The second flash came, brighter and stronger than the first, and Mark virtually crystalized into a statue.
"Hey, kiddo," came a muffled voice. "Remember me?"
How could I forget? he tried to quip, but he couldn’t speak.
The woman from that night at Davison Electronics climbed the rest of the way through the window, and this time there was no blindfold in sight. He caught a glimpse of metal in her sarcastic smile, and he figured that her jaw had been wired shut from her run-in with the vigilante.
Too bad he didn’t finish the job.
Silver Eyes’ elastic partner reformed into a more recognizable shape, revealing herself as a woman after all. Not an attractive one, to be sure — she looked like a fairly detailed sculpture that had nevertheless been fashioned from Silly Putty. Ugly as she was, she was the perfect choice to take on a paranormal with Mark’s abilities. This wasn’t just some random ambush of revenge — it was well planned.
In the meantime, Silver Eyes sauntered over to where Mark stood frozen in a half-crouch. She made a show of rubbing her sore jaw. "I know, I know. You weren’t the one who did this to me. Believe me, I was aching for the chance to go after my gold-and-black clad friend, but ... someone figured I’d be of more use here." She glanced over at the television and rolled her eyes. "Sorry if I interrupted your Me-Time, kiddo. It would have been your last round, too." She took his face in both hands, pulling the skin below his eyes down with her thumbs. She then flash-froze him once more. "Just for good measure," she explained, then stepped back. "Anyway, I want you to know that this is nothing personal for me. I doubt you could have done anything to stop us tomorrow, but we can’t take any chances with a paranormal of your caliber. So just know that I don’t take any pleasure from this. I don’t, anyway ..." She smirked, glanced toward his apartment door, and forced a whistle.
Mark couldn’t see what happened next, but he heard an ungodly tearing noise, like the splitting of wood on a tree that’s been nearly chopped through and finally gives up the ghost. He then heard footsteps, but without being able to move his eyes, he couldn’t see his latest houseguest until the man was standing before him.
Ohhh ... shit ...
"Shockwave," Silver Eyes announced, "I’m sure you remember my friend, Craig. From the bank?"
Craig, the clawed man, extended his left arm — his right was still in a cast — and curled it around to Mark’s welted cheek. One of his talons lightly stroked the tear at the center, poked into it about half-a-centimeter ... and then ripped downward, cleaving his flesh down to the hair on his chin. Mark couldn’t even give voice to the burning agony he felt.
"You’ll have to forgive Craig’s silence," Silver Eyes was saying, "you see, you broke his jaw far worse than Vortex did mine — he’s got wiring and screws that make my job here look like a kid’s retainer. I believe you broke it right before you crushed his arm." She smiled as best she could, then clapped and rubbed her hands together. "Well, I’ll leave you two to work this out. I’m a tough ol’ gal, but even I’m not big on vivisections. Especially live ones." Moving toward the remains of the door, she gestured for Ms. Latex to follow. "Enjoy!"
Breathing heavily, his eyes overflowing with seething rage, the clawed man moved closer ...
POWERHOUSE AND VORTEX
Lincoln waited apathetically for Edmond to give the thumbs-up. The night was even cooler than last time, and although he remained unaffected by climate, his respiration was collecting like sweat around the nose and mouth of his ski mask, irritating him. He rubbed absently at the area, sighing heavily.
Conversely, Graham — who kept his distance from Lincoln, as was usual of late — was rearing to go, anxious to flex his paranormal might once again. At one point, his attitude would have disgusted Lincoln, but he had little time for the lightning man anymore. These days, he reserved his Hatred for McLane, and McLane alone.
It was a few minutes after two o’clock in the morning, and the three rogues, dressed in black and mindful of the oscillating security cameras, were crouched in a thicket across from one of Davison Electronics’ side fences. The fence pulsed with so much electricity that Lincoln could hear it humming clearly, even though they were several yards away. He was sure that it posed no threat to Graham or himself — he had no idea yet what Edmond’s abilities were — but if it were shorted, blown out, or ripped away, he knew that it would set off any number of alarms that the perimeter had been compromised. Waid’s team had underestimated Davison’s security measures. Even though it was this vigilante who turned out to be the real problem, McLane and Khalkha didn’t want to chance another failure. So here they sat, hunkered down, waiting for some kind of—
A massive explosion rattled the very air and shook the ground. Lincoln saw a huge fireball rolling into the night sky on the far side of Davison’s property. A second, smaller explosion followed moments later, this time not far from the main gate.
"Did one of our people do that?" Lincoln asked Edmond. "I thought it was just us tonight."
Edmond — a fifty-ish, somewhat overweight man with thinning hair and prominent ears — glanced at his watch. "Just because we’ve gone paranormal, Powerhouse," he commented in a deep voice, and without any sarcasm when he used Lincoln’s codename, "doesn’t mean we have to abandon norm firepower. We appropriated a shipment of C-4 last year. Believe me, there’s a lot more where that came from." He checked his watch again.
"Are we ready to move or what?" Graham groused impatiently.
