Other People's Heroes (The Heroes of Siegel City)

by Petit, Blake M.

  “Josh! Fall back!”

  Trusting my partner implicitly, I fell away. Hotshot leapt at the Gunk, holding a five-dollar, spire-topped model of Simon Tower. He drove it into the center of the proud Lion emblem on the shapeshifter’s chest, then pounded it in further with both fists. When he dove out of the way I saw that the model was glowing.

  “Hit the deck!” he screamed. Just as I managed to fall to the floor and cover my face, the model blew, spraying the entire gift shop with orange slime.

  I looked up to see that the bottom half of the Gunk’s Lionheart-body was still intact, black boots and all. From the waist up, though, drooped a skeleton dripping in goo, flailing about like a marionette having a seizure.

  “Did that stop him?” Hotshot moaned, not really looking.

  “Slowed him down,” I said as the slime began to creep back in towards the skeleton. “I don’t really think you can kill a shapeshifter like that. He’s already starting to re-form.”

  “Okay, that’s it, we’re out of here.” Hotshot charged up a ceiling tile and blew open a hole to the roof.

  “Wait, why don’t we just wait for someone to show up and see him?” I asked.

  “He’s probably using Mental Maid to keep anyone from coming until he’s reformed!” Hotshot shouted. “Don’t you feel the urge to run away?”

  “Yeah, but I doubt that has anything to do with Mental Maid,” I said. “Let’s blow.”

  We flew up through the hole (Gunk had only reformed about an inch of his torso by then) and were about to blast into the sky when we got hit by the sound of a rising, sorrowful chorus.

  “I can’t let you go anywhere,” the Conductor said. He was sitting on the rail with his arms crossed and his eyes blazing.

  “Aw, geez, not you too, Ted,” I said, landing by my friend. “You know me! Do you really think I’m capable of this?”

  “I thought I knew you!”

  “Just go look in that hole! You’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  For a second he looked like he was going to do it, but then he scowled and muttered, “I don’t want to.”

  I cursed. “Do you really think you can stop us, Ted?” I asked. This was a foolish thing, because at that moment he cranked the volume on the choir up to ear-splitting and both Hotshot and I fell to our knees, clutching our heads.

  “Okay, okay!” I believe you can stop us!”

  The music fell back down to tolerable levels. Ted’s voice was still loud.

  “You’re rabbiting, Josh! Didn’t I tell you that’s as good as an admission of guilt?”

  “Not this time, Ted! Not any time! Come on, I’ve got to get out of here so we can find a way to prove I’m innocent. I trust you Ted. You know you can trust me. Please, please trust me now.”

  He exhaled and closed his eyes.

  “Go.”

  “Really?”

  “I couldn’t stop you. You were too fast for me. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

  “Thank y--”

  “Go!”

  Hotshot and I only spared a glance for Ted, who looked more enraged and confused than anyone I’d ever seen before. With a silent prayer, we rose into the night and left him behind.

  RABBIT

  The phone rang about six times before a connection was made on the other end. Rather than the angelic female voice I’d hoped to hear, though, I got a horny teenage boy muttering, “--me alone, Tom, who’d be calling you?” Then in an artificially deepened voice he said, “Hello, Heather?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Quentin,” I said. “It’s Josh Corwood. You know, Annie’s friend. Is she there?”

  “Oh,” he muttered, not even attempting to mask the disappointment in his voice. “Nah, she’s not here.”

  I cursed mentally and said, “Hey, let me talk to Tom.”

  Quentin snorted into the phone. “Whatever.” Then, his mouth away from the receiver, “he wants to talk to you mushbrain.”

  There were sounds of a brief tousle on the end and finally I heard Tom asking, “Hello?”

  “Tom? It’s Josh.”

  “Josh! Hey, how’re you doing?”

  “I’m okay buddy. Look, can you tell me where your sister is? It’s kind of important.”

