The Ascension: A Super Human Clash (16 page)

“So what's going on, Roz? Someone like you could go anywhere she wanted with no questions asked. What's with the tunnels and the hiding and all that malarkey? And picking up this little stray along the way? Not exactly the best way to keep a low profile.”

“Like I said, it's a long story.”

One of the paddles thumped off solid ground, and Joe said, “Well, you can tell it to the boss. Come on. Up you get.”

She followed Joe and the others out of the raft and helped them drag it farther out of the water.

Roz bent over and scooped up Victoria. Still asleep, the girl wrapped her arms around Roz's neck. She moaned a little, and Roz said, “Shh…It's OK, honey. We're safe now. Everything's going to be all right.” Roz turned to Joe. “Do you have a doctor here? She really needs to be checked out. Poor little thing is freezing.”

“No problemo,” Joe said, and called out, “Lights!”

The tunnel's overhead lights flickered on, and Roz saw that she was surrounded by dozens of armed men and women.

Joe turned to Roz and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Roz, this is the New Jersey branch of the resistance. As you can see, these lovely ladies and upstanding gentlemen all have guns. So if it turns out you're up to something that we don't like, you'll never leave here in one piece. Well, perhaps you will, but it'll be one big wet, messy piece with an awful lot of bullet holes in it.”

Roz shrugged his arm away. “You know, I can't tell whether that was a threat or an audition.”

Some of the people in the crowd laughed at that.

Joe grinned. “I like you. You're going to be fun to have around. Follow me—we'll go see the doc.”

Joe led her through a crude hole that had been cut into the wall, and through a series of dusty, low-ceilinged corridors. “So what's the deal?” he asked as they walked. “Some people are saying that there's a lot of crazy stuff going on right now. Your pal Krodin is up to something big. You know anything about that?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough.” Joe stopped outside a frosted-glass door and rapped on it with his knuckles. “Got a patient for you, Doc.”

A shadow moved behind the door, and then it was opened by a gray-haired old woman. “What do we have here?”

“This is Roz, Doc. Just arrived. She picked up the little one back in Manhattan.”

The woman ushered Roz into the room. “Poor little mite. Put her on the bed there, Roz, and we'll see what we can do.”

Roz laid Victoria down on the bed and stepped back. This was the first chance she had to see Victoria in proper light. Her arms and legs were filthy and stick-thin, covered in scabs and bruises. Her hands and feet were badly calloused, and her hair was matted with so much dirt that it was impossible to tell what color it was underneath. The only clean part of her body was her left thumb, which she'd been sucking while Roz carried her.

“What's her name?” the doctor asked. She pulled the Cabbage Patch doll from Victoria's arms and passed it to Roz, then leaned closer to examine her.

“Victoria,” Roz said. “Her family was living in the subway tunnel. They all died. She's been alone for a long time, maybe a year or more.”

“Another of the Praetorian's victims, probably,” Joe said. “We've come across them from time to time. In the first couple of months after Krodin took control, a lot of people went on the run, and a fair few ended up in the subway tunnels.”

Roz reached out and gently stroked Victoria's hand. “Well, I'm glad I met her. I'd never have found my way through the tunnels without her.”

The doctor straightened up and turned to Roz. “Will you have a seat please, Roz?” she asked, pointing to an old wooden chair nearby.

“I'm OK. Hungry and tired, but that's all.”

“Sit.” It was an order, not a suggestion.

Roz sat. “Look, I'm fine. Just tell me that Victoria's going to be all right.”

The doctor exchanged a look with Joe, then crouched down next to Roz. “I'm so sorry.”

Roz looked at Joe, then back at the doctor. “For what?”

“She's gone.”

“What?” Roz swallowed heavily.

“She died. Only a few minutes ago, I'd say.”

“No, she's…she's just sleepy, that's all. She's…she was just
talking
to me! You heard her, Joe, didn't you?”

He shook his head. “She was asleep the whole time. Roz, she was already very weak when you handed her to me.”

The doctor said, “We'll give you a few minutes,” then nodded to Joe. They left her alone, closing the door behind them.

Roz's knees felt weak as she stood. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed the doll in Victoria's cold arms. “You go now,” she whispered. “You go and be with your mom and your dad and your brother again.” She leaned forward and kissed Victoria's forehead, her tears leaving clean tracks in the dirt on her face. “Thank you.”

