Violent spasms went through the No-Man’s body. Then suddenly it was still.
“Huh,” said Dr. Sweet after a moment. “I’ll have to fix that in the next version.”
He was holding a torch. I acted before I could even catch my breath.
I pulled the blade from the No-man’s eye socket and flung it at Sweet. It struck him in the stomach and came out the other side. He staggered, made a wet, gagging noise, and dropped the torch.
Fire sprung to life with a roar. On the bright side, since Dr. Sweet was standing right there, it got him, too. First just his legs, but then he collapsed and convulsed, screaming as the fire covered him.
I ignored him and dragged myself toward Elisa’s operating table. The flames were spreading fast. I could smell the smoke and feel the heat—heat that wouldn’t hurt me but would Elisa. I had to get to her before the flames reached the doorway and blocked her exit. I wanted to pick her up and carry her out, but my knee shot sickening pain throughout my body whenever I tried to move my leg. There was no way I could stand, much less support another person.
The stench of burning flesh reached my nose, and I fought the urge to retch. Dr. Sweet was still screaming. I looked over to where he’d fallen, caught a brief glance of bubbling skin, and turned away. He wasn’t important anymore. All that mattered was getting to Elisa.
By the time I reached her operating table, Dr. Sweet had gone silent.
I put my hands on top of the table and pulled myself up onto one leg. Elisa’s face was dirty and stained with tears, and she looked up at me from a place beyond terror. She squealed in fear when I reached toward her, and I almost lost my balance, but then I ripped off the straps that held her arms. By the time I tore apart the metal clamp around her head, she was moving and prying the tubes from her nose and throat. I freed her legs, and she was crying and shaking uncontrollably, her eyes darting around the room in a panic.
And beneath all my pain, the horror and the heartache, I couldn’t help but notice that she looked like me. Val had lied. She’d been lying even when we were still together, judging by Elisa’s age.
“Elisa,” I said.
She jerked and stared at me with those frightened eyes.
“Your mom’s over there.” I pointed through the smoke-filled room to the cell doorway. The flames were almost to it. “She got knocked out. If you can’t wake her up, you’re going to have to pull her out of here.”
Elisa was frozen. I didn’t know if she comprehended a word coming from my mouth. I kept my voice calm but commanding and hoped it penetrated her hysteria. “There’s a hole in the wall. Drag her out through that. In the next room, you’ll see stairs. Pull her up them and out of the building. Okay?”
She didn’t move.
“Okay?” I almost shouted.
She nodded frantically.
“Then go. Hurry.”
She darted across the room and disappeared behind the doorway. I exhaled, almost falling down onto the operating table. Whatever happened, at least she and Val were safe.
I tested my leg hesitantly, and the pain made stars flash before my eyes. I gasped and almost fell. Walking was out of the question, so I hopped on one leg in the same direction Elisa had gone. It must have looked ridiculous, but who cares how you look when you're fleeing a burning building?
The fire was all around the lab now, the heat radiating out in waves that made the air shimmer. Shelves crashed and chemicals exploded as the flames consumed everything in the room. The walls, the ceiling, the floor—how long before the whole place came crashing down? I wondered if I could survive being buried alive in rubble. I’d had a building collapse on me once before. Probably better not to push my luck a second time.
The next explosion shook the floor and knocked me down. For several long moments, I couldn’t think through the pain of my knee hitting the floor, but once my head cleared, I started crawling. But I was so slow. I could have crossed the lab in seconds at a run, but dragging myself across the floor with a wounded leg… Each movement grated my knee, washing my body in agony that threatened to paralyze me. I coughed, the smoke stinging my eyes. Dr. Sweet’s words about asphyxiation rang mockingly in my ears. I looked over at him, and his burning remains were little more than a skeleton. If I died down here, at least I’d have the satisfaction of taking him with me.
