Legacy (9 page)

“It’ll be fine,” the costumed hero said. “Not many go out after dark here, and those who do have higher criminal aspirations than stealing a van. Besides”—the Raptor touched a button on the wrist of one of his gauntlets and the vehicle’s horn beeped twice—“I’ve got a security system.”

Lucas chuckled. “And you think that’ll work … around here?”

“I didn’t say it was a conventional system,” the costumed man said, spinning around suddenly and leaping up onto a rusted fire escape before starting to climb. “There’s fifteen thousand volts waiting for anybody who touches it. That should be more than enough of a deterrent.”

Lucas stepped back from the van cautiously.

“Are you coming?” his father called down to him. “Or are you going to stay with the van?”

Lucas gave their ride one more look before joining his father on the fire escape.

They climbed to the roof of the abandoned brick structure. From here they had a perfect view of the War Zone.

Lucas listened. He could hear voices screaming in argument, children crying, and the occasional gunshot. Too many gunshots.

“It’s kind of nasty,” Lucas said, looking down at the street below. The buildings were all run-down, made from brick stained black with the soot of pollution. Windows were broken, and garbage was strewn in doorways and on fire escapes. He couldn’t believe that people actually lived inside the buildings. They all looked like something waiting to be torn down.

“I told you before, it wasn’t always like this,” the Raptor said. “This used to be a safe, working-class neighborhood, before the sickness set in.”

“The sickness?” Lucas questioned.

A siren wailed somewhere in the distance, but he doubted it was coming here. From what his father had said earlier, law enforcement had pretty much abandoned the War Zone a very long time ago.

“Drugs, prostitution, guns, and gangs had an awful lot to do with its decline,” the Raptor explained. “But good people once lived here … and still do. Good people who just want a chance at a good life.”

The hero grew silent again as he watched the neighborhood.

“Some of us got that life, but others …”

He was gone in an instant, the costume enhancing his already powerful leap, allowing him to jump from one roof to the next.

Lucas followed, trying to keep up. He found it difficult to believe that this man was really dying.

Suddenly a great expanse loomed between the current building and the next, and Lucas slowed down, certain they were going to have to stop.

He almost cried out as his father bounded closer to the edge, sure he wouldn’t make the jump. But the Raptor went over the side of the building, dropping down into the shadows between the buildings.

Lucas hurried to the edge of the roof. He seriously doubted the Raptor could be stopped by a mere seven-story drop, but he wasn’t sure. Peering over the ledge, he searched for signs of his father.

Something surged up from the open expanse and Lucas stumbled backward. The Raptor flew above his head, glider wings unfurled beneath the arms of his costume.

Lucas wanted to applaud.

The Raptor then swooped down and plucked him up from where he stood, carrying him to the other roof.

“How come I can’t do that?” Lucas asked as his father let him drop.

The Raptor landed, the opaque glider wings folding beneath his arms. “In time,” he said. “Pretty soon you’ll have all the bells and whistles too.” He walked across the rooftop. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”

Lucas followed, his footfalls crunching on the rough gravel surface.

“There’s an example of why I do what I do,” the Raptor said, pointing down to a little grocery store below them.

Lucas was surprised to see some activity there, people going into the store, others leaving with bags of groceries.

“It was owned by the Santarpo family for years, and now it’s run by their kids,” his father explained. “Despite the nasty turn in the neighborhood, they’ve stayed, confident that over time, things will get better.”

Lucas watched the store with interest. An older man wearing an apron came outside and started to sweep.

“I know you’re a billionaire and all, but did you happen to grow up here?”

“I did,” the Raptor replied, a smile spreading across his face. “Hartwell Technologies began in a two-bedroom apartment right over …” He had started to point when the night was filled with the sound of screeching tires.

A car came around the corner below too fast, sliding sideways across the street as its wheels spun and smoked.

A gang of youths had just left a building at the other end of the street, three doors down from the grocery. They immediately reacted to the approach of the speeding car, each pulling a gun from a coat pocket.

