“An oil leak.”
“When Reid made cake for Marco’s birthday, what did he make the batter in?”
“Um, a bowl.”
Benjamin snickered. “In most parts of the country, ‘bowl’ and ‘oil’ don’t rhyme.” He wiped his hands with his paper napkin. “I meant to talk about this with you guys at home, but never got around to it. What are we going to do about my accent?”
“Your accent?” I repeated. “What’s wrong with it?”
I loved Benjamin’s brisk northern accent, especially how he said my name—he didn’t drag out the vowels in “Jillian,” instead giving it a crisper sound than I was used to. His accent sounded like Reid’s a little bit, but somehow different. I chalked this up to them being from vastly different parts of the north.
Benjamin nodded toward the oil spill. “I think I might be accepted a little more easily if I acted like I was from the Deep South, like you g—like y’all.” He stretched out the final word. It sounded bizarre coming from his mouth.
Ember snorted tea out of her nose. When she’d composed herself, she said, “Kindly don’t say that again. Just use your Maryland accent. You’re not pretending to be from a Georgia camp, so why bother faking one?”
I was suddenly self-conscious of how we might sound to Benjamin. I hoped he thought my accent was as attractive as I thought his was. It made him sound so unlike all the men with whom I’d grown up. Ember, and formerly Patrick, had an even thicker accent than Marco and me.
“What is your story gonna be, anyway?” Marco asked. “Wanna practice lying to us?”
Benjamin stuck out his hand, purposefully rigid. “Hi, I’m Benjamin Corsaro. I met Jillian when Patrick attacked the library. We’ve been dating ever since. I’m a descendant of one of the Supers who wanted to be normal way back when, but I’m very happy to serve the citizens of Saint Catherine as a superhero. By the way, I’m a healer. How may I heal you?”
Reid started to laugh so hard he had to put down his fork. “Oh my God,” he wheezed. “If you gave me that speech in Idaho, I’d kill you for so clearly being a Westerner. Try to make it sound like you haven’t been practicing it in front of your mirror every night.”
Benjamin waved his hand dismissively. “That’s the gist of it, anyway. I’ll improvise when I have to.”
“Don’t say you’re ‘dating’ Jill, though,” Marco said through a mouthful of coleslaw. “Nobody there is gonna care how you feel about our relationship practices. You’re courting, or nothing.”
“I am not saying ‘courting.’ Ugh, I mean, ‘courtin’. That’s how you guys actually say it, you know. Can’t put the ‘g’ at the end of anything.” He elbowed me. “Though I do like when you say ‘kissin’… and ‘fightin’...” He smiled mischievously. “I could listen to you talk all day.”
I blushed and looked down at my empty plate, then up at his beaming face. “Don’t worry about making people love you,” I said, stroking his arm. “You do that naturally.”
He brightened.
I stood and grabbed my paper plate and utensils. “I’m going to get more tea. I’ll see you guys in the truck.”
After hopping back into my seat, I stared out the windshield at the steel gray mountains in the distance. There was every possibility that I’d never have a happy lunch with my team again.
I laid my head against the window once more.
5
“God, was it this long of a drive when we drove to Saint Catherine?” Marco threw down his knitting needles and tossed a blue bit of yarn at me. “Here, I’m done. Try not to have it torn off by lions, will ya?”
I tied the yarn bracelet around my wrist and admired it. “Thank you. And yes, it took this long. We were just happier then.”
The blue of the yarn almost perfectly matched the blue of my uniform’s tunic, which itself matched the deep azure of a summer afternoon sky. I decided that I believed in the lucky powers of Marco’s bracelets.
A few minutes later, a little after noon, Benjamin turned off the highway onto a country road dotted with potholes and tree roots. We were in the mountains now, and conversation stopped while we jutted and jolted up and down the tree-lined two-lane road. Our seatbelts prevented us from being thrown from our seats, but twice we had to stop to resecure boxes in the bed with bungee cords.