"Just a few seconds longer," Edmond told him. An alarm had sounded immediately following the first explosion, and now a second droning followed. In the darkness, they could see headlights as Davison security scrambled toward the two burning areas. "Now."
They moved forward, Lincoln and Graham flanking Edmond as they raced for the fence. In spite of the increased noise, Lincoln could still hear the fence’s charge. "Didn’t work. It’s still got power."
"We knew it would," Edmond assured him, stopping short of the fence by a good ten feet. "They run on separate generators, to prevent just such an occurrence from bringing down all bastions."
"No problem," Graham shrugged, raising his hand toward the nearest fence post.
Edmond quickly cut him short. "No. We don’t want to draw their attention any sooner than we have to — the commotion won’t last long." He extended his own pudgy hands towards the dirt and gravel at his feet. "Stand back, please."
Graham hastily retreated. Lincoln took a single step backward, curious as to what Edmond could do. Within seconds, an acrid stench filled the air, faintly stinging even his invulnerable eyes. He withdrew further as the ground in front of Edmond began to crackle and smoke, eroding like Styrofoam under a flame. Edmond shifted his stance and his aim, working the corroding earth into a rough underpass that would allow them to move beneath the barrier with room to spare.
Lincoln thought, Wonder if he could burn me, too.
"Come on," Edmond urged them as he finished. "I’ve pulled it back in. You’ll be fine."
They moved on, traversing the underside of the fence. The abraded ground stank like hell, but — true to Edmond’s word — it didn’t burn Graham, let alone Lincoln. The entire property was in chaos, and their silent entry didn’t capture anyone’s attention.
Edmond broke into a trot. "This way," he stage-whispered, waving them onward.
Lincoln had looked over the map of the grounds, but he was quickly turned around and confused, and grateful that Edmond was leading the way. The older man didn’t move very fast, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He led them to a large warehouse that did not appear to Lincoln any different from all the others around them. He almost asked whether Edmond was sure of their destination, but again took in the unfamiliar surroundings and withheld his inquiry. When they reached the building, Edmond swiftly melted them a small entrance.
The inside was very spacious and almost entirely bare. The lights were dim but still on, and Lincoln could make out various blocks
on stands at the far end of the hanger-like room.
"Looks like a shooting range," Graham commented, and Lincoln was forced to agree. "You sure this is the place?"
Edmond nodded. "One of three. McLane never worked in here himself. Maybe this is why." He gestured to one side. "There’s a couple of computers and work tables. We’ll give it a once-over, then move on."
Lincoln and Graham poked around physically while Edmond did a little hacking on the main console. Lincoln found more target blocks, an electronic gadget that looked like bandless goggles or compact binoculars, and some material that looked like cotton fabric but felt thicker and heavier.
"There’s nothing here," Graham carped, noisily kicking over a work bench. "Let’s get going."
"Wait," Edmond insisted, "I think I’m getting somewhere." Lincoln glanced over his shoulder — the screen was indeed becoming more active. "Powerhouse, grab one of those DVDs and slip it into the burner."
"One of these?"
"No, the ones that have ‘DVD+R’ on the label. Pop it in the drive that says ‘Writer’ on it. No, the bottom one, there. That’s it. Thanks."
"What?" Graham asked, joining them. "What is it?"
"I’m not sure," Edmond admitted. "The technobabble is way beyond me, but the headers and file names identify something called a ‘vortex wave.’ "
"A what?"
"Wait." Lincoln perked up, his interest aroused in spite of himself. " ‘Vortex wave?’ Didn’t the vigilante who nailed Waid’s team call himself—?"
"Exactly," Edmond affirmed. He opened the appropriate software and began burning copies of the files to the first of what would take several CDs. "That can’t be a coincidence. Looks like ‘Vortex’ might not be just a vigilante after all. McLane will be pleased when we bring—"
Twin beams of red light flashed past Edmond, targeting the computer’s DVD burner from a sharp angle like a pair of laser-sights. An instant later, the beams — which were lasers — shot straight through to the other side, melting the drive and the copy Edmond had been making, but leaving the computer’s hard drive completely untouched.
"Look out!" Graham called. He fired a lightning bolt blindly as he dove behind the very bench he’d kicked over a minute ago.
Lincoln, his ears ringing from Graham’s counterattack, grabbed Edmond and pulled him down as well, using his own body to shield the man who had so far treated him decently.
But the next assault was not aimed at them. The laser beams were at work again, but this time they were shooting upward, systematically destroying the lights. In seconds, the warehouse was plunged into darkness.
"Edmond? Edmond!" Lincoln demanded, shaking the startled man gently by the shoulders. "Can you get us out of here?"
"To hell with that!" Graham called from his hiding place. "Khalkha chose us for just this occasion! Don’t you remember how Elliott lost his thumb, stupid? It’s him!" With that, Graham peeked over his shield and fired a series of smaller bolts, this time aiming more carefully.
Lincoln looked over the table and around the computer. Graham’s efforts were providing brief strobes of light, and he could barely make out a single figure moving along the far wall. The guy was wearing a lot of gold, and a black cape. So their attacker’s identity seemed pretty certain, but Graham was missing him by a fairly wide margin.
