At the highest of the pipes, Dad flew straight up and spun in a tight spiral as he unleashed an arc of lightning out in front of him. Three of the drones flew straight into the lightning buzz saw, their propellers smashed by the force of the energy.
“That’s the first 720 Ollie we’ve had on SNS folks. Cyclone Ranger must have been a skater punk in his day,” Calloway exclaimed.
The other three drones climbed sharply, lasers hitting the shield above the arena, as the crowd screamed for blood. Six drones near Abby kept up the onslaught of laser fire. Chunks of concrete rained down from the destroyed top of the pipe she hid in. The steel rebar structure the concrete had been built around showed like the bones of a long-lost creature. Abby ran full speed up the wall, planted her boot on the broken edge of the wall, and back flipped over the drones. She held a chunk of broken concrete in each hand. As she soared over the drones, the concrete missiles launched from her hands, destroying both drones they hit. Abby fell, but quickly reached out to grasp a steel pole, spun around it, and shot past the drones, touching down behind a bunker. The drones raced after her, but a quick roll and she slid into the concrete bunker as the lasers beat against it.
We all cheered as Chip Calloway remarked, “We haven’t seen gymnastics like that since the Protectorate Games, though I doubt she could keep up with our pure Gymnasts without her powers.”
Jon growled, “If we get a chance, I’m putting an arrow through that asshole.”
Cyclone Ranger blasted across the intervening space, coming up on the drones firing at Abby from behind. He swerved right and dove through the center of the four drones, rocking them as he passed. The three trailing drones, attempted to follow, resulting in mass confusion.
Marcel laughed. “Awesome! Their guidance systems will overlap causing a special anomaly.”
“What?” we all remarked in unison. Another major jinx moment.
One of the following drones slammed into a drone firing on Abby’s location. The two locked and spun out of control, crashing on the floor. The others collided but managed to stay aloft though out of the neat formations they had been.
Marcel pointed at the TV. “That is what will happen!”
Why he couldn’t just say crash, I’ll never know.
Calloway chimed in. “Looks like we’ve got us a pile-up on the interstate. Better call the tow truck.”
The drones moved to align into a new formation. An arc of lightning flashed toward the drones, missing by a mile, striking the bunker below. Concrete flew in all directions but didn’t hit the drones.
“Cyclone Ranger’s getting sloppy, wonder if he’s out of juice,” Calloway commented.
In unison, the drones spun on axis to orient themselves, lasers firing wildly. Suddenly, one of the drones bucked, spun out of control, impacting the steel cage of the pipe. Another one suffered the same fate. The cameras swung around. Abby bolted between structures throwing chunks of the bunker at the disoriented drones.
The remaining three drones opened fire on her, but she’d already ducked into cover. Cyclone Ranger flew up from beneath the drones, a piece of the steel cage in his hands. He impaled the nearest drone, and sparks flew in all directions. With a heave, he bashed the first drone into the second two. They flipped upside down, wobbling as they attempted to right themselves. In a flash, Abby hurled two more pieces of concrete, and they plummeted to the ground.
Cyclone Ranger floated down to join Abby, and zone three was done.
The camera zoomed in on Abby. Her eyes were solid yellow, her face contorted and buckled in places. You could see her muscles straining against her combat suit. She threw back her head and screamed.
“Holy cow,” Chip Calloway gasped in shock. “What is she? You can feel the evil from here.”
We knew Abby was strong and fought better than any of us, but we were all shocked to see what the fight had done to her. The story she told me flooded back. How her parents had turned her in because she had lived in the forest hunting her food as an animal would. I didn’t realize she meant it literally. Dad stood next to her, not even coming up to her shoulder. She must be pushing eight feet tall. As he spoke to her, she shrunk until she stood even with Dad. Her eyes were normal, as was her face. Note to self, never piss Abby off.
Marcel fidgeted as he watched. He’d open the laptop, start to type, then shut it in futile desperation. It killed him that he couldn’t help. I noticed anytime Abby got into trouble, the laptop opened, and his eyes got a bit crazy. Marcel had two friends, true friends, and one fought for her life, and it wasn’t sitting well with him.
