The Rise of Dark Flame

by Damien Benoit-Ledoux

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see,” David answered. “There’s nothing I can really say to convince you otherwise.”

  Quinn nodded. “Yup.”

  “Actually, maybe there is, son. It takes three of us to fly and operate this plane. We have to trust one another each time we fly and perform midair refueling operations and whenever something goes wrong—which is almost never. However, as you know, something went really wrong weeks back and you showed up out of the blue, no pun intended. We had to trust you were there to help and not make things worse. Then, we had to hope and pray you could work with our team and understand what we and the fighter pilots were trying to communicate with you, and you did. Shit, son, you landed the plane safely!”

  “Now who’s swearing?”

  “Touché. My point is, I’m on your team, Blue Spekter. I’ve paid attention to the news and followed your actions. You save people. I think you can do a lot of good in this world, and I want to see you succeed.”

  Let’s see how serious you really are. Quinn looked the man in the eye. “There’s a storm coming, David. I’m not the only super-powered person. There’s another like me…my best friend, well ex-best friend…we got our powers back in September.”

  “Really?” David exclaimed, interested in what Quinn shared.

  “To make a long story short, he now works for the people who own the technology that accidentally awakened our powers. That organization has motives and goals I know are evil—but they’re the kind of people who don’t want to be found and are very difficult to find. In fact, I just discovered their secret base the other day, right here in Portsmouth. They’re lurking, simmering all around us waiting for the right moment; they’ve infiltrated various levels of leadership and well, when the storm comes…I’m going to stop them.”

  David stared at him with confusion and suspicion. “Uh…”

  “Sounds like a video game or a James Bond movie, huh? One massive, crazy kid’s conspiracy theory, right?”

  “It is a bit much to take in,” David answered, nodding.

  “So is this,” Quinn answered, making his eyes glow blue. He raised his right hand and created a perfectly round ball of crystal-clear ice.

  David stared at it with awe. “And what exactly does this organization want to do?”

  Quinn shut off his eyes and handed the ice ball to David, who took it and rotated the cold orb in his hand. “They have the ability to manipulate the weather. They can create storms, drought…whatever they want whenever they want…I even think wherever they want. If that’s not bad enough, it’s only a matter of time before they reverse engineer the accident that created us. Do you understand what that means?”

  The captain shifted his stance. “They could make other people like you?”

  “Worse…they could make an army of super-powered people like me—but of people who might not want to help others like I want to.”

  David whistled low in surprise.

  Quinn felt himself become defensive, yet emboldened. “So, in a nutshell, that’s what I’m up against, David, along with a government who wants to capture me and turn me inside-out. That’s why no one can know who I am; my family and friends wouldn’t be safe if people knew who I was. Unlike you, I don’t have a team, so if you really mean what you say, you need to understand the mixed-up world I’ve been thrown into. I’d give anything to go back to my old life, but I can’t. So, David, understand that being on my team is about saving the world from people who want to destroy it, but if you’re going to contribute to my nightmare, tell me right now and I’ll fly away.”

  David nodded, reached into his pocket, and produced a business card. “Here. If you ever need my help, call me. I’m not only a Stratotanker pilot. My unique division has access to a lot more than you’d expect.”

  “Like what?”

  David cleared his throat and looked around, then answered in a low voice. “Like really, really smart computer people. When you call me, simply say, ‘Hi, we’ve met before.’ I’ll know it’s you and I’ll get back to Pease as quickly as I can.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow with curiosity. Quinn took the business card from the captain and shook his hand. “Welcome to the team.”

  “How many are on this team?” he asked.

  Quinn shrugged. “Now we’re three.”

  “And does this team have a name?”

  “Not yet.”

  6 | Leveling Up

  Blake

  Blake ran through the cold night, wearing his new purple super suit bottoms as running tights so they would stretch a little and adjust to his physique. He pushed himself hard, but not enough to trigger his super speed powers. His body’s muscle structure had improved and filled out over the past few weeks—a direct result of the orgone energy infusion—and he had splurged on a shopping spree to buy new clothes that fit over his much broader shoulders and thicker muscles. Not that he minded, of course; he looked good and several girls and a couple guys at school took notice, offering him compliments despite his withdrawn attitude.

  Physical exertion from running and mental anguish over his lack of progress within The Order soaked the dark fitness hoodie he wore with sweat, but he didn’t care. Weeks beyond his proven loyalty to Victor, when he viciously turned his back on his best friend, he found himself no closer to learning anything important or critical about The Order’s true nature or Victor’s plans for him. Instead, Victor insisted he receive various kinds of physical and combat training that Blake considered beneath him. His patience with Victor and The Order, he felt, was quickly approaching an impasse.

  A gunshot rang out in the distance and he jerked his head to the right to look behind him. Seeing nothing, he turned back, but it was too late.

  His sneaker slipped into a large crack in the asphalt and he tripped. Panic set in as he lost his balance and tumbled forward, extending his hands to catch his fall. Instead, he glided through the air in a prone position.

  “What the hell? Am I…” he said aloud, but stopped short, afraid of jinxing the moment.

  Can I finally fly?