The question was: Did Lincoln need to hide, or was he tough enough to stand up to laser? Before he could resolve these issues, Graham took a break, and Lincoln completely lost sight of him.
"Did I get him?" Graham asked.
"Not even close."
"What the hell do you know?"
"Stand up and find out."
Graham grumbled, but not loud enough for Lincoln to catch the words.
Then Lincoln caught a whiff of the now-familiar acidic fumes. "Edmond, what are you doing?" he whispered.
"I’m burning into the floor," Edmond answered. "Making us a dugout. We’ll be able to drop in and wait for him to give away his position. Since he can’t see us any better than we can see him—"
"I wouldn’t be too sure of that."
Regardless of his paranormal protection, the sudden new voice nearly caused Lincoln to jump out of his skin. He was so close! The guy was fast! He felt a slight breeze go past his left arm, and Edmond grunted as though struck. Then Lincoln heard him moan as he slumped into the very hole he’d just begun making.
"Got you!" Graham roared, firing a lightning bolt from each hand, heedless of whether or not he might hit either of his companions. In the flash of light, Lincoln saw the costumed man — Vortex — standing right next to him. He could have taken a swing at him then and there, but he hesitated.
Graham missed Vortex, but he did accomplish one thing. One of his bolts struck a large pile of computer printouts on a different table, which instantly caught fire. The flames spread quickly to the table itself, and suddenly it wasn’t so dark.
But Vortex was on the move. Putting space between himself and Lincoln, he faced Graham. The air between them rippled — Waid was correct about this paranormal having multiple abilities — and suddenly Graham was hurled backward as though Lincoln himself had picked him up and thrown him. The redhead was airborne for several seconds before he crashed back to the floor, moaning, groaning, and cursing the whole way.
Then Vortex said something that Lincoln heard very clearly. It was just one word, "Lightning," but it was spat with venomous conviction. He moved towards Graham, leaping over the bench with impressive grace.
Lincoln glanced down at Edmond and realized the man was lying face-first in the loosened rumble of the warehouse floor. Turning him over, he found Edmond was gushing blood from a broken nose, and the uneven flickering of the firelight was still enough to reveal that both his eyes were blackening. Vortex must have hit the man dead-center in the face with perfect accuracy. So much for his not being able to see in the dark.
The warehouse echoed with more of Graham’s lightning bolts, and Lincoln figured that he should return his attention to the fight. If Graham were to report back to McLane that he could have taken a swing at Vortex and didn’t ...
Standing, Lincoln was just in time to see Vortex reach Graham. All of the redhead’s bolts had apparently missed their target, although Vortex’s cape was smoking near one end-corner. He elbowed Graham in the left temple, staggering the lightning man. Graham took a clumsy swing at him, which proved to be a big mistake — Vortex blocked it easily, then rolled his arm around Graham’s and pivoted at the waist, hyper-extending Graham’s elbow. Graham cried out as he was then spun and flipped by the very same arm, landing flat on his back on the concrete floor — his breath fled his body like a rat from a sinking ship.
"Son of a bitch!" Vortex bellowed, kicking Graham in the face. "You killed them all!" He threw himself down onto the man, pommeling him.
Lincoln realized that he’d just been watching all of this, slack-jawed and immobile. He had no idea what Vortex was talking about, but one thing was clear: Although he was taking out a lot of emotional frustration on Graham, it seemed doubtful that he was out to kill the lightning man — after all, one blast of those lasers of his would accomplish that task at the speed of light.
God only knows what Graham’s done to deserve this, Lincoln thought. But ... I have to think about Tommy and Sarah ...
Lincoln stepped forward and kicked the bench. It split in half but still did what he’d wanted — a portion of it flew across the hanger and slammed into Vortex’s back, knocking him off Graham. Lincoln expected that to be the end of it — the force he’d put into that kick could easily have shoved the bench halfway through a normal man’s body — but Vortex, though clearly shaken, managed to roll with it and end up on his feet.
Invulnerability, too? This guy has more paranormal tricks than Khalkha!
Striding forward, flexing his muscles, and trying to sound as rough and intimidating as possible, Lincoln demanded, "Listen, why don’t you just stand down, Mister? I don’t want to hurt you—"
He’d half-expected twin beams of light to shoot forward and try to burn through him, but something else happened. When the guy had ... thrown Graham backward, or whatever it was he’d done, the air had rippled like a heat wave. Now, however, as Vortex turned that same power onto him, he found that being on the receiving end was a different experience. Instead of a mere ripple, a tunnel seemed to appear between himself and the vigilante — it reminded him, of all things, like the opening title sequence on the old "Doctor Who" television series. It was weird and psychedelic ... and the spiral on Vortex’s chest made more sense.
But that wasn’t the only difference. Unlike Graham, he wasn’t pushed away, but instead felt as though he were suddenly under water. It became a little more difficult to breathe, a little more difficult to move, like the atmosphere in the room had increased in density. Still he wasn’t in any pain so far, so — with some strain — he pushed forward.
Paranormals (Book 1) Page 20