Abby hung her head as Dad continued to speak to her. The horn sounded announcing zone four had begun. Dad lifted her chin, she nodded once, and then they moved to face their next obstacle.
In this case, obstacle fit the chaos before them perfectly. I’ve seen city junkyards with less stuff in them. The zone consisted of a huge pile of twisted metal. To get to the last zone required climbing over and through the junk.
Both glanced behind them before running toward the pile. The cameras swung around to show twelve huge metallic dogs bounding across zone three toward them.
“Who let the dogs out!” Calloway said, overly impressed with his own humor. “This one is going to be ruff.”
I groaned. Where did they get this guy?
Dad reached the top of the heap first; he launched a bolt into the pile in front of the two lead dogs. As they hurdled over the new hole, a second blast hit overhanging debris next to them, burying them in a pile of metal beams.
Abby grabbed a long bar from the junkyard and shish-kabobbed the closest dog. She spun and threw it into the overhead shield where it exploded. The front row of spectators screamed in shock. Drifting motes of super-heated metal flakes floated away, the remains of the cyber dog.
The footing for climbing through the assorted junk turned out to be the biggest problem. Abby fell as the pile below her collapsed. In a heartbeat, two dogs were on her. One bit down on her arm, blood spurting out from its metallic teeth. The second dog took a boot to the head, sending it crashing down the pile, impaling its torso on a sharp piece of metal.
The surviving dog shook its head, dragging Abby across the metal. Blood flew everywhere as the attack continued. The cameras showed more dogs bounding toward the downed prey.
Dad leapt over a pile, landing on the dog who dragged Abby. He punched his hand into the vents at the dog’s neck, and smoke bloomed from the vents as he fried it from the inside. Another dog pounced on Abby, but she was ready this time. She rolled back, getting her feet under the chest of the dog as it crashed down on her. The force of her uncoiling legs launched the dog into the overhead shield, eliciting another round of screams from the audience.
“What a moonshot, folks!” Calloway said. “Fido would be in orbit if not for the shield.”
Abby had taken a lot of damage. Her suit was torn in multiple places. Blood flowed from her arm as well as down her chin, courtesy of her split lip. Dad tried to help her to her feet, but how long could she last in her condition?
“Looks like the chew toy has had enough,” Calloway said snickering. “I can’t say she doesn’t deserve it after what she did to those poor kids. I hope this helps the families get some closure.”
The rest of the pack arrayed themselves around Dad, who stood over Abby. They circled, waiting for an opening. Dad raised his arms in front of him. The wind picked up, swirling around him. Pieces of metal spun, gaining speed. The dogs charged, the guys running the robots realizing too late what happened. Flying metal shredded the dogs like a flechette gun. The dogs had been dispatched in less than a minute by the metallic vortex of death.
Dad let the wind drop as Abby got up. They stumbled together over the last of the junkyard and sat down so Dad could bind her arm with a strip from her combat suit. Only one zone left. I really wondered if Abby would make it. Marcel told us Gifted heal faster than Norms, but how much could she come back from?
“Another impress
ive display from the Cyclone Ranger,” Calloway said. “You can see why he has earned the infamous reputation of being walking death.”
Jon growled from his perch. “They forget to mention he’s defending himself.”
“It keeps the people scared,” Marcel said. “If they aren’t scared of us, then why are we collared and imprisoned without a trial or ever committing a crime?”
I shook my head in disgust. “True, but when the Gifted were free, a lot of innocent people died in the crossfire.”
Jon gaped at me, shock written all over his face. “So, what? It’s okay we are denied our Gifts and locked away for no reason? At five, they clamped a damned collar on me. What the hell did I ever do to anyone?”
“I don’t agree with it, but I could see why they would be scared of the Gifted.”
“You kill me, Ward.”
Chip Calloway saved me from replying. First useful thing he had done all night. “We are into the red zone. Sudden death or victory, you make the call.”
