Searching for Super

by Marion Jensen

“I’ll borrow some money from Grandpa and feed the meter later if we haven’t finished beating the Joneses by then.”

  Thimon snorted from the front seat, but said nothing.

  Mom checked Thimon to make sure he was secure.

  “All good,” she said. “Up to the roof.”

  We crossed the street and headed to the parking garage. If we’d had our powers, Dad would have flown us to the top. Our entrance would have been a bit more heroic. But since that wasn’t an option, we walked.

  The parking garage was close to the Baylor Hotel, but another building blocked the view. We could set up without being spotted by the Joneses. The Johnsons had chosen the location. They were always thinking ahead.

  We climbed the stairs. When I reached the top I was met by a sea of titanium, tights, and capes. Johnsons and Baileys talked, planned, and shuffled their feet nervously.

  There was an electric feeling in the air. We were the underdogs going into this fight. No powers. Unsure of the numbers or powers we were about to face. We were walking right into a complex and dangerous situation, but we were superheroes.

  That’s what we did.

  The center of attention was the Roylance’s Tacos van. That was our undercover forward command center. It looked like we were waiting for word to get the operation under way.

  I didn’t want to wait anymore. Nobody had heard from Juanita since she’d called me.

  Benny went and stood by the side rail, looking out over the downtown area. I joined him.

  “Which way is the Baylor?” Benny asked.

  I pointed to the skyscraper north of us. “It’s right behind that building,” I said.

  I looked at the reflection of the Baylor Hotel. The parking garage was tall—probably five stories—but the hotel was humongous. It had to be at least sixty stories. I craned my neck, trying to see the details in the reflection, and then realized my supersuit helmet had binoculars built in. I zoomed in and counted the number of floors. Fifty-eight stories from top to bottom.

  I counted up to the thirteenth floor, but could see nothing unusual. It was possible the windows were a little darker. I couldn’t be sure.

  I imagined Juanita inside the building. I wondered what she was doing, and if she was safe.

  “It looks like we’re ready,” Benny said.

  We gathered in a circle around Grandpa and Mrs. Johnson. Grandpa was the first to speak.

  “Okay, everybody, each family came up with a plan. We’ve decided not to argue about which plan is superior.”

  Low murmuring broke out among the superheroes. The two families had gotten along the past three months, but this was the first time we were actually heading into a battle together. Actually, it was the first time we’d done anything major together. The families had communicated, but for the most part, each had been hunkering down on their own.

  I hadn’t even realized there might be some disagreement. Both families had people missing. We were on the same side.

  “Since they are both good plans,” Grandpa said in a stern voice as the murmuring got louder, “we’re going to do the sensible thing. We’re just going to execute both of them.”

  Mrs. Johnson raised her hand and the heroes fell quiet. “We will be entering the hotel in two places. One team will go directly in the front door. They will go in and up. The other team will land on the roof and go in and down. The team on the roof will need a head start since they have farther to go. We’ll coordinate so that both teams arrive at the same time. We don’t want to lose the element of surprise.”

  I had seen this kind of coordination back when my family fought the Johnsons. I’d always told Benny that we were the better fighters, but they were the better planners. They could do more with less. We could learn a thing or two from them.

  “One more thing,” Grandpa said. “We’re not going to divide up by families.”

  This time his announcement was met with full-fledged grumbling. I heard at least a couple of people spit, and thought I saw a fist being shaken. It was hard to hear Grandpa. A bunch of people started shushing the grumblers, and the noise got worse.

  A sharp rapping cut through the noise. Mrs. Johnson was knocking her cane on the cement. The Johnsons immediately fell silent. The Baileys followed suit, and in a moment Mrs. Johnson could speak in a quiet voice but be heard by everybody.

  “Our families have competed for far too long,” Mrs. Johnson said. “If we divide up now, this whole operation will turn into a contest. We’ll start fighting the Joneses, but we’ll end up fighting each other. We’re integrating the teams, and that is that.”

