The Sidekicks Initiative

by Barry J. Hutchison

“Don’t be an idiot, Brian!” Sam shouted, banging a fist on the wood. He didn’t really want to hear the rest of that sentence, but—damn it—he could see why Laura liked the guy. “Get out of there before—”

  A roar from the Magma-Mutt drowned him out. He heard Brian scream—more battle-cry than panicky squeal, but there was definitely an element of both in there.

  The idiot! He was going to get himself killed.

  As if to confirm this concern, Brian’s voice came as a hiss from the other side of the door. “Oh shiiiit!”

  The shape in Sam’s head flicked, just once. From beyond the door there came a thunderous crash, the sound of something heavy being hit by something heavier, then silence.

  Sam held his breath, and the whole world seemed to join in.

  After a while, he tapped on the door. “Brian?” he said.

  “What was that?” demanded Laura, appearing around the corner with Corey in her arms. “What happened? Where’s Brian?”

  “He’s, uh. He’s in…”

  “I’m OK,” Brian said. There was a note of surprise in his voice, like he wasn’t quite sure how or why this was the case, and a note of relief that suggested he was pretty damn happy about it.

  From the other side of the door came the sound of a chair being moved aside. Sam gestured for Laura to get back as the door creaked open, but there was no need. The Magma-Mutt lay dead on the floor.

  More than dead, actually. Squashed. It was mangled like a swatted fly, its limbs all pointing in different directions, its innards spread out around it on the lino floor.

  “What the hell did you do to it?” Laura asked, her sudden appearance right behind Sam making him jump in fright.

  Brian shook his head. This went on for quite some time. “Um, no,” he eventually said. “It wasn’t me. I think… I think…”

  He turned to them. There was a faintly confused look on his face, like he was trying to remember something he’d forgotten. “I think it was a hippo. Or, like, I don’t know. An elephant, maybe?”

  Laura stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

  Sam’s hand went to his jacket pocket. Empty.

  Brian pointed to the kitchen table. All four legs had been broken.

  “It, uh, it came from under there,” Brian said. “It just sort of appeared, flattened the shit out of that thing, then…”

  “Then what?” asked Laura.

  “It, uh… It… uh…” Brian took a deep breath. “It ate itself.”

  Laura blinked. “Are you high? Is that what’s happening right now?”

  “No. God, no, I swear,” said Brian. “It just sort of, I don’t know. It ate itself. It opened its mouth, stuck one of its back feet in, and then just swallowed itself and vanished.”

  He frowned. “Jesus. Am I high?” He waved a hand in front of his face. “I don’t think so, but… I mean… Wow, that was some trippy shit.”

  Brian picked his way through the mess of guts and hugged Laura. Sam looked away as Brian kissed her on the head and ran his hand down the back of Corey’s head. “You guys OK?”

  “We’re fine,” said Laura. She jiggled Corey. “Right, sport?”

  Corey looked around, and Sam saw his red-ringed eyes and the parallel lines of snot on his top lip. The boy’s eyes bulged as he saw the splattered monster, and Laura quickly angled him so it wasn’t quite so in his face.

  “Is it dead?” he asked in an anxious whisper.

  “It is,” Brian confirmed.

  Corey’s eyebrows raised in wonder. “Did you kill it?”

  Sam stepped in. “What? No, he didn’t do…” he began, but he stopped himself going any further. “Uh, yeah, buddy. Yeah, he did,” Sam confirmed. “Brian’s going to keep you safe, OK? He stopped that thing, and if any of them come back, he’ll stop that, too.”

  “But they won’t come back,” said Laura. “Will they?”

  She tightened her grip on their son when Sam shot her a look. “What are we going to do?” she mouthed.

  “Is it coming back? Is it going to get me?” Corey whimpered.

  Sam put a hand on the boy’s back. “No. No, they’re not going to get you, Corey. You don’t have to worry, OK? You don’t have to be afraid. We’ll keep you safe.”

  Corey nodded, but it was uncertain, doubting. “What about everyone else?”

  Sam blinked, confused. “Huh?”

  “Everyone else. All the other people. Do they have someone to keep them safe, too?”