One of the flames licked me, and the kerosene set my body alight. I hissed but kept going. It wouldn’t kill me, not yet anyway; my skin was tougher than that. I could vaguely remember the time before my powers had developed, back when I’d been a kid and had accidentally brushed my hand against a pot on the stove. This felt something like that, but all over my body. My sleeves burned away as I pulled myself forward with trembling arms. I had to squint, everything was so bright and hot. I coughed and coughed until I almost had to stop moving. Wasn’t smoke supposed to rise? Wasn’t crawling low across the floor actually recommended in a fire? It wasn’t helping.
My eyes were watering. My body seemed determined to hack up my lungs. I had to stop. I couldn’t breathe. The smoke was like something solid blocking my airway, as if my throat was stuffed with cotton. I was dizzy. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t—I had to keep moving.
The doorway to the cell was in front of me, blocked by a tall wall of orange fire. It was like a living guardian, roaring in challenge and belching black smoke. I closed my eyes, still coughing, and started to crawl through it. I couldn’t tell if I made it past. The burning pain was everywhere; I couldn’t feel anything else. Something loud crashed behind me, louder even than the cacophony of cracks, bursts, and booms. I started to lose it, overwhelmed by survival instincts and the need to get out. I gasped for breath and wondered if I was inhaling flame. I didn’t think I was getting any oxygen. It felt like I was breathing pure heat.
Even with my eyes closed, it wasn’t dark. In the red brightness, the world seemed to wobble and whirl. I snapped open my eyes, trying to steady myself, and the cell wavered in and out of focus. I saw no sign of Elisa or Val, and that was my only comfort as I pulled myself toward the hole in the wall. My arms felt impossibly heavy. I tried to move them faster, but it was like they were disconnected from me; the signal from my brain wasn’t reaching them. Already at a slow crawl, now I was barely moving at all.
I coughed until my body convulsed, and the pain was too much. Everything was too much. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. If I could just get a few more feet…
Someone shouted up ahead, and the bulky outline of a fireman in full gear approached me through the smoke. It was my last sight before losing consciousness.
Chapter 12
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, Irma was shaking me awake. I immediately looked at the dashboard, but the car wasn’t running, and the clock was dark.
“What time is it?” I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, forgetting that one of them was black, but the surge of stinging pain quickly reminded me.
“A little after ten. Come on.” Irma helped pull me out of the car. She put my right arm over her shoulders and let me put some of my weight on her. On my left side, a dignified-looking man with a white beard did the same.
“This is Dr. Quevedo,” Irma said.
We were in the driveway of a large, two-story house, its golden lights a warm beacon in the night. I could hear water lapping somewhere behind it: not the ocean, but a river, or maybe a really big pool. The place wasn’t as large as Val’s, but it still belonged to someone who was doing pretty well for himself.
“I was expecting a back alley,” I said as they helped me limp to the door. “Something with dirty surgical tools and a chance my kidneys might get stolen.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Dr. Quevedo said. “Although I could take a kidney, if it would make you feel better.”
They got me in the door, through a carpeted entrance hall, and into a small side room where Eddy was already lying on a couch. The floor was tile, the furniture covered in plastic. Dr. Quevedo was a man who kn
ew how difficult bloodstains could be to remove.
They lowered me onto the second couch, and the doctor hurried off to get his equipment.
“Is he Lucio’s or Val’s?” I asked Irma the moment he was gone.
“Valentina’s, of course.”
Of course. My wife had a black market doctor on her payroll, just in case. And he wasn’t in a back alley because she could afford the best. Part of me thought it was scary how prepared she was, but the rest of me told that part to shut up, because it was amazing. She was amazing. What on earth would I do without her?
The doctor returned carrying a small black bag, and looked between me and Eddy with a frown.
“Who’s first?”
“Him,” Eddy and I said together.
Irma’s eyes flicked up in exasperation. “That one.” She pointed at Eddy. “He’ll be easier.”
The doctor walked over to Eddy, and I turned to Irma.