  “Sorry, I don’t know,” he said. “When she got home this afternoon she was all upset and crying and stuff. Mom took her out somewhere.” Then he fell to a hush and I could just picture him in the living room, eyes darting from side to side to make sure no one was watching. “I think she broke up with that creep Todd,” he hissed, his voice equal parts informative and suggestive.

  “Yeah,” I said, “I think I heard that somewhere. Look, I don’t suppose you have any idea where she went or what time she’s coming back.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Do you at least know if she’s okay?”

  The other end grew silent for a moment and I heard a sharp breath. “Yeah,” Tom finally said. “She’s fine right now.”

  I shook off the strangeness of his reply -- I didn’t have time to dissect it. “Okay. Look, do me a favor, if you see her don’t tell her I called. I’ll catch up with her later.”

  “I’ll keep quiet, but what about Quentin?”

  “Are you still on the phone?” a cranky voice bellowed.

  “I think his mind is probably on other things,” I said. “Thanks, buddy. Good-bye.”

  I hung up the pay phone – I didn’t dare use my cell, Particle could track that effortlessly. Next to me Hotshot frowned and said, “No luck?”

  “None. Dammit, if there were anybody I’m sure I could convince of my innocence--”

  “We’ll find somebody. But for now, let’s get moving. We’re not exactly the most inconspicuous fellas on the face of the Earth.”

  That was an understatement. We’d pulled our masks off, tucked our capes away and put on a couple of castoff jackets we dug out of a goodwill dumpster. In other words, we may as well have been wearing a neon sign reading, “Trying not to be noticed.”

  “Where do you think we should go? I’ve got an apartment--”

  “Probably the first place they’d check,” Hotshot said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Hey, wait a minute, how thoroughly would they check it?”

  “Pretty well. Why?”

  “Crap. I need to make another phone call -- you more change?”

  He dug into his pockets. “Here. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I hope.” I dropped the change into the phone and pounded the keys. It rang once, then waited a supernaturally long time before ringing again. Then another excruciating pause before the third ring, when it was finally picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Sheila, it’s Josh.”

  “Josh? What’s going on? You’re all over the news! There’s a manhunt for Copycat and Lionheart just rose from the freaking dead or something and--”

  “Sheila! I can’t talk long, just listen. First of all, that’s not Lionheart. Second, remember when I told you never to break into my apartment again?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you to break into my apartment again.”

  I saw a flash in the sky that got me very nervous. “I need you to break in, find my notebook -- you know which notebook -- and destroy it. Shred it, burn it, eat it, but don’t leave a scrap of paper big enough to read so much as a vowel, you understand?”

  “Well no, but--”

  “Gotta go.” I hung up and looked at Hotshot. “Did you just see what I saw?”

  “What did you see?”

  I stepped out of the phone book and pointed to the sky. “That.”

  Spectrum was lancing through the sky over the streetcorner we occupied. At first I wasn’t sure if he saw us or not. Then I decided he’d absolutely seen us and I was wondering if he realized who we were. This question was answered a few seconds later when a laser blast sizzled past my head and melted a hole the size of a silver dollar in the brick wall next to the phone.

&nb
sp; “I think he may have noticed us,” I said.

  We shed our trenchcoats and blasted into the sky, yanking our masks into place. Another blast ripped at the air between us and we both tore off, giving Spectrum two targets to concentrate on.

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you I’m innocent, would it?” I asked.

  “I’ve never met the man who admitted his own guilt,” Spectrum said.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” Then, taking a cue from First Light, I took his light-manipulation powers and turned them back on him, flashing his face with a high-intensity beam of pure white light. For a moment I shuddered to think how much it looked like the Soul Ray. The beam hit him square in the eyes, but he didn’t even flinch.

  “Copycat, I’m king of light manipulation!” he shouted. “Do you really think you could get me that way?”

  I dodged another blast and looked around for Hotshot, who was buzzing the rooftops with his arms extended out from his sides, like a flying cross laid flat. “Hey!” I shouted, “a little help here?”

