Origins of a D-List Supervillain (25 page)

Vicky wolf whistled and said, “Nice! That’s more than we need to wire up the whole platoon. My people would be interested in looking at that frame. Things are actually moving along here. That means I can probably slip away from all this tomorrow and come out for a quick celebration of your first job in the Mark II. Joseph looked over your designs and he gave his blessing. He is going to take me to his sit down with The Man himself on Tuesday morning to present the plan.”

Things are definitely going our way,
I thought. “In that case, I shall prepare for your arrival. Are you coming here, or do you want me to meet you in Missouri?”

“Either,” she replied. “Which works better for you?”

“If you’re coming here, I can take my van back up to Tennessee tonight and pick up my next load.”

“Do your thing, loverboy. I’ll come to you.”

“All right then, I’ll catch a few hours of sleep and then get back on the road.”

“Drive safely, Cal. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Love you.”

“Love you, too, V.”

I looked over where I had arranged the Mark I suit. When she came down the steps it would be the first thing she saw. The armor was down on one knee and had its hand thrust forward with a small black box resting on the palm. Sure, it was probably the cheesiest proposal ever, but for a pair of armor groupies like us, it worked.

Tomorrow, my life’s going to change!

• • •

“We’re interrupting the music for an important announcement. This is a breaking story from the Newswire service. Both Reuters and the Associated Press are reporting that the Olympians and the West Coast Guardians, supported by robotic assets of the military and Promethia, are at this time laying siege to what is widely believed to be the main base of the self-styled Evil Overlord. The base is located in an area near several prominent resorts in the Cascade Mountains. The governor of Washington State has declared a state of emergency and issued a shelter in place order for three of the counties in the affected area. All citizens are to remain off the streets and elements of the National Guard are currently manning checkpoints along all roads. Commercial and private air traffic into the Pacific Northwest is being diverted. Additionally, all planes and helicopters in both Oregon and Washington State have been grounded by the FAA. We are being advised at this time that the President will be speaking to the nation at the bottom of the hour. Stay tuned for more reports as this situation develops.”

My blood ran like ice through my veins and I found it difficult to breathe. Somehow, I eased the van off onto the side of the road and put it in park, not wanting to believe what I’d just heard. With my finger, I stabbed at the selector and cut over to the AM stations and started searching for a news station instead of the classic rock station I’d been listening to. It didn’t take too long to find one and I listened to the talking heads regurgitating the same information I’d just heard, but with their opinions interjected.

While the fools yammered on, I took stock of my situation and the options. I was still two and a half hours from my base. The Mark II was in the back of the U-Haul moving van I’d rented. I could abandon the van on the side of the road, but it would be discovered. Plus, I didn’t have the fuel to make it that distance. I’d always assumed Omega Base was in Nevada or Colorado. Washington State had never crossed my mind. Frantic, I checked my cellphone for any message from Vicky only to find nothing. I couldn’t even call her without the SecureSat link on my laptop.

The last time I’d been this lost was in the ambulance after the Bugler had thrashed me and I was strapped to a gurney under the watchful glare of a police officer as the EMTs tended to my injuries.

She’ll be okay! She’ll be okay!

A tap on the window brought me back into the present and I wondered how long I just been staring at my phone. A black state trooper was tapping on the window. Shaking out of my funk, I tried to clear my thoughts and rolled down the window.

“Is there a problem?” the man asked, slightly suspicious.

The gears in my mind struggled to turn and failed. I stared at him with probably the stupidest expression he’d ever seen.

“I said, is there a problem?” his head cocked to one side and I tried to shake the cobwebs from my mind.

Finally some words managed to tumble out of my mouth, “No...no officer. I just heard on the radio about that thing going on out west and I have...my girlfriend is out that way...hiking in the Cascades. I was trying to figure out how to get hold of her.”

He gave me a nod and a reassuring smile. “I’m sure she’s fine. Just give it a few hours. Everyone and their brother who knows anyone out there is probably trying to call right now, so you’re probably not going to get through.”

