by Drew Hayes
He glanced around, almost more out of obligation than expectation. If someone slipped an envelope into his locker like this, it was highly unlikely they were going to stick around to be seen. He’d been training for three hours, so that left an enormous window of time for anyone to come in here and squeeze in it through an opening in the door. No, the only viable clue to the envelope’s origins was the envelope itself.
Michael carefully undid the metal clasp and pulled out the first few pages. Some were newspapers clippings, some were police reports, some were just random photographs. There didn’t seem to be any theme throughout them; not one that Michael could discern, anyway.
Michael was about to toss the mystery back into his locker when something in one of the photographs caught his eye. Michael’s breath froze in his throat, an electrical burst of wonder jolting through his system. He looked through the documents again, this time with a better sense of what to check for. He scoured them for five solid minutes before he realized he was still standing in the gym locker room. The cold air and blazing excitement swirled in contrast as he sprang into action. Hurriedly he threw his street clothes on, tucked the envelope carefully into his gym bag, and made a bolt for the lifts that would take him to his dorm.
As soon as he arrived, Michael locked the door tight. His eyes danced briefly to a bottle of scotch in the corner. Michael brushed the thought away immediately. He could, and would, drink later to celebrate.
Right now he had work to do.
134.
“It’s official,” Hershel said as the credits began to roll. “We never let Nick pick another movie. All in favor?”
A reverberating chorus of “Aye!” momentarily deafened everyone in the room.
“You guys just don’t appreciate good cinematography,” Nick defended.
“By all means, please explain to me the cinematographic brilliance of Blood Fountain 3: The Bloodening,” Sasha dared.
“For starters, there was the way the splatter patterns always caught the light in just the right way to maximize the sensation of gore,” Nick said. In response he was struck in the face by a pillow, hurled from across the room by Alice. Nick turned his head and glared in response, only to be met by an innocent smile and a covert point toward Alex. Nick wasn’t buying it, partially because he wasn’t stupid and partially because he had seen her do the tossing in his peripheral vision. Nick snatched the pillow from the ground, reared back, and let fly at his blonde target.
The pillow ceased its trajectory in mid-air, floating slowly into Mary’s lap. She was nestled on the couch with Hershel, and while his arm wasn’t wrapped around her, their proximity was far closer than that of platonic friends.
“No pillow fighting in the living room,” Mary said. “That’s how things get broken.”
Nick stuck out his tongue. “You suck, Mom.”
Vince laughed. “You know, if anyone in this dorm had the authority to play the mother role, it would be Mary.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Mary began, though her speech faltered when she noticed the entire population of the room, which consisted of the Melbrook residents along with Will, Jill, Alex, and Sasha, all nodding in agreement.
“It’s a good thing,” Alice assured her. “It just means you’re the only one who can put everyone in place. Also, I mean, you are kind of the mom.”
“How am I the mom?”
“You stop us from throwing pillows in the house,” Nick pointed out.
“You make us all get salads at dinner,” Vince added.
“You make sure everyone has done their homework each night,” Alice said.
“You’ve said before if you could have a car it would be a mini-van,” Hershel said delicately.
“Oh, don’t you start,” Mary said, thrusting a finger into Hershel’s chest.
“Sorry,” Hershel said, an very unapologetic smile visible on his face.
“Oh!” Jill said, sitting up excitedly. “I’ve got one. You always seem to have Kleenex or tissue on hand.”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Mary tossed up her hands in mock frustration. “I’m the mom. You got me. Yeesh, part of me is glad I’ve only got three more weeks of you people.”
“Three weeks to cram with as much vintage cinema as possible,” Nick said. This time he ducked the pillow Alice chunked at him. He was not so lucky, however, with the one thrown by Mary.
“I thought you said no pillow throwing,” Nick coughed as he dislodged the pillow from his chest.
“Who’s your mommy now?” Mary retuned with a Cheshire grin.
Nick reared back to return fire, but Vince leaned forward and deftly plucked the projectile from his hand.
“I’ll be the mom. No throwing pillows indoors. Besides, you know she’ll just catch it halfway there and send it back at you,” Vince said.
“True. You combat types and your ranged deflecting capabilities,” Nick said.
“Part of it is that, part of it is that she’s planning on spending her next three weeks training instead of watching movies. Funny how much that can add to one’s skill level,” Vince pointed out.
“Three weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me. I think at this point if we aren’t good to go we might as well just pack our crap,” Nick replied.
“Have any of you guys thought about that?” Alex asked tentatively.
“Thought about the test? Sure, it’s been a worry for me and an excitement for Roy ever since they announced it,” Hershel said.
“No, I mean have you thought about what happens if you fail the test? About what it would be like to not come back next year,” Alex clarified.
“Oh,” Hershel said as the meaning set in. “A little bit. To be honest, I haven’t worried about it a whole lot. Roy has gotten amazingly better throughout the year, especially since he started sparring with Chad. I don’t think he’s going to be top of the class, but I’m pretty sure we won’t get sent home.”
