From some vague distance, I thought I could hear someone laugh. I nearly froze in horror.
“God, it’s the Trill all over again,” I hissed. It was just like the day when he sabotaged the aerial tracks. Confusion and disaster happening all over the place, with him laughing like the nutcase he was in the background.
But it wasn’t. What I could catch of the voice sounded monotonous and robot-like. This was the new threat that Mom and Freddie mentioned to me, I was sure. He was gaining power, ready to take over the Trill’s former battlegrounds.
“My baby! Let go of my baby!” a woman wailed.
I saw her a few tables away, webby stuff draping off her straining body as she struggled to tear it from her toddler. Her little girl was screeching and squirming, her lower body completely wrapped. About five feet away a spider had stopped, and it had raised itself on its four hind legs, the four front ones waving in the air as though it were threatening the woman and her kid.
I’d been in danger before. I’d seen it up close—way up close. I’d nearly died in the process of salvaging what was left of myself. White hot fury took over, and it was fight over flight. I quickly grabbed my chair, relishing its weight and excellent construction, and ran over to the thing.
A few bits of the webby stuff had wrapped themselves around me as I charged forward, but I didn’t care.
“Get away from her, you sonofabitch!” I yelled, swinging the chair down and crushing the spider with it.
The mechanical body cracked, bits of the shell—I didn’t know what kind of material was used—flying out in jagged pieces. The mechanism inside was exposed, and lights flashed and blinked as the spider, just like the Puppet’s dolls, struggled to get back on its feet.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
I pulled the chair away and swung it again, ignoring the pain that ripped through my arms and body. There was no way in Hell I was going to let that thing come back for another attack.
“Eric! What are you doing?” Dad cried.
With a grunt, I smashed that pathetic piece of robotic crap with the chair, this time severing the thorax from the abdomen. Lights flickered violently from its torn body, its legs flailed, and webby stuff spewed in disgusting trails of white to pool on the floor. I left it there to die, sputtering and kicking until its eyes blazed for one last time before it faded to black. It lay on the floor, a sick-looking mess of broken artificial body parts, white stuff, and dark smoke rising from its robotic carcass.
I’d just made myself an easy target. A few spiders nearby had left their lines and were making their way toward me. My heart pounded, and my hands felt slippery around the chair as I kept a tight grip on it, but I didn’t run. Behind me the woman and her toddler sobbed, and I moved to plant myself between them and the spiders.
“Come on,” I muttered, swiping my tongue over my lips as I tried to assess the situation. I was way outnumbered and was likely going to end the next minute completely mummified. “We’ve had enough of you assholes. Come on.”
I swung the chair, wincing at the feeling of overstraining muscles as I crushed the first robot that came within my reach. I swung again just as a few more ropes of sticky white stuff wrapped themselves around my waist. It took me three attempts that time since fatigue was setting in.
“Get away from my son!”
I turned to find Dad rushing forward with his own chair, following my lead as he attacked a spider that I didn’t notice because it came from the side, and it was about to raise itself on its hind legs. With a strength that I’d never before associated with him—the man whom I’d always called Les Nessman when I joked around, the man who was a quiet, newspaper-addicted family guy whose ideas of father-son bonding meant old board games—my dad smashed that thing with his chair. He actually let out a war-cry when he did it. Ayup, a war cry. It took him only one attempt to destroy that spider, and when our gazes met over the carnage, I couldn’t help but grin.
Around us, the noise had taken on a different tone. I continued to defend myself, the woman, and her toddler with my now-battered chair. The floor cracked here and there from all the smashing and crashing. In between enemies, I glanced around to find that other people were now fighting back, many of whom were men protecting their families, but there were a lot of women, too.
Sweaty, red-faced, tired, partly covered in ropey white webby stuff, we all did what we needed to do: defend ourselves. No superpowers, no fancy gizmos—just our need to protect our loved ones from harm, risking life and limb to see all that done. Yeah, I saw a few guys fall over, completely swathed in white stuff, with robotic spiders pouncing on them, but they only energized other people, especially some of those who continued to cower before the threat, to take up a weapon. There were still many who just plain ran, pushing and clawing through the panicked crowd as they fought their way to the escalators and the stairs. Not that it would matter, I soon discovered. A quick look up to the upper-floors showed more shoppers running in a panic, most of them draped with white stuff.
Nearby, Dad was in full Avenging Father force, as were a lot of others. Every once in a while, I’d lock gazes with one of the ordinary-people-turned-champions, and we’d grin through our sweat, bruises, and exhaustion. We fed off each other’s energy. They inspired me as much as I was sure I inspired them—different ages, races, genders, sizes, physical abilities. It was totally phenomenal.
I fought until my chair was too battered, and I had to throw it away, making sure to aim at an advancing robotic spider when I did, which momentarily slowed it down while I took up another.
