Super Human (11 page)

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Authors: Michael Carroll

BOOK: Super Human
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Colonel Morgan frowned for a moment. One of the other soldiers approached him with an explosive charge in his hand and a questioning look on his face. Morgan shook his head.
Of course,
Roz thought.
The other hostages must be inside. If we blow the doors, they could be hurt or even killed.
Then the girl in the homemade chain mail stepped past Roz, brandishing her heavy-looking sword.
She walked up to the doors, stared at them for a second, then reached as high as she could and swung the sword at the doors, slicing straight through the metal. Two more quick strokes, one on either side, and the doors collapsed inward. The girl ducked aside as the soldiers rushed into the room.
Roz could see the hostages lying on the floor, their hands and feet bound, their mouths gagged.
I have to help them!
She started forward, but the boy called Thunder grabbed her arm and held her back.
It was over in seconds. The remaining gray men dropped their weapons and raised their arms. Thunder allowed the sound to return, and the air was filled with moans and shouts.
“It’s done. Get these terrorists out of here!” Morgan roared into his radio. “I want them stripped and searched and taken back in
separate
vehicles, full armed escort, understood?”
One of his men said, “Medics are on the way, Colonel. But these people aren’t doing so good. They’ve got it bad.”
The girl with the sword said, “Colonel Morgan? Only the hostages are sick. The terrorists are all fine. Well, apart from the ones that got shot.”
He looked at her for a moment. “You’re right. Which means you could also be right about the plague being artificial.” Into his radio he said, “Run a complete medical on each of the terrorists. I want to know what makes them immune.”
Morgan turned to the teenagers. “All right. Good work, you three. Now get out of here and report to Agent Rosenfield.” They lingered for a second, but the look on Morgan’s face told them he wasn’t kidding.
Roz led the others back into the corridor. “I’m Roz Dalton, by the way.”
“We know,” Thunder said. “You OK?”
“Hungry and tired and worried about my brother, but aside from that, yeah, I’m fine. Who are you guys?”
“I’m Thunder. But this one won’t tell us her name.”
Roz said, “Well, thanks for the save. You did that thing with the sound, right?”
He nodded. “I can control almost any kind of sound waves.”
“And what about you?” Roz asked the girl with the sword. “We have to call you
something
.” They reached the large room in which Roz had been kept. It was now filled with dozens of soldiers.
“I’m not sure I should tell anyone my name,” the girl said.
“It’s Abigail,” Thunder said. He smiled at her shocked expression. “I’ve been eating at your diner for months.”
“Shut up! People will hear!” She looked around at the soldiers.
“No they won’t,” Thunder said. “I’m blocking the sound.”
She sighed. “All right. I’m Abigail de Luyando. Call me Abby. But what’s
your
real name?”
The boy bit his lip. “Um . . .”
“Um? What’s that short for?” Roz said, failing to hold back a smile. “Well, it’s a good thing you were there, Um. That’s a very handy power you have.”
Abby said, “I just wish
I’d
had more to do. All I did was slice open a door.”
They walked outside, stepping over piles of shattered bricks and broken glass. Roz took in deep lungfuls of the night air. “God, that feels good!” She stopped and watched as two medics carried out one of the hostages on a stretcher. The man was clearly in distress, moaning and convulsing. “So . . . It was the flu that knocked out Max and the others?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Abby said.
“But one minute they were fine, the next they were in trouble. Max thought it was a weapon.”
Thunder shrugged. “It is. A biological weapon. The terrorists must be immune. How are you guys feeling?”
“Fine so far,” Abby said. “You?”
“No sign of it yet,” Thunder replied.
They stepped aside as another stretcher was carried out, this one carrying a pale-skinned, shivering woman in her early twenties.
“So what did they want in there, anyway?” Roz asked. “There couldn’t have been anything worth stealing.”
“No one knows yet. They didn’t make any demands,” Abby said. She checked her watch and sighed. “Great. It’s past nine. I’m probably going to be fired. And when I get home I’ll be grounded.” To Thunder, she said, “So what about you? What time do you have to get back to Atlantis?”
He looked at her. “What?”
“Forget it.”
Roz said, “I’ll need to know how to contact the two of you.”
Abby asked, “Why?”
“Well, this isn’t over. That woman escaped.”
“What woman?”
“There was a woman in charge of the terrorists. I didn’t get to see her face but I definitely heard her voice. She wasn’t with the others when we found the hostages. How did she escape?”
“No one escaped,” Thunder said. “The whole place has been surrounded for hours.”
They looked at each other, then down the hill toward the two medics ahead of them carrying the stretcher.
Abby shouted, “Hey! Wait! That’s not—”
The young woman rolled off the stretcher, landed on her feet. In one swift movement she jabbed her left fist into one medic’s chest while kicking back with her right foot at the other’s head.
Abby began to run.
She heard Roz shout, “Abby, no!” but she didn’t turn back: Roz and Thunder had already played their part—now it was her turn to go into action. She pulled her sword from her back as she ran.
CHAPTER 11
Abby raced down the hill, but the woman was waiting for her: She snatched up the aluminum stretcher and swung it at Abby. Abby blocked it with the blunt edge of her sword. They stood for a moment, their weapons locked against each other.
“You’re strong, little one,” the woman said through gritted teeth. “Stronger than I am, perhaps.” She had pale skin, shoulder-length brown hair, and green eyes.
“Who
are
you?”
The woman took a step to the left. “Someone who isn’t dumb enough to stay in Roz Dalton’s line of sight.” She suddenly let go of the stretcher, and Abby staggered to the side, the sword slipping from her hand. Abby ducked down as the woman swung a punch at her face, and made a grab for her legs.
The woman jumped, somersaulted over Abby, and twisted as she landed. Abby rolled to her feet, but the woman was faster: She suddenly pivoted on her right foot—her left flicked out and clipped Abby across the chin. Abby reeled backward, spotted her sword, and made a dive for it.
Then Thunder came charging down the hill, straight for the woman. She didn’t hear him coming: He slammed into her back and sent her sprawling.
But she recovered much faster than he did. She hit the ground face-first and kicked her legs backward, flipping over on her hands. She landed on her feet and bounced again, spinning around to face him.
Thunder had landed on his back and was pushing himself up when the woman came down feetfirst on his stomach.
Abby jumped for her, but the woman—still with one foot on Thunder’s stomach—simply smiled and waited.
Abby swung her sword. The woman threw herself backward and kicked up, knocking the sword out of Abby’s grip, sending it straight into the air.
I need a wrist strap!
Abby thought.
The sword reached its peak and began to fall—Thunder was directly in its path.
I can catch it! I—
The woman threw herself at Abby, knocking her to the ground, then rolled off before Abby could grab hold of her. Abby stared upward.
No! The sword!
Less than two feet above Thunder’s chest, the sword suddenly shifted to one side. It landed point-first next to his right arm, its great weight driving it more than six inches into the dirt. Abby jumped up, looked around, but the woman wasn’t there. “What . . . ? Where is she?”
Roz skidded to a stop next to Thunder. “You two all right?”
Thunder groaned, sat up clutching his stomach. His voice weak and wheezing, he said, “Yeah, I think so. Thought I was dead meat there. Thanks. Where’d she go?”
Roz pointed straight up—the woman was a shrinking dot against the night sky.
“Who is she?” Abby asked.
“I’ve never met her before, but Max has. She’s dangerous. Completely psychotic. Very fast and very strong. And she’s absolutely merciless. She’s also one of the few people whose mind Max can’t read or control. She calls herself Slaughter.”
 
