“My abilities ran along the lines of being able to form objects out of condensed energy. A professor at MIT postulated I actually pulled gravity out of the earth to form the objects I made.”
“Wow,” I said truly impressed. Waxenby had a lovable loser persona to him. His thinning hair and cheesy, drab brown mustache gave him a safe appearance. His shoulders slumped. His pants were too short, showing off his mismatched socks poking out of his scuffed-up loafers. I had a hard time imagining him being anything other than a teacher.
Waxenby nodded to Abby. “So, to answer Miss Thompson’s question, I lived in DC, working as slush editor at a magazine during the day. At night I had a cheap combat suit I would don and fight crime.”
I sat slightly stunned. I had never been told about the pre-Protectorate days from someone who had been there. Sure, we got lots of it from Powell, but the Protectorate approved all his material. We never got the truth from someone who’d lived it.
“So, my last night as a freelance crime fighter started out as most nights did. I wore my gear, listening to a police scanner for any crimes I could stop. I figured if I made a name for myself, I might be able to get some work with one of the Gifted teams around the country.” He twisted the ends of his mustache while he prepared for the next part of the story.
“An all-hands went out. The White House was under attack.”
“White house?” I asked. “What’s the big deal about a white house?” Why would someone attack a house because of the color?
“No, Tommy,” he explained patiently. “Not a white house, The White House. The President of the United States lived there before devastating attacks on December twelfth, 2012. A Gifted by the name of Hypnos launched an attack to capture President Obama. He had a small army of robots similar to the ones on SNS.”
“Oh, sorry.” My cheeks felt a bit red. I’m sure Marcel knew what the White House was.
“No problem. Mr. Powell doesn’t teach pre-Protectorate history much does he?” He smiled at me. “So, I got to the White House to find Pennsylvania Avenue a combat zone. As I approached, a League of Patriots member by the name of Titan was crushing robots with a city bus. Unfortunately for the passengers on the bus, he hadn’t waited for them to exit. He left the remains of the bus on the street along with fifteen or so dead people whose only crime being they took the night bus to tour DC.”
Abby quivered with pent up fury. “Wait! This guy, Titan, was a good guy?”
Waxenby dipped his chin. “Technically. The government funded teams to combat other nations and Gifted who went rogue, using their abilities to commit crimes rather than protect people. Some of the teams cut corners to get results. League of Patriots didn’t care about the Norm body count as long as they stopped the threat. The government hushed it up and paid the victims’ families.”
“How could they not care?” Abby said on the verge of shouting. “Those were innocent people they killed.”
“I know, not all of the teams ignored collateral damage, but with huge amounts of money in contracts on the line, a lot of teams didn’t care who got hurt. Those teams were more mercenaries than heroes. The Reclaimers were a small group back then working to get the governments of the world to regulate the teams, but big money got its way.”
“What a bunch of sick bastards.” Abby crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. Anger radiated off her like heat off an old stove.
“I agree, but you wanted to know why I quit. That was part of it. So, I ran into the fight, attempting to take down robots. The military couldn’t pierce the armor plating, but they fought. A friend of mine, G.I. Girl took a shot to her chest plate, knocking her out of the fight. I dragged her to safety, and the whole time she complained about how many shifts at McDonalds it would take to replace her armor.”
He chuckled to himself. No one uttered a word so we could hear the rest of the story before they called for the Institute’s buses to be loaded.
“I fought a few more robots near a group of Gifted but got separated. I had a shield over me as they unleashed a barrage of shots. The shield held but barely. I really thought I would die, but Cyclone Ranger landed next to me. He stood over me coalescing the air around us into a tornado. The robots shredded to pieces.”
He cleared his throat, then shifted around on the desk before continuing. “After he finished, he asked my name. I told him, and he said, ‘Oliver, go home. You almost died. Your Gift isn’t strong enough for this. Go find a nice girl and have kids and watch them grow up. Please, do it for me before you make a mistake and end up in the same condition as the guy over there.’ I followed his gaze then threw up. Dynamic Dirk lay in pieces on the ground.”