“I might,” Alice said, her voice lightly tremoring with fear. “I mean, I do well at some of the puzzle and strategy exercises, but I haven’t made any progress in finding new ways to use my power. I just fly. That’s all I’ve ever done, and I’m not sure if that’s going to cut it.”
“Flying is a useful ability,” Vince assured her. “The first rule in every battle is ‘Capture the High Ground’. Elevation is important for a lot of different strategies.”
“Useful? Sure, I’ll agree with that. But we’re not talking about just being useful, we’re talking about becoming a Hero.”
“By that logic, several of us are at high risk,” Will chimed in. “My talents are most often assessed to be utilized in support role rather than a primary one. Your power is somewhat limited in its applications. Alex is little more than a weaker form of Mary, and Nick’s power is nebulous and ill-defined at its best.”
“Wow, way to cheer everyone up,” Jill said, noting the downcast faces throughout the room.
“I wasn’t finished yet,” Will said. “My point was that failure is a constant possibility for us. We can’t alter the abilities we were given, so the only thing within our control is to press forward with all we possess. We must train relentlessly, fight unyieldingly, and refuse to surrender in spite of all odds. These are qualities needed not just to make it through another round of the HCP, but ones we must absolutely have if we truly wish to be Heroes.”
“That was surprisingly eloquent,” Sasha said.
“I have my moments,” Will replied.
“Much as I agree with Will, I feel obligated to point out that we have been banned from training for the next week,” Nick said. “So I think it is our duty as both students and as potential fail-outs from the HCP to try and enjoy ourselves a bit. You know, just in case.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Nick,” Mary admitted.
“It only burns the first time,” Vince told her. He glanced at Sasha, who gave a shrug and kissed him on the cheek. “I guess we’re in for whatever.”
“Awesome,” Nick said. “Now, to start us off right, the multiplex downtown is doing a blood and gore marathon tomorrow night-”
It was at this point he was forced to vault behind the chair to escape the spontaneous, coordinated barrage of pillows directed at his body.
135.
Alice leaned back in her chair and let out a groan.
“Ugh. I’m sick of this. What asshole created calculus in the first place?”
Mary glanced up from her own pile of books. “I think Isaac Newton is credited with a lot of it.”
Alice arched an eyebrow. “The gravity guy? I can see why the apple took a swing at him.”
“That’s actually just a story,” Mary said, her eyes going back to her work. “Like Einstein failing math as a kid. I think they circulate them to make geniuses seem more human.”
“After spending a week reading over this crap, people who comprehend calculus seem less human to me than the coffee maker,” Alice replied. She stretched her back with a series of audible pops and settled back down to her own tasks.
The duo was sitting in the library, the above-ground one for all Lander students, along with several hundred of their peers. With finals pressing down on them, the Lander populace was hitting the books with the determination available only to the truly committed and the incredibly desperate. Oddly, the two categories were often one and the same. Every table in the place was occupied, with an abundance of students prowling along the walls, eyes darting about for any seat about to become open. The instant it did there was a mad flurry of movement, concluding in triumph for one lucky soul and bitter failure for the others. If any of them paused to reflect on just how much study time they were wasting by trying to study alongside everyone else, the thought had as much effect as pointing out to an amateur writer how much time and money they wasted each day by insisting to commute to Starbucks to pound out their masterpieces in view of apathetic patrons.
Alice and Mary had set up shop earlier in the day, staking out a table and leaving only in shifts while the remaining girl gave death glares to anyone approaching the empty chair. They’d been working together as finals drew closer, keeping the other accountable for the amount of effort they had to put in for each class. It was, of course, tempting to slack off, but with the other always at hand, giving the guilt eyes, they’d managed to stay on track for all their tests so far.
“Shouldn’t we be devoting more time to training?” Alice asked a few minutes later.
“Think it will make a difference?” Mary asked.
“Honestly... no. Not really. I think I’ll just need to warm up for a few days before. I don’t see me getting much better than where I’m at, though,” Alice admitted.
“Same here. Think another few hours figuring out this math will help?”
“Eeeeeerrrrrmmmmmmm... probably,” Alice yielded.
“Then back to it,” Mary replied. “Only another two hours and we can break for dinner.”
“That’ll be nice,” Alice said.
“Yeah. Plus we can use flash cards to drill each other while we eat,” Mary pointed out.
The thump of Alice’s head slamming into her books was loud enough to draw a chorus of shushes from the nearby tables.
* * *
Alex turned the page in his book and let out a deep breath. Unlike the girls, he was doing his study time alone in his dorm room. His roommate was off training his body for the exam, so Alex had the place to himself. That was a good thing; he functioned best in peace and quiet.
Alex sat cross-legged on his bed, a biology book resting comfortably in his lap. All around the small room various objects were floating in the air. Pencils, books, toothpaste, and a pillow were just some of the levitated furnishings. About once an hour Alex would add another object to the fray, splitting his concentration into yet another new direction. He’d been at this for a few days, and he’d successfully raised the maximum he could handle while studying from fourteen to nineteen. His goal was to hit twenty-five before the exam.