 

“You were there for her at the end,” Joe said as he slowly led Roz back through the corridors. “That's what counts. She didn't die alone.”

Roz sniffed, and used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe her eyes.

“Come on, we'll go see the boss, if you feel up to it?”

“OK.”

As they approached another door, it opened and a tall, slim woman stepped out.

“Boss, this is—”

“I recognize her, Mr. Ward. It's Rosalyn Dalton.”

Roz swallowed.
No…

“I heard about your little friend, Roz. You have my sympathies. It's amazing she lasted as long as she did.”

Roz couldn't speak. The shock of Victoria's death was bad enough, but this was more than she could take.

“So what brings you here, Roz?” the woman asked. “Realized that the Praetorians' way of life needs to come to an end? Bear in mind that if your answer is anything other than ‘Yes,' you might not like our reaction.”

“You…” She stopped herself. “Yes. The Praetorians have to be stopped.”

“Good. My name is Suzanne Housten. Now, if you have any ideas about assassinating me, look down at my feet. Go on. Look.”

Roz looked. The woman was floating two inches off the ground.

“Like you, Roz, I'm a superhuman. One of the very few Krodin hasn't murdered. I'm considerably stronger and faster than you are. I could crush your skull between my hands.” Then she smiled again. “But I'm sure it won't come to that, will it?”

Roz shook her head. “No.” Her heart was beating like crazy. Every instinct told her to run, to get as far away from this woman as possible.

She doesn't know me!
Roz told herself.
As far as she knows she's never met me!

But Roz
had
met this woman before, back in the real world. Back there, Suzanne Housten went under a different name: Slaughter.

THE TRUCK'S WINDSHIELD was heavily cracked, one of its headlights had shattered, and a large section of the outer gate had snagged on some part of the underside and was slowing the truck down and showering the road with sparks that gave away its position.

Right now, Lance didn't care. He was grinning and feeling very pleased with himself.

He took another glance in the driver's-side mirror; the road behind was dark, but he knew it wouldn't remain so for long.

He had a quick mental debate as to whether it would be best to keep going or stop long enough to free the gate from underneath the truck.
Keep going
, he decided.

According to the truck's odometer he was already three miles away from the prison, much farther than he'd expected to get.
Make the most of it
, he told himself. Another look in the mirror.
Any minute now there'll be headlights and it'll all be over.

But five minutes later he was still alone on the road, and for the first time he began to feel that he might actually get away.
If there were only those eight guards in the prison, they might
not
come after me…. They're going to have their hands full trying to stop the other prisoners from getting through the wrecked gate.

All right, genius. Think! What do I do? Where can I go?

If Brawn was dragged into this world same as me, then it stands to reason that Roz and Abby and Thunder were too. If I can figure out where they are…
He frowned.
What's the name of the town where Abby and Thunder live? Midway? Something like that, anyway….

Last time it took us hours to get from there to Oak Grove, and I was either in the back of the truck or asleep for most of the journey. So there's no way I can retrace the route.

Going home isn't an option. So what do I do?

And then he saw a wavering patch of light on the road ahead. For a moment he thought it was simply a malfunctioning streetlight—the first he'd seen since he left the prison—but then he realized that the light was moving. Heading straight toward him.

Lance hit the brakes and the truck squealed, shuddered to a halt, and its engine cut out. He sat gripping the wheel with both hands as he stared at the approaching light, and it was several seconds before he thought to look for its source.

By the time he climbed out of the cab, the light had reached him. As he shielded his eyes to look up, the light vanished.

Silhouetted against the stars, a small flying craft was silently—but rapidly—descending. The underside of the craft held three circular lights, none of them bright enough to have cast the light on the road.

OK, this isn't good.
He knew there was no point in running.
They've caught me, but at least I've caused them some trouble.

The craft—it was about half the size of the truck—came to a stop a couple of feet above the surface of the road and hovered silently. A door in the side slid open, revealing a faint blue glow from within.

Moments later the profile of a man appeared. Steps extended from inside the craft, and the man strode down them.

He walked toward Lance and into the beam of the truck's remaining headlight.

“Not
you
again,” Lance said to Max Dalton.

“I was about to say the same thing.” Dalton looked from Lance to the truck, then back. “You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?”

 

“If we ever get home, I'm going to sleep for a
week
,” James said to Abby.

Abby was flying along beside him. They had their arms outstretched and were holding on to each other's forearms. “You OK?”

