When I reached the opposite side of the street, I realized the grave mistake I’d made. The man who bumped into me stared wide-eyed with disbelief. So had a few other passersby who’d witnessed my little evasive dance through heavy traffic.
Real dumb, I thought, I shouldn’t have done that.
When I had an identity to protect, I went out of my way to hide my abilities, always conscious of not giving myself away to anyone. I had less of a reason to do that these days, since everyone knows me. Still, there are times, like today, I’d like to remain incognito. After a few seconds, those who’d witnessed what I’d done lost interest, perhaps more inclined to thinking I was the luckiest person in the world, rather than some has-been superhero.
I let out the breath I’d been holding and continued my way to the party store. The bell over the door alerted the person behind the counter that someone had entered. Tensing as if ready to reach for a gun, Ilyas, the owner’s son, glared in my direction.
“It’s me,” I said, removing the hoodie from my head.
Ilyas grinned, extending his arms wide in greeting, shouting, “Assalamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullaahi wa barakato.” “Peace and mercy and blessings of God be upon you.”
“’Sup,” I replied. He was part of the select few people I spoke to of late. As much as I detested conversing, it was impractical to believe I could make it through everyday life without some human interaction. Even folks with superpowers had to eat. “You keeping your grades up?”
He looked crestfallen. “I’m not doing so well in a couple of my classes. My father is furious.” Ilyas hoped to be a doctor someday. He was the first person in his family to attend college, so his parents were pressuring him to maintain his grades.
“Sorry to hear that.”
I grabbed a gallon of milk, a package of cheese, and eggs out of the freezer. Checking the expiration on the items, I’d noticed the milk and cheese’s due date ended in two days. Not a big deal since I’d likely finish them before that time. After gathering a few more items I took them up to the counter and placed them in front of the struggling college student.
Ilyas scanned the barcodes pulling up the prices. I glanced around the magnitude of candy until my eyes fell on the section with the licorice.
“We’re out,” Ilyas said.
I cut a glance his way. “What do you mean, you’re out?”
“The truck with supplies is behind schedule today. It was supposed to be here an hour ago. We’re low on everything. We ran out of black licorice the last time you were here,” he explained. “But we have plenty of other colors. There’s blue, red, and green for your choosing.”
“I want black.”
“You’re the only customer who buys black licorice. No one likes black licorice. Everyone’s favorite is cherry red.”
Picking up the expiring cheese I considered throwing it through a wall but calmed myself. “B-L-A-C-K,” I spelled out.
“Sorry, Night Siege.”
My fingers closed hard around the package I held. Compressed cheese burst out of the edges spattering to the floor. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that person anymore.”
“It just slipped out. I didn’t mean anything.”
I blew out a breath. “I know; I’m sorry. Just don’t call me that. It brings up too many unpleasant memories. Okay?”
Ilyas flashed me a nervous grin. “Sure, sure; won’t happen again, Mr. Calderon.”
Something akin to a smile worked its way to my face. I really hadn’t meant to snap at him like that. “It’s Tyson. Call me Tyson; I keep telling you that,” I said, adding a little mirth to relax him. We both looked down at the crushed cheese. “I’ll pay for that.”
I needed to get another package to replace the one I’d destroyed. Sauntering down one of the aisles, I cursed inwardly for letting my temper get the best of me. It was just an innocent mistake and I was ready to throw him through a pane glass window.
The bell rang as the door swung open just as I made it to the freezer at the back of the store. From my angle, I couldn’t see who’d come inside, but I heard three sets of footsteps. I replaced the hoodie over my head to obscure my face and searched for a package of cheese not expiring in a couple of days.
“Can I help you find anything?” Ilyas asked the newly arrived patrons.
“You can,” one of them replied, “You can give us what’s in the register.” The all-too-familiar clickety-clack noise of a shotgun being pumped reverberated inside the store.
“Geez,” I mumbled, “Not now.”