Waxenby wiped his eyes. He looked like it had happened yesterday, not over twenty years ago.
His posture straightened, and a gleam returned to his eyes. For a moment, mild-mannered teacher Oliver Waxenby was gone, replaced by Commander Gravity. “I left the battle. As I passed the ruined bus, I heard a tiny cry coming from inside. I hunted around and found a baby still in its carrier. I cradled her and ran for the hospital. The nurses checked her over, giving her the A-OK, so I left her in their care. I went back to my apartment, packed up my stuff, and moved back to Alabama a couple of days later. I left my combat suit in the closet for the next wannabe who took the apartment. After the devastation of December twelfth, the big teams fought, but most of us laid low, figuring it would blow over. It probably would have if the Protectorate hadn’t come up with the testing machine, but by then, the teams were gone and there was no one left to fight.”
12
We all sat in stunned silence. It was so quiet you could hear the digital clock change. No one talked about what happened before the war. Most everything having to do with Gifted heroes had been erased. The Protector had made the world safe for everyone, the way the regulars looked at it. So what if huge parts of history vanished into thin air?
Waxenby lowered himself back behind his desk. “So you see, Miss Thompson, I didn’t just quit.”
“No, Cyclone Ranger told you to quit, and you ran off with your tail between your legs.” Abby’s face flushed with anger as if Waxenby had done something to her.
Waxenby was normally a meek and mild kind of guy, but that vanished. “It is easy to sit there and criticize me when you’ve never been on a battlefield, never smelled the cooking flesh of your friends, and never watched people die trying to defend others from ruthless, evil creatures.”
“You have no idea of what I’ve seen, Waxenby. You quit. If it weren’t for cowards like you, we wouldn’t be caged.” Her was voice low, but harsh. I could see tears welling up in her eyes as she studied her hands.
“Oh, wait, I forgot,” he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. “When you were collared at five, you fought until they subdued you.”
“I didn’t get collared at five. If I had been, my parents would still be alive,” she mumbled, tears flowing down her bright red cheeks.
Marcel tilted his head as if examining Abby. “Everyone is collared at five. It’s the law. No one is exempt from testing.”
Waxenby stopped cold. Embarrassment crossed his face as the realization dawned he had mocked Abby. He stepped over and squatted in front of her desk. “I want to apologize, Abby. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Abby shook her bowed head, her long hair hiding her face. Tears pattered like raindrops on her desk. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, Mr. Waxenby. It’s this place, the Air-Lock, Redemption, I’m a trapped animal waiting to be put down.”
Abby stood, surveying the room, but there was no place to go. Wendi appeared at her elbow, put her arm around Abby, and led her off. They moved to the back of the room together, talking. Waxenby watched them go. After a long minute, he stood and returned to his seat behind the desk. I got up to check on Abby, but Wendi caught my eye and gave a little shake of her head. Wendi had it under control.
I approached Waxenby, who was still visibly shaken. I stood in front of the desk.
Waxenby didn’t glance up from the paper he pretended to grade. “Yes, Tommy?”
“Thank you for telling us. I don’t know about anyone else, but to me, you’re still a hero.”
His head came up, a mildly suspicious look on his face as if I was pranking him. “Thank you, Tommy. Ms. Thompson is right though, if more of us had fought, maybe things would have been different.”
I shook my head. “I think there’d been a lot more dead Gifted, and where would the kids in Redemption be without teachers like you and Mr. Taylor? You help keep us safe on a daily basis. Isn’t that what heroes do?”
He considered this for a moment. “You always surprise me, Tommy. From what I’ve heard, you’ve done your fair share of saving yourself. Thank you for the kind words. Why don’t you see if you can get your homework finished?”
I turned to leave, but I needed to ask. “Do you know what happened to the baby?”
“Last time I checked she was doing well. She’d been adopted by a family in Texas.”
