“Get some rest. Go to the med wing and have your ribs looked at, Daystar,” Portia said as she headed toward the other elevator.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Uh huh,” she said as she walked into the elevator. She turned and crossed her arms. “Go to the med wing,” she told me. The doors closed, and I rolled my eyes.
“So are you going or are we going to have to drag you kicking and screaming to get them looked at?”Amy asked.
“Ugh. You too?”
“I’m just watching my own ass here. If you’re too messed up, I might actually have to fight something. Who needs it?” she asked with a grin.
“Fine. I’m going.”
One trip to the med wing showed that I had a couple of hairline fractures and to stay in bed at least over night. After the observations they’d made when I was hospitalized after my fight with Maddoc, they’d realized that I had some accelerated healing. Not like what Connor had, where cuts would heal as I watched, as if he’d never been injured at all. But I healed faster than a non-powered person; most of us seemed to, actually. Once I was finished with that, I stumbled up to my suite, showered and fell into bed. After calling to check in on Mama, I drifted off into a fitful sleep full of nightmares about super villains and my mother and Connor and blood on my hands.
Chapter Five
I was patrolling, my second shift of the day. I’d finished my early morning run with Caine, and then Dani had begged me to fill in for her during her shift with Portia, and, like a complete pushover, I agreed. Really, it wasn’t so bad, especially times like this, when I was flying over Midtown, looking down at the Wayne State campus and the main branch of the library. Portia was in the minijet, covering her part of our patrol zone while keeping in pretty steady contact with me. StrikeForce had this part of our job, at least, pretty much down to a science. We’d meet first thing in the morning, and Portia would split up the city, giving us each an area to patrol. I flew over mine, but the rest of the team managed with the small, agile helicopters and hoverjets that Alpha had purchased when he’d first started the team. David, Jenson, and Caine, as well as Portia, all knew how to fly them, so they’d fly them when we needed it. I was grateful every shift for my flying ability; I hated being in the jet with Caine, and I usually only rode with him when we had a prisoner we needed to transport.
Of course, I usually ended up going out on calls even when it wasn’t my shift, like today. Me, or Caine, since we both had the highest strength on the team. David was out a lot, too. Even though he wasn’t quite as strong as us, he was close, and he made up for any lack of strength with his smarts and tech.
I flew over the Detroit Medical Center, where Mama worked, and remembered that I needed to call her later, then I maneuvered back toward Wayne State. I circled over it a few times, barely noting the phones held up to film me, the calls of “Daystar! Down here!” People loved taking selfies with Portia and the others, and I guess Alpha had been big on having his photo taken, but that’s just not something I do. I would feel like an asshole.
I was about to circle back and start checking around the art museum and library when I saw dark smoke rising from one of the few remaining houses near the university. Just off of the freeway, there was a block of rickety-looking old houses, usually split up into quads. One of them, a large house with chipping white paint on its clapboard sidings, was spouting smoke from its second-story windows. There was a fire truck on the scene, an ambulance, and two Detroit Police squad cars. I came in for a landing. House fires and other emergencies weren’t technically our problem, but pretty much all of us stopped to see if we could help or not. I guess it’s not like that in other cities. Most have pretty strict rules about what super teams can get involved in, and usually it has nothing at all to do with “normal” people. Super people, for the most part, only deal with other super people. But not here. I wonder if that will change eventually, but I kind of hope not.
I mean, what’s the point of having a team of people who can handle all kinds of crazy shit if they aren’t there to help with the less-crazy stuff as well?
I looked toward the house. A woman was on the front lawn, being held back by two officers. I walked toward them, and one of the officers, a woman who reminded me immediately of Angela Bassett, looked relieved.
“We were just about to put in a call to StrikeForce,” she said.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“My baby!” the woman they were holding back screamed, trying again to get free and get at the house.
“There’s an eleven year old girl in there. Won’t come out. One of yours,” the older male officer said.
“One of mine?”
“One of you super people. The fire doesn’t seem to be bothering her,” the female officer explained, still holding the other woman back.
“Who started the fire?”
“The girl,” she answered, and I nodded.
I locked my eyes with the woman who was struggling with the officers, who was watching me with desperation in her eyes. “I’ll go get her. Okay?”
She nodded, eyes wide, still terrified.
“Where was she in the house? What floor?” I asked her.
“Second floor. Her room’s the one in front. She was in the hallway outside her room last I saw. I thought she was running out right behind me,” she said, and then she slumped, weeping. I exchanged a glance with the female officer, then walked toward the house. The front door was hanging open. I pressed a button at the side of my mask, one of the many that made my mask much more than just a disguise. There was night vision for my eyes, noise-reduction settings for situations like when we’d first come across Dani and her screaming powers. The other setting was an air filter, for situations just like this one: I could keep breathing, even in the worst of air quality.
I walked into the dark, smoky house. I could hear the crackle of flames just above me, and I took a breath, sending a silent prayer that the house wouldn’t come tumbling down with me in it. I mean, I’d live, probably, but I had a feeling it would hurt.