The road wound through the mountains into deeper forest. In spring and summer, the woods would’ve been thick with shadows and life, butterflies flitting from bud to bud, but now the weak winter sun beat down through the skeletal branches, illuminating everything with a gray light.
There’s no place to hide. The strange thought passed through my head before I could stop it.
“Here’s the turn off,” Benjamin said suddenly, turning the GPS off with a tap.
The screen didn’t display any indication that there was a road coming up, but the truck rumbled to a stop in front of an unpaved single-lane road that disappeared into the trees and over an enormous hill. It was more of a path than a road, only distinguishable from the surrounding forest by two grooves made by cars in the past.
Where the unpaved road met the paved road stood a simple metal gate. The sign on the gate read “NO TRESPASSING”.
Marco scratched his head. “You’d think Chattahoochee camp’s entrance would be a little more, uh, impressive. That wouldn’t scare off anybody.”
Benjamin studied a print-out from a government website. “It’s not the entrance. It’s the beginning of the road that leads to the entrance. Jill, can you move the gate?”
I hopped out of the cab and walked over to the end of the rail, giving it a little push. With a rusty creak of protest, it moved out of the way, swinging back and allowing the truck to pass. After Benjamin had driven the truck a little way up the road, I moved the gate back into place and ran to catch up.
We drove for miles on the narrow lane, which went over a wide, swift body of water that I thought might be Gregory’s final resting place. The trees clustered so thickly in places that they were able to blot out the sunlight for long moments, casting us into darkness even though it was midday.
Nobody spoke.
After thirty minutes of tense driving, Benjamin pointed ahead. “Look. There’s the parking area.”
The truck rolled into a muddy gravel lot carved out of the trees and surrounding mountainside. Though there was evidence of recent vehicles in the dried mud, we were the only people there.
We all hopped out and searched for signs of life.
“Where’s camp?” I asked. Marco and I had left camp from a smaller entrance on the north side of camp. I assumed we were going to the main entrance on the south side.
Benjamin lowered the tailgate and started passing out boxes. “Now we start walking.”
I shouldered my backpack and grabbed the box with the canned goods because it was the heaviest. I hated that Benjamin knew more about getting to my old home than I did.
Marco picked up the box of toys and let out a long sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”
A beaten footpath at the far end of the lot led off into the trees. We fell into single file and began an arduous, awkward journey that took us up towering hills, down into creek beds that Reid had to build bridges over, and through briar patches.
The whole experience was ridiculously uncomfortable, which I supposed was the point. Nobody would walk down the footpath unless they had to reach the end.
Just as I was about to turn around and ask Benjamin if he knew the length of the hike, I heard a sound that made me stop in my tracks: a baby’s cry, high and thin, in the distance.
My team couldn’t hear it, but they stopped next to me and squinted ahead. They were familiar enough with my powers to know why I’d stopped.
“Let’s go,” I said, hurrying forward. Now that I was so close, I didn’t want to linger and put off the inevitable. We stumbled up a part of the path that was cluttered with fallen logs, our boxes throwing us off balance.
The trees cleared, the sun came d
own a little brighter, and we skidded to a halt and gazed up at the forbidding sight in front of us.
The steel wall of Chattahoochee camp, the seat of power of every superhero in America, loomed above us like a metal curtain. Curls of razor wire lined the top of the wall, and I could hear the electric hum of the charge that ran within it. Speakers were placed strategically every fifty feet, used to blare the warning siren, should the Westerners attack.
Directly ahead of us, two large doors in the wall bore a white sign with black lettering.
ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK
TRESPASSERS WILL BE KILLED ON SIGHT
Marco dropped his box. “Welcome home, kids.”
I put down my box and walked up to the doors. How were we supposed to announce our presence? There was no doorbell, knocker, or little squawk box in which to speak. I hesitated, then knocked on the door a few times.
Silence.
