“Shouldn’t you kids be in school?” Striker pulled both night sticks free from the rings on his belt and gave them a quick twirl to get them settled along his forearms.
Two attackers broke off to face their new adversary. The first one unleashed a wild haymaker looking to finish the fight fast, the second not far behind.
Striker ducked, slipping underneath the powerful punch. Stepping forward, Bryson lunged and dropped the second attacker, landing a solid blow with a nightstick braced against his forearm.
He turned to face the first man, in time to see his foe’s feet pulled out from under him. Face met concrete causing Bryson to cringe as Weed ran up, reeling the wraps back up to her arms.
“That’s going to be a severe dental bill,” he said.
“So is that, if we don’t step in,” she said, pointing to Manny attempting to fight off three attackers.
Nolan moved to join them, but Weed placed a hand on his chest. “Just stay behind the van. We evened the numbers up now.”
He wanted to argue but knew that it was already three against three, and he would just end up getting in someone’s way. Nolan kept his distance but kept moving closer to the melee, wishing he had a way to tap into his powers.
With Manerpillar’s focus on the two armed attackers, the third man maneuvered into a blind spot and wound up to throw a hook. The crook of his elbow slammed into the crook of Striker’s elbow, jarring him from the sudden impact.
The hero shoved the man back and wagged a finger at him. “You know what I hate?” He continued before the punk could respond. “Cowards who rely on sucker punches to win fights.”
Anger flooded the man’s eyes as he fired a straight right hand. Striker tucked his chin, leaned into the punch, allowing the man’s fist to connect with the armored shell of his mask. The blow sent out a loud crack through the air. Striker spun and let his leg arc out, whipping his heel into his foe’s temple. As the man’s body collapsed, Striker stumbled before regaining his footing.
“Whoo, it’s hard to stick the landing on that wheel kick when it connects like that.”
“Don’t worry. We weren’t filming it.” Weed held one of the attackers in a loose choke hold, like a bouncer escorting a trouble maker out of a bar. The hemp fibers were lashed around the woman’s arms and legs, keeping her restrained as well.
“Thanks for the assist, guys.” Manerpillar finished binding the final man up with glowing, silky strands of ectoplasm. “We lost sight of you once we got to the alley, and then stumbled across this little card game.”
Bryson stabbed a finger into Nolan’s chest. “Kid, you got some nerve stepping out here unprepared for a fight. You didn’t even bring a water bottle with you?”
Nolan’s eyes dropped. “I--I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking.”
“You got that right.”
“Ease up,” Manny said. “If you two didn’t just bolt out of the car, we wouldn’t have had to rush to follow you.”
“He knew we were out here looking for these goons.” Bryson pointed to the pile of restrained fanatics.
“Look, he forgot to come prepared,” Weed said.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Bryson snapped.
He turned to face Nolan with an accusing finger pointed his direction. He wound the finger back in, holding a loose fist and taking a deep breath.
“I don’t mean to be so hard on you, but that kind of recklessness gets us hurt or killed out here.” He calmed down. “I know you want to help, and with your powers, we could use your help, but promise me that you’ll show up prepared next time.”
“I promise.” Nolan steeled his gaze, showing the others he meant to keep his word.
Bryson nodded and patted him on the chest. He walked up to one of the Brotherhood fanatics piled up in the back alley.
“Well most of your buddies are out cold, so it looks like you volunteered for the interview.” Striker knelt beside the man that Manny had just tied up.
CHAPTER
8
“Tomorrow night, Warhead and Ground Zero are expecting us to meet them face to face in front of city hall,” Patrick said, addressing the other heroes at the table. “We’ll be there, but it’s important to stay clear of the police. It’s a safe bet the cops will bring in their Supers Task Force, and we don’t want to get in the way.”
“What if they need our help?” Boost asked.
“It’s just two of them,” Patrick said. “The police have had days to plan for this, and I’m sure they’ll be ready.”
“You forget about the Brotherhood of Armageddon,” Striker said.
“A dozen disenfranchised teens, wearing black clothes and eyeliner?” Trevor asked.
Speetah sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest while she sighed and rolled her eyes at the dismissive tone in the room.
“We’ve been out there busting heads for information,” Striker continued. “Just like you used to do months ago. This is bigger than you think it is, Patrick.”
“It’s nothing the police aren’t equipped to handle,” Patrick said. “If a couple of dozen fanatics start grouping up, they’ll be rounded up for questioning.”
“It’s not a couple of dozen teens. We’re talking hundreds.” Striker picked up a nearby stack of papers and slid them across the table. “Maybe even thousands.”
“Thousands? That’s a little hyperbolic, don’t you think?” Troy asked.
“No,” Speetah said. “You’ve been so caught up basking in the success we had against Sight and the Visionaries, you forgot this is an ongoing task we’ve undertaken.”
Patrick stood up from his chair. “No, it’s not that. It’s just that the police—”
Striker said, “The police don’t know how big this is. It’s a powder keg waiting to blow.”
“So what’s your plan? Tighten our capes, and leap into battle?” Boost asked.
