The Supervillain High Boxed Set: Books One - Three of the Supervillain High Series

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Donnie nodded. Just then the woman that had been crushed by the truck moaned. She was pinned in the twist of metal, a mess of broken bones and blood. She raised her one free hand above her head and gasped. In one motion Donnie lowered the revolver and fired. The bullet struck her, and she slumped in place. The thunderous report made Brendan’s ears ring.

  “Trish was never nice to me,” Donnie murmured almost apologetically. He gestured to the crushed glove. “Pick up that junk.”

  “We’ve got some tools with us, but to do it right we’ll need to go east of here to a lab at the nearest school.”

  “Just hold your horses on that account, my amigo. We have some work to do first.”

  Donnie cocked his head as if he heard something. Then Brendan heard it too. Another helicopter was approaching. The man on the overpass blew a whistle three times. The alert caught everyone’s attention. The gang members were picking up their weapons and heading for cover.

  The helicopter flew high above them and did a circle above the overpass. From the opposite side of the highway a vapor trail shot up towards the aircraft and it exploded into a cloud of smoke. The pieces fell down across the highway.

  Donnie was cheering. “Yes! Yes! That’s a home run. I think they’re going to run their order and have no more at-bats sooner than you’d think.” He skipped about on one foot as long as possible before leaning against the RV. The revolver was still in his hands, but his full attention was on the horizon.

  Sirens were wailing in the distance.

  The man on the overpass fired his rifle. Brendan felt the sharp crack-BOOM in his skull. Rolf stood in the doorway of the restaurant with the radio. Brendan could hear someone talking over its tiny speaker. Donnie appeared split on the dilemma of wanting to listen in but needing to stay close to his prisoners. The sniper fired again and Donnie couldn’t restrain himself. He began jumping up and down again until he tumbled onto the asphalt, unable to get up. Black smoke from a burning vehicle was rising from down the highway beyond the helicopter crash.

  “Whatever was coming was hit at almost a mile out,” Tina said. “Those poor people.”

  The rifleman fired again. The dust in the air around the overpass kicked up from the report. A police car in the distance skidded to a halt. The man on the overpass blew his whistle twice and a motorcycle rider hit the highway in the direction of the burning vehicle. Donnie positioned himself so he could watch. He seemed to be posing, as if someone was about to take his picture as he lounged poolside.

  “Doesn’t this all just make you think?” he asked.

  The biker was soon out of sight in a rising cloud of smoke and dust. There came more activity over the radio. A small pickup came by and the porters got in. It drove off towards the wreckage.

  Brendan went to pick up the crushed glove. The pieces were all together, but the framework was completely flattened. Many of the finer metal pieces had snapped.

  Charlotte came up next to him. “Don’t give him anything. You have to destroy the ring.”

  “No. We have a chance using the machine.”

  Donnie’s revolver fired. Brendan dropped to the ground. Donnie had the weapon pointed vaguely in their direction even as he continued to laze about. He was looking up at the sky.

  “I’ll say you do have me intrigued,” Donnie said. “I can’t wait for you to show me what you’ve got in store. Ready to turn the tables on Donnie? Won’t that be fun. But this had better be worth it, or you’ll wish you had taken a bullet.”

  Brendan imagined he could feel the strength wane from his body as each moment ticked by. He was loopy and hungry and beyond exhausted. Did using the upstream food and water require extra calories? It had to. That would mean even the invaders would need to rest eventually. He had no idea how long the gang had been here. But none of them appeared to be flagging, and watching Donnie made him think the man would just go on and on and never need rest.

  Rolf, Ivar, and the dark-haired woman came out of the restaurant. The rider who had gone out to the wreck was returning. He held someone on his lap, the man’s dangling legs limp and dragging on the street. It was a police officer in blue body armor with pads and a helmet. The biker dropped the man in front of Rolf.

  “This one was still twitching,” the biker said.

  Ivar nodded in the cop’s direction, and the woman tore the helmet away and examined him.

  “Police tactical unit,” she said. She took the man’s pistol from his belt and looked it over before handing it to Ivar.