By the time the superheroes arrived, we’d pretty much taken down about a third of the monsters attacking the food court. If I’d had the luxury of time, I’d have sat down for a moment to ponder the greater evils of shopping malls, seeing as how ours was constantly targeted by supervillains. I honestly didn’t know how everyone else in the upper-levels had done in defending themselves, but I found out later quite a few had also decided to fight back.
Wade was there on the second-floor, and Peter was in the food court. He easily outdid us all with a perfect combination of speed and strength. Swooping down, he’d grab hold of a couple of spiders, fly up, and smash them together in mid-air. Mechanical debris rained on us, and he threw away the shattered robots before diving down for more. Sometimes he kicked them against a wall, crushing them that way, or he simply threw them with incredible strength.
Every once in a while, I’d catch his eyes from across the carnage, and we’d grin conspiratorially at each other before moving on to destroy our next targets. It was a fantastic feeling, fighting alongside him, even if I didn’t have his powers.
I found out later Althea was on the topmost floor, tapping into some electronics store’s computers and possessing all sorts of connected machines up and down the floor into electrocuting those robot spiders. Trent had gone after the main criminal. I’d no idea what he was called yet since, until that moment, he’d kept to the shadows.
Along with the superheroes, we ordinary types continued our defense, most of us finding our second wind now the good guys had shown up. I stayed with Dad, though, to make sure he didn’t sustain any injuries, and the woman whom I’d been protecting had also taken up the fight once she’d managed to free her little girl and leave the child in the care of an elderly lady whose grandchildren were also hard at work kicking ass.
I didn’t know how long it took us to win out in the end, but in time, it was over. Once everyone saw that there wasn’t a robot left twitching, we collapsed on the broken floors, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, but feeling incredibly elated. At least, I did. I first went to the woman, who’d taken her little girl back. Like everyone else, she sat on the floor, battered and looking shocked, as she held her kid tightly.
“Are you two okay?” I panted, and she looked at me with this glazed stare.
“I am, yeah,” she whispered. “Thanks for everything.”
I smiled and shrugged, now embarrassed. I could
’ve gone as far as toe the ground while going, “Aww, shucks, it ain’t nuthin’,” but figured that it was best to leave with my dignity intact.
I half-crawled toward Dad, who’d also slid down onto the floor, his legs stretched out before him, his hands twitching on his lap. He looked seriously stunned.
“You okay, Dad?” I asked as I took my place beside him. “You look really worn out.”
“I’m fine, Eric.” He paused, looking around the battlefield. “Holy cow. What a fight.”
“Yeah. We did it.”
He said nothing for a little while. Then he turned to me, the light in his eyes speaking volumes as the enormity of what we’d just done sunk in. “You’re right. We did it.”
I smiled and patted one of his hands, and we both watched the scene as families slowly found one another, the injured were identified and comforted. No one died, thank God, but a few stayed in the hospital for a while, I later found out, because they’d been stung by spiders and were showing signs of transforming into human arachnids. We were all questioned, and before long, the local TV stations had arrived with its army of reporters. I didn’t care to be hijacked by Bambi Bailey, so I told Dad we should get the hell out before things got even crazier than before.
When we finally stumbled out into the streets, we saw the area taped off, with masses of gawkers held back by police. Victims were being transported, and some simply walked off. Dad and I pushed our way through the stunned crowd, ignoring curious questions that were being thrown at us from all around. What happened? Who was responsible? What did you do? How many people got hurt?
“Just watch the stupid news,” I barked.
Later that evening, Dad was on fire. He rattled on and on about our adventure, ignoring the news when it came on. It was fantastic seeing him get that excited over something. For one glorious meal, it was like being in the company of another teenager who’d just had his first successful fight. Mom was horrified and jubilant, while Liz complained even more loudly about her bad luck.
“I’d have been able to fight, too!”
“We know that, honey,” Mom soothed. “By the way, it’s your turn to wash the dishes.”
When I finally retired, I saw that Peter had left a message.
“You don’t have to call me back,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m so fucking proud of you. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 24
Since that incident, Vintage City seemed to have regenerated. I couldn’t explain exactly what it was, but I felt a definite buzz, as if we all had discovered something really special in our own acid-rain-drenched selves. Sure, life carried on as before, but people seemed more confident. Nearly every night, Bambi Bailey would appear in the news, smiling and glamorous—but still unable to snag Magnifiman, alas—reporting on local heroes who’d managed to save the day in their own small ways.
A bungled robbery at a convenience store, a failed purse-snatching, a foiled carjacking or mugging.
“Wow,” Liz noted as she and I watched the news while Mom and Dad went out for a date. “Everyone’s going to put the superheroes out of a job.”
“I know. Then again, I guess it’s good for us to defend ourselves or fight back. I mean, the superheroes can’t be in several different places at the same time, even if they end up growing in population.” Somehow, though, I also knew there wouldn’t be many more of them coming into their powers in the near future. Genetics was an expensive science, and as Mrs. Barlow once said, those parents who could afford it were the ones who benefited from—or, in this case, were totally screwed over by—gene manipulation. Rich folks in Vintage City were a minority, but then again, where would they be the norm in this crazy world? I calculated another three heroes and/or villains were due to show themselves soon, and that would be it.