  The look on his face was so concerned, so sincere, that Sam felt his throat tighten and his eyes prickle. Something stirred inside him, only not in his head this time, but in his chest.

  “Let’s not worry about anyone else right now, OK, sweetheart?” said Laura.

  “But we have to look out for each other. Right, Dad?”

  Sam stared blankly back at him. Not because he didn’t know how to respond, but because he did. For the first time in a long time, he knew exactly what he should do.

  “That’s right, buddy,” Sam said. He leaned in and kissed him on the top of his head. “Trust me. Everyone’s going to be fine.”

  “You promise?”

  Sam nodded. “Promise.”

  He turned to his ex-wife, suddenly all business. “Take Brian, get him to drive you out of town. Don’t come back until all this is over.”

  “Over?” said Laura. “Will it ever be over? If the Justice Platoon is…” She flicked her eyes to Corey and lowered her voice. “…gone, then who’s going to stop this guy?”

  Sam exhaled slowly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said. He put his arms around Laura and Corey, and she didn’t push him away.

  “Sam?” she said, once he’d stepped back. Concern lined the creased of her face. “What’s going on?”

  “Long story,” Sam said. “I have to go for a while.”

  “Go? Go where?” asked Laura. Her concern deepened, and Sam felt a pang of guilt that this made him happy. She cared. Jesus, she actually still cared.

  “I’ll explain later,” Sam promised her. He ruffled Corey’s hair, then turned to Brian. After just a moment’s pause, he thrust out a hand for Brian to shake. “Look after them,” he said.

  “Uh, yeah. I mean, of course,” said Brian. He looked at Laura, but she could only shrug in response. “Sure thing, Sam.”

  Sam nodded. He took a look around the kitchen and hallway, then brushed his fingertips lightly against the doorframe. “OK, then,” he said, in a way that suggested it was some sort of big announcement.

  He’d barely made it halfway to the front door when he stopped and looked back. “Uh, I don’t suppose I could borrow some money for a cab?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Anna stood in her hallway, one hand leaning against the door, the other clutching an almost-empty glass of red wine.

  “That was quick,” she said.

  “Uh, yeah. Yeah,” said Sam. “I didn’t know if you’d be here or…”

  He glanced back over his shoulder, fearing he’d been followed. Black smoke hung over the city, blocking most of the early afternoon sun. A soundtrack of gunshots, screams, screeching brakes and monstrous growls came at him from every direction.

  The cab ride here had been an eventful one. Police cars and ambulances had come hurtling past. Pedestrians had thrown themselves into the street, so desperate to escape whatever was chasing them that they didn’t notice the traffic.

  The taxi driver—a Russian—had seemed largely unperturbed by most of it, like this sort of thing happened every day. He’d helped pass the time by singing an old Russian song about potatoes, Sam thought, although the accent, and the fact that most of the words were in Russian, made it hard to be certain. Sam had wondered if the simple fact of being a cab driver in Cityopolis meant you became blasé about anything involving supervillains, world-troubling despots, or just bad guys in general. There was always some superhero around to help out, after all.

  Or usually always.

  A pile-up had
clogged the road a few blocks away, and Sam had run the rest of the way to Anna’s apartment. Her front door opened directly onto the street, and now that he was standing there, he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

  “What’s the matter?” Anna asked, picking up on his uncertainty. “What happened?”

  “My son. They… one of those dog things. It came for my son.”

  “What? Jesus!”

  “Well, not for him, exactly, but… yeah.” He blushed slightly, embarrassed by what he was about to say before he had said it. “I told him not be afraid. That someone was going to take care of it.”

  She crossed her fingers and pulled an exaggerated ‘here’s hoping!’ face, then took a sip of her wine. When she realized that Sam was still staring at her, she snorted into the glass.

  “Wait. Who? Us?”

  Sam fumbled with the words. “Well, uh, I mean, I thought…”

  Anna’s smile seemed to push away the darkness. “I’m kidding. Relax. And sure. I’m in,” she said.

  “You are?! I mean… You are?”