Dropping the package of cheese that I’d been scrutinizing, I debated whether to let things play out or entangle myself into the affair. It wasn’t my business if the store was robbed, but if Ilyas got hurt, when I could’ve done something, would only compound the guilt I already lived with.
I started back down the aisle. The store-clerk came into view. He had his arms raised over his head, gawking in my direction. His horrified eyes plead for help. Muscle memory had instinctively kicked in and kept my strides stealthy.
As I’d suspected, three men had come into the store. They all wore hoodies. They stared shamelessly at Ilyas, which gave him full view of their faces. The hoodies were obviously to make them look more ominous to their victim, though it left the trio vulnerable because they were unable to spot anyone standing off in their peripherals.
I could have taken them down easily, however I wanted to end the entire matter without using my abilities. The last thing I wanted was media attention. The neighborhood may have gone into the toilet, but it was where I called home. Once journals caught wind of where I shopped, it’d only be a matter of time before they found out where I stayed.
“Hurry up and open the register,” the one with the shotgun demanded. Apparently he was the trio’s leader.
His hands shook, though not from fear. The discolored veins in his exposed skin were a dead giveaway; he suffered from after effects of Noricloregion, a failed drug trial that was conducted years ago by the pharmaceutical company, CorrectivePrim. The Noricloregion drug was supposed to be a vaccine to slow aging. Instead test subjects either died after a week of use, became chronically sick, or gained superhuman abilities.
I was one of the lucky ones and fell into the latter category. Along with my hyper-cellular regeneration ability and body becoming impenetrable to most attacks, my intelligence, strength, and endurance had all increased. People started calling us ‘Superiors’. After my son talked me into becoming a hero, I developed a suit and devices to help me battle crime.
The shotgun bearer’s orange veins told me he wasn’t so fortunate. Those who survived the drug test, but didn’t gain powers, became living incubators for a new organism that fed on their bodies. The extremely contagious virus was spread through intercourse or blood transfers. The virus ravaged its host’s immune system and the only thing that kept it in check was an expensive illegal narcotic called Impervious. Unsubstantiated rumors said that CorrectivePrim created the treatment, but kept it off the shelves because more profits were to be gained in the black market for the drug.
The infected typically became irrational, with bouts of pure insanity without regular use of Impervious. The veins on the man with the shotgun had nearly become neon, which meant he’d been without treatment for days. Still, I was hesitant to jump into action and risk an army of reporters at my front door.
“Go to another store to rob,” I said, getting the trio’s attention. “There’s a gas station just down the street.”
They whirled on me. The biggest of the three circled around and pressed his pistol to the back of my head. The sclera, the white portions of the eyes, had turned dark yellow in all of them, as if they suffered from jaundice. Each of them suffered from the effects of Noricloregion. The one behind me hit me with the butt of the pistol. I didn’t even flinch. He yanked my hoodie off revealing my face.
The one with the shotgun started and then grinned as he recognized me. “Well, well, well – lookie wha’ we got her
e. A has-been superhero. I heard you offed yourself. Guess rumors was wrong.” His teeth clattered constantly as he spoke like he was gnawing an invisible corn on the cob.
“I don’t want any trouble. Just go rob someone else,” I urged him. There was madness in his yellow eyes and I doubted I was getting through.
He pressed the shotgun to my chest. “But I likes dis store. Why don’cha run your ass off while my crew finishes up here?”
Glancing at Ilyas I read, from his expression, that was an option he didn’t want happening. I blew out a breath, knowing where things were headed if I stayed and then looked at the shotgun bearer. “Okay, I’ll go…just don’t hurt him.” I pointed behind the counter. The crestfallen look on Ilyas’s face told me I’d destroyed any remnants of hero worship he had for me. “H-he’s good people.”
The third man carried an auto-pistol and spoke for the first time. “He won’t feel anything after he’s dead.”
The shotgun bearer pushed his weapon harder against my chest. “Yeah, what do ya care about dis fool anyways? He ah friend?”
“No. I don’t have…friends. I don’t let people get close to me.”