Striker got to his feet. “This isn’t my show to run, but I don’t think sitting on the bleachers to watch the action is the smartest plan.”
“Bryson is right,” Black Paralysis said. “We can’t ignore this.” He gestured to the stack of papers on the table, detailing the information that Striker, Weed, Manerpillar, and H2Grow had been gathering all week.
“I don’t know.” Patrick’s eyes dropped to the table. “I don’t know what we should do. We’re not ready to get involved in another brawl, putting people at risk again.”
“Isn’t that what you and your boys have been planning all along?” Speetah motioned to Boost, Trevor, and Troy.
The room was quiet. No one was willing to break through the silence while Patrick sat back down contemplating. Speetah stood sweeping her gaze across the others in the room.
She placed a hand on her hip pocket where her phone buzzed, too quiet for the others to hear. “I’m not just going to sit around here and wait for someone to step up and take charge.” She kept her eyes fixed on Patrick when she spoke. She turned and walked out of the room. The sound of her heavy footsteps on the stairs outside of the office faded as she reached the ground floor.
“Should someone check on her?” Weed asked.
“I’ll go,” Beat Boxer said, pulling her hood back and stepping out to follow.
“I guess she doesn’t want tickets to the show tomorrow,” Boost said.
“Everything will work out. We’ll be there to back the police up if anything goes south,” Patrick said.
“I hope you’re right.” Black Paralysis put his gloves on and gave everyone a quick nod before leaving.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Striker put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder as everyone left the upstairs office.
“Yeah, sure.” Patrick’s expression was sullen, but he did his best to pull his shoulders back and appear more confident.
“Look, this is your show, and I’m not trying to tell you how to run it, but we have not prepared for the level of chaos that these Armageddon guys are willing to bring.”
Patric
k paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. “I know…I’m afraid Crystal is right, and we’re losing our focus.” He ran his fingers back through his hair. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t ask to be the leader.”
“Well, you’re stuck for now. People say a good leader listens. You should trust your friends more. Especially Crystal. She’s hot-headed and stubborn, but I’ve noticed that she tends to be right more often than not when she starts casting doubt.”
“I think that’s one of her powers,” Patrick said, letting a smile slowly stretch across his face.
“We may not be able to plan out a full-scale operation before tomorrow night, but we can at least prepare for what we may be facing,” Striker said. He stepped over to the table, grabbed the small stack of papers and pressed them against Patrick’s chest. “Let us know what you need in the morning. Get some rest for now.”
With a full night’s rest, Patrick returned to the headquarters the next afternoon. He spent a few hours coordinating the schedules of the rest of his team, before meeting with Troy about some potential complications.
“How long has this been going on?” Patrick asked, leaning in to see Troy’s monitor.
“It’s been a slow build, starting last night,” Troy said. He scrolled through some more data. “A couple of days ago. Look at this.”
He was pointing out entries pulled from police scanners, showing the number of incidents increasing slowly. Nothing major, but enough to show a pattern of escalating trouble.
“It’s 8:30 now,” Patrick said, looking at the time on his phone. “We’ve got half an hour to get to City Hall and prepare for Armageddon’s arrival. Who’s on deck?”
“You, me, Boost, Manerpillar, Weed, and Striker,” Troy said. “You think that’s enough?”
Patrick interlaced his fingers to press his gloves tighter. “Should be. We’re just there to back the STF, and pick out any stragglers.”
“Comms check,” Troy said, adjusting the mic on his headset.
“Loud and clear,” Boost said.
“Check,” Manerpillar said.
“Check,” Weed answered.
“Solid,” Striker said.
“Good to go.” Patrick patted Troy on the shoulder.
“Drones are charged up and airborne. Where’s Trevor? I need my co-pilot.”
“I’ll send him up,” Patrick said, as he stepped out the door.
Striker sat perched on the corner of a building giving him a clear view to the front of City Hall. The crowd below was much larger than even he had anticipated. The media presence drew more people to the scene by the minute. Everyone wanted to watch the action.
“This crowd is a hair larger than expected,” he said, scanning the scene with a pair of compact binoculars. “I’ve spotted a few people wearing BoA logos.”
“It’s just like we expected then,” Patrick said. “They’ll use the fanatics as part of the show, like they did at the mall.”
“Is it possible to tag them with the drones, so we know who to look out for?” Boost asked.
“Even if I could, which I can’t, you’re not wearing anything to augment your vision for me to display the information,” Troy said.
“Can we get some cool goggles or visors to display said information?” Boost asked.
“Broadband just said he couldn’t tag them,” Striker said. “What good would that do?”
“Can we somehow add the ability to tag specific targets through the drone’s—”
“Knock it off, Boost,” Patrick said. “You can put your wish list together after we finish this.”
“Anything interesting on this corner?” Weed asked, crouching next to him.
“Yeah, we’ve got potential troublemakers mixed into the crowd already.” He handed the binoculars to her and glanced at his watch. “Any minute now.”
“Broadband, I think we need a to cover a larger area, so we can spot any potential trouble moving in,” Patrick said. “Can you reach Speetah or Black Paralysis?”
