by Lucas Flint
Frank sounded depressed. I could tell that the Beams Fan Club really meant a lot to him and suddenly understood why he had been so adamant about trying to get me to join. He just wanted to share something he felt was great with me, but he would never be able to understand why I couldn’t join it, which had nothing to do with how great it was or wasn’t and everything to do with the fact that I was Beams.
But just because I couldn’t join the club didn’t mean that I couldn’t help it. As Beams, I hadn’t done very many media appearances or interviews, mostly because Rubberman forbid me from talking to the media under the reasoning that I wasn’t ready yet. But Rubberman wasn’t around at the moment; besides, talking to Frank didn’t technically count as talking to the ‘media’ anyway, given how Frank is just, well, Frank.
As casually as I could, I said, “I think I could arrange for you to interview Beams, Frank.”
Frank dropped his fork into his spaghetti in shock. “What? Really?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, still doing my best to seem totally casual. “I’m not pulling your leg here. I’m totally serious.”
“How could you possibly arrange an interview with him?” asked Greta in a skeptical voice. “Do you know Beams or something?”
My neck felt hot, but I said, “Er, sort of. We met once, uh, at the gym.”
“You did?” said Frank. He frowned. “How did you know it was him? I thought that sidekicks weren’t allowed to reveal their secret identities to other people.”
“By accident, of course,” I said quickly. “We were in the locker room and I saw his costume in his bag. He begged me not to tell anyone who he is, but we started working out together and sort of became friends. Workout buddies, I mean, because we workout a lot together.”
My story sounded lame and unrealistic, but Frank looked as if I was Moses relaying a message from God himself. “So you think you might be able to arrange for me to interview him? In person?”
“In person,” I said. “I mean, I can’t guarantee anything, of course, but I’ll let him know that you are interested in interviewing him.”
“That would be so amazing if you could do it,” said Frank. He sighed dreamily. “Interviewing Beams himself … actually, I don’t think Beams has done interviews before. This would be, like, his first interview ever.”
I nodded. “I think you’re right. And it would be a great thing to be able to give to your fellow fan club members, wouldn’t it?”
“It sure would,” said Frank. “That news will make the membership explode overnight once people hear about it.” His smile suddenly turned into a horrified frown. “I’m going to need to order a lot more pins.”
I smiled, despite the fact that I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into. I would need to ask Rubberman’s permission before I could talk with Frank and, like I said, Rubberman didn’t want me doing interviews at the moment. If I couldn’t get Rubberman’s permission, Frank would not only be really disappointed, but it might even harm our friendship.
“Huh,” said Greta, snapping me out of my thoughts. “How come you haven’t mentioned that you know Beams until now?”
I gulped, but said, “Well, like I said, Beams doesn’t want anyone knowing his secret identity so he doesn’t lose his license. Even just telling you guys that I know who he is is a huge risk. Beams doesn’t want me to lose his license or become a target for his enemies, because there are a lot of bad guys out there who would like to know who he is so they could kill him or his family.”
Greta nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Fits with Beams’ character. He seemed like a really upstanding guy when he saved me from ZZZ a while back. It doesn’t surprise me that he doesn’t want to endanger the lives of his friends and family or even the lives of total strangers like you.”
“Yeah, isn’t Beams awesome?” said Frank, nodding eagerly. “He’s going to be a great superhero someday. I just know it.”
Once again, I found myself wanting to thank them for all the compliments, but I couldn’t. I just took another bite out of my sandwich and tried not to think too hard about how hard it would be to convince Rubberman to let me do that interview with Frank. Something told me that the odds of Rubberman saying ‘yes’ were not very high; unfortunately, at this point I had no choice but to try, because I didn’t want to go back on my word and possibly damage my friendship with Frank.
CHAPTER SIX
When school let out for the day, I promised to Frank once again that I would talk to Beams as soon as possible. Then I hopped on my bike and took off, heading directly to the Elastic Cave. As I biked, I started trying to think of a good argument that would convince Rubberman to let me do this interview. That was hard to do, because even in my imagination, Rubberman instantly shot down every argument I came up with without even hesitating. That either meant I wasn’t a very good persuader or that my subconscious was trying to let me know that I was doomed to failure and that I shouldn’t have made that promise to Frank in the first place. I preferred to think that it was the former, mostly because I didn’t know what I’d do if I went back to school tomorrow and had to tell Frank that I couldn’t do it, especially after I’d already promised that I would do my best to make it a reality.
Still, I took the long route to the Elastic Cave this time, partly to give myself more time to think of a good argument, partly because I wanted to delay the subject as much as I could. Rubberman could be pretty blunt and dismissive sometimes and I didn’t want to make him angry at me for asking a stupid question. It didn’t help that Rubberman was on edge due to the Superhero Killer, which would make it even less likely that he would agree to let me do the interview. He’d probably just consider it a waste of time and tell me to focus on catching the Superhero Killer. But I had to try, at least, because I couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing my best friend.