  He looked ahead and thought about moving faster; a moment later, his body responded and he accelerated, flying a foot over the road’s asphalt surface. He, laughed, his eyes suddenly blazing bright orange as he veered left and right, zig-zagging down the empty street.

  Climb!

  He willed himself upward into the sky, but at the last second saw power lines in his path that crossed over the road.

  “Oh shit!” he exclaimed, putting his hands in front of his face, his body reflexively curling into a defensive ball.

  His right arm touched one of the wires as his body stopped ascending. His torso reverse-somersaulted and his feet swung up in front of him. His left shin touched a second wire and electricity arced between his hand and his knee. The powerful shock spun him to the right. Out of control, gravity took over and pulled him to the ground where he landed with a thud on his buttocks and back.

  “Ow,” he said softly, fading into unconsciousness.

  Several minutes later, the smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils and he lifted his right hand up to look at it. His now-black right hand and his left shin felt itchy as the skin cells regenerated from the electrical burn. The back of his head also throbbed like a hypertension headache, but a series of small, sharp pains made him wince. He rubbed his temples and looked up at the overhead power lines and frowned. A few feet away, tree branches extended across the road.

  Oh man, let’s not do that again. Mental note; watch out for power lines and tree branches at night.

  Moments later, when he felt better, he took a deep breath and slowly sat up. Nothing felt out of place except for the dull pain in his head, so pushed up from the ground and then walked out from under the power lines.

  Please work…

  He closed his eyes and focused, imagining himself lifting off the ground. Then, his eyes blazing and his body glowing, he slowly ascended.

  Fuck yeah!

>   Raising his right hand above his head, he avoided the power lines and flew straight up, watching Kittery fall away beneath him. He turned and looked out to the Piscataqua River Bridge and the harbor, admiring the unique view.

  “I’m flying!” he shouted, laughing into the night sky.

  He pushed forward and aimed for the arch of the bridge, but he strained to ascend to the apex.

  Come on, damn it, fly up!

  He stalled out just over the road deck of the bridge and hovered in the air.

  Seriously?

  He shouted and put his fist up, willing himself to fly up to the top of the bridge, but he only ascended another foot.

  This must be one of those powers that grows with time…

  He faced the ocean and stared at the various night lights on the ground. I wonder how fast I can go…

  Turning around and leaning forward, he pushed through the cold night air with his mind and his body responded. He grinned and moved as fast as he could, flying upriver toward Dover. Orange light streaked behind him as he accelerated, but he knew he wasn’t flying as fast as Quinn could fly.

  I have telekinesis, fire, and now flight…there’s nothing Victor or Quinn can do to stop me. Speaking of Victor…I’m going to keep this little secret to myself. He doesn’t need to know everything, especially if I’m going to put him out of a job.

  ❖

  The next morning, Blake parked his BMW and walked to the main entrance of the facility, curiously watching Radoslav and a few other agents load the tortured, dead man’s body—now dressed in a bloody green T-shirt—into the driver’s seat of a black sports car. Blake shrugged it off and made his way through security to Victor’s office. Sometimes it’s better not knowing what that man does.

  Inside the office area, Blake paused and leaned against the wall outside Victor’s office. He grabbed his head with his hands and closed his eyes. It still hurt—like it had all night and morning—from the previous night’s electrical shock, and he rubbed his temples in an effort to alleviate the pain that radiated from the back of his skull. He took a deep breath and then knocked on the frame of Victor’s open doorway. “Hey, I saw your text. You had a question for me?” he asked.

  “Hi, Blake. Sorry to call you in on a Sunday afternoon. I hope I didn’t disrupt your plans. Um…are you okay?”

  Blake shrugged. “Nah, I just, um, I have a date in a few minutes in Portsmouth and I have a wicked tension headache.” He rubbed the back of his head and the top of his neck with his left hand.

  Victor smiled. “Ah, sorry about that. Must be nerves. Congratulations though. I’ll be quick. I have a rather strange question for you.”

  “Shoot.” He walked up to Victor’s desk and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Victor leaned back in his chair. “Were you in the facility last night after we left?”

  Blake shook his head and rubbed it again. “No, why?” Crap, did someone see me flying around?

  “The reactor’s monitors detected several dips in orgone conversion. We usually observe that variance when you walk through the reactor core. Your body must automatically absorb orgone when it’s abundant in high concentrations.”

  “It does.”

  Victor’s lips squished together. “The only other times we detected the same variance is whenever you and Quinn entered the reactor core at Rangeley. Of course, once your super-powered fight destroyed the control room…we could no longer monitor the situation.”

  “I wasn’t in here last night.”

  “So, if you weren’t in here…”

  “No, stop,” Blake said sharply, surprising himself. He winced at the pain at the back of his head.

  Victor frowned and looked at him.

  Blake swallowed and noticed he was sweating. “Sorry, but I know what you’re going to say. You think Quinn was in the facility last night. What about the cameras?”

  “The camera feeds are clean, but Quinn can become invisible…what you and he apparently can’t stop is the involuntary orgone absorption. However, we can detect it because the variation is outside the normal passive collection range. This serves as a sharp warning to us all; the enemy could be within our gates at any moment.”