“No,” the Raptor said, eyes riveted to the scene.

The windows came down on the vehicle. Arms wielding automatic weapons appeared and began to open fire.

Lucas turned to ask his father what they should do, but he was alone.

The Raptor had already entered the fray.

* * *

The Raptor jumped as soon as he saw the windows on the speeding car go down.

He dove over the side of the building, glider wings unfurling long enough to slow his descent. The rival gang had already begun to return fire, explosions of thunder filling the streets.

It was supposed to be a drive-by; those riding in the car were planning on dealing death and driving away.

Something the Raptor wasn’t going to allow.

He aimed the weaponry on his gauntlet. A blast of concentrated electricity arced across the street and struck one of the vehicle’s front wheels. The tire exploded and the car careened out of control, speeding to the right, up onto the sidewalk and toward the market.

Toward Mr. Santarpo.

The older man stood frozen, broom still clutched in his hands as the insanity unfolded around him.

The Raptor swore beneath his breath. How could he not have taken the life of an innocent into account?

He was running toward the car, attempting something—anything—to avert the coming disaster, but he knew it would be for naught. Nothing short of a miracle could stop that car from slamming into poor, innocent Mr. Santarpo.

Lucas noticed that the old man was still standing out in front of the grocery store. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and he knew he had to do something before the guy got hurt.

It was a long way down, but he didn’t have the time to think about it.

Tensing the muscles in his legs, the boy jumped over the side of the building and dropped to the ground below. He landed in a roll, tumbling across the street as his father unleashed the weaponry of his costume, lighting up the night with a crackling bolt of man-made lightning.

It had disastrous results.

Lucas pushed himself to move as quickly as he could toward the sidewalk. From the corner of his eye, he saw the car careening toward the grocer. The man remained frozen in place, his fear making it impossible for him to move.

Lucas knew it was entirely up to him now. This man’s life was in his hands.

He figured it was the nanites coursing through his body that made him move so much faster. He imagined the microscopic machines traveling through his blood, making his heart pump quicker, giving him the strength and stamina to spring off the sidewalk in mid-run and dive through the air like a missile.

He hoped he wouldn’t hurt the man, but what choice did he have? It was either be struck by a ton of speeding metal or be tackled by a teenager.

Lucas thought he knew which one the man would choose as he connected with the grocer’s midsection, his momentum carrying them both out of the path of the hurtling vehicle.

As they tumbled, Lucas used his own body to shield the old man from the worst of the roll. The shriek of twisting metal and shattering glass filled the air as the car crashed through the front of the grocery store.

Lying atop him, Lucas looked down into the dazed and confused face of the older man. He had scratches and cuts on his face and arms, and probably some serious bruises everywhere else, but as far as Lucas could tell, he had come through in one piece.

“Are you all right?” Lucas asked.

“Better than I would have been,” the man replied in a trembling voice.

Lucas helped the grocer stand up and brought him to-ward the damaged storefront.

“I would have been killed,” the man said as he stared at the twisted wreckage of the car. “You saved me. … I would have been killed for sure.”

Lucas didn’t know what to say.

“I guess so,” he said, doubting that was the right thing. He would need to ask his father for some pointers on the proper way to respond in situations like this.

Then he heard something. He looked toward the wreckage and saw that several gang members had managed to force open the doors of the wrecked car and were crawling out onto the sidewalk.

To say he was shocked by what he saw was an understatement. Their faces were covered in heavy green makeup, apparently in an attempt to make them look like walking corpses, and he realized who the criminals might be.

A supervillain called the Zombie wore elaborate, Hollywood-quality prosthetics to make his rivals in crime believe he was a walking dead man. Lucas remembered his father talking about how even the normal, everyday
criminals were being inspired by supervillainy. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that these guys were members of the Zombie fan club.

And even after all they’d been through, their clothes torn and bloody, they still managed to hold on to their guns.