 
Lance McKendrick clenched his teeth to prevent them from chattering with the cold.
Though Paragon had flown in a straight line and at a relatively constant speed, Lance had been battered repeatedly by turbulence that left him swaying wildly from side to side. His armpits chafed from the jetpack’s shoulder straps and cold wind brought stinging tears to his eyes.
The armored hero hadn’t spoken during the flight, and Lance started to wonder what was on his mind.
Maybe he’s thinking that looking after me is the last thing he needs. For all I know, he’s got a wife and kids at home.
That made him think about his own family again. He prayed that his brother Cody had made it home OK from practice, because if he hadn’t, then their parents were home alone.
I’m going to be grounded until the end of time for this.
After more than an hour, Paragon’s amplified voice said, “How are you holding up?”
Lance shouted back, “I’m kinda more concerned about how
you’re
holding
me
up!”
Paragon laughed. “I’m not going to drop you, don’t worry.”
“Are we there yet?”
“Almost. Look straight ahead.”
In the distance Lance saw a thin ring of light on the ground, rapidly growing as they approached. At the center of the ring was what looked like a nuclear power plant. Paragon slowed, dropped down to a height of about eight yards. Lance could now see that the ring was formed from the headlights of dozens of army vehicles and police cars.
Paragon said, “Hey, kid. Do me a favor. There’s a switch on the left side of my helmet, just below the jaw. See if you can reach it.”
Lance awkwardly stretched up his left arm and found the switch. “That it?”
“Yeah, it’s my radio. Hit it, will you? And then shut it off when I’m done.”
Lance pressed the switch, then heard Paragon say, “This is Paragon contacting FBI Special Agent Rosenfield.” A pause. “Understood. Put me through to whoever’s taken over the operation.” There was another, longer pause. “Colonel Morgan? This is Paragon. I’m approaching your position from the southeast. ETA one-zero-zero seconds. Paragon out.”
Lance hit the switch again, and Paragon dropped even closer to the ground—Lance didn’t want to know how near they were to the treetops, but he could imagine the branches and leaves brushing the soles of his sneakers. When they were close enough for Lance to make out individual people, Paragon slowed almost to a stop, and drifted down.
Lance felt the asphalt under his feet. His knees buckled and he would have collapsed if Paragon hadn’t been holding on to him.
“You OK?” Paragon asked.
Lance nodded. They had landed between two covered army trucks and were now surrounded by soldiers.
A middle-aged man in uniform came running. “Paragon? Colonel Morgan.” He looked briefly at Lance, then turned back to the armored hero. “Good news is the situation here has been dealt with.”
“So I just flew hundreds of miles for nothing?” He didn’t sound happy.
“Not exactly. Come with me—I want to fill you in on the latest development. You’re not going to like it.” He looked at Lance once again. “Did someone forget to tell me it’s Bring Your Kid to Work Day?”
“How old do you think I
am
?” Paragon asked. “No, he’s not mine. He’s a stray I picked up along the way. Long story.” To Lance, Paragon said, “Stay put. Touch nothing. Talk to no one. Got that?”
“OK. . . . Only, how am I going to get home? My folks have no idea where I am. And they’re sick. They need me.”
“Should have considered the consequences before you decided to go breaking and entering, shouldn’t you?”
“Then someone has to let them know where I am!”
Paragon leaned closer. “That’d be a lot easier if you told me your real name. Now stay put.”
Lance watched him follow the officer into a large, dark, unmarked truck.
Now what do I do?
He stopped a passing soldier. “Is there anywhere I can make a phone call?”
“I look like a tour guide or something?” The man pointed back over his shoulder. “Ask one of those cops back there. Most of them are local.”
Great. More cops. Like I haven’t spoken to enough of them already today.
Lance started toward the police officers when he spotted a trio of people who were much more approachable: teenagers.

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