  With a nod, Anna drained the rest of her glass. “Fuck it. Why not? Not like I’ve got anything else going on.”

  “Uh, great! But should you be doing that?” Sam asked, pointing to the empty glass. “Doesn’t it dampen your powers?”

  “I knew you’d be coming back,” Anna told him. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

  She pulled a face that suggested she was disgusted by both the wine and herself, then stepped out onto the street and pulled the door closed behind her. “What about Randy?” she asked.

  “Randy?” said Sam, raising an eyebrow.

  “He still has a full charge in his suit. We should go find him.”

  “No need,” said Sam. He looked back over his shoulder a little and raised his voice. “I can see you, Randy.”

  There was some shuffling and scuffing from over by a parked car. Sam rolled his eyes. “I can still see you.”

  “Impossible!” Randy spat. “I’m completely hidden.”

  “I can see your reflection in the car behind,” Sam said.

  There was some more scuffing, followed by a quietly hissed, “Damn it.”

  Randy stood up. “OK, since you asked so nicely,” he growled, narrowing his eyes to slits. “I’m in.”

  Sam smiled. He couldn’t help himself, despite the fact they were all, almost certainly, going to die.

  “Sidekicks,” he said. “Let’s kick some side.”

  He paused dramatically for a moment, then sighed and shook his head.

  “No. That still sounds fucking ridiculous,” he said. “Let’s just go beat this bad guy.”

  “No,” Chuck said. “Sorry.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?” asked Sam.

  “Because you destroyed it,” Chuck pointed out. “Because there’s barely enough of the damn thing left to make a swimsuit out of, never mind a superhero costume.”

  Damn. Sam hadn’t thought of that. Savior’s heat had burned up most of the depowered outfit, and much of what was left had split and torn while Sam was removing it. He looked down at his crumpled shirt and pants. He couldn’t wear those, but the training shorts and t-shirt, maybe? It wasn’t ideal, but if he could make a mask it might afford him some sort of anonymity, if not protection.

  “What about my suit? Is it OK?” Anna asked.

  Chuck nodded. “Yeah. It isn’t fully charged, but it’s most of the way there.”

  Anna winked at Sam. “Well, looks like one of us is going to live through this.”

  “What about mine?” asked Randy.

  Everyone turned to look at him. “You’re wearing yours, Randy.”

  Randy looked down and reacted in surprise to his red costume.

  “Oh. Yeah. Awesome!”

  “I can’t go like this,” Sam protested. “What about the shorts and t-shirt I had?”

  Mari rolled forward a little as she answered. “They’re in the wash.”

  Sam looked from the robot to Chuck and back again. “Wait, what? A multi-billion dollar government program and I have one pair of shorts?”

  “Like I said, budget cutbacks,” Chuck explained. He stood up from the desk he’d been leaning against. “Look, I really appreciate you guys coming back. Things are getting crazy out there. There was a call to evacuate the city, but those damn dog monsters are blocking all the roads. The ones who aren’t out hunting folks down, at least.”

  “What about Savior?” Anna asked. “Has he shown face again?”

  Chuck shook his head. “Not yet. But he sent a message to the governor. Told her that if every prisoner currently held in the state penitentiary isn’t executed by midnight, he’ll do it personally.”

  “He’s tough on crime, tough on the causes of crime,” said Randy.

  “And he’s a fucking psychopath,” Anna added.

  “OK, and that, yes,” Randy agreed. He punched a fist into the opposite palm. “So, let’s go bring him down!”

  Chuck breathed out slowly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love this newfound enthusiasm, Sam. I’m all for it. But what do you plan to do, exactly? Even with the Magma-Mutts off, you know…”

  “Killing people,” said Anna.

  Chuck winced. “Yeah. Even with that, Memetzo’s cathedral is surrounded by a ring of fire. Anyone who tries to get near the damn thing is going up in flames. The suits might get you close, but it’s going to deplete the charge pretty rapidly.” He looked Sam up and down. “And I don’t think a nylon shirt is going to fare much better.”

  “It’s a polyester-cotton mix,” Sam said, although he had no idea why he was choosing to argue that particular point. “But it’s fine. He’ll let us in.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “He will?” asked Anna. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Trust me. He’ll let us in,” was all Sam had to say on the matter.