On that note, Alex realized it had been an hour. He mentally scooped up his alarm clock a few feet from the ground and turned the page in his book. Alex felt really bad for the people who had to pick between working on their academics and their HCP material. For his money there was no strategy quite like multi-tasking.
* * *
To the untrained eye it would look like Nick was watching television in the middle of the afternoon when he should have been studying. To the trained eye it would look the same, except they might notice the depression on the couch and the lines on his face that indicated he had been there all day. Nick let out a yawn and switched the channel.
He’d have to go out with Bubbles tonight - she was proving to be too excellent an excuse and shield to let go of anytime soon - but for now he was just relaxing. He’d browsed through his class materials on the first day off and decided he had an A- to C-grade understanding of everything he would be tested on. That meant he was free to use his study time to sit in front of the television while mind-numbing schlock flickered across the screen. It would have been a terrible strategy to employ... if he’d actually been watching it.
The problem with both the trained and untrained eye is that they wouldn’t see the cogs whizzing about in Nick’s brain. They wouldn’t know that he was going back through his entire year, day by day, interaction by interaction, and scanning each minute for information about the people he’d be coming up against. No set of eyes, regardless of training, could discern that the boy lounging lazily was in fact readying himself for his upcoming trials by searching out every weak point and emotional lever he could find in his opponents.
Which, of course, was exactly the reason Nick’s body told the story of a boy blowing off his academic responsibilities.
* * *
Thomas fought the urge to vomit while struggling to gulp down some air. His entire body was slick with sweat as he pressed his hand against the cold concrete of the training cell for support. He’d been down here for hours, and he would be here for hours more.
Thomas had used his week off of training to think long and hard about new ways to apply his power in combat. He’d been unable to think of anything entirely new, but he had recalled a technique he’d tried and failed at when he was younger. Deciding to give it the old college try, Thomas had spent his first several days back in the gym making it work. He’d eventually succeeded, leaving him less than a week and a half to get this new strategy to a point where it was viable in combat.
Coach George would have undoubtedly encouraged him to use his time more wisely, and Thomas would in no way have listened. He’d been beaten in the first trials of the year by being ill-prepared for what his fellow students would bring to bear. Now things were different. Now they’d had months upon months to see the capabilities of each person’s power. Now there were no surprises left.
No surprises, except for what one could conjure in the scant two weeks afforded to them. Thomas finished catching his breath and stood up straight. A vibrant orange glow emanated from his hands. His days were short.
It was time to train.
136.
Roy caught the fist aimed at his head and twisted it to the right. Stella let out a muffled groan of pain as her shoulder was jerked and her body sent sprawling. Roy turned to intercept the next attacker and received a kick in the ribs from a highly-dense foot. The only sound he could manage was a muffled cough as he doubled over, trying to catching his breath.
“Gotta be quicker than that,” Violet scolded as she stepped back so he could recover.
“And here... I thought... chicks... dug... lasting power,” Roy wheezed out as his lungs did their best to recuperate.
“Real women need speed and longevity,” Violet said, flashing him a smarmy grin of her own. “Speaking of, how you holding up, Stella?”
&
nbsp; “Arm is sore,” Stella growled. “No worries, though, I’ll get him back.”
“Good,” Violet said. “Because in twenty minutes it’s your turn.”
“Fuck to the yes,” Stella said, stretching her limbs as she finished standing up.
The three of them had been going for a few days like this, doing one-on-one fights at first, then progressing to two against one. They were each doing some exercises in their own time as well. At the end of the day, however, they all subscribed to the same mentality: the only way to prep for a fight is to fight. A lot.
“That’s enough girl talk,”’ Roy said, rearing up to his full height. “I’ve still got twenty minutes left, and I want to see just how well you two can double team a man.”
“I swear, it’s like he wants us to aim for the balls,” Violet sighed, taking a stance and bracing herself.
“Well, let’s be honest,” Roy said. “With ones as big as mine, it’d harder not to hit them.”
Stella and Violet exchanged glances. After several days of Roy’s banter, they were getting used to his thinly-veiled attempts to rile them up so they’d come at him harder. That said, they were also very much beginning to enjoy when it was his turn to get attacked.
* * *
Camille exhaled and shifted her position. The sun was just cresting over the horizon as she sat on the hill, knees situated on a soft yet durable blue mat. She was doing yoga, as she did most mornings, though this time she was doing it outside. She was near the edge of the campus, away from where most people traveled, but still within range of being discovered. That was the real point of today: to risk people seeing her.
She wasn’t indecent; she wore a baggy shirt over a sports bra and some cloth pants. She was just making strange motions with her body and that was a little embarrassing. Camille didn’t particularly like to be watched; she didn’t like to stand out in the crowd. It was undoubtedly a survival mechanism left over from her years of abuse at the hands of neighborhood bullies who hated her for being different.