  Rolf removed the magazine and pushed one of the bullets into his hand. “This’ll pack a wallop. But nothing we haven’t seen before.”

  “Report it in,” Ivar said. “I doubt anyone will be coming this way for a while. Let’s get our radios up. Get a few people listening to what’s going on so we’re not surprised.”

  “Hey boss!” Donnie called. The woman started walking over. “No, Freyda, I want to talk to Rolf.”

  “He’s busy. Are the kids too much for you?”

  “No, not at all. We’ve been getting along swimmingly. I just think they have something we’ll want to see that might make this place a little more interesting.”

  14. The New Boss

  Their hands were secured with plastic restraints. None of them had tried to run. Brendan hadn’t seen an opportunity that wouldn’t result in them getting killed. Maybe it was the shock of the entire invasion, maybe it was having a gun pointed straight at him, but Brendan moved when ordered and knew he wouldn’t try anything as long as Donnie and the others were in a position to hurt either Tina or Charlotte.

  Helen groaned when Freyda, the dark-haired woman, tried to bind her. It earned Helen a cuff across the face that almost knocked her unconscious.

  “It’s her shoulder,” Brendan said. “It was dislocated. She won’t be trying anything so you don’t have to do that.”

  Freyda grunted and left Helen unbound. A few more prisoners were brought over from the other establishments, all locals and workers for the gas stations and fast-food restaurants. The women Tina had gotten out of the bar weren’t among those gathered. Small victories.

  Donnie was back on the pickup tailgate. A porter had come around with cans of beer. Brendan and his fellow prisoners weren’t given anything. A few times small airplanes passed far overhead. These were spotted and watched carefully. Several nearby gunshots broke the silence, but Brendan never saw who was shooting and what they might have been shooting at. The sniper on the overpass kept his position and hadn’t fired again.

  As afternoon became evening and the sun got low in the hazy orange horizon, Donnie grew impatient. He threw his final beer can in Brendan’s direction. With effort, he got off the tailgate. The earlier spring in his step was gone. He headed over to the prisoners. One pair of Latino workers were huddled close, a man and woman. He had been consoling her and speaking with her in Spanish. Both wore the same maroon uniforms with nametags on the breast pocket.

  “Hey, ése,” Donnie said. “You guys got a car or a vehicle?”

  The Latino man nodded. Donnie put away the revolver and flicked out a butterfly knife. He cut the plastic tie of the man’s wrist restraints. The man took a set of keys from his pocket and offered them. Donnie smiled and shook his head. “I don’t drive. You go bring it here. If anyone stops you, tell them you’re working for Donnie.”

  The man got up, rubbing at his wrists. Donnie pointed the knife tip towards the woman. “If you take more than five minutes, I start cutting.”

  The man ran off.

  Donnie offered a slight bow in Brendan’s direction. “See what a little motivation can do? That guy will go far. Or at least survive the day. But for the rest of you, that remains to be seen. I see it in your eyes. You’re judging me. Folks have done that before, but did that keep me down? Nope. They judge and they throw books, but Donnie keeps bouncing back.”

  They waited. Donnie leaned down over the woman. “Speakee English?”

  She refused eye contact.
>
  “Does your boyfriend know how to keep track of time? Because he’s got two minutes left. What do we all say that we start a countdown together. Everyone! Let’s start at a hundred. Hundred. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. What, not one of you?”

  Donnie looked around at the dirty, tired faces of the prisoners. The woman started crying silently.

  “Todo saldrá bien,” Tina said.

  “Hey!” Donnie shouted. He hopped in Tina’s direction and held the knife inches from her. “No talking Spanish behind my back. You live in this country, you speak English!”

  “She just told her it would be okay,” Brendan said.

  “Will it?” The knife bobbed and weaved near Tina’s eyes.

  Brendan couldn’t help but continue the mental count and cursed himself for not being able to do anything. Where was the woman’s boyfriend? The moment of silence was broken only by a distant motorcycle engine. Then Donnie started laughing as a pickup headed their way.