My thoughts were interrupted when, without warning, someone stepped out from between two alleys directly into my path. I braked my bike, my tires screeching across the pavement before I collided into the person. Thankfully, I managed to stop about halfway between the end of the alley and the person, leaving me in the middle of the alleyway with two buildings on either side.
The man standing in my path was tall and thin, maybe even bony. He wore a huge, thick overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat which hid his face. What little of his face that the hat didn’t hide was hidden underneath a thick red bandanna, which covered his mouth. He wore thick gloves on his hands, but they didn’t seem to fit right, like he was wearing gloves that were a size too thick. Pointy shoes poked out from under his overcoat, though I didn’t pay much attention to those.
“Um, hello?” I said. “Do you need some help?”
The man didn’t respond. He just stood there as still as a statue. He didn’t even raise his head to look at me.
“Sir?” I said. “Can you hear me? Are you lost?”
Again, no response. But a powerful wind blew through just then, a cold breeze, and it came from behind the man in the overcoat. The man didn’t move, but his overcoat did flap slightly in the wind.
But what really caught my attention was the horrible stink which followed the cold wind. It was the worst scent I’d ever smelled in my whole life, like rotting meat. I covered my nose, trying not to inhale the awful smell, but my nostrils still burned. It seemed to be coming from the man himself, which meant that this guy probably didn’t bathe or shower.
Something about this situation didn’t seem right to me. The man was too quiet, too still. He didn’t seem to be armed, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I turned my bike around, intending to go the opposite way and take another route to the Cave, but I stopped dead when I saw another man in an identical overcoat standing at the other end of the alley, effectively cutting off my only escape route. This new guy looked like an almost exact clone of the first guy, down to wearing the same red bandanna and wide-brimmed hat.
Alarms went off in my head. The only people who wore identical uniforms were either
police and military … or criminals who were a part of a gang that required its members to wear uniforms. These guys didn’t look like Three Fingers thugs, but just because I couldn’t identify the gang or organization they belonged to did not mean that they weren’t a threat. Gods knows that the Three Fingers aren’t the only criminal gangs in the world or even in Golden City.
Running was not an option, but I was hesitant to fight, too. If I used my eye beams, I would out myself as Beams and lose my sidekick license. But maybe I didn’t need to use my eye beams to defend myself. I’d received plenty of training in hand-to-hand fighting, after all. While I was no Bruce Lee, I felt comfortable using my feet and fists to defend myself. I might not even need to use my eye beams at all if these guys were as unskilled in fighting as your average crook was.
I jumped off my bike and turned around to face the first overcoat again. “I don’t know who you guys are or why you’ve cornered me, but if it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get. Just don’t go crying to mommy when I beat you guys like a drum.”
Neither overcoat responded, but the first one did run toward me. He ran kind of awkwardly; his arms were outstretched and he walked in a shambling, clumsy manner, like he was a puppet or something. Yet he moved surprisingly quick, despite his heavy overcoat.
But I was ready for him. When he came within reach of me, I avoided his gloved hands and delivered a solid uppercut to his jaw, just like Rubberman taught me. It should have been enough to knock the overcoat out, or at least stun him long enough for me to finish him off with a kick to the groin or something like that.
Instead, the overcoat staggered backwards and nearly fell on his behind. While he managed to catch himself, my uppercut had knocked his hat loose. When another gust of wind came, bringing more of that awful stink with it, the overcoat’s hat flew off his head and onto the street, but I didn’t pay attention to that because I was too busy staring at the overcoat’s exposed head.
And by ‘exposed,’ I don’t mean that it was just hatless. I mean that the top part of his head was literally missing. His brain—which looked like decayed mush in his skull—was exposed to the elements, though it was not pulsating; it looked dead. His skin was gray and full of holes, but it was his eyes that scared me the most. Or, I should say, his eye holes, because he had no eyeballs in his sockets. I found myself staring into two empty black holes in his head, like staring into a deep, dark bottomless pit hiding who-knows-what.
Although I was paralyzed by fear, the tiny part of my brain that was still rational spoke one word, just one, that instantly identified the overcoat for me: Zombie.
Two rotting hands slammed down on my shoulders. I looked over my shoulder to see the second overcoat standing behind me, his hat off kilter and letting me see that he, like the first overcoat, was also a zombie. His grip on my shoulders was surprisingly strong, but before I could break it, the first zombie wrapped his hands around my neck and started strangling me.
I gasped for air, but was unable to breathe, not helped by the fact that their collective stink filled my nostrils. I tried to punch and kick them, but my blows were weak due to my lack of air. I realized that if I was going to survive, I would need to use my eye beams and not worry about whether or not this would out me as Beams. Not like a bunch of zombies would even be able to tell anyone who I really was anyway.
My eyes began heating up with energy, but before I could shoot the zombie in front of me, a huge shadow—like a vulture—passed over us. The zombies both looked up, as did I, but it was just in time to see a large, winged humanoid flying toward us. With surprising speed, the winged person snatched the first zombie by the shoulders and lifted it up into the sky, ripping the zombie’s grip from my throat.
