“What the hell, Larry?” Julia shouted. “You’re supposed to be protecting the ship and its cargo, not shooting our own people.”
“The Order is a fraud!” The man yelled, gasping as he struggled against the invisible hand that held him. Alpha Team traded glances between Larry and Blake, stunned.
Blake saw the man reach for another gun in his pocket, but he removed it and tossed it overboard before Larry could grab it. Then, Blake turned his head and listened to the new sound coming from the stern.
“I hear footsteps…lots of footsteps…running toward us from the back of the ship.”
“You’ll never get away with what you’re doing! The Order must be stopped,” Larry yelled.
“This is a trap!” Gary shouted, pointing his gun at Julia.
She raised her hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m on your side! I’m just as surprised as you are.”
Blake looked at her, his eyes now glowing bright orange. “If you’re not, I’ll rip your spine out through your nose.”
She stared wide-eyed at Blake and took a step back. A number of black clad, armed crew members became visible as they ran across the deck, weapons aimed at Blake and the Alpha team.
“That’s the security division assigned to this ship!” Julia said, astonished.
“Stand down,” she yelled, but it didn’t stop them from taking aim at the group.
“Open fire!” Larry shouted. Without thinking, Blake slammed him to the deck and turned to face the oncoming onslaught. He raised his hands toward the attacking soldiers and, like Neo in The Matrix Reloaded, caught and stopped all the bullets in midair.
A moment later, the pallets of new equipment exploded, knocking Alpha Team and Julia to the deck, except for Blake. The hovering bullets fell to the deck and bounced around in the confusion as Blake absorbed the explosion’s energy and deflected the flying debris away from his team. A giant fireball rose upward and turned into black smoke that faded into the night sky as pieces of wood and other materials rained onto the deck around them.
Bullets pinched at his left side and he winced in pain and surprise. He turned his head, his glowing eyes bathing the shooters’ faces in orange light. Their weapons stopped firing as their magazines emptied. In the moment of silence that followed, the stunned shooters incredulously stared at Blake, hesitating to reload their weapons.
“Goodbye.” Blake swept his left hand dismissively and all but one of the security guards were knocked into the open cargo holds. Blake pulled the last man standing toward him, smirking as the man’s arms flailed as he was dragged across the ship, the toes of his boots scraping the metal deck.
“What are you?” the man cried out in terror.
“Don’t hurt him, we need to question a few of them,” Gary said.
“You need to get off this ship,” Julia barked. “I have no idea how many more of the crew will be gunning for you. This feels like a mutiny and I’m not even the captain.”
“Then we find the captain and question him,” Kit responded.
Julia shook her head. “He’s only the ship captain; he’s not part of The Order.”
“But you are,” Sven commented, pointing at Julia. “You’ll come with us, now.”
“He’s right, you’re coming with us for questioning. Let’s go,” Gary ordered. “Blake, watch our backs, please.”
Blake smiled and nodded. So much for a quiet night running cargo. Still, Victor’s going to be pissed when he finds out someone destroyed his shipment. Better yet, I want to know who this someone is.
❖
Blake followed Victor down an abandoned, moldy corridor in an unrestored part of the naval prison. They had left the main corridors of the facility and made their way into an untouched area of the prison. Rat droppings, lichen, and other unknown substances mixed with small pools of rusty, stagnant water that filled the old concrete and metal-bar hallway with an unpleasant smell.
This is pretty disgusting.
“What you’re about to see could be disturbing and jarring,” Victor said.
“It can’t be any worse than this part of the prison.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty nasty in here, but that’s part of its charm.”
“Right.”
“I’m sure are you have seen similar in the movies, where it is nothing more than creative fiction. However, it’s another thing to see an intense interrogation like this in real life.
Blake looked at Victor with skepticism in his eyes. “You’re torturing someone?”
“Yes. He won’t volunteer any information on his own, so we had to get creative.”
“Do you torture your enemies a lot?”