Dad half carried Abby to the edge of the zone and sat her down. He walked across the line, and all hell broke loose. Explosions went off across the front of the zone, smoke obscuring the view. Three machines rolled across the zone placing themselves in front of the exit button. They looked like tanks, treaded for stability. A center gun mounted in the front. Arms stuck out from the side, spinning chains with hooks on the end. In order to complete the zone, they had to get past these to push the button. Abby slumped just outside of the zone, making it a three-on-one fight.
Dad launched himself to the right, avoiding the initial strafing rounds. The tanks turrets followed his movement, continuing to fire. They used actual shells. Smoke billowed out with every shot. The Cyclone Ranger dodged back and forth, his black suit blending into the dust cloud. He gave ground, forcing the tanks to move with him, their distance limited by the size of the arena.
Arcs of lightning flashed out, intercepting some of the shells. They burst like fireworks at a Protectorate Day celebration. The tanks closed in, firing the hooks, attempting to ensnare Dad and bring him down. Back and forth the fight raged: hooks and shells firing, lighting flashing through the smog.
The tanks had him pinned to the side wall. The hooks flashed in and out, trying to catch the leaping, twisting figure, more dancer than warrior. A deadly game of dodgeball. Then it happened. Dad landed and stumbled. A hook wrapped around his calf. The other around his waist.
“This could be the end for our contestants,” Calloway crowed. “Cyclone Ranger has put up an admirable fight, but in the end, justice is served.”
Another hook wrapped around his neck. Lightning arced along the chains, but they held. The tanks kicked into reverse, and the crowd swelled with excitement, waiting for Dad to be torn in half. Wendi screamed and covered her face with her hands, but I refused to look away. I couldn’t believe my dad would die before I ever met him.
A loud blast sounded across the arena. The cameras frantically scanned the floor for what had happened. The tanks died, the chains going slack. Standing at the top of the stairs, bloodied, bruised, and exhausted was Abby, her hand firmly holding down the exit button.
“Oh my God,” Calloway said, his voice tinged with panic. “The Butcher has triggered the exit, ending the match and saving Cyclone Ranger in the process. What an end to the match. I feel bad for the people who turned it off before the end. The finale is shaping up to be the greatest in Saturday Night Showdown history.”
Dad walked over and hugged Abby. They had won against all odds. I had to find a way to get them out before the finale. The Protectorate couldn’t allow them to live.
Desmond Roberts came back on the screen while Abby and Dad were taken off by Reclaimers. “Wow, that was a great match, but we have a sneak preview of what’s next. We are having a special guest for the Gauntlet finale. Tell the audience about it, Chip.”
“Sure thing, Desmond. The question you’ll be asking all week is who is this woman and what role will she play in the epic finale of the Gauntlet? Find out more next week.”
The scene changed to a long hallway, ending in metal bars. As the camera zoomed in, a slight blond woman in an orange jumpsuit sat on a prison bed, her hair concealing her face from the camera. Slowly, she lifted her head, a prominent black eye and a snarl on her face. Fire raged in her eyes. A fire I knew all too well.
Mom.
38
“Oh my God, Tommy,” Wendi said, her hands over her mouth. “How did they know about her?”
I shook my head. This had been the worst week in recorded history. Abby captured and forced to fight, Waxenby bagged by the Syndicate, Dad almost killed, and now Mom imprisoned. I needed space. No, I needed something to hit. “Marcel, find me a way in, I don’t care how.”
“Tommy, I’ve looked there…”
“LOOK AGAIN!” Hot tears threated to spill from my eyes. I fled the room before I lost it. Through the winding halls and into the training room. Marcel had rigged up a special outlet I could charge from. I jammed my hand in and cranked it. The pain hit me like a freight train, but I savored it. This was all my fault, and one way or another, I would fix it.
Pure lightning surged from my hands, annihilating the targets across the room. Clouds of cinders drifted in the air, glowing brightly as they cooled. I cried and laughed at the same time. These bastards would pay. I had the ability. Mom wouldn’t suffer for my mistakes—I would rip them limb from limb to get her back.