I swore and stomped over to my box, sitting down on it and crushing the cardboard a little bit. “Anyone have any ideas?”
Marco raised a hand. “I can melt the doors.”
I grabbed his wrist and lowered it. “I don’t feel like being killed by the watch, thanks.”
Reid gazed up at the top of the wall. “We could fly over on a piece of earth.”
My shoulders drooped. Reid’s idea was the most sensible. Now I had no reason to say I couldn’t come to the tribunal.
Benjamin put his hand to his chin, thoughtful. “You know, Eleanor once told me that in college there’s this rule about professors who show up late to class. If they don’t come within fifteen minutes of class starting, everyone gets to go home.”
I liked that rule. I pulled out my phone and flipped to the stopwatch. “Good ideas like that are why you’re on our team. Our fifteen minutes starts… now.” I pressed the green start button. I looked over at Reid. “No need to go to all that trouble. They summoned us, so they can let us in. Or not.”
Ember dropped her box and rubbed her forehead. “I’m trying to find someone to contact, but there’s something… here.”
I glared at her. “Stop trying to contact people.”
Ember squatted next to a tree stump. She placed her hand on it and let several ants crawl onto her hand. She raised them to eye-level, her head tilted quizzically. “Whoa,” she breathed.
“What? Are the ants telling you some wild story?” Marco asked with a snicker.
“Sort of.” She sounded almost awed. “Someone else is controlling the ants, like I can, but their power is greater than mine. He or she isn’t controlling each individual ant, though. They’re tapping into the colony’s collective mind. Even I can’t do that.”
I knew exactly who was controlling the ants. I jumped to my feet. “Mason! Open the damn door! I know you’re there!” My team flinched at my sudden outburst.
Reid crossed his arms. “He’s just messing with us, isn’t he? My brothers pull this kind of stuff all the time.”
As if to answer his question, one of the metal doors slowly swung open.
Standing in the doorway was a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties: my brother, Mason Johnson. He threw me a baleful look. “Oh, look, it’s you. Welcome back.”
6
“Why the game?” I asked, glaring at Mason’s back while we walked through the grassy field toward the center of camp.
The dead grass crunched under our feet. A sharp, cold wind blew, chapping my hands and lips. Ahead of us, Fort Mountain loomed tall and imposing. In a few hours, it would cast its shadow over the entire camp, plunging us into a premature nighttime.
“Because he’s a dickhead,” Marco muttered.
“I was hoping you’d take the hint that you’re not welcome here,” Mason snapped. He hadn’t offered to take any of our boxes, even though Ember was visibly struggling with hers after carrying it for so long.
I doubled back and let her place it on top of mine.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“This is coming from the woman who was summoned to a tribunal for playing dress-up in Elder Campbell’s son’s clothes. I should slap you for humiliating our family.”
“If you do, I’ll break your arm for striking my leader,” Benjamin replied coolly. Mason stopped in his tracks and stared at Benjamin, who remained unperturbed. “The third heroic character trait: loyalty. Or have you not heard?”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. He’d known the principles and traits since July, but I’d never heard him quote them, not once.
Mason looked Benjamin up and down. “Who are you? You’re not from around here.”
“I’m Benjamin Corsaro, and I won’t stand for threats against my teammate, nor do I particularly care if you’re her brother. So shut up and take us to the camp.” His voice had taken on a steely edge.
Mason wasn’t the only one who was speechless. I knew Benjamin had a strong center in that bleeding heart of his, but I’d never heard him speak so sharply to anyone, much less a relative of mine.
Ember gave me a sidelong look. I wish you could hear what I hear right now. Benjamin is trying to play nice to make us happy, but he already hates this place.
So, his mention of loyalty had been sardonic. Oh well. I was still grateful for his righteous indignation on my behalf.
We walked the final quarter mile in silence. I took in the details of the camp, looking for changes.
A twine bracelet peeked out from underneath Mason’s sleeve, indicating that he was engaged. If we’d had a better relationship, I would’ve congratulated him.