I took the steps two at a time.
“Hello? Anyone here? I’m from StrikeForce. I’m here to help you,” I called. I turned at the top of the stairs. I couldn’t see down the hallway, black smoke thick around me. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”
“Yes I am!” a girl’s voice called out, desperate. Afraid.
“I have a feeling you didn’t do this on purpose,” I said. Christ. Eleven years old. I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to get my powers at that age. I’d been in my mid twenties, and it had still totally messed with my head, this idea of having powers. Granted, I’d been more than happy to have them, but it still didn’t feel real. And it screwed with your body, your moods. It was hard to explain, other than you just feel off, unless you use your powers. I had a sneaking suspicion this girl had probably been feeling that for a while, and then her powers had loosed themselves, whether she meant to use them or not.
“I didn’t,” she said.
“I know. You can’t stay in here. Your mom’s worried about you, and this whole place is going to fall down soon if this fire doesn’t get put out. The flames might not bother you, but a house falling on you definitely will.”
“They’re gonna lock me up,” she wept.
“No. They’re not going to lock you up. Come on. You gotta help me get out of here.”
I was holding my hands out in front of me, stepping forward slowly through the black smoke. I felt a brush of someone against my hand, and tried to reach out and grab her, but then I heard footsteps, running to my left, into one of the front bedrooms.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered. “Do you want to die here?”
“Maybe!”
I felt my way across the wall until I came to the doorway I assumed she’d run through. I’d taken two steps into the room when I heard the house start creaking ominously.
The floor shifted beneath my feet, and I rose up into the air, jus
t a bit, to keep from falling through if the floor gave.
“Help me here, okay?”
“Just go!”
She was somewhere to my right. If I could just keep her talking, I could probably figure out where she was and grab her.
“You didn’t do this on purpose. Everyone knows that. You’re not in trouble,” I said.
“Oh, bull shit, lady. My mom is gonna kill me.”
“She is not,” I said. “And watch your language, kid.”
“Just leave!” she shouted.
There. I caught a quick glimpse of her moving through the smoke, past me, trying to make her way out to the hallway. I lunged, tackled her around the waist, and she screeched in surprise.
“Time to go,” I muttered. I held tightly to her as she shouted at me and flailed, trying to get loose. I could just make out the light across the room that indicated where the windows were. I flew toward them, turning around at the last minute so I hit the glass panes with my back, shielding the girl from the flying shards of glass the best I could. Once we were out, it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. I could hear shouts below us, applause. I circled around quickly then came in for a landing, trying to land as gently as possible with the girl in my arms. I saw Portia, Jenson, and Amy standing with the officers and the girl’s mother. I held onto the girl’s arm as I led her over to them.
The firefighters started spraying down the flames near the front of the house. A small crowd had gathered, and they inched forward, trying to hear what we were saying, trying to get photos of me and the girl.
“If you take her photo, I will break your phone. And then I’ll break your face,” I snarled at them, and they backed off, quickly lowering their phones. The girl looked up at me in surprise. She looked even younger than I remember looking at eleven; thin, petite, with her hair done in long, thin braids. Her face and clothing were stained with dark soot, and her big brown eyes were wide. Fearful. Any attitude she’d had in the house had faded once we’d reached the outside.
“You don’t sound like a superhero,” she said.
“Probably not,” I agreed. I greeted her mother with a nod, watching as she wrapped the girl in her arms, crying, thanking God that she was safe.
“Mom says she set the fire,” the female cop said, nodding toward the girl. “That’s you-all’s jurisdiction.”
“What are we supposed to do with her? We don’t deal with kids,” I said.
“Well, we sure the hell can’t do anything with this,” the cop replied. “Our luck, we’d bring her in and she’d try to burn the whole damn station down.”
“She didn’t mean to set the fire,” I argued.
“But she did. She set it, and she stayed in that inferno without a single burn on her. How the hell do you expect us to deal with a mess like that?”
“It’s not a mess,” I said. “She has powers. It’s not exactly unheard-of.”
“Right. And you guys are much better equipped to deal with this than we are, kid or not,” she said. “And that’s what’s going in my report. We handed her off to Daystar of StrikeForce. The End.”
I was about to say something when Portia held her hand up. “Enough,” she said in a quiet but commanding tone. “She’s right. I’m not any happier about it than you are, but this is our responsibility,” she told me. I looked away and crossed my arms.
“Told you they’re gonna lock me up!” the girl said, sounding terrified.
“We are not locking you up,” I said. “We just need to bring you in until we can figure something out. Right?” I asked Portia.
“Exactly. And I was talking to your mom, and she thinks that’s a good idea. Our priority is keeping you and everyone else safe. Okay?”
The girl didn’t answer, standing there sniffling instead.
“What’s your name?” I asked her.
“Darla,” she said after a moment. “And I’m mad at you. Why’d you come after me?”
“Because if I hadn’t, you would have died in there, crushed under what’s left of your house. Is that what you wanted?”
She didn’t answer.
“Is it?” I asked more forcefully.
“No.”