  “You’re fighting too literally, kid!” he shouted. I think he said something else, too, but I lost track of what it was when a laser clipped my shoulder. My largely-insulated suit protected me a bit, but I would still have to treat at least a second-degree burn there.

  I spun in the air and aimed my good right first at Spectrum’s jaw. Hotshot shouted something else, but again I missed it.

  “Sorry, Scott!” I said, bumping up my speed so it would hopefully be enough to take him out. My fist made contact with his chin, right where I aimed it.

  Then it passed through his chin.

  Then, unable to stop in time, my entire body passed through his entire body.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you, kid!” Hotshot shouted. “Spectrum controls light-rays! That doesn’t mean he can fly! He turns himself invisible during a fight and projects himself into the sky! You’re fighting a hologram, the real Spectrum is on one of these rooftops!”

  I thought about how Spectrum’s power must work -- he was bending light rays around himself so that Hotshot and I couldn’t see him. But I had his light-bending powers. Dodging the occasional laser-burst projected from the hologram (I guess he was able to concentrate light from any point) I felt the light-rays in the area, trying to find a disturbance, a spot where the rays bent.

  “There!” I shouted, pointing at the roof next to the one Hotshot was strafing. I tried to restore the bent rays to their natural position, but Spectrum fought me. He began flickering in and out, which only made him that much more noticeable.

  Hotshot took my direction and charged Spectrum’s real body, slamming him hard. The hologram vanished and Spectrum clicked solidly into view.

  “Dammit, Copycat is innocent!” Hotshot was shouting as I landed. “Do you really thing I’d have broken him out if he wasn’t?”

  “‘Lionheart’ has you all snowed,” I said.

  “You’re insane!” Spectrum wrenched himself from Hotshot and sent out a flash that temporarily blinded us both. When my eyes cleared there were dozens of Spectrums standing on the rooftop.

  “That one,” I said, pointing to the only one that didn’t feel artificial. Hotshot slammed him again and this time he went down fast.

  “Hey, ‘Shot! I think I see the Arachnid headed this way. Is he holding a camera?”

  “Don’t ask. I’m really getting tired of fighting my friends.”

  “We won’t have to,” I said. “Is Spectrum still woozy?”

  “Yeah, I slammed him good.”

  “Then just stay quiet.”

  When the Arachnid crested the building a minute later, he didn’t find a beaten Spectrum and two fugitives. He found me, a Spectrum hologram wrapped around my body, while the real Spectrum and Hotshot lay invisible.

  “Did you see them?” he asked.

  “They got my shoulder,” I said clutching the wounded one. “I’m going in to get patched up. They’re headed towards Barks Plaza.”

  “Got it,” Arachnid said, and he skittered away.

  “Neat trick,” Hotshot said. I dropped the hologram and the invisibility shield. Spectrum, groggy, lifted his head.

  “You won’ get away,” he moaned. “Why’re you doin’ this?”

  “You’ll thank us later,” I said, and we both took off, leaving him there.

  “He’s right about one thing, Josh,” Hotshot said. “We can’t run forever. We can’t even leave the city thanks to Mental Maid.”

  “Morrie,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. We need some place we can stop and think. Do you know of anywhere we can go?”

  “Maybe... no. That woman’s been through enough. Only as a last resort. Is there anyone you trust to hide us for a while?”

  I thought about it for a long moment. “Yeah,” I said. “There just might be.”

  JUST THOUGHT WE’D DROP IN

  I hovered outside the window of Annie’s brownstone, my mask yanked down away from my face. “Are you sure this is going to work?” Hotshot asked, drifting above me and constantly glancing about for incoming Capes.

  “Have you got a better idea?” I hissed. “Look, Tom’s a good kid, okay. I’d trust him with my life.”

  “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to be around when Miss Sinistah gets back?”