The square garden plots were fallow and bare, with brown, bent stalks leftover from the fall harvest. Mason hadn’t lost weight since I’d last seen him, so it must have been a bountiful year for the gardeners.
We passed one of the many training areas for future superheroes, or as we called them, the trainees. Boards and foam dummies stood in neat rows near a mulch sparring arena. Around the edges of the arena, a handful of small children no older than ten watched in respectful silence as John Theodorakis, the head combatives trainer, and Stephen Monroe, his assistant, demonstrated a roundhouse kick.
I put down my boxes and walked over to them. “Hi, John. Hi, Stephen.”
I couldn’t help but feel lighthearted when Stephen’s eyes crinkled as he greeted us. Hazy, happy memories of my younger self rolled over me, recollections of more innocent days when I’d been smitten by the then-teenager’s wavy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and unusual kindness as he’d demonstrated combatives to us. I’d even gotten into a fist fight once with my childhood rival Berenice over whether he preferred me or her.
Looking at Stephen was like looking at the wild dreams of youth.
“Jillian!” John said. “Children, this is Jillian Johnson, who fights as Battlecry. She entered service a year ago.”
Upon hearing my codename, the children all bobbed their heads in respect, though their round eyes implied that they’d heard about me. What were their parents saying?
I kneeled down in front of a smaller girl with pigtails and no front teeth. Like all future heroes, she wore the blank gray shirt and pants I’d worn from ages three to twenty, with a black sash around her waist to indicate that she wasn’t a future leader. Only two boys in the group wore the red sash.
“Trainee, what’s your name?”
“Ma’am, my name is Heather Harris.”
I couldn’t help a smile—here was another girl named after a famous, dead hero. The original Heather Harris, Ember’s aunt, had been on Elder Lloyd’s son’s team, and died with him during that terrible gang battle in the slums of San Diego, California, only a week before my birth.
“What are you learning today, Heather?”
“Ma’am, we’re practicing kick attacks. After lunch, we will practice our blocking.”
Stephen pushed a dummy toward me. “Perhaps Battlecry would care to demonstrate a roundhouse kick for us? She was one of our best students.”
Benjamin and the others
joined the children.
Mason stood to the side, grimacing and looking anywhere but at me. He’d never received fight training, and I’d always suspected he resented not only that I had, but that I’d excelled.
“Of course,” I said, facing the dummy.
I quickly explained my stance to the children, and how my hips and legs moved in preparation for the kick. When I was satisfied that the children understood, I fell back to the first position, pretended the dummy was Patrick, and executed a perfect roundhouse kick, breaking the dummy cleanly in two.
The children cheered. I gave them a theatrical bow.
We resumed our walk to the main camp. Showing off my technique had improved my mood somewhat, and I focused on the happier memories of the surrounding area.
We passed by a blackberry thicket from which Gregory, Marco, and I had once loved to pick fat, juicy berries in the summers.
Far in the distance, older trainees were scaling a high wall at the obstacle course. When they were finished with the wall, they’d have to traverse a Jacob’s ladder, crawl along ropes, and keep their balance on an extremely high beam.
A little beyond that, a small tree was broken in two, its top half touching the ground. Years before, Berenice had aimed a punch at me, but I’d dodged it and she’d broken the tree. I’d laughed so hard I’d nearly wet myself.
The memory of my almost-accident reminded me to point out to Ember, Benjamin, and Reid the areas we used to relieve ourselves. Little outhouses constructed of thin boards were tucked behind trees. “But of course, you can use the woods,” I said, elbowing Benjamin, who made a noise of disgust.
“Where are all the people?” Reid asked, looking left and right. “I thought this was supposed to be the biggest camp of them all.”
“Just wait. We’re almost there.”
A few minutes later, the field gave way to spread-out trees with crude shelters underneath—huts of boards and tin, all windowless, and sometimes doorless. Few contained any furniture other than storage chests.
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