Victor shrugged. “Only when necessary. Admittedly, it’s rare, but in cases like this, it’s always necessary.”
That seems contradictory, but I’m sure I’ll figure out what he means soon enough.
Victor turned to face him. “Blake, I hope you now understand the importance of our mission and that it is always focused on the greater good of all people. Sometimes, the ends justify the means. Creative interrogation is a difficult ethical argument, but this is the reality of The Order. We do what we must to bring others to justice.”
“I understand,” Blake responded, nodding. He continued walking with Victor until they came to an old, metal and wood door that Victor knocked on. A moment later, the door unlocked and opened from the inside. Blake followed his boss into the room.
“It’s awfully quiet in here, Radoslav,” Victor said. Blake noted the disappointment in his voice.
Two security guards stood to one side of a small, dirty room. The creepy looking bald man who opened the door deferentially stepped aside to Victor. He continued wiping his bloody hands on a white towel.
In the center of the room sat a shirtless, bleeding man tied at the wrists and ankles to a steel chair. His head hung down and he didn’t lift it to look at Victor or Blake. He also appeared to have wet himself—which explained the unpleasant smell of urine in the room. The man had several deep cuts in his pectoral muscles and the once flowing blood had stopped dripping down his abdomen, now dried and caked in the man’s thick, disperse chest hair. On the floor, a bloody light green T-shirt sat on the damp floor.
Next to the man in the chair sat a filthy medical tray-table with an assortment of neatly laid out and scary looking sharp and bloody tools. Whoever Radoslav was, he was particular about the arrangement of his instruments.
Through the bloody, swollen bruises on the man’s face, Blake recognized the man from the failed cargo transfer the night before. It was the crewman he grabbed from the group of gunmen who tried to wipe them out. The man was foaming at the mouth.
Victor leaned down to study the man.
“Don’t touch his face,” the creepy bald man—presumably Radoslav—said in a thick, Eastern European accent. “He just cracked a…how-to-say…dinte moarte…a death tooth.” He pointed to his mouth and then flicked his fingers away.
“Dammit,” Victor said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was hoping he’d talk.”
Blake looked at Victor, unsure of what they were talking about. “What is a death tooth?”
Victor tapped the left side of his jaw with the index finger of his left hand. “A cyanide tooth.” Then, he spoke to Radoslav “Did you get anything useful from him?”
“I get lots of things from coward man, but none of them truths. Who is this…boy?” Radoslav asked, pointing at Blake and looking him up and down.
“This boy is Dark Flame,” Victor answered before Blake could respond. Weeks ago, Victor insisted Blake used his code name around the facility, so people didn’t get the wrong idea and think they could push him around because he was young.
Radoslav’s eyes widened with amazement as he studied Blake, this time with more interest and curiosity. “Dark Flame is…boy?”
Blake nodded at him and folded his arms across his chest. “Apparently.”
Radoslav nodded, his face conveying he was impressed. “They say
you can do amazing, impossible things.”
Blake looked at Victor, who nodded at him. Then, he smirked and reached out with his mind to the table of torture instruments next to the dead man. The longest blade lifted off the table and spun around in the air until Blake pointed it at Radoslav’s face, where he let it hover for a moment.
The man did not flinch, but the guards shifted their stances.
“A young man with talents such as this is good in my line of work, but I see Victor already claimed you. Too bad.” Then, as if now unimpressed with Blake and his abilities, he pointed to the prisoner’s mouth and spoke with broken English. “Victor, if please, you will amuse me. Have doctors test the dinte moarte chemicals. I have theory about who this man works for. That will be the biggest truth yet to be revealed.”
Victor nodded. “I’ll have Dr. Madison conduct the test immediately.”
Blake grabbed the side of his head and winced in pain. “Ugh,” he grunted, fighting the urge to drop to one knee.
“What is it?” Victor asked.
“It’s Blue Spekter, he’s nearby.” Blake was careful not to use Quinn’s real name in front of the henchmen, though he wasn’t sure why he was protecting him.