  “Got you all good,” Donnie said. “You should see how scared you look. Hell, son, in these parts we all got a little español in our blood if you’ve been around long enough. And zoom! Here’s our ride.”

  A small Nissan pickup with an extended cab parked next to them. The Latino man got out.

  “Is that manual or automatic?” Donnie asked.

  “Automatic.”

  Donnie counted, the tip of the knife traveling from Helen to Charlotte to Tina and Brendan and finally himself. He put the knife away and nodded. Then he pulled the revolver and shot the man.

  The woman screamed. The other prisoners recoiled as the man dropped.

  “Hey!” Donnie yelled. “Settle down. I didn’t want to steal his truck. Now it’s finders keepers.”

  Brendan worked at the plastic binding his wrists. The more he pulled, the deeper it cut into his skin. Waiting had been a mistake. He felt even weaker than he had before. The heaviness of the air was setting in, reminding him he didn’t even belong on this world. Tina let out a sob.

  “We’ll figure this out,” Charlotte said in a low voice.

  Donnie cut Brendan’s restraints. “Get your people in the truck. You’ve got five seconds.”

  Brendan didn’t think, just began pulling the others up and pushing them into the back of the cab. Donnie was laughing the whole time. Charlotte and Tina still had their hands secured behind them.

  “I’ll need my backpack,” Brendan said. He was standing on the truck’s side step, hoping this would count as being within the truck.

  Donnie motioned for Brendan to grab it.

  Freyda approached. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Hey, Freyda,” Donnie said warmly. “Taking the kids out for a spin.”

  “You know better than that. We’re not done here by a long shot. You have prisoners to watch, and one of them might know something.”

  “I know. I’m the one who told you that.” Donnie gestured with the revolver as he spoke. Freyda appeared not to notice.

  Is she bulletproof, high, or does she just not care?

  “Besides,” he continued, “you’re here now. You can watch them.”

  She stepped close to Donnie. With a finger, she poked him in the chest, making him take a step back. He almost fell.

  “I would have killed you a year ago, you sniveling little worm. You’re here because Ivar found you amusing. Don’t forget your position in the food chain. There’s a dozen others who would die to have the chance you’re receiving.”

  Donnie was nodding a little too fast, as if agreeing to everything she said and ever would say.

  She slapped him. “We’re going to do a ceremony at sunset. Round all the prisoners up and herd them down to the parking lot next to the overpass.”

  Donnie made a face when she turned and walked away. He even stabbed the gun barrel in her direction before putting it under his belt.

  “Okay, everybody, you heard the lady. It’s time to break in your world, and you all get front-row seats.”

  ***

  Donnie had Brendan slowly drive the truck over to the lot while he sat in the back. The other prisoners followed behind on foot. Donnie pounded on the cab of the truck and pointed to a space next to a big rig trailer.

  The porters were gathering tires, and one brought over a pair of red plastic gas cans. A few more prisoners were sitting on a curb. One of the bikers supervised, a bottle of whiskey in his hand and a pair of pistols on a gun belt around his waist.

  Brendan parked and tried to keep up with what was happening. Donnie seemed distracted, almost sleepy, as he settled in and watched them work.

  None inside the truck dared speak. Too many of the invaders were passing nearby. Brendan quietly opened the glove box and the compartment inside the central armrest but found nothing interesting.

  He had a mostly full bottle of water left in his pack and a last Slim Jim. He opened the water and took a drink. He didn’t realize how parched he had become, and it was difficult not to chug the whole thing. He turned to kneel on the seat and gave each of the others a sip. There was still a swallow left when they were done. He tucked it away. He watched Helen for some kind of reaction. This was the woman’s first taste of upworld water, but she would have no idea of what it could do. Perhaps giving it to her was a mistake. She shifted about uncomfortably, clearly in pain.

  He reasoned the rest of them should still have enough oomph from their earlier consumption to give them the remnants of a boost. But normal dehydration still took its toll.