“I just need painkillers,” I said. “Then I have to get back out there.”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. It reminded me of Val and Moreen.
“In your condition?”
“Two people who might know where Val’s been taken,” I said. “They’re going to be at a club tonight. I don’t know where they’ll be tomorrow.”
Her expression sobered. “Then maybe you should have gone first.”
“Eddy’s more beat up than me.”
“I don’t know about that.”
We watched the doctor attend to him. I had to keep thinking of Eddy as being worse off than me, because I didn’t want to imagine I looked that bad. If getting Val back required violence, (And who am I kidding? It probably would.) I honestly didn’t know how well I could hold up. Hopefully, the doctor could get me some good painkillers. If I could keep moving for the rest of the night, it didn’t matter how much I’d pay for it later.
“I’m sorry,” Irma said.
“Huh?” I replied intelligently.
“We let that man take Elisa.”
“He was a telepath.”
“That’s no excuse.”
She was being too hard on herself, especially considering she was in her seventies and had no superpowers, but don’t tell her I said that. (No, really. Please don’t tell her. She’d stab me for patronizing her, and somehow, she’d be the one person with a blade that could pierce my skin.)
“What will you do now?” I asked. “You can come with me, if you want. Between the two of us, you’re definitely the more threatening at the moment.”
She shook her head. “I think… I should go after Elisa. I was her nanny when she was small. Mr. Belmonte shouldn’t bar me from the house if I ask to stay with her.”
That was a good idea. A friendly face would mean a lot to Elisa right now, and it would leave Irma there to look after her if I didn’t make it.
I closed my eyes. The plastic couch cover clung stickily to my bare skin, but even with that, I was the most comfortable I’d been in what felt like ages. I took advantage of the wait to rest, but all too soon Dr. Quevedo came for my turn.
“Any allergies or pre-existing conditions I should know about?” he asked.
“I have a bad knee and super-strength,” I said. I thought it summed me up pretty well, though from the look on the doctor’s face, he’d never been faced with a bulletproof patient before. My “condition” could make medical treatment difficult, to say the least. Needles broke on my skin, taking my blood pressure was a hassle, that sort of thing.
“How on earth did you think I was going to steal your kidneys?” he asked.
I shrugged. The movement hurt. “Just give me something for the pain that won’t make me drowsy. I don’t have time for much else.”
He ignored me and did the full checkup: took my pulse, shined the little light in my eyes, the works. My shirt came off, revealing the bandages that Val had helped wrap me in after my fight with Giordano yesterday. It seemed like forever ago. I’d thought I’d been in pain then, but that was nothing compared to how I felt now. My past-self was a wimp.
“You realize that my recommendation is, at the very least, bed rest and optimally, a hospital visit to double-check you internally,” he said in the tone of a man who knew he wouldn’t be listened to.
“Later,” I said.
He nodded in resignation and left the room. When he returned, it was with two little white pills and a glass of water. I downed them gratefully. Then he and Irma helped re-wrap my injuries, and he even managed to find a cheap plastic cane for me. I missed the metal one the DSA had confiscated. Val had given it to me for Christmas last year, and it was sturdy enough that I could use it as a weapon without breaking it. But this one would do for now.
“Anything else I can get you?” asked the doctor.
I thought about it for a second. “Do you have any exatrin?”
“You don’t look like a telepath.”
“It’s not for me. I need two syringes, with enough dosage for two adults in their twenties.”
He fiddled with his black bag, not looking at me. But evidently, Val paid him enough, because he left the room to get some. He was gone a bit longer this time, but he came back with two small yellow tubes, about the size and shape of pens. Auto-injectors, like for adrenaline. Perfect.
“You didn’t get them from me,” Dr. Quevedo said.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
Irma walked with me out to the car. I didn’t know whether the drugs were already kicking in or if it was just the placebo effect, but I felt a little better already.
“What’s your plan?” she asked.