“You’re right,” I said, praying that he was, but finding it conflicted with the growing sense of dread.

“All right, then,” the trooper said. “Take however long you need and focus on getting where you need to go in one piece. You won’t do your lady friend any favors if you get into an accident worrying about her.”

“I’ll do that, thank you.”

“Anytime, drive safely.”

As he walked back to his patrol car, I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d talked myself out of that one. One of the last things Vicky had told me was to drive safely as well and I wanted to believe that was a sign from above that she might be okay. Everything was spinning out of control and I was helpless to do a damn thing about it.

• • •

By the time I reached the junkyard, there were reports of a massive explosion that had rocked the site of the battle. It was strong enough to measure on the Richter scale and the people who pretend to know began wondering if it might stir up some of the dormant volcanos in the region.

I didn’t have to speculate. Someone, probably Overlord himself, blew up his base rather than let the secrets inside be captured.

As stupid as it sounded, I tried calling, anyway, while Tweedledum unloaded the U-Haul. When that didn’t work, I left an email in her VillainMail and sent the Wireless Wizard a rambling plea to let me know if she accesses her account. I even went to the forum where I first made contact with her and left a posting for her there.

Desperation can drive a man to do many things.

For hours I waited, trolling boards on both sides of the internet looking for any information I could find. I wasn’t alone. Everyone was searching for information. It was all the televisions would show. My mad scramble for anything connected to Vicky wore me down faster than any fight I’d ever been in, and somewhere around the eighth hour of continuing coverage, I collapsed into a fitful sleep.

When I woke up three hours later, I decided that if she got out and was still free; she’d try to make it to her place near Las Vegas. That’s where I would go. If she’d been captured, I’d need to be closer than I was now to bust her out of jail.

Extending the U-Haul through next week, I tanked up on both coffee and gas and hit the interstate. My suit was in the back and I had a remote control back there to activate Tweedledum in guard mode. I spent my time searching through the news stations as they faded in and out of the static. There were some survivors, but lots of bodies. Several sources were estimating that the recovery effort would take weeks.

Naturally, Patterson, his team of pet assholes, and his butt buddies, the Olympians, all survived. Although, the presence of First Aid might have helped some of the others survive, so I’d give the world’s greatest paramedic a pass.

When I heard that smug bastard Ultraweapon speaking at a press conference, I shut the radio off for a solid hour. He had the perfect life and mine was crumbling. I didn’t give two shits about the money; probably one of the only times I could honestly say that. All I wanted was to see Vicky again and give her the ring in my pocket. I’d spent most of my adult life in pursuit of the bigger, better, paycheck and now it was the farthest thing from my mind.

Against my will, scenarios spawned in the back alleys of my mind, whispering the ways I could have stopped Vicky from boarding that plane. The rational part of me said that there was no way Vicky would have let me talk her out of going. Even giving her the ring would have only bought me maybe an extra day before she’d promised to come back early to celebrate. The drive became a haze of “shoulda, coulda, wouldas.”

Unfortunately, the rational part of me would have also realized what a long shot driving to Vegas was, so I’d ignored it for the most part and the recriminations lasted through most of Texas before I walked myself back from the crushing weight of my guilt.

• • •

My heart skipped a beat when I turned into her development. There was a mystery SUV in her driveway. As I pulled in front, I saw it had Oregon plates.

She’s alive!
I dared to hope.

With no other thought able to pierce the fog of my delirium, I grabbed the key to her door and sprinted to the entrance. My left hand worked the doorbell as my right fumbled to jam the key into the lock. Bursting through the door, I shouted, “Vicky! I’m so glad you’re...”

“Who’s there?” A distinctly unVicky-like voice demanded with a hacking cough. “Hands where I can see them or I’ll shoot.”

The entryway was the only part that was lit. I could see a shape slouched in Vicky’s recliner. The overpowering smell of alcohol assaulted my sense of smell.

That was about the time I realized that my pulse pistol was still in the duffel bag in the passenger seat along with the remote to activate Tweedledum.
Idiot!