  Outside, more of the invaders were gathering. The sun was now a red semicircle, and the clouds above had become brilliant streaks of pink. Rolf was nearby and gesturing towards the tires. A porter reached out carefully with a long lighter. The stack of tires went up in a burst of flames. Soon black smoke blotted out much of the sunset. Several whoops arose. Donnie howled and banged on the truck bed. The invaders passed bottles among themselves and smoked cigarettes. The sizzling fire flared and popped.

  Freyda and Ivar approached to stare into the fire. Freyda hung heavy off Ivar’s arm. Licks of orange flame reflected off Ivar’s glasses.

  A blast of motorcycle engines drowned out much of the cheering. Three bikes pulled up, polished machines replete with detailed airbrush work and chrome, different from any of the street bikes used by the other riders. The man who got off the lead bike was hard to see as he wasn’t particularly tall. But everyone’s attention was on him. He had on a worn black leather jacket that appeared several sizes too large, and his long hair was parted to one side. He removed bifocals from his narrow face and put them into a shirt pocket. From what Brendan could see, he was the only one not marked with visible tattoos.

  Rolf whistled, and the raiders and motorcycles all fell silent. Donnie let out a last whoop and a few irritated faces momentarily turned his way.

  Then the man spoke.

  “Another conquest.” His voice was quiet yet penetrating. “All outriders and scouts report success. There’ll be a fight tomorrow and the day after, but that just makes this all the more fun. Keep it tight. Listen to your lieutenants. Don’t get separated or carried away. Soon enough, these people will believe that gods walk among them.”

  The raiders cheered. Even the porters pumped the air with their fists. The fire flared a deeper red, and the smoke was now a curtain of black.

  “Let’s mark it.”

  One of the raiders went to the side of the overpass. With a spray can, he made two circles with a line underneath. To Brendan’s eyes it looked like a simple emoticon, an emotionless face staring straight out. It was the same as the tattoo that marked so many of them, the same as what Torben used to ink his property.

  The leader pointed to the symbol. “That mark signifies your allegiance to the Warlords. If we put that mark to your flesh, you become our property. It also is the only thing that will save your life.”

  “Show!” Ivar shouted.

  The warlords and porters all took off jackets and pulled aside collars. All bore
the tattoo, mostly on necks and chests.

  “This world now bears our mark. Tomorrow even more markings will follow. Those of you that take the mark will realize that it bears the promise of power. All Warlord lieutenants were once sergeants, the sergeants grunts. Slaves can aspire to a higher rank. But even a Warlord slave holds power over the strongest of this world.”

  He pointed to a porter. “Pick a sacrifice.”

  The porter perked up. He was a scrawny kid no older than thirteen, his face dirty, his once-white T-shirt mostly gray and brown with dirt. The boy looked over at the line of prisoners. After brief consideration, he went to the largest man and pulled him to his feet. Terror was in the man’s eyes as he was led forward, his hands still bound. As they got closer to the burning tires, he tried to pull away, but the porter hauled him up in the air and threw him into the fire. The man screamed and tried to rise out of the blaze only to get kicked back into it by the porter. The porter pulled his own smoldering shirt off as he stepped away from the flames.

  “No!” Tina managed to open the door and was partially out of the cab before Brendan could reach back to grab her belt. With her hands bound, she couldn’t get leverage to pull away.

  “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Yes, there is. We go down fighting if we have to.”

  “There’s too many of them. We have to wait.”

  Meanwhile, Charlotte got out of the other side of the truck and slipped past Donnie. Her hands were still secured in front of her, but she charged straight at the leader anyway. She had almost made it to him when one of the new arrivals stepped forward and clipped her with a straight arm, sending her to the ground. The woman put a knee on Charlotte and a hand on her throat. Charlotte was helpless, her bound hands feebly grabbing at the woman’s jacket. The woman’s reddish-brown skin was marked with several old and new tattoos.

  “I claim this one,” the woman said.

  As the other gang members cheered, recognition set in and Brendan’s stomach sank. The flames were burning bright enough for him to make out the woman’s face. It was Mimi Dreyfus.