“That’s right,” the one behind me shouted, “’Cause being close to you gets them killed, like your family. That’s why you went off the radar ain’t it?”
“Don’t talk about my family again,” I said through clinched teeth.
The bastard kept on talking. “Killed your wife and your son right in front of a crowd at some school.”
I lost it then. Lightning fast, I grabbed the shotgun holding it in place while I turned sideways exposing the man in back of me to its barrel. The bearer instinctively pulled the trigger. The blast blew a hole into the big robber’s chest, yanked him feet off the floor and sent him sailing backward into the aisle.
Snatching the weapon out of the shooter’s hand, I spun it around, pumped it and then pointed it at him. “I told you to walk away. Why couldn’t you just have listened to me?”
My enhanced hearing heard the third man’s finger tightening around the automatic pistol’s trigger. I snatched up the milk I’d left on the counter with my left hand and flung it at him with blinding speed. The carton exploded in his face on impact. His pistol went off, the round striking my arm holding the shotgun. I barely felt the bullet that hit me, but it was enough to cause me to inadvertently pull the trigger.
Thunder erupted, leaving a dead crumbled body on the floor in a pool of his own infected blood in front of me. Exposed to the air, the virus attacked his corpse, consuming his skin until there was nothing left but bone. I glanced over my shoulder into the aisle where the other one had been shot and saw that the same thing had happened to him.
I knew I should have felt something, but all I could see were those villains who’d taken the life of my wife and child. I gave them a chance and they’d gotten what they deserved.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” the third robber said, wiping milk from face. “That’s Detonation’s little bro. He’s gonna kill us both, man!”
Detonation was a Superior like me, though our powers were very different. He had the ability to make any inorganic object he touched detonate like a bomb. The size of the object didn’t determine the yield of the explosive reaction. Detonation controlled it all somehow. He could also transfer his powers through the ground to nearby targets and blow up objects from a distance. Of all the Superiors, he was one of the most powerful.
“Great,” I mumbled. And I thought the media was the worst of my troubles.
Chapter Two
Detonation
Darryl chewed nervously on his fingernails in a corner of his prison cell. Even knowing the building was heavily defended, and two guards had been posted around the clock outside his cell, he feared for his life. His initial appearance in front of a judge, to advise him of his charges, was in an hour.
The distant sound of thunder caused him to stop biting his nails. He stared beyond the barred window and up at the blue sky. Not a single cloud was in sight. Darryl jumped to his feet and backed away from the glass.
“He’s coming,” he gasped.
“Stay calm prisoner. No one can get to you here,” one of the guards assured him.
Darryl spun around to face the men, his face a mask of terror. “Don’cha understand who you’re dealing with? I ain’t safe in here, man!”
The shorter of the two, an Asian man, laughed. “The Chief of Police had security tripled. We’ve taken every precaution possible to stop anyone from getting to you and that includes a Superior.” He jabbed one arm between the bars and shoved Darryl away. “I doubt he even comes. You’re not worth all this trouble, prisoner.”
“He’ll come and kill us all.”
“Let him try,” the larger guard barked. He had a head the size of a basketball and a face only his blind mother could love. “Superior or not, a bullet to the skull will kill him just like it would anyone else.”
Darryl scrambled back to his place on the bunk, folded himself into a ball in the shadows and resumed his nail biting. “Bullets can’t stop him,” he muttered under his breath. “Nothing will.”
There was another clap of thunder but much closer. Darryl heard shouts and weapons being fired. The two guards stiffened and then stared into his cell with disbelieving looks.
The Asian guard ripped his radio from his belt. “This is Li! What’s going on?” The radio squawked once, went dead. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Another squawk followed by screams.
“What the hell?” the larger guard said. “You don’t think Detonation really came do you?”
A nearby explosion somewhere in the building answered his question. The men instinctively reached for their sidearm only to find empty holsters. Guns weren’t allowed in lockup. All they had on them were Tasers, extendable asp batons, and pepper spray. In concert, they cursed under their breath.