“Not really. I bet every Praetorian in the state is looking for us. They were at my house earlier, did I tell you that? After I got back from my dad's farm, I went to the house and I could hear Praetorian soldiers talking to my mom and Rufus.”

“Rufus is your stepdad?”

“Yeah. My little sister's dad. She's the one I'm worried about—I don't much care what the Praetorians do to Mom and Rufus. They can lock them away forever as far as I'm concerned. But Shiho's only seven. I can't let anything happen to her.”

“There's nothing we can do about that now, James.”

“We're not great at this superhero stuff, are we? We don't know where Paragon, Roz, or Max are, and Brawn's a supervillain, but we don't actually know where he is.”

“He's not a bad guy,” Abby said. “He's only your age, did you know that? Imagine being sixteen and blue and thirteen feet tall. No one's ever going to think of him as a hero no matter what he does. Plus he said that he gives off some sort of scent that makes people scared of him. Did you get that when you saw him first?”

James nodded. “Yeah. You look at him and go, ‘No way!' and you want to run.”

“We're lucky. Whatever it is that makes us superhuman…At least
we
look normal. Brawn can't change back. He'll be like that forever. I wonder if it ever goes the other way around. The thing that makes us superhuman gives us these gifts, but could it take away stuff as well? Could there be people who have reduced abilities instead of enhanced ones?”

“I think so,” James said. “My cousin was telling me about this guy who lives on his street who's supposed to be a complete genius. He's about my age too, but he's already got four college degrees. He used to be big for his age, a good athlete. People were saying that he was going to be a great linebacker one day. Then when he was thirteen he just started getting smarter, but he was losing all his muscle. They thought he was sick or something, but the doctors couldn't find anything wrong. Now he can barely run a hundred yards without collapsing from exhaustion.”

“He sounds like pure bully fodder to me.”

James laughed. “He would be, but any bullies who go near him have to answer to their parents—the kid does all their tax returns. For free. He enjoys it, apparently.”

“Well, if we ever start our own superhero team, we're recruiting him. Put him in some of Paragon's armor so he doesn't get flattened every time we go up against the baddies, and we're good to go. And we'll need armor for Lance too.”

“There is no
way
I'm having Lance on my superhero team!”

“
My
team,” Abby said. “It's my idea. And don't pretend you don't like him. I can tell you do.”

“When we were in the army truck going to Oak Grove, the guy nearly drove me mad. He just can
not
stop talking.”

“Well, he's lonely,” Abby said.

“What makes you think that?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Because we
all
are. How many friends do you have?”

“Not that many, but I'm not lonely. There's a bunch of guys at school, and sometimes I hang out with them at the skate park.”

“I have some people I see from time to time, but no
close
friends. I haven't had any for years. Neither does Roz. And I'm betting that no other superhuman does. Maybe it's a result of keeping our powers a secret, or maybe it's the powers themselves—they change us physically and mentally, so why not socially too?”

“OK…But even if that's true, it doesn't explain Lance, does it? He's not a superhuman.”

“Maybe he is. He's pretty smart, and he's good at making up stuff that sounds like it could be true—maybe that's his power. Communication skills. Or some sort of…What's that power where you can read people's emotions? Not telepathy, the other one?”

“Empathy. Abby, if Lance had superhuman empathy, everyone would love him. He'd be able to get anyone to do anything he wanted. He could…Ah. Yeah, I see what you mean. People don't have to love him—just trust him. It's the perfect power for a con artist.” James let go of Abby's arm and flexed his fist for a moment before grabbing her arm again. “Arm's getting tired.”

“Want me to switch sides?”

“Not yet.” With his other hand he pointed down. “Freeway sign—at last.” He slowed their flight and drifted down until they were only a hundred yards above the road. “Can you read what it says?”

“No. Still too far.”

The freeway was in complete darkness—since the citizens were not allowed to travel at night, there was little point in lighting the roads.

They drifted closer to the sign stretched across the freeway. “Castleton, seven miles,” Abby read. “That's close to Oak Grove, isn't it?”

“I think so. But Brawn wouldn't have
stayed
in Oak Grove—he'd have gone on the run. I'll put you down for a few minutes, OK? I need to divert as much of my energy as I can into my hearing.”

James descended quickly, set Abby down next to the road sign, then shot up into the air again. In seconds she was only a tiny dot against the dark road.
OK, concentrate!