“I need some things,” I said. “Guns, new clothes…” I looked down at my bare feet. “Shoes.”
She raised her eyebrows. “The safe houses?”
“Yeah.”
• • •
When it comes to safe houses, underground bunkers are my favorite. You can hide them beneath any seemingly innocuous building or even out in an open field, and if the worst happens and your enemy discovers it and attacks, you’re still in a bunker. It doesn’t get much safer, short of a secret military base.
But good luck building anything underground in Florida, especially South Florida. You couldn’t go more than a few feet down without hitting water, making it hard to have basements, much less underground bunkers. So Val had gone with a less extreme approach. She’d bought up a few different properties around the city under one of her false identities, filled them up with guns, cash, and a bunch of other supplies, and basically made them places to hide, regroup, or stop off at on the way to fleeing the country. Have I mentioned how much I love my wife?
One of the safe houses was a condominium on Brickell Avenue. I think the location was Val’s idea of a joke, since it was smack in the middle of the most crowded international banking district in the country. Right on the water and filled with skyscrapers that lit up the night in a postcard-perfect scene, the area was understandably crowded. But it was just south of downtown, which according to Jean-Baptiste, was where the club was located.
I didn’t have the key, so I had to stop at the front desk. The marble floor in the lobby was smooth and cool beneath my feet, and the receptionist’s professional smile slipped at the sight of me. But Val had thrown around enough bribes in advance in case this sort of thing happened. I said I was Mr. White (Val thought it was hilarious) of unit 1202, and within ten minutes, a man from security was unlocking the door for me. When you got to a certain level of society—the level with private jets, diamond pens, and vacation homes all over the world—you could get away with all sorts of weird behavior.
The closet in the front bedroom had clothes in both my and Val’s sizes. The only downside was that I’d had no say in their selection, and when Val was left to her own devices, I ended up in things you’d find on a male model. I grabbed a pair of jeans that probably cost at least three hundred dollars, a gray shirt that was dry-clean only, and socks and sneakers with a price tag I didn’t want to contemplate. Then c
ame the act of dressing, which was like taking an inventory of each and every one of my injuries, despite the drugs.
It was a warm night, too warm for a coat, but if I was going to bring firearms, I’d need something to cover the shoulder holster. I selected a leather bomber jacket simply because the only other two options were a fur-lined monstrosity and something so covered in pouches and zippers that you could barely tell it was a coat. Then I pushed aside the hangers and felt along the wall until I found the catch. The false back of the closet swung forward like a door, revealing the gun rack behind it.
Val had prepared for anything. There were AK-47s and M-16s, Glocks and SIGs, M40 sniper rifles and—was that an AT4 rocket launcher? Had she been expecting to fight a tank? I shook my head, smiling in appreciation.
My tastes weren’t exotic. I took a pair of Beretta M9s, standard military issue, and inflamed my bruised ribs getting them into the shoulder holster. Val swore by a Derringer pistol strapped to the ankle, and I spotted one on the shelf.
It was pink.
Well, let no one say I wasn’t secure in my masculinity. I found the ankle holster and hid the tiny gun beneath my pant leg, a backup in case I lost the Berettas.
Would that be enough? I looked at the Uzi in the corner and debated, but I didn’t want to be a walking war zone. I closed the hidden door and spread the hangers full of clothes back into place so that they hid the catch. Then I shrugged into the leather jacket (Ow, ribs. Ow, shoulder.), and checked myself in the mirror to make sure the guns were properly concealed. I actually looked halfway respectable. There was no hiding the black eye, but I was going to a BDSM club; I could just pass myself off as a masochist or something.
Next was the dresser. I took a Rolex out of the box on top of it, and from the hidden drawer in the side, I removed a driver’s license with my photograph alongside the name “Roger White,” a credit card under the same name, and several hundred dollars in cash. After a bit more rifling, I found a leather wallet to put it all in and headed for the door.
Hero Status Page 18