“Get me out of here, man,” Darryl shouted.
The smaller guard whirled around on him, glaring through the bars, baton in hand. “Shut up, I’m trying to think!”
Prisoners in all the cells erupted into a mad frenzy. They taunted the guards, hollering the two were about to die. They pushed their arms between the spaces in the bars reaching out, clawing for the two men. All the while, more explosions and screams could be heard drawing ever closer to the lockup.
“Screw this, we need to get out of here,” the bigger guard asserted.
His partner peered about, wild-eyed, already slowly retreating away from the entrance leading into the lockup. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”
Getting up from the bunk, Darryl rushed toward the men, his hands gripping the metal shafts that kept him trapped inside. “Don’t leave me here, man! Don’t let him kill me!”
The smaller guard raised his baton readying to strike out at Darryl. A noise like kindling wood from a fireplace assaulted everyone’s ears. From up the corridor, the hinges and bolts securing the metallic door for lockup glowed orange, then crimson. Everyone froze in place and stilled their voices. A sulfurous odor, that Darryl was all too familiar with, filled his nostrils. His knuckles went white as his hold intensified around the bars.
The shimmering metal pieces ignited simultaneously with an earsplitting bang. With nothing to hold it in place, the door pitched inward and crashed heavily to the floor with a thud that resounded through the detention area. Engulfing the entire doorway stood a huge, black silhouetted figure of a man. Behind him, fires burned.
Detonation strutted inside the room and into the light. Six-three, built like a heavyweight boxing champion, and dark complexioned, he was a sight to behold. The man, sporting dark tinted shades, stared about casually. Clad in a black, skin-tight, long-sleeve t-shirt with a designer silver colored tattoo print, his clothing seemed to have been painted on his sculpted upper body. A chain was wrapped around his neck with a metallic gray crucifix that hung prominently from it. His loose fitting sweatpants had a tattoo print that matched the one on his shirt running length
wise down one leg. Unblemished silver Jordan’s sneakers completed his ensemble.
“You know who I’m lookin’ fo,” Detonation said with a voice deep and silky enough to make James Earl Jones envious. “So don’t make me ask.”
The white guard, who was nearly as impressive in stature as Detonation, must have sparred a couple of rounds with his courage and won, or, more likely, with insanity and lost. He looked unmoved by the threat standing before him. The guard snatched the baton from the catch on his belt and pointed it like it was an accusing finger. “Don’t move!”
“What are you doing?” the smaller guard demanded. “He’ll kill us both.”
“You got that right,” Detonation said, his grin broad and menacing.
Spasms of irritation crossed the big guard’s face. “He’s just a thug. We can take him.”
Detonation lifted a hand and gestured for them to come. “Bring it then.”
The big man charged down the corridor, and his partner reluctantly followed.
The prisoners hooted and hollered, calling out for the guards’ blood to be spilled.
Darryl watched, unable to look away, because he knew he’d soon share the guards’ same fate.
When they closed in on their target, the taller man brought the baton high, intending to swing it down like a hammer and crack Detonation’s skull. The shorter man, thrusting his baton like it was a sword, aimed for the gut.
Detonation moved with the speed and agility of someone accustomed to battle. He grabbed both batons mid-strike. The guards’ steel sticks immediately glowed crimson, making the same crackling sound as the door bolts earlier. The men tried to release their grips from their weapons, but it was too late. The batons had become superheated and melded to the insides of their palms. They screamed with a mixture of pain and horror.
Detonation loosened his hold.
The pair stumbled backward.
“What did you do to us?” the white guard yelled through gritted teeth.
“10-9-8…,” Detonation replied.
The guard gawked, mystified. “What th—?” Then he glanced down at the crimson glow of the baton, realization dawning on his face. He and the other guard spun on their heels, racing away down to the opposite end of the corridor, trying to shake their weapons free of their hands.
Black Power- The Superhero Anthology Page 26