“Here on Seavey Island? Where is he?” Victor asked, startled.
“I’m not sure, yet, give me a second.” He focused, and a moment later he pointed in the direction of the harbor. He’s over there somewhere, but…he’s not flying, he’s…standing?”
I’ve never sensed his presence like this and not been sure of where he is…this makes no sense.
“Can he sense you?” Victor asked.
“Yes, of course. This goes both ways, all the time. The only thing that changes is the range. I’m just not sure why it’s so strong…it’s like the more time we spend apart, the stronger it gets, but I can’t be sure.”
“So, he knows exactly where we are now,” Victor commented, frowning. “This moment was inevitable. There’s nothing we could have done to prevent it.”
Oh, now it makes sense. He’s not flying or on land…
“I got it. He’s on a boat that’s heading into the harbor.” Blake exclaimed. “He’s on the Thomas Laighton.”
“You two are nebun…crazy,” Radoslav said.
Victor stared at the wall closest to the harbor. “I suppose that would come close enough to the facility to allow you to sense him. It must be a very special private charter; the Thomas Laighton doesn’t normally run this late in the season.”
“What do you two talk about? What is blue specter, another one of mystery agents?” Radoslav asked, staring at them with intense curiosity.
Another mystery agent?
“No, he’s the other person like me,” Blake answered.
“There is two of you?” Radoslav asked incredulously. The idea caused the man visible stress as his brow wrinkled. Okay, so maybe you don’t know about other super-powered people. That’s comforting.
Victor cleared his throat, catching Blake’s attention. “It would seem so, Radoslav,” Victor responded.
Blake smirked, understanding he should not volunteer any more information to Radoslav. However, it was almost time to press Victor for the truth.
5 | What Would Blue Spekter Do?
Quinn
The next day at two o’clock in the afternoon at the end of his shift, Quinn walked into the break room to punch out and change into some running clothes. Since it was cold outside, he grabbed his maroon Portsmouth Clippers sweatshirt from his gym bag and pulled it on over his running shirt. Then, he left the building through the employee entrance and jogged up Daniel Street toward the Memorial Bridge. A moment later, a loud bang and the sound of crunching metal reached his ears, followed by the earsplitting screeching of metal scraping metal. Behind him, people cried out in shock and surprise.
That doesn’t sound good.
He turned around and looked down the street toward Market Square. In the middle of the intersection, he saw a black, low-riding sports car had crashed head-on and slid under the driver’s side of a red pick-up truck with a suspension kit. The sports car’s engine was steaming, and the truck’s driver-side wheels were a few inches off the ground.
He heard a police siren chirp.
The driver door of the pick-up opened and a man jumped out, swore, then immediately backed away from his truck, grabbing his head in frustration. A moment later, an officer speaking into his shoulder-mounted microphone walked to the scene. Quinn studied the scene for a moment longer, then turned to continue his run.
The cops must be parked at their stand, so they don’t need my help; other emergency services will be there shortly.
Except, the chatter and panic near the accident became louder. He paused and looked back again, straining to get a better view. People were gathering around to gawk, and one person jogged over to the driver door and tried to open it, but either the door was locked, or the accident had jammed it shut. The officer ordered the person to back off and tried to assess the situation.
Flames licked out from under the engine of the sports car, and Quinn noticed the fuel tank filling hatch on the pick-up was directly above the scrunched hood of the sports car, which meant the truck’s gas tank wasn’t far away. Inside the sports car, the driver appeared to be slumped over the airbag.
“Back away, people, that thing’s gonna blow up!” the officer yelled.
“We have to help him,” a woman shouted.
“What should we do?” a man’s voice asked in frustration.
“What would Blue Spekter do if he were here?”
Quinn raised his eyebrow and walked toward the accident, appreciating the affirmation of the bystanders. It’s a good thing Blue Spekter is here.
“He would try to save that man,” another voice chimed. “You look strong, go save him.”
“No, it’s not safe,” the officer protested.