“See? You are a hero.” I walked back to my desk.
Marcel’s head came up, raising one eyebrow. “Everything solid, Bruh?”
“As good as it can be.” I thought about the story Waxenby had told and Abby’s dead parents. One thing is for sure, the Reclaimers play for keeps.
I opened the door, which squealed, announcing I had gotten home. I really need to get a can of WD-40. Even though the TV blared and Mom sat in the kitchen, she appeared as if summoned. She held an old, beat-up towel covered in grease.
“Disposal on the fritz again?”
She smiled until I got a bit closer to her. She tilted her head up, examining me like a bird would a worm it considered. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I tried to move past her.
Why she doesn’t get when I say, “nothing,” it means I don’t want to talk about it, I’ll never know. Her arm barred my path. Now, I’m a couple inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than before the summer started, but attempting to move the arm would be foolish. With no dad to speak of, Mom had wrestled and roughhoused with me my whole life. She would have me in a Double Nelson before I got to the stairs. It didn’t matter what Blaze taught me over the summer; I would let her win, and I wasn’t sure how much “let” would be involved.
“What happened?”
I sighed and told her.
“Well, Oliver shouldn’t have yelled at her, but I’m sure he didn’t realize her parents had been killed.” Her words didn’t match up with her mama bear protecting her cub scowl.
“Did you know Mr. Waxenby used to be a vigilante?”
Mom folder her arms and gave me the mom stare. You know the one where you want to crawl under the nearest object. “Tommy, when Oliver and the rest fought criminals of every shape and size imaginable, they weren’t vigilantes. Sit down.” She pushed the mute on the TV remote before setting it on the coffee table.
I sat in the chair by the TV screen as she sat on the couch. I hated the chair since I couldn’t see the screen, but I didn’t want to be distracted.
“You have to understand. Things have changed since the Protector took over. Back then Gifted and non-Gifted criminals alike were too powerful for law enforcement to handle.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Oliver fought crime. He risked life and limb to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves.”
“It didn’t sound like he had a very strong power.” I still worried about Abby. She wouldn’t talk to any of us before the Air-Lock unlocked.
“Not the way he tells it,” she said. “I think that was the point of the story. Every collared kid thinks they would be powerful, that their Gift would save the day. When, in fact, the majority of those kids would be the same as Waxenby or the Fireworks guy on the TV.”
I laughed. I could see Waxenby in his Commander Gravity get-up running around banging on robots like they were garbage cans.
“It sounds funny, but he’s right.”
I had never stopped to think about it before. I always thought I would be able to fly or throw buses the way Titan did, but what if all I got was a force stick to hit things with?
“Mom, could it happen to me?”
“It could, but I guess we won’t ever know.” I must have looked heartbroken because she clapped her hands together to get my attention. “You don’t want to hear it, but I’m glad you are safe.”
“Safe?” I sat thunderstruck. I got picked on, ridiculed, and beaten up on a regular basis. Even though I could defend myself, I couldn’t unless my life was in jeopardy. “You think what I go through is being safe?”
She shook her head. “Tommy, people died in the war. They were torn apart, burned, stabbed, left for dead, by the very people they swore to protect. I hate how you are treated, but you are alive. Bruises heal; dead doesn’t.”
Great. My mother is happy having me collared like a stray mutt. I could be out helping people, saving Gifted kids from Redemption, but my mommy wants me shackled so I can’t go anywhere. I had enough.
“Mom, I can’t believe…”
She gasped. Her hands went to her mouth. I thought she was having a heart attack or something. All the color had drained from her face, and she shook. Her eyes were glued to the TV screen.
“No,” she groaned.
I looked as a new commercial for Saturday Night Showdown filled the screen. Desmond Roberts, the host, announced a new death match. The only people who died in death matches were Gifted.
I jumped for the remote and turned up the volume. “We know you’ve been waiting, you’ve been hoping for it, and after nine long years, we’ve got it for you.” Stan was part used car salesman, part jackal feeding off the Gifted people in The Blocks around the world.