  Mari interrupted before anyone could press the matter. Digital concern flickered across her features. “Pattern detected,” she announced.

  Sam darted his eyes between the robot and Chuck. “What does that mean?”

  “No idea. What are you talking about, Mari?” he asked.

  A map of the city appeared floating in the air in front of the blank screen that had been her face. It showed several dozen red dots. They were loosely scattered, but if Sam had to choose, he’d say they were more densely gathered around the southwest of the city.

  “What are they?” Anna asked.

  “The entities we are calling ‘Magma-Mutts,’” Mari said. “At first, I thought they were moving randomly through the streets, however, I have since detected a pattern, and can project their eventual destination with a ninety-eight-point-nine-six degree of accuracy.”

  Chuck watched her expectantly. “So? Where are they going?”

  The red dots converged on a spot near the city limits, beyond even the industrial estates that ringed that part of the suburbs.

  “What’s that?” Anna asked. “What’s out there?”

  “The Cityopolis Asylum,” Sam gasped. “He’s sending the dogs to wipe out the inmates.”

  “Tough on insanity, tough on the causes of insanity,” Randy snarled.

  “There are a hundred people in there,” Sam said.

  “One hundred and thirty-seven,” Mari corrected. “Not including staff.”

  “So?” said Randy. “You said yourself, they’re only going to escape, anyway.”

  “I didn’t mean they should all be eaten by dog-monsters!” Sam yelped. “They’re still people! We can’t just let those things kill them. We have to do something.”

  “Doc Mighty, help!” Anna cried, in her best damsel-in-distress voice. She waited for a few moments, gazing up at the ceiling, then shrugged. “Fuck. Worth a try.” She blew out her cheeks. “Looks like it’s up to us.”

  “You know what’ll happen if we stop his dogs, don’t you?” said Sam.

  “He’ll give up quietly,” said Randy.

  “Well, n
o—”

  “He’ll send more dogs,” Randy guessed. “Only bigger. Or bears. He’ll send bears.”

  “No, not… I mean, I don’t think…” Sam stammered.

  “He’ll come himself,” said Anna. “Right?”

  Sam nodded. “It’s got to be a possibility.”

  “Yes!” cheered Randy, tightening his hands into fists. “It’s like the saying goes, ‘Kill some fire-dogs and a man with one stone!’”

  “That’s not the saying,” Anna pointed out.

  “It’s kind of the saying,” Randy countered. “It’s like the saying.”

  Anna buried her face in her hands and groaned. “God, we’re all going to die,” she muttered, then she straightened, took a deep breath, and nodded her acceptance of this fact. “OK,” she said. “I guess we’d better suit up.”

  Sam looked down at himself. “Easy for you to say. What am I supposed to wear?”

  There was a ding and an image of a lightbulb illuminated on Mari’s face-screen. “You know,” she announced. “I think I may be able to help with that.”

  “Well, alright,” said Anna. “But, bigger problem, the asylum is all the way across town, and I refuse to get the bus. Is there enough money left in the budget to stretch to a cab?”

  A smile crept across Chuck’s face. “Oh, I think we can do a little better than that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  PTCHOW!

  A bullet ricocheted off the hide of one of the Magma-Mutts. A hundred feet behind it, a car window shattered and an alarm raised its voice in complaint.

  “Shit! This isn’t working!” barked Larry. He was one of two armed—if largely incompetent—guards who patrolled the asylum’s grounds. Their job was primarily to watch for escaping inmates and, where necessary, to repeatedly shoot them in the head and torso until they were dead.

  Sure, sometimes the occasional group of over-eager henchmen would try to break in, and there was that Egyptian Vengeance Demon that one time who came looking for Orangu-titan, but by and large it was people breaking out they had to worry about.

  Not today.

  The monsters had formed a tightening circle around the asylum grounds, and the wrought iron fence was beginning to buckle and bend from the heat that radiated from their blackened bodies. The tranq darts hadn’t worked, and bullets were proving to be even less effective.