at the metallic man hovering in the air.
“Don’t be such a sore loser, kid. Maybe you should have paid more attention in the dean’s boring class. I mean, didn’t it ever occur to you that I might use the one of you without powers as a human shield?”
“As a matter of fact, it did,” Nick quipped from twenty feet away on George’s right.
Nick’s revolver barked its second shot and Hershel forced out a strangled scream of pain.
152.
George didn’t really have the capacity to blink in his current form, but if he could he certainly would have done so in surprise. Blood flowed from the fresh bullet wound in Hershel’s right shoulder onto the dirty grey metal of George’s arm.
“Shit, Campbell, are you fucking blind? Not only did you try and shoot me with a bullet we both know wouldn’t hurt, but you missed and hit your friend.”
Hershel twitched violently for a few seconds before becoming still. George had just enough time to wonder if the boy had gone into shock when Hershel’s head flung forward and then smashed its back into George’s face. The world morphed into static as George was sent reeling through the sky and crashed to the ground, his grip and direction lost as he struggled to understand how his hostage had mustered enough strength to hurt him.
Had George been able to pay more attention he would have gotten an immediate answer to his question, for while it was Hershel Daniels that slipped from George’s grasp, it was Roy Daniels who crashed into the ground. Nick and Vince dashed to his side.
“Are you okay?” Vince asked.
Nick didn’t bother with a verbal query; he didn’t know how long this transformation would last without supplementation. So he pulled a silver flask from his pocket and slapped it into Roy’s left hand. The right arm was dangling uselessly, Hershel’s significant injuries all the more apparent on Roy’s muscular form.
Roy tore the top off the flask with his teeth and hurriedly gulped down the contents. He tossed it to his side and pulled himself up to a standing position. Glancing at the bullet wound in his arm, only then did he finally speak.
“You coated a bullet in whiskey?”
“Seemed like the fastest way to get it into your bloodstream,” Nick replied.
Roy gave him a curt nod, then looked at the metallic figure that was moving towards them once more. “I rang his bell pretty good, but we need to hurry if we want to keep him from flying off.”
Vince gestured to Roy’s arm. “What happened? Are you sure you can fight with that?”
A dark look passed over Roy’s face. “I’m dead fucking sure. If Hershel can be man enough to hold onto to that psycho’s neck while he snaps his bones then there’s no way I’m backing down.”
“The girls should be far enough away now, it might be prudent to retreat and heal,” Nick pointed out.
“To hell with that. Do you know what Hershel’s last thought was before I took over?” Roy asked, his eyes unwavering from his formerly airborne opponent.
“Do tell,” Nick sighed, already seeing where this was going.
“His last thought after being kidnapped, beaten, and taken hostage by someone he trusted was ‘Sorry about the arm’.” The knuckles on Roy’s left hand cracked with a thunder that left lightning envious. “No way I’m letting my little brother show me up like that. I owe that tin man son-of-a-bitch. I owe him hard.”
“I’ll fight with you,” Vince said, stepping next to him. Roy stayed focused on the steadily approaching target, but Vince spared a glance over at Nick.
“In for a dime, in for a dollar,” Nick replied, taking a few steps back but raising his weapons. He was under no impression that he’d be able to make any more difference in wounding George, but perhaps a well-timed shot could prove a distraction. At this point it was all he had left.
“Just for reference, how resistant to fire are you?” Vince asked Roy with the little time that remained.
“No idea,” Roy replied. “But I bet we’re about to find out.”
* * *
The knock on the Melbrook door was quickly followed by its forceful opening. Seconds later Dean Blaine, along with a petite elderly woman and a medium-sized man with jet-black hair, entered the living room.
“You two had better have a damned good explanation,” Dean Blaine ranted. “First your students get outed by one of their classmates, then you contact me that two of them are missing and point me toward another student, this one who assures me the perpetrators were two of my staff. An accusation that would have been laughable if not for the fact that I am now unable to find either one of them. Now I come in here and find you both just sitting there, seemingly without a care in the world. So you’d both better tell me what is going on and where my students are and I mean now!”
Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport both sat still as early morning in response. Mr. Move, however, stepped forward to meet the dean.
“Dean Blaine, I can assure you that everything is well under control and you have nothing to worry about.”
Dean Blaine strode directly by Mr. Move and leaned in to yell more at the sitting men. “Are you two deaf? I said I want to know what’s going on.”
“Perhaps you would feel more at ease if you sat down and relaxed,” Mr. Move commanded. He was going to take hell for using his power on the dean, but it seemed unavoidable at the moment. However, things did not go as Mr. Move expected. Rather than hunkering down with the other two, Dean Blaine spun around and drove his fist into Mr. Move’s temple with a single fluid motion. Mr. Move tumbled to the floor, not accustomed to taking blows and certainly not from someone as experienced as Dean Blaine.
“I wasn’t talking to you, whoever you are,” Dean Blaine said to the now unconscious man. “I was talking to these two.”
‘These two’ were experiencing a tingle across their skin as they regained authority over their appendages. They exchanged a quick glance to confer that they were on the same page about coming clean with the dean and found that they, in fact, adamantly were. Before they could rise to a standing position, however, Dean Blain leaned in and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Last chance, gentlemen. Where. Are. My. Students?”
153.
Roy threw a vicious haymaker that George sidestepped with ease. George capitalized on Roy’s open side by delivering two quick jabs to the boy’s ribs and then kneeing him in the diaphragm. Roy coughed as the wind left his body and he sank to a knee. George moved in to put him down for good when a horizontal pillar of fire smashed into his head, momentarily blinding him and sending his temperature to dangerous levels. George was forced to roll away and regroup, a consequence of which was that Roy was afforded the same privilege.
George had to admit it: Daniels had gotten a lot better since the start of the year. He was thinking his movements through, recovering well from hits, and fighting with a brain instead of all brawn. All those weeks slugg
ing it out with the number one rank had done him a world of good. Not so much that he could pose an actual challenge to George, though. This fight would have been over in minutes if not for Reynolds doling out those flame-based blasts. Every time George went to return fire, Roy came at him in close range. The two were focusing on their specialties and keeping him off balance enough so that he couldn’t permanently remove either one from the fray. It was a terrible strategy if they wanted to win, but for buying time, he had to concede it was pretty functional. Somewhere deep down inside his metallic system George felt a sensation akin to pride. The little dipshits had actually learned.
George activated his thrusters and began rising into the air. Unlike his opponents, he had no compelling reason to try and win this fight. All he had to do was get away and recapture the Smith girl for delivery. Unfortunately, Roy had already recovered and was ready for this. He leapt several feet in the air, grabbing George by the leg and getting a face full of thruster fire for his trouble. Roy didn’t even seem to notice; he pulled himself out its range and tightened his grip.
“I’d think between you and your brother one of you boys would think of a different strategy than just clinging on to me,” George said.
“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” Roy snapped back. He tested his right arm and found it still unresponsive. He knew it would heal eventually, probably within the half hour. That just wasn’t much help at the moment, though. It was a shame, if he’d had both appendages he could have been hammering away on George while in this position; instead he was leaving himself wide open. Roy steeled himself for whatever was about to come. If Hershel could take it so could he.
For his part, George wasn’t feeling particularly creative. He raised his own arm and fired off several bolts of energy into Roy’s torso. The boy’s grip was shaken as the pain rippled through him, but he held on. George readied himself for another volley; however, he was forced to sweep through the air instead to dodge a flurry of fire from Vince on the ground.