“Get inside,” Lucas ordered the grocer, giving him a shove toward the store entrance. Then he turned back to-ward the car. Gunfire was erupting again as the two gangs came face to face.

He was about to move when he saw something land in the street between them. Lucas knew what it was, even though its movements were a blur. It was as if a small twister had set down in the center of the city street, first attacking the Zombies—the roar of their guns abruptly cut off by their own screams—and then going at the others.

The second gang stood about as much chance against the costumed figure as the first.

And Lucas understood why it was smart to be afraid of the Raptor.

The Raptor had taken both sides out, but he wasn’t stopping there.

The men of the two gangs lay beaten and bloody in the city street, but the crime fighter wanted more. More blood. More punishment. He wanted them to know the full extent of the pain they’d caused.

Lucas didn’t know what to do. At this point he wasn’t sure if his father was even there. It was as if his father had stepped back and something …
inhuman
had taken over.

The Raptor walked among the unconscious and moaning, lifting their squealing bodies up from where they lay and shaking them in his fury.

“Is that all you have?” he growled to one in particular. The man’s leg was twisted and bent, and Lucas was sure it was broken.

“My leg!” the man shrieked, feet dangling in the air. “Please don’t. …”

“You’re lucky I don’t break the other one,” the Raptor said, mercilessly tossing the man aside like a child tossing away an unwanted toy.

“Who’s next?” he snarled.

Those who were still conscious shied away, not wanting to make eye contact with the monster. Lucas couldn’t blame them. At this moment, he too was afraid of his father.

Who is this man really?

A shot rang out, and Lucas watched in horror as the Raptor went down on one knee.

Lucas saw the shooter—a Zombie gang member no older than he was—lying on the ground, smoking pistol in hand.

The Raptor brought a hand to his head, rubbing the area where the bullet had struck. Earlier that week his father had talked about the importance of lightweight body armor and how even the cowls they wore were reinforced for their protection.

As the Raptor rose, the shooter tried to get away. He managed to climb to his feet, still holding his gun, and began to hobble away.

He didn’t stand a chance.

“I love it when they run,” Lucas heard the Raptor say.

The Raptor was on him in a heartbeat, like a falcon pouncing on a rabbit.

Lucas stepped from the front of the store, debating what to do. The other gang members were down, either completely out of it or too scared to move. In the distance he could hear the howl of police sirens. Were they on their way here?

It wouldn’t be good to be here if they were.

A horrible scream suddenly filled the night. Lucas watched, horrified, as the Raptor crushed the gun and the hand that held it. He melded the two together in a bloody ball of broken bones, metal, and skin.

“You think you’re scary?” the Raptor asked, with a disturbing laugh. “Let me tell you something. You’re not.”

The man was hurt—badly hurt—and Lucas was wasn’t sure how far his father was going to go.

He saw the night light up in the Raptor’s hand, sparks of electricity dancing from his fingertips. Slowly the costumed hero brought his electrified gauntlet closer to the man, who now struggled in his clutches.
He’s going to kill him
, Lucas realized as the wailing sirens drew closer. Superheroes did not kill; it was common knowledge. They could injure, disable, rough up—anything to keep the bad guys from committing their destruction. But killing crossed the line. A line that, it now seemed, Lucas’s father was willing to leap over.

The gang member was crying, his makeup-covered face illuminated by the glow of the lethal sparks jumping from the Raptor’s gloved fingertips.

“This
is scary,” the Raptor growled as the glove moved
closer. The man closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face, washing away some of the smeared green makeup as he prepared for an inevitable death.

And the Raptor was smiling.

Lucas couldn’t watch anymore. This was too much. He stepped in and grabbed his father’s wrist.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said in his strongest voice.

The Raptor turned his gaze to him, and Lucas felt his blood freeze.

“It’s exactly what I want to do,” the Raptor answered, trying to pull the still-crackling glove out of Lucas’s grip.