He still wasn't sure how his enhanced sense of hearing worked—all he knew was that he had to constantly maintain a mental barrier to prevent all the noise around from driving him crazy. Now he relaxed that barrier, allowed the sounds to come flooding in.

There were crickets and other night insects, thousands of them. A steady, unbroken stream of chirps and rattles, hisses and scratching. He filtered out those sounds and tried to make sense of what was left.

Cats howling and purring, dogs barking, humans laughing, talking, snoring. The constant buzz of electricity, the rush of water carried through buried pipelines and flowing over riverbeds. All these he filtered out too.

He stripped out the roar of the wind and the hiss of the leaves it blew, the grass it rustled.

And then there was only silence.

Nothing. If he's around here, he's not on the move. I guess even supervillains have to sleep sometime.

Back in his own reality, James knew he could pinpoint almost any sound up to a distance of about eight miles. Here, the lack of traffic noise meant that his radius could be greater than that. He ran a quick calculation in his head.
Say I can hear up to twelve miles…. Twelve squared is one hundred and forty-four, multiplied by pi…. That's four hundred and fifty square miles.

And then he heard a voice saying, “Affirmative. Thermal sensors are showing a definite humanoid signature. And that size…It's got to be him.”

Another voice, this one female: “Patch the images through to my screen…. I see it. That's him. All right, people. This monster is
strong
. I want you all to understand that. He is quite capable of tearing one of our ships apart with his bare hands. He's also bulletproof, close to invulnerable. But I doubt he's fireproof. I want a tight ring of napalm canisters all around him—don't give him anywhere to run.”

Oh no!
James flew back down to Abby, swooped in, and grabbed her around the waist.

“What…? James!”

“The Praetorians have found Brawn. They're going to use napalm on him, Abby. They're going to kill him.”

 

Deep under the western banks of the Hudson River, Roz Dalton was trying not to show any emotion as she sat with the leaders of the New Jersey resistance cell.

They were seated around a large table in what had once been a locker room. It was a gray, oppressive room with damp walls and a crude flooring of broken-up wooden pallets.

Aside from Roz, there were four people present. Suzanne Housten—Roz was doing her best not to think of the young woman as Slaughter—sat at the head of the table. On her right was Joe Ward, her ever-cheerful second in command. Next to him was a twenty-five-year-old man called Ted Silvestri, then an older man whom Roz had noticed watching her when Joe gave her a brief tour of the complex. He was gray-haired with a neatly trimmed black beard.

Joe slapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Right, lads. Let's call this meeting to order. We're lucky enough to have with us today the delightful and totally zarjaz Rosalyn Dalton, also known as Roz, who by no coincidence whatsoever is the one and only sister of Maxwell Edwin Dalton. Max is well known to us all as Vice-Chancellor of our fine country and is by all accounts a miserable, humorless excuse for a human being who has a face like a zombie warthog chewing a lemon wrapped in barbed wire.”

Housten said, “Yes, thank you for the wonderful image, Joe. That'll stay with us forever.” She turned to Roz. “Do you feel up to doing this?”

Roz nodded. “I'll be OK.”

“Good. Ted says we can trust you, and I trust him. He has abilities of his own. Ted can always—
always
—tell when someone is lying. You're not the same Roz Dalton we have on file. You're…an alternative version.”

Roz nodded. “Max too. My brother would never do what your Max has done.”

Ted shook his head. “You don't believe that, Roz.”

“No, I don't. But…I
want
to believe it.”

Joe said, “Be that as it may, the fact is your brother is number two on our list of enemies. Right after Krodin himself. If what you say is true, then we should be able to count on Max to work with us instead of against us, right?”

“I think so. But the last time I spoke to him, he was talking about running. He doesn't think we can fight Krodin.”

“Because you people fought him before,” Joe said, “and only barely won.”

“I wouldn't say we won. We survived.”

“Because this lad Pyrokine turned on Krodin in the end and destroyed him. Or so you thought.”

Housten asked, “Your account of the battle is a little sketchy. You've been holding something back, Roz. What is it?”

Roz quickly glanced at Ted, then looked away. “I'd rather not say.”

“I'd rather you did. There's a lot happening in this country right now. If we're going to strike against Krodin, it's got to be soon. The more we know about how you fought him, the better chance we'll have. So what is it? What are you keeping from us?”