“Okay. I didn’t want that either. I got you out because it’s what we do. We try to help people.”
“My daddy says you’re not very good at it.”
“Well, your daddy’s an a— ”
Jenson cleared her throat loudly.
“Your daddy’s an astute man,” I said, glancing at Jenson, who was shaking her head. “Sometimes, we’re not. But today, we got you out and that’s what matters. And we are not locking you up, and even if they planned on it, I wouldn’t let them. Can you trust me?”
“You promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Mrs. Johnson,” Portia said to Darla’s mother, “we’ll take her to Command now. Do you want to travel with us, or meet us there?”
“Travel with you? Meaning?”
“Either have Daystar fly you or teleport with us,” Portia explained.
Mrs. Johnson looked a little bit green at the prospect. “I’ll just drive over, thanks,” she said. “I want to bring her father with me anyway. We’ll be there soon.”
Portia nodded, then thanked the officers and firemen on the scene. The two police officers each shook my hand, and the firefighting crew asked if I’d take a picture with them. I was about to argue when Jenson said “sure she will. Here. I’ll take it.” There was a crowd of bystanders around now, a good couple dozen or so. They’d pulled up in cars and on bikes. I was starting to get used to that, to the crowds and phones and stupid questions, social media feeds filled with pictures of us, bloggers and live streamers following every possible aspect of our lives. I stood and waited for Jenson to take the stupid picture.
The firefighters thanked her and gathered around me as Jenson stepped back and pointed the firefighter’s phone at us. “Smile!” she said, and they did, leaning in, giving the camera the thumbs-up. I stood stock still, glaring at Jenson through my mask. She couldn’t see it, of course, but by now she knew me well enough to know that I was giving her a death stare.
“There you go,” Jenson said, finishing up and handing the phone back to the firefighter.
“Marry me, Daystar,” one of the firefighters called, and the others whistled.
“You must have a deathwish, man,” I muttered, and the firefighters laughed. “Can we go now?” I asked Portia. She seemed to be hiding a smile, but she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“Sure. Let’s get back to Command.”
“Wait! Daystar, Bill Johnson from the News. I just have a quick question.”
I rolled my eyes and gestured to Portia to get on with getting us out of there.
“I’ve noticed since your fight against Maddoc that your powers seem different. With all due respect, you seem weaker,” the reporter continued.
“Do I?” I asked sarcastically. Portia stood beside me with her hand on Darla’s arm.
“Yes. I’m not the only one to have noticed. You don’t punch the way you used to. It’s like you’re just throwing yourself at your opponents. The theory is that you sustained lasting damage against Maddoc and we’re wondering, quite frankly, how you’re supposed to protect us if you aren’t one hundred percent.”
Portia started to talk and I held my and up, and she want silent. “I actually do have something to say to that, Mr. Greenberg.”
He held his phone out to capture my comment, and I raised each of my middle fingers at him, then raised them a little higher for emphasis, glaring through my mask.
I heard Portia sigh beside me, and she waved at the onlookers, then, in the next moment, she, Jenson, Amy, Darla, and I were standing in the detention facility at Command.
“Nice, Daystar. That was just lovely,” she muttered when we reappeared.
“Oh, come on,” I said when I realized where we were.
&
nbsp; “Just for now. Until we figure this out and her parents get here,” Portia said.
“Told you they were gonna lock me up,” Darla told me.
“They are not.”
“We’re not,” Portia said forcefully. “We’re going to put you in one of these cells to talk to you while we try to figure this out. Okay?”
Darla just rolled her eyes. I was about to say something when Portia gave me a sharp look. I clamped my mouth shut. Even if I did feel like continuing to argue with her, what was there to say? “Oh, just let the cute little firestarter kid go. It’ll be fine.” Even I knew how ridiculous that sounded.
“You won’t be alone in there, okay? One of us will stay with you until your parents get here. Okay?” I said to Darla, and she nodded.
I watched Portia and Amy take Darla toward the women’s wing and was about to follow when Marie came running out of the men’s wing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“That Maddoc asshole. He’s got his hands loose. His feet are still secured, but none of us feel safe going in there to secure him. Portia’s not answering her comm— ”
“She’s busy with something. What about Caine or Beta?”
“They just left for patrol. Caine was filling in for Monica today, so he just took off with Beta,” she said.
I took a breath, trying to ease the way my stomach twisted. “Okay. I’ll deal with it,” I said.
I walked into the men’s wing, Marie at my side. Three other prison guards were there, looking into the cell at the end of the hall. They were hanging back, looking more than a little worried.
“He’s almost got one of his ankles free. He’s angry, but he’s also pretty pleased with himself right now,” one of the men said. Bob, or Rob, or something like that. Low-level empath, which means he is able to pick up what others are feeling, but there’s not a damn thing he can actually do with that information. It seems like a really frustrating power to have, and from what I’d heard, he’d been caught more than a few times drinking on the job.
I could hardly blame him. I’m not an empath in any way, shape, or form, but I sometimes want to drink on the job, too.
One More Day (StrikeForce Book 2) Page 7