  I hadn’t even considered this, but it was definitely strong tactics. Maybe we had a shot at winning after all. Or if not winning, at least not failing spectacularly.

  “We’re going to assume the worst,” Grandpa said. “We’re going to assume the villains have powers. But if we catch them by surprise, at least they may not have time to get in their supersuits.” He held up what looked like a small pistol with a gold cylinder attached to a cone-shaped barrel. It took me a minute before I realized where I’d seen one before. It was like what my doctor used to give me the flu shot. It wasn’t a barrel, but a nozzle for injecting medicine.

  “These are jet injectors,” Grandpa said. “You have to place them right next to the skin. One shot to the neck will cause someone to pass out in about three seconds. Our plan is to go on the offensive. Get close to the Joneses, knock them out, and then bring them to the elevators. We’ll get them downstairs and in custody. The blueprints of the Baylor have been sent to everybody on their phones. Use those to navigate.”

  There were more questions, mostly from the Johnsons, who wanted to know every last detail. Grandpa got more and more impatient until he finally shouted, “It’s time to get moving! Radio additional questions to Mrs. Johnson. She’ll be running the command center here in the taco van.”

  Dad, Mom, and Benny were assigned to the team on the roof. I was with Grandpa on the team going in the front door. I wished Benny good luck, and he left to gather with his team.

  Our team consisted of thirty-eight Baileys and Johnsons. We piled into three armored personnel carriers. The other team climbed into four helicopters. One of the Johnsons couldn’t get his seatbelt to work. Uncle Chambers couldn’t find the right car, and tried to sit on a Johnson’s lap. After what seemed like forever, engines roared to life and we left for the Baylor.

  My stomach felt like a blizzard. I checked that the jet injector was still attached to my waist. Then I checked my radio and reviewed the supersuit’s systems. I didn’t know what else I should do.

  The Johnson across from me had his hand resting on a crate with wheels.

  “What’s that?” I asked him.

  “Supersuits. For the Johnsons who are being held captive. Once we break them out, we want to keep them safe. Plus, if they have their suits, they can help us fight.”

  There was more arguing on the trip to the hotel. The Johnsons wanted a more in-depth plan. Grandpa just kept saying the plan was to find the Joneses and stick them with the jet injector. The arguing continued until we reached the hotel.

  “We’re here.” Grandpa kicked the back door open. “Less talking, more moving.”

  It was an exhilarating moment. An armored carrier. Superheroes emerging. And I wasn’t watching it on the monitors back in the root cellar. Nor was I pretending with Thimon. This time it was real. This time it was actually happening.

  It was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

  The other armored vehicles arrived, and we combined our groups and entered the hotel. A clerk stood behind the front desk. He had a small mustache and mousy eyes. His eyes bugged out when he saw us.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he sputtered. “Uh . . . do you have a reservation? Can I help you?”

  Grandpa waved his hand but never slowed down. “Don’t mind us, we’re just here to save the day.”

  The clerk picked up the phone. Grandpa took three steps, plucked the phon
e from his hand, and—using the hydraulics in his gloves—snapped it in two.

  Grandpa looked over his shoulder. “Steven,” he said—Steven was one of my cousins from Idaho—“stay down here with the clerk. We don’t want him contacting anyone on the thirteenth floor.”

  Steven broke off from the group and stood by the clerk, who suddenly looked pale.

  We got to the elevators and Grandpa pushed a button. He pulled a key from one of the pockets on his suit. When the elevator doors opened, he stepped inside, inserted the key, turned it, then hit the emergency button.

  “Okay,” he said. “All six elevators will be here momentarily. I suggest two people stay here and watch the front door. Rafter, you’re with me.”

  One of the Johnsons who had been asking for more of a plan waved his hand. “What’s the plan after the elevators get here?”

  Grandpa tried to look patient, but he didn’t succeed. “After that, you step inside and press the button for the thirteenth floor. Six heroes in each elevator.”

  The elevators started to ding as the doors opened.

  The Johnson asked hesitantly, “And after that?”