The electricity erupted from me until it was gone. I sank to my knees, and Wendi’s arms were around me. The tears fell and wouldn’t stop. She held me like my mom had a hundred times over the years. I felt safe with Wendi.
After a time, we sat on the floor, staring at the scorch marks on the wall from my fury. I wondered if I needed to become more weapon than man, but if it saved the people I loved, I would sacrifice anything.
The days wore on and nothing changed. Alyx and Gladiator scouted the area around the Megadrome some more, but nothing new presented itself. Marcel’s bots couldn’t penetrate the perimeter to connect to the system, getting fried before even getting close to anything useful. The Block would have been easy to break into compared to the Megadrome. After our failed attempt to rescue Dad, the Protectorate stood on high alert.
The guilt of my mom getting dragged into this mess wore on me worst of all. I still couldn’t figure out how they had found her. In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter, but I wanted to know. Losing a dad I had never met would hurt, but to lose the one person in the world who had always been there for me was unbearable. My knuckles and the walls bore the brunt of my frustration.
Thursday morning, I woke up, and I knew what I had to do. It made perfect sense. I got showered and dressed, packed my backpack with my combat suit and helmet. I thought about leaving the ring Mr. Fix-it had given me behind, but it had become a kind of good luck charm, and I would need all the luck I could get. I turned off the light and headed for the exit.
I didn’t make it. Wendi stood in front of the door, her arms folded across her body. She tapped her foot as I approached. “Where are you going?”
“Wendi, there is only one way I’m getting my parents out, and that is to go in and take them.”
“And you were going to do it all by yourself?” Her eyes told me there’d be hell to pay for answering wrong.
“Yes, they are my parents, and I’m not letting anyone else get hurt in the process.”
“She’s my mom, too,” Marcel said walking up behind me. “Don’t I get a say?”
“Look,” I said. “I know how you feel Marcel, but you can’t fight.”
He grunted. “I can’t fight, but I can still help.”
“Man, you are our ace in the hole.”
Wendi put her hands on her hips. “Well, obviously, you don’t think you’re going without us.”
“Plus,” Jon said as he entered the room. “I told you when you went after those creeps that I wanted in. I dare you to say I can’t fi
ght.”
This was getting out of hand. “Of course you can fight,” I said my head spinning from the unrelenting assault. “Guys, I appreciate you wanting to help, but I can’t ask you to fight your way in with me. This could be a one-way trip. If you are going to go, I have to tell you something important first.”
Wendi examined my face. “You sure?”
I nodded. “If you’re going to fight and possibly die, you have the right to know.” I took a deep breath. “The reason I want to save Cyclone Ranger is…well, he’s my dad.”
Marcel and Jon’s jaws both dropped in unison. “Bruh, that is so awesome!” Marcel beamed. Jon didn’t say anything for a while. “Why didn’t you tell us before now?”
“I’m sorry, I should have. Mom made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone, that the information could be deadly if the wrong people found out, but if you guys are willing to go with me, you should understand why I’m going.” I steeled myself for the backlash. It didn’t come.
Jon regarded me for a moment. “I should have seen the resemblance. It makes more sense than running off after a random Gifted.”
I exhaled sharply, the pressure subsiding. “Still, this is my fault, and I can’t ask you all to fight. It’s something I need to handle.”
“Hmmm, last I checked, we could all make our own decisions,” Wendi said, punching me in the shoulder. “We are a team, and we are all going or none of us. You didn’t surrender when Grim Reaper had you, did you?”
“That’s it!” Marcel shouted a huge smile on his face. “Wendi you’re a genius!” He grabbed her in a huge hug.
The shocked look on her face was priceless.
“Okay, so explain it to the moron over here because I certainly don’t understand.”
Marcel laughed at my expression, which obviously rivaled Wendi’s. “Give me your shoes and meet me in the war room in the morning. They’ll never see this one coming.”
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