“No, not him.” Mom had tears standing un-cried in the corners of her eyes, her hands clenched together like she struggled to hold on to something.
“Mom, they must have captured the Grim Reaper,” I said, moving over to sit next to her. She scared me. I had never seen her this way before.
“The Protector has heard you. So I am pleased to announce next Saturday, we will put this Dissident in the ring for the first time. I give you…” He paused for dramatic effect. It had to be the Reaper—he was the biggest name they had.
“The last member of the infamous Omega Squad, I present Cyclone Ranger!” They cut away from Stan to show footage of him in action: lighting arcing out from his hands, destroying Redeemer troops, whirlwinds tearing down buildings.
Have you ever seen a person completely melt down? I hadn’t until that moment. My mother, the rock my life had been built on, the woman who made judges nervous, exploded. She screamed, crying, pulling me into her arms. Her hands gripped my back so hard I thought my lungs would shoot out my mouth like a cannon.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I said in between gasping breaths. “He’s powerful, he’ll last for a long time.”
She pushed me back, holding me at arm’s length. “Tommy, Cyclone Ranger is your dad.”
There is a point when you are on a roller coaster where you have no weight. You are in free fall. Your stomach is in your throat until gravity catches up. That’s about how I felt. I had asked about my dad over the years. I never got much for asking. Mom told me it was dangerous. Now I knew why.
“Huh?” My wit knows no boundaries.
Mom sobbed uncontrollably. “I never meant for you to find out this way. This is a terrible way to find out about your dad. I should have told you, I should have…” She slid to the floor.
I wondered how this could be any worse. Maybe being hung over a great white shark while dripping blood would be worse, but not by much. I find out my dad is one of the most powerful Gifted heroes of all time the same moment he is handed a death sentence. I felt like a guy who bought a mansion, and a sinkhole destroyed it the next day.
The TV screen blazed with lightning bolts and explosions. Images of his days with Omega Squad flickered by. Traitor, Murderer, Criminal flashed over the top of his exploits.
The last segment was the worst: the mighty Cyclone Ranger being perp walked in. People threw things, spit on the man who had fought to keep them safe. Mom cried soundlessly next to me; I lay on the floor beside her. At the very end, he looked up into the camera. He had what Mom always called “a strong chin.” I had the same piercing blue eyes, but wasn’t nearly as handsome. I could see parts of him in me, but I saw more of Mom. I wondered if my Gift would be as strong as his.
Stan came back, screaming about the death match, and I tuned him out. They had a flashing red X over Cyclone Ranger’s face. I had waited my whole life to meet him, and now I wouldn’t ever get the chance.
Mom sat up, her crying coming under her control. I ran for a box of tissues. She nodded her mute appreciation and took a tissue, wiping her eyes and nose. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have told you before now. I was so scared you would slip and say something.”
“Why would it matter?” Dad had been in The Block for almost fifteen years. He was still famous, or more likely, infamous, but harmless.
Mom only said one word, and I knew she was right. “Powell.”
13
The next day at school, paranoia set in fast. Every kid who looked at me, the way the teachers spoke all confirmed they knew Cyclone Ranger, Powell’s most hated Gifted, was my dad.
I floated through my morning routine, avoided Brunner, and survived math and English. I dreaded going to history class. Powell had brought up my dad, though the way Mom told me last night, Dad surrendered rather than “have the blood of any more innocents on his hands.” I didn’t quite get it. If guys with guns are trying to kill you, how they are innocent?
Mom told me how Blaze had spoken to him at length, but he wouldn’t be swayed. If the world didn’t want or need his protection anymore, he wouldn’t fight it. So, he gave himself up, and they locked him in The Block. Of course, at the time, they hadn’t invented Saturday Night Showdown and weren’t killing the most powerful Gifted on the planet for ratings.
Storm Forged Page 10