  “After that you find a Jones and you beat on him,” Grandpa said. “That’s the plan.”

  Grandpa pushed me into an elevator with Uncle Chambers and two other Baileys. The rest of the superheroes divided up until the lobby was empty.

  “Okay,” Grandpa called out. “When the doors close, everybody count to three and then hit the thirteenth-floor button, got it?”

  People hollered in acknowledgment.

  Grandpa turned the key and the elevator doors closed.

  “One . . . two . . . three,” Grandpa counted. “Rafter, hit the thirteenth floor.”

  I turned to the elevator wall, my fingers skimming the buttons. I stopped, my hand hovering over the panel.

  “Grandpa,” I said. “There is no thirteenth floor.”

  21

  IT’S SIMPLE MATHEMATICS

  “Well, that’s a fine fart in a furnace.”

  Grandpa leaned over and glared at the panel, as if staring at it long enough would make the thirteenth-floor button suddenly appear.

  Outside I could hear the other elevator doors open. People sounded confused.

  “Should we open the doors and adjust the plan?” I asked.

  “I’m not going to stand around hoober-finching all night,” Grandpa said. “The plan is the same. Hit the fourteenth floor and watch this.”

  I hit the fourteenth floor, and we rode in silence.

  Just past the twelfth floor, Grandpa turned the key and the elevator jerked to a stop.

  Grandpa pulled at the doors. The hydraulics in his supersuit hissed and the doors screeched open.

  A solid metal wall stood in our way.

  “Confound tarnation,” Grandpa spat. He turned the key and hit the fourteenth floor. The elevator rose, dinged, and we stepped out into an empty hall.

  Uncle Chambers pointed to a door with a sign reading STAIRS. We went through the door into a stairwell. We went down a flight of stairs, but there wasn’t a door that let us back into the building. Clearly there was space for a thirteenth floor, but we couldn’t get to it.

  We heard footsteps above us. The second team came into view. Dad and Benny were with them.

  “Weren’t you taking the elevators?” Dad said.

  “No elevator access to the thirteenth floor,” Grandpa said.

  We went back to the landing where the thirteenth floor should have been. Two Johnsons were there, checking for a hidden door.

  “Could we break through?” Dad asked.

  The wall was made of solid concrete.

  “Maybe,” Grandpa said. “But it would take too much time, and we’d likely lose the element of surprise. They’d hear us beating on the wall.”

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked Benny.

  “There are four stairwells,” he replied. “She’s in another corner of the building.”

  I checked my phone. It had been more than two hours since I’d gotten the call from Juanita.

  Grandpa took control again. “Hubert, you go back to the roof. See if there is some other way to the thirteenth floor. We’ll go back down and see if the little guy at the front desk can do anything else besides wipe his own nose.”

  My phone beeped. So did everybody else’s in the stairwell.

  I pulled my phone out, a feeling of dread growing in my stomach. The message on my screen was from Juanita’s grandmother, back in the taco van.

  Juanita is in IMMEDIATE danger. Get to the thirteenth floor at all costs.

  While I was reading the first text, a second text appeared, this one just to me.

  Please save my granddaughter.

  That was all it took.

  Several things happened at once. The Johnsons started talking, fast and furious, discussing best options. Grandpa pushed everyone standing next to the wall to the side, and started pounding on the concrete with his armored fist. Chips of rock and dust flew out from the wall. If Grandpa had his power, he would have been through that wall in a matter of minutes. But even with the enhanced supersuit, it was going to be slow.

  The Johnsons, apparently having reached a plan, headed down the stairs. Dad moved next to Grandpa and started attacking the wall too. They worked in perfect concert, each hitting the same place in the concrete, but at different times.

  Benny looked to me. “What do we do, Rafter? I don’t want to just stand here.”

  There wasn’t room at the wall to try to help break through. My brain raced. “Dad,” I said. “Call us if you get through.”

  Dad paused his attack. He looked at Benny and me. I knew he wanted to tell us to stay close. To stay with him so he could watch over us.