“He doesn’t have much time,” a tall, muscular man said as he approached the sports car and tried to open the driver door. When it didn’t open, he stared at it and scratched his head. On the passenger side, a woman approached and urgently rapped on the windshield, attempting to rouse the driver.
“Break the window!” another person added.
“It’s leaking gasoline!” someone else shouted. People started freaking out and panicking, fearing the worst.
“Everyone, back away, now!” the police officer shouted.
Immediately, a cacophony of panic rose up from the crowd as the would-be heroes and bystanders backed away from the accident, tripping over one another as they sought safety. Others lamented at the prospect of a fatal explosion.
It’s now or never; it’s moments like this when I wish I had the finished super suit.
With his eyes blazing bright blue in the afternoon sky, he ran down Daniel Street. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head so nobody would see his face or profile. When he was closer to the accident, he saw gasoline pouring out from the underside of the pick-up’s ruptured gas tank. The volatile fuel mixed with fluids leaking out from the totaled sports car.
Seconds later, Quinn approached the sports car. The officer, hearing Quinn’s footsteps, turned and extended an arm to stop Quinn, yelling, “Don’t go near the car, it’s too…” He stopped mid-sentence and lowered his arm when he saw Blue Spekter’s glowing blue eyes. “Oh wow, it’s you!”
Blue Spekter ignored the officer and quickly assessed the situation. He winced when a sharp, familiar pain pulsed in his temple as he sensed Blake’s proximity a few blocks away. He paused and looked in the general direction of Blake’s location, but his old friend wasn’t walking toward or away from him.
“It’s gonna blow!” the tall man yelled, and Blue Spekter looked back at the accident. Sparks erupted from under the sports car’s crumpled hood.
“Get back,” the officer shouted loudly, raising his hands to protect his face as the vapors ignited.
No!
Blue Spekter’s body ignited with brilli
ant blue light as he contained the full force of the explosion with an invisible shield he projected around the accident. Behind him, people gasped, unharmed, as the explosion’s shockwave slammed into Blue Spekter’s invisible shield, causing it to flash blue. Inside the shield, the fireball pushed upward and billowed into a black cloud of angry, churning smoke. The force of the blast pushed the pick-up truck several feet into the air until it fell to the ground, now a burning, twisted hunk of metal.
Oh my god.
Blue Spekter looked around, stunned. Somehow, the shield saved everyone, except…
He lowered the shield and the oppressive heat of the fire warmed his face, making him squint. He took a deep breath and ran to the driver’s door. When he grabbed the handle and yanked, he pulled too hard and ripped it off the door.
Frustrated, Blue Spekter raised his hand and froze the driver door’s glass to rapidly cool it. Then, he firmly tapped the glass and it cracked apart, the ice preventing it from shattering all over the man. Blue Spekter reached inside and tried to open the door, but the accident or the explosion had jammed it shut. Frustrated, he used his strength and ripped the door off the car, then tossed it aside.
“Leave him alone, you freak!” someone shouted.
Blue Spekter paused, stunned at the insult. The crowd immediately booed the person and Blue Spekter shook it off. With the airbag mostly deflated, he leaned into the car and unbuckled the bloody man. The smell of old urine and body odor triggered Blue Spekter’s gag reflex and he fought to keep his stomach contents down.
“Come on, buddy, we need to get out of here.”
Blue Spekter slid his arms behind the man’s back and under his legs, noting how cool the man felt. The man didn’t respond as Blue Spekter hefted his dead weight out of the small car and carried him over to the police officer. He placed the man on the ground in front of the officer. Behind him, the sports car made a sizzling sound as more sparks shot out from the engine.
“I’ll be right back,” Blue Spekter said. He approached the burning cars, raised his hands, and blasted the vehicles with water, making sure to rip off the sports car’s hood and douse the engine. The hot metal popped and hissed as white clouds of steam violently puffed into the air, eventually replacing the black, acrid smoke.
The Rise of Dark Flame Page 6