“I’m Cal, a friend of Vicky’s,” I said, keeping my hands in the air.

“Stringel? Is that you?”

“Yes, and you are?”

There was a clatter as a pulse pistol dropped to the table and the hand fumbled in the darkness for a second and turned on the light.

My eyes adjusted and I saw a man in the chair. He looked awful. Where his left hand should’ve been was a mass of white gauze covering the stump. He looked like a person who’d been pulled out of a house fire and then resuscitated. At his feet were several empty bottles of liquor.

“It’s Joseph,” he said, realizing I didn’t recognize him.

Without the gun pointing at me, I relaxed enough to say, “Ducie? Are you okay? Is Vicky?”

“She was farther behind me in the escape tunnel. She didn’t make it. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” he said slowly, driving a stake into my heart.

I slipped to the ground and stared at the carpet, letting the tears fall.

He gave me a couple of minutes before saying, “I know she cared about you. It probably doesn’t make you feel any better now, but you made her happy.”

“Thanks,” I choked out, and tried not to think of anything else at moment. “How about you? Is there a reliable doctor I can take you to?”

“No, I’ve got maybe two weeks left at the outside. I’d never go away from the base for more than seventy-two hours. The machinery there keeps me from aging rapidly and dying and there’s nothing else like it. It’s why we don’t have clones of everyone running around. I’m a...” he trailed off into a coughing fit before finishing, “high maintenance type.”

“Damn, that stinks.”

“Tell me about it. The only person we’ve seen so far who can make a stable clone is that Mexican who works for the Gulf Coasters and the process we have doesn’t work on super powered people for more than a few minutes. Ha! The Overlord can’t even clone himself!”

“How’d you get here?”

“Grabbed a jetpack and somehow got it working with my mangled hand. It had enough fuel to get me to Oregon and I stole a car after that. As for coming here, Vicky was always nice to me whenever I came to town, so I reasoned I’d spend my last days honoring her memory in a drunken stupor.”

A bit of jealousy crept into my mind and I wondered how close they’d been, but I banished the dark thoughts. Vicky was gone and the Merchant of Death had sold himself some of his own product.

“She was something else,” I said, surprised at the ease of the way I could say that.
It’s probably just denial speaking.

“That she was. I looked your design over for the cheap powersuits. Good stuff, Stringel. I might’ve gone with plasma or sonic for lower energy costs, but that’s just splitting hairs. One of them would wipe the floor with a squad of Pummelers. You might want to keep that in your back pocket for down the road. You’ve got an eye for efficiency.”

I appreciated the compliment coming from the dying man. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Two cases of scotch—good stuff too, not some cheap shit either—and something to eat. She wasn’t exactly stocking the cupboard here. There’s an electric can opener, so you don’t have to worry about if I can get it open.”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’m going to go grab my bag from the front of the truck. After that, I’ll get some sleep and get my head clear. I’ll go shopping when I wake up.”

“What’re you planning?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve got my new armor with me and I’m going to go get her body. It’s the least I can do. After that, I just don’t know.”

“Vicky was talking about your new suit. I’d like to see it tomorrow, if you don’t mind. She said you’d made a number of improvements.”

“If you’re offering to eyeball my Mark II, I’ll take you up on it, but you’ll probably need to be sober.”

He laughed hollowly, and said, “That’s part of my rapid aging process. I can’t stay shitfaced for very long.”

The walk outside seemed shorter than when I’d first arrived. I’d back the van up to the garage tomorrow and help him out to look at the armor.

Even the optimist in me had given up on Vicky, but I could still bury her and say goodbye.

That wasn’t going to be the hardest part.

Every day after would be.

Chapter Thirteen

Banned from Vegas Through No Fault of my Own

It was a struggle to open my eyes. Only one of them seemed to work. I coughed, but that only served to antagonize the rawness in my throat. I smelled vomit and scotch and was fairly certain I was the source of both. The odor taunted me and demanded I blow chunks again.