Between the heroes, the Sentries, and the cops, the bad guys and their minions had their hands full, and we regular people would be the bargaining chips, the ones always caught in the crossfire. It was good to learn to stand up for ourselves even when the moment looked too grim.
“So,” I said after a moment’s silence, “are you still pretty hung up on Magnifiman? I noticed you haven’t been going all fangirly on him lately.”
“Oh, him? Nah.” Liz laughed, digging into the bowl of popcorn we shared. “He’s too much of a Type A personality. He’ll be out there every night, keeping the streets clean and hunting down the main baddies, and I’ll be left alone with the children every night. Not a good thing. I’m better off falling for someone more realistic.”
I shuddered. “Good grief, I didn’t think you’d project your fantasies that far.”
“Shut up. It’s not as if you’ve been totally innocent all this time.”
I glanced at my sister, who didn’t look at me. In fact, she spoke with her eyes wide and glassy as she stared at the TV, her hand mechanically moving between popcorn bowl and mouth the whole time. It was a sad, sad sight.
Time to pick up a book before I ended up looking like that, I thought. I stood and tossed aside the throw pillow I’d been cuddling.
“Yeah, you got me. I’ve been jacking off to Magnifiman since he first showed up. You should see state of the pillow I’m hiding in my closet.”
“Oh, Jesus, Eric, I’m eating!”
I trotted out of the living room, laughing myself sick. Liz threw her pillow at me, bonking me in the butt, which only made me laugh harder.
* * * *
The following day was a Saturday. Mom and I went to Olivier’s for some used-book shopping. Dad was with some friends, bowling, and Liz was getting her nails done.
We were in there for a while as Mom got all swept up in the romance section, and I kind of wandered off without any idea of what I wanted to get. It always happened this way, really. Whenever I was flat broke, I’d have a long list of things I desperately wanted to get. But when money rolled around—that is, when my parents allowed me to spend something beyond my school allowance, I’d freeze, and all of those things I wanted went poof! So that was how things were with me that day. Opportunity knocked, and I was seriously hopeless.
I went to the rear of the store, where the horror section was. I figured that it was high time for me to get something scary to read. I scoured the shelves and eventually pulled something out: a collection of stories written by Guy de Maupassant. I’d seen that name online several times before, but I’d never bothered to check his stuff until then. Within minutes I was absorbed. Turned out he was a freakin’ nutcase.
“Hi,” a girl’s voice said, startling me. “Eric?”
I whirled around and found myself looking at a short and skinny girl. She was pale but with some faint pink lipstick and blush, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her small frame clothed in chic teen designer stuff. Right off the bat, I knew her.
“Wade?” I stammered, and she blushed as she extended a hand.
“Nice to meet you, finally,” she said with a big grin. “How’re you doing?”
I guess it was my turn to blush. “I’m fine, thanks.”
She nodded and pursed her lips as she hesitated. “I’m sorry I shot at you. I think I wrote that in the card that came with the chocolates.”
“Hey, no worries, really.” I laughed, raising a hand, and she immediately relaxed. “You didn’t leave any scars, and you were only doing what you needed to do. I’m all good.”
“Okay, cool.” Another moment’s hesitation. “Um, I’ve just invited Peter and Althea for dinner and a movie next week. It’s my birthday. I’ll be seventeen—”
“Happy birthday! Advanced, anyway.”
“Thanks.” She shrugged. I could see how she could’ve charmed the pants off of Peter when they first met. Funny how her personality seemed to be so way off her alter ego’s powers. Wasn’t it sort of like the norm in books and movies that any person associated with fire was a real warmonger with a major anger management problem? I wondered what her parents wanted from her when they had her genetics screwed up.
&n
bsp; Wade cleared her throat. “Well, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming, too.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not? You’re best friends with Althea and…” She caught herself but continued without a moment’s hesitation this time. “I’ve always wanted to meet you after all the cool things that Peter’s said about you.”
I couldn’t say a word. My embarrassment had left me tongue-tied. I was also horribly ashamed of all those things I’d said to Peter about him and Wade—not to mention all those things that were still unsaid. There were way too many of them to count, and that fact alone made me want to excuse myself, crawl away and find a dark corner where I could hide.
“You’re not having a big party at home with your girlfriends and so on?” I eventually sputtered, and Wade snickered, shaking her head.
“I don’t have a lot of friends—good friends, anyway. Kind of ironic, really, that the ones I bonded the most with are the ones outside school, and they’re also the ones I have a lot in common with,” she replied, leveling me with a meaningful look.
“I know,” I said, braving a gentle touch of her arm, and she didn’t pull away. “I understand. Yeah, I’d love to go. I’ll have to ask my parents first, though.”
Wade broke out in a broad grin, her face practically lighting up. “Awesome! Do you mind trading phone numbers? You can call me if your mom or dad wants to talk to my parents—I mean—you know, since they don’t know me and stuff.”
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