Breathing in the cold winter air, I grabbed the zombie holding onto my shoulders and threw it over my shoulder. The zombie landed with a sickening crunch onto the pavement, making his bones rattle, but it immediately got back to its feet and raised its hands, no doubt to get me again.
At that moment, however, the first zombie fell from the sky and crashed directly on top of its friend. The two zombies fell into a confused heap of mangled limbs and a second later, the winged humanoid landed on top of both of them, crushing their skulls with his clawed feet and causing both zombies to immediately go limp.
Panting, I stepped backwards and looked at my rescuer uncertainly. He was a tall man wearing black and red flight armor. Two large wings extended from his back, making him look angelic, though his colors seemed more demonic to me. His hands were covered with metallic, claw-like gauntlets, while the eyes of his helmet glowed green. His armor looked slightly old-fashioned, though given how easily he dispatched the two zombies, it was pretty obvious to me that its age hadn’t affected its effectiveness at all. He also had a bag slung over his right shoulder, though it looked empty to me.
“Uh, thanks for saving me,” I said, staring up at the winged man.
“No problem, young man,” said the winged man, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet, although I noticed that he sounded older than most. “In my career as a superhero, I’ve dealt with far worse villains than a couple of mindless zombies.”
“You’re a superhero?” I said. “I don’t recognize you, sorry.”
The winged man chuckled. “That’s because I’m from before your time, young man. Let me introduce myself: I am Luke Hat, or, as I was better known in my youth, Iron Angel.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Iron Angel?” I said in surprise. “The Iron Angel? One of the greatest superheroes of all time?”
Iron Angel nodded. “Yes. I’m glad to see that you seem to have heard of me. That means I don’t need to introduce myself.”
“That’s because my boss—” I caught myself before I accidentally revealed my identity. “I mean, you’re pretty famous, you know.”
“Beams, there’s no reason to be coy about your identity,” said Iron Angel in an amused voice. “I know who you are and who you work for.”
I stepped backwards involuntarily. “You do? But my license—”
“Don’t worry,” said Iron Angel with a wink. “I won’t tell anyone. I know all about the laws regulating sidekicks. Your secret is safe with me.”
My mouth opened and closed several times because words just would not come out for some reason, though I finally managed to say, “How? We’ve never met before. I have never told you my secret identity.”
“Don’t you know?” said Iron Angel. “Due to saving the life of the President of the United States once during my career, I’ve been granted access to the sidekick registration list, despite not working for the government. It was simple for me to check and find out who Beams really was, but as I said, your secret is safe with me. I know from experience just how important it is to keep your identity a secret from the general public.”
Iron Angel seemed friendly enough, and he did just save me from being turned into zombie food, but at the same time, it seemed like everyone and their dog knew my secret identity nowadays. It made me wonder what the point of having these secret identity laws was when just about anyone could figure it out with enough effort.
But because Iron Angel would not be interested in hearing that, I said, “But how did you find me? And what are you doing in Golden City? I thought you were retired. Why are you wearing your old Iron Angel costume?”
Iron Angel raised his hands. “Whoa, there. Too many questions at once. I’m not as fast as I used to be, you know. That’s what old age does to you; makes you slower, though wiser.”
I nodded. “Okay, let’s start with the first question: How did you find me?”
“Purely by accident,” said Iron Angel. “I was flying around the skies of Golden City looking for you. Because you’re still in school, I assumed I would be able to find you once school was out, though I didn’t know if you were going to go home or to your workplace. Lucky thing I managed to spot you, because those zombies likely would have taken you away.”
“Tak
en me away?” I repeated. “Don’t you mean kill me?”
Iron Angel shook his head. “No. What, did you think those zombies wanted to eat your brains? They were trying to kidnap you for their master. Or mistress, I should say.”
I shivered. “You mean the Necromantress.”
“Right,” said Iron Angel. “That woman who has taken the lives of many superheroes already.”
“Why was she trying to kidnap me?” I asked. I looked around suddenly, though I didn’t see any more zombies nearby. “Does she know my secret identity?”
“Probably not,” said Iron Angel. “She probably figured that you had some connection to Rubberman and wanted to hold you hostage, but it doesn’t matter. It is not wise to discuss such things in the open like this, where people might overhear us.”
I looked around again, but saw no one else in the alleyway except for me and Iron Angel. “Well, I don’t see anyone.”
“It is still unwise to talk about these issues in public,” Iron Angel said. “I must ask that you take me to Rubberman’s base. I have some important information I need to relay to him and it cannot wait. It is related to the Necromantress.”
“Does it also have to do with why you are wearing your costume again?” I asked.
“Indeed,” said Iron Angel. “I will explain what’s been going on in more detail once we’re in the safety of Rubberman’s base, so for now, we must go.”
I hesitated. On one hand, Iron Angel was a legendary superhero who had fought and defeated countless supervillains and criminals. He had even saved my life, not to mention he was Rubberman’s biggest inspiration for becoming a superhero in the first place.