  Blake shook his head again. “I’d sense him if he were in or near the building—especially since I sensed him out on the Thomas Laighton, which is beyond the facility’s walls and the island’s coastline.”

  “You have a point, but if you didn’t return after we left that night, then Quinn was in the facility.” Victor answered, nodding firmly.

  “Want me to confront him?”

  “No, I’d rather he remains unaware that we detected his presence. The less he knows, the better.”

  “Okay.”

  “All right, enough of that topic. I have an unusual task I’d like you to do. I want you to go into Boston with Radoslav this coming Saturday.”

  The creepy guy? Blake winced. “Radoslav? Why?”

  “I suspect the incident yesterday with the prisoner bothered you. Am I right?”

  Blake shrugged and played it down. “Yeah, but I’m over it. It’s okay.”

  Victor smirked. “Great. I want you to see why we do what we do. He’ll show you another side of life that doesn’t exist in quaint Portsmouth, one you’ve only seen in movies but is very, very real.”

  “Uh, okay.” I’ll play another one of your games for now. Radoslav intrigues me and I want to know how he fits into the puzzle.

  “One more thing. Where you will be going, Radoslav is not necessarily welcome. The only way I could convince him to agree to this task is the promise I made on your behalf; that you would protect him should anything unpleasant arise.”

  “Do you think it will come down to that?” Blake asked, stretching his neck.

  Victor looked at him and smiled. “I absolutely do.”

  Blake smiled wickedly. “Cool.” Then Saturday can’t come fast enough.

  ❖

  That afternoon, Blake drove down Court Street, wincing when he briefly sensed Quinn in Market Square. He steered his coupe into the Strawberry Banke parking lot and nosed into a spot, careful to leave plenty of room on either side of the car. He stepped out and remote-locked the car behind him as he walked across Marcy Street, sipping a pumpkin spiced latte. He carried a second one in his other hand. It was cold by the river, so he carefully zipped up his jacket without spilling the lattes.

  “Nice car. Who’d you steal it from?” a familiar voice asked.

  Blake rolled his eyes and ignored Darien. Why does he always seem to catch me when I’m at the park?

  “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Darien barked.

  “And I’m not talking to you,” Blake retorted, refusing to look at the bully. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, or I’d smash your face in right now. Fuck off.”

  “Whoa, easy, asshole. Seriously, where’d you get the car? Your parents can’t afford that.”

  “What do you know about my parents?” Blake snapped, whipping around with anger. He winced when the constant pain in his head flashed across the back of his skull. Now, it felt like someone stabbing the back of his head with a dull knife.

  Darien put his hands up in surrender. “Duh, our dads are drinking buddies. That tells me more than enough.”

  Seriously? How did I not know this? Blake snorted and stared at Darien. “At least your parents seem to care about you.”

  “Not really,” Darien answered, lowering his hands.

  If our parents are friends, then you probably know I ran away.

  “You’re different now. You’ve got new clothes, a sweet jacket, that fancy car, and a new, I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude to go along with it. And, let’s not forget you stopped hanging out with Quinn at school.”

  “Awww, Darien, thanks for paying attention to my life. It sounds like you have a crush on me, but I like girls.” Blake responded, smirking.

  Darien clutched the phone in his hand tightly. “I do not!”

  “Like girls?”
Blake added, as if finishing Darien’s incomplete sentence.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His hands tightened into fists.

  Blake chuckled. “Why do you care so much about my life all of a sudden? You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass to Quinn over the past two years and you started treating me like shit this year. Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been stalking me and conveniently showing up whenever I’m in the park.”

  Darien snorted with disgust. “Why do you care about your little faggot friend and…”

  “We’re not friends anymore, and don’t call him faggot.” Blake interjected, feeling a tinge of regret in his soul. The pain in his head spasmed again and he groaned a little.

  “Oh, that explains a lot.” Darien said as his brain made connections about their fallout. Then, he smiled wickedly and asked, “So, you won’t care if I still pick on him, right?”

  “You will not,” Blake hissed. He raised the second latte, and gently swiped at the air between them—but that was a distraction. At the same time, Blake reached out with his mind and smacked Darien’s phone out of his hand. It fell to the ground with a sharp cracking sound.

  Darien swore and looked at Blake, his eyes narrowing in anger.

  Kill him.

  In a flash, Blake pounced on Darien and turned, nailing him in the gut with his elbow, all the while careful not to spill the coffees in his hands.

  No, don’t kill him.

  With the wind knocked out of him, Darien doubled over and staggered back, glaring at Blake while struggling to stand and breathe, unsure if another attack was coming.

  Blake stood tall, squared off his shoulders, and leaned forward. “If you ever threaten me, Quinn, Keegan, or anyone else at school, I’ll make sure you suffer. Your phone won’t be the only thing that’s broken. Understand?”

  “You’re an asshole, Blake!”

  Blake coiled his arm back, threatening to strike with the pumpkin spice latte.

  “Fine, fine!” Darien wheezed, raising an arm to protect his face while cowering. He eyed the lattes briefly, then lowered his arm when he saw Blake back off.