“They’re off comms now. I haven’t heard from any of them for a while now. I’ll text my sister to see if she’s nearby,” Broadband said.
Beat Boxer looked down at her phone, reading the text that just came in from Broadband.
Where are you guys? We could use some extra eyes on site.
She swiped back one screen, and selected the conversation thread with Crystal, Sean, and Nolan, typing out her reply. My corner looks clear. It sounds like Patrick could use some help, though.
Abby locked her phone, slipped it into the pocket of her sweatshirt and continued her search for any suspicious activity.
Her phone rapid-fired notifications letting her know the others had replied. Sean and Nolan echoed the all clear. But Crystal’s text was more cryptic. Got something. Going to check it out.
Abby had a vague idea where Crystal was, and launched herself into series of parkour-style jumps, climbing the nearest building for a higher vantage point. She caught a quick glimpse of Crystal prowling behind a row of parked cars, moving closer to four people, wearing similar clothing. Dark shirts, worn out pants, accessorized with leather wristbands, gloves, and chains.
She pulled her phone back out and called her brother.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey Abby. You get my text?”
“Yeah. Listen, you think maybe you could fly a drone or two in my area. I’m pretty sure we found some Brotherhood fanatics. I’ll text you the neighborhood.”
“Sure. I can just…hold on. I’ve got something happening near the others. I’ll have to call you back.”
Before Abby could protest, Troy had ended the call. She looked up from her phone in time to see two more people join the four that Crystal stalked. She crouched at the edge of the rooftop and sent a text. Two more just showed up to the party.
She could see Crystal glance down as she received the text. The six BoA fanatics were chanting and moving around, riled up about something. Abby could hear them counting down. When they reached one, the group started wreaking havoc on the row of parked cars. She noticed the time on her phone. It was nine ‘o clock.
CHAPTER
9
Patrick pulled the release tabs on both sleeves, fired out two streams of milk, and made a curved ramp, breaking his fall. He slid to the street below and ran toward the commotion, as he willed the milk back into his sleeves like retractable cords. The crowd in front of city hall was in disarray, as a group of Brotherhood of Armageddon fanatics tossed smoke bombs in the area.
“Get down here now!” Patrick shouted into the mic, as he ran to the nearest group of men and women, and made sure they were able to get free of the chaos before getting trampled.
Manny reached his side, releasing the silk strands he used to swing down to the sidewalk. “There are BoA guys all over. We should split up and take them down.”
“No, let the police handle the fanatics. If we get in the way, it’ll just make their jobs harder. We need to make sure no one gets hurt.” Patrick shouldered his way into the crowd and began guiding more people out of the panic zone.
“This is happening all over,” Broadband said.
“Great, looks like the city’s got its hands full again,” Boost said, joining the others. “We need to make sure everyone heads in the same direction. The smoke is making things worse.”
Patrick spotted one of the metallic canisters, spewing the thick white plumes making it difficult for everyone to see and breathe. “Boost, Manerpillar, get the crowd to move west. I’m going to get rid of the smoke in that direction.”
He covered his nose and mouth with one hand and used to other to direct a solidified white dome on top of the smoking cylinder, cutting off the smoke. When he was able to breathe again, he used the hand that was covering his mouth to shoot a small orb like a billiard ball, at another nearby smoke bomb, sending it skittering away.
Boost and Manerpillar moved the crowd past Patrick, as Weed followed his lead, removing the other nearby smoke canisters. Th
e police were getting people clear, but they had trouble distinguishing the innocents with the actual threats.
“They’re on the move. It looks like they’re heading out,” Broadband said.
“I see them.” Patrick made his way to the nearest police officer. “We want to help. I can make sure these people stay safe, while you deal with the ones causing this mess.”
The officer was a young man, doing his best to deal with the confusion. He eyed Patrick and his friends with suspicion before relenting. “If you’re in on this, you’re going down too.” He made his way to the outer edges of the crowd, speaking into his radio as he left.
“Let’s make sure they can do their jobs,” Patrick said to the others. “It’s up to use to protect the rest.”
Beat Boxer reached out and grabbed a light pole sliding down the remaining ten feet, hitting the street running, as glowing red trails faded behind her. Speetah didn’t hesitate to dive into the middle of the goons nearby, kicking the legs out of one stomping the hood of a car. Beat Boxer reached the melee just as the man’s body slammed into the already cracked windshield.
The big man rolled off the hood and with his hands up, ready to fight. He was husky and tall, almost the same height as Speetah, and carried himself like the leader. The others were a mixed bag of smaller builds and levels of bravery. Two of the men, one with a shiny head from premature balding, and the other with long stringy hair, faced Beat Boxer. One wore a knitted cap and took the big man’s lead and turned to take on Speetah. The last two mousey fanatics waffled back and forth, hoping to appear eager to join the fight.
Husky rushed forward to tackle Speetah. His approach was cocky, not expecting her to meet him head on. With two powerful steps, she collided with the man, building up more speed than he could deal with and drove her forearm into his throat. The man with the knitted cap faltered trying to figure out what was happening when Speetah’s left hook spun his body around before he collapsed.
Two Percent Power (Book 2): Spilled Milk Page 5