  “Give me a little credit, will you?” I glanced in the window to see Tom sitting at his desk, shuffling through a deck of Cape and Mask cards. Quentin, I gratefully noted, was nowhere to be seen. Softly, hopefully light enough so that only Tom would hear it, I tapped on the glass.

  “Josh?” he said, opening the window. “What are you doing out there?”

  “I need some help, man! Can I come in?”

  “But you’re -- in the air, and... um... I guess so.”

  “Great,” I said, drifting in the window. “Oh, by the way, I brought a friend.”

  My partner glided in and landed. “Hi, Tom.”

  “Hotshot! And Josh... you’re Copycat? But... you’re not dead!”

  “Thanks for noticing. Long story, man.”

  “The guy on the news said you two were wanted. He gave us a number to call--”

  “Not this again. Don’t you trust me, Tom?”

  “I... I thought I did, but--”

  “Tom. I saved your life, for God’s sake!”

  “No you didn’t!”

  “I did. Tom, that was me in the Shift costume.”

  His face wrapped up in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”

  “It’s not. Look, get that ‘Shift’ card you got autographed, I’ll prove it to you.”

  As Tom dug the card out of his binder I grabbed a scrap of paper and a pencil from his desk. “Watch,” I said, my hand trembling. I’d never had the most consistent handwriting. I hoped it would be enough now.

  “There,” I said, shoving the paper next to the card. I’d written “Shift” on it, copying my earlier autograph as accurately as I could. Tom’s eyes bulged.

  “You are Shift!” he shouted. “Oh my God this is so cool I knew you weren’t really a bad guy what’s going on have you been framed yeah I’ll bet that’s it are you on the run do you need help what can I do?”

  “Whoa, Tom! Slow down. And no more coffee for you. Is your sister home yet?”

  “Naw, she and mom are still gone. And Quentin went to his girl-friend’s house.” His eyes suddenly lit up all over again. “Annie! She’s a Cape too, isn’t she? I knew it! I knew she was Glamour Girl!”

  “Um... not quite. Look, I’ll explain everything, I promise, but let me use the phone first, okay?”

  “Oh... all right.”

  I picked up the phone (which was next to Quentin’s bed) and dialed Sheila’s number. Tom started offering Hotshot food -- everything from fruit to pot roast. Finally Hotshot agreed to a peanut butter sandwich just to get the kid out of the room for a few minutes.

  “Excitable sort, isn’t he?”

  “Ye
ah,” I said, putting the phone down, “but he’s a good one. No answer from Sheila -- she must still be at my place.”

  “Unless they found her there,” Hotshot added.

  “So what’s our next move?” I asked.

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” he said. “We should be safe enough for now, but it’s really only a matter of time before they find us.”

  “So how do I prove I was telling the truth? Blow the Gunk up in front of everyone?”

  “That’ll be tough, getting close to him now,” Hotshot said.

  “Yeah, I know. God, it’s just so frustrating to think about that son of a bitch traipsing around wearing Lionheart’s face.”

  “But how do we expose the Gunk?”

  “Freeze him?”

  “Icebergg isn’t around to copy powers from, remember?”

  “Cut him up?”

  “He’s got an army to keep us from getting that close.”

  “Filling his shower with hydrochloric acid?”

  “Tempting... no, how do we get back in there, get close to him, without looking like we’re trying to assassinate Lionheart?”

  There was a crash and we both turned our attention to the doorway, where Tom stood over a broken plate with a thick peanut butter sandwich and an empty glass surrounded by a pool of milk with so much chocolate powder in it there was sludge at the bottom.

  “You’re going to assassinate Lionheart?” Tom gasped.

  “No! Tom, it’s not like that,” Hotshot said, but Tom pulled back, shouting directly in his face.

  “You’re going to try to kill Lionheart! Get him, Josh! Stop him!”

  I let out an exhausted sigh. “You’ve got to trust me, Tom. That guy you saw on the news is not Lionheart. He’s a Mask and he’s hurt a lot of good people. We’re running away so we can figure out a way to stop him.”