  But that isn’t what superheroes did.

  He nodded. “Stay safe. And keep in contact over the radio. If anything happens, you call for backup, is that understood?”

  I grinned and nodded. I pointed up the stairs. Benny didn’t need any other encouragement. He turned and led the way. We went up several floors and then took the elevator the rest of the way to the top. I followed Benny to the door that opened onto the roof.

  “What next?” Benny asked.

  I didn’t know what next. I looked around the roof, taking in the situation, listing in my mind anything that might help. There was some window-washing equipment, several large ventilation systems, a few doors leading to what looked like small sheds, and our helicopters.

  I ran to the edge of the roof and looked down.

  There was clearly a thirteenth floor, which meant that there had to be a way to get people and things onto that floor. We could lower the window-washing equipment to the thirteenth floor, but the glass was probably strong. It would take a massive force to break through.

  “Come on, Rafter,” Benny urged. “Juanita is in trouble.”

  My breathing became rapid, and my chest felt tight. Benny was right. We needed to get onto the thirteenth floor, and we needed to do it now.

  Juanita was in trouble, and friends are there for each other. No matter what.

  I put my fingers against my temples and cleared my brain. The time for careful, thought-out planning was over. I needed an idea, even if it was completely crazy. We needed to leap into action.

  Leap.

  Leap. Jump. Fly.

  My brain delivered an idea that was, in fact, completely crazy. So crazy it probably wouldn’t work.

  But if it did work, it would be awesome.

  “Benny,” I said. “You’ve read the manuals. Do you think there is any possible way you could drive the Dirt Hog?”

  Benny’s eyes bugged out. He looked like he’d just won a beauty pageant. His face lit up and he started dancing around me.

  “Yes! Yes! Rafter, I totally can. I promise. Whatever you need. I can do it.”

  I opened up a communication channel limited to Benny and Dirk. “Dirk, this is Rafter. Do you read me? Where are you?”

  Dirk’s vo
ice came in my ear. It reminded me of Thimon talking “through our earpieces,” but this time everything was real.

  “In the lobby. We’re trying to find somebody who will give us access to the thirteenth floor, but so far no luck. I think we’re wasting our time.”

  “Can you fly us back to the parking garage in the helicopter?” I asked. “I have an idea.”

  I tied the steel cable to the Dirt Hog. We’d cut the cable from the window-washing machinery.

  “What exactly are we doing?” Dirk asked. He sat in the helicopter, watching Benny and me. One end of the cable was tied to the skid of the helicopter, and the other end was tied to the motorcycle.

  I took a deep breath. “Benny, fire up the Dirt Hog.”

  I heard two shouts. One was Benny shouting in excitement as he jumped on the motorcycle. The other was Dirk, shouting in horror.

  “You can’t drive the Dirt Hog, Benny!” Dirk cried. “You’ve never done it before. You don’t have your license. And nobody’s even shown you how it works.”

  “Maybe not,” Benny said. “But I’ve read the manual.”

  He kicked his right leg and the Dirt Hog roared to life.

  I checked the knot one more time. That knot had to hold. I mean . . . it really had to hold.

  I climbed onto the bike behind Benny. “You’re sure you can drive this thing?”

  I could tell he was grinning by the way he talked. “To be honest, I have no idea, but we’re about to find out.”

  “I’m starting to think this is a really, really, bad idea,” Dirk said in my ear.

  “We’re ready, Dirk,” I said. “This is the plan. We need you to lift us off the parking garage with the helicopter. Then lower us to the ground. From there, Benny is going to drive toward the hotel. You fly above us.” That wasn’t the whole plan, but it was enough to get started.

  It was all Benny needed. With a twist of his wrist the vehicle roared even louder. He shouted over the motor. “I’ve read a lot of things about how to work a clutch, but the whole thing is still fuzzy in my brain! You might want to hold on. Tight.”

  It was a good thing Benny gave me the warning or I’d have ended up on the concrete. I wrapped my hydraulic-enhanced arms around his waist.