Ever The Hero (Book 1): Ever The Hero

by Harn, Darby

  “This is probably nothing,” I say.

  Vidette crosses her arms. “I still think we should leak the tape. Depending on Gardner… if the resolution goes forward, we have to be ready. There are people here that won’t leave. I’m not leaving. I won’t sit back and do nothing.”

  I look away. Part of me hopes this all stops next week. The other part is pretty sure I’m not able to stop anything. On my way to the door, I reach for Abi, but she’s not looking at me.

  “I’ll be back,” I say, and she smiles, easy.

  Amber clouds lid the city, low and heavy. Fears of radiation emptied the peninsula before GP reclaimed it, though much of the meat packing industry that once dominated Billy Town had diminished even before 1968. Last few years, people started coming back from places farther inland like Hughes enough that Billy Town became a no man’s land for those too rich to live in the ruins, but too poor to live in the new city. Dog parks. Bricks and breweries. A water tower defaced with a giant red V.

  I float down McDuffie, invisible, as people trickle out of the gutted packing plant below. Red and blue light bursts in the intersection. Police in SWAT gear chase them down, cuff them and drag them to police vans lined up down the street. These cops aren’t from Break Pointe; there aren’t any police here.

  Roof lights blink out. Tires explode. The cops take cover behind car doors. The people from the plant run. Smoke bombs explode in the street, clouding their escape. Gunfire echoes through the streets and the alleys crawling with runners. Dozens of them. Hundreds. All of them backpacks and bags.

  I lower to the roof for a better look, becoming visible as I do, and illuminating a muscular man crouched low there, fitted in some kind of black motocross protective gear. A scuffed-up dirt bike helmet hides his face, the cracked pieces of a fractured taillight glued into an imposing visor.

  He lifts the visor. The bright eyes of a handsome young African-American man gleam red in my light. “You’re her…”

  “What is this?” I say.

  “This is perfect,” he says. “You’re perfect!”

  Twenty-One

  A GP patrol ship drifts up the Wasigan River from downtown, and the police scatter, along with any sign of pedestrians.

  I perch on the edge of the roof of the packing plant. “The cops are from over the state line, you said?”

  The armored man sits next to me. “They started coming over when everybody was trying to get out of town. There’s nobody to stop them. GP sure doesn’t bother stopping anything.”

  “These people are just trying to find someplace safe.”

  “It’s safe over there. They pay their bill on time. They think all these people are the reason why Break Pointe doesn’t.”

  “I can’t believe this. What do I call you?”

  He straightens up. “Tail Light.”

  “Why Tail Light?”

  His posture wilts a bit. “I wanted to be a cop like my dad. I got on the force in Napier. I wanted to be here, like he was back in the day. But you know how it is. Budget cuts. Yeah, I was a cop. And then another cop pulled me over one day going through Hughes. He said I had a busted taillight. I didn’t. I reached for my badge. When I got out the hospital, the department said it was my fault. So they let me go.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs. “I thought about a lot of different names. Black Justice. Justice Maximus. Justice Man.”

  “I think you made a good choice,” I say.

  “What’s your codename?”

  I spell Abi’s name in the snow. “I don’t really have one.”

  He peels an orange. “Every hero has to have a name. Some people calling you Ever. You know. You Ever. We Ever.”

  The smile on his face is hard to understand. This whole thing terrifies me. I’m torn to pieces but in his face I see how my experience, and my actions, are bringing people together.

  “I’m just Kit. What’s yours? Your real name, I mean?”

  “Mike,” he says, and offers me a slice. “Mike Roberson. I don’t know. I saw what you’re doing out here and I was like… I’ve got to get in this. I can’t be sitting here screaming at my TV every night. I can’t be feeling sorry for myself. And I can’t be waiting around for someone else to save me. I don’t have any cosmic powers, but I’ve got to do something. I got all this racing gear. I got some ninja shit from the army surplus. I was like, if she can do it, I can do it. We all can do it.”

  “You’re doing this because of me?”

  He winks at me. “Damn straight.”

  I smile. “I’m glad to meet you, Mike.”

  Mike shakes my hand. “You, too.”

  I mum the orange slice between my lips. It doesn’t taste like oranges, but Florida. “You’re breaking up the patrols?”

  “I hate this, man. Fighting with cops. But this ain’t right down here. I do what I can. Kind of outmatched on GP raids, to be honest. I know my strengths. And my weaknesses.”

  “I should write mine down.”

  “So, uh… you got like any others on your team? You got like super friends? Super boyfriend?”

  “I’m super gay.”

  “Cool, cool.” Mike tosses the orange peel. “Irish, huh?”

  “County Wicklow.”

  “How about – The Dark. You know? For the Guinness.”

  “I’d probably have to stop and explain it.”

  “Kitalytic. KITT. Kitronic.”

  “Am I superhero or a DJ?”

  “Kitastrophe. Nah, that’s like evil and shit.”

  “I’m just Kit,” I say.

  “For real. You don’t like The Ever?”

  I tug at the elastic fabric of Vidette’s suit. “I don’t hate it. I don’t know. I might be too weird about it.”

  “Nah. You’re you. It’s working, so far. I like the old costume, though. Using GP’s past and who they were against them. When they were real heroes. That’s power.”

  “It was a bit more practical than that, but yeah.”

  He nudges my arm. “I know you fly solo, and I don’t have any powers, or anything really… but count me in.”

  “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

  “My Dad he used to say, everybody’s got problems. You’re a cop, you’re rolling down the street and everything that comes to you has a problem. You can’t solve everything. You can’t save everyone. But you try. That’s the job. You’re asking GP to do their jobs. You’re asking all of us. You got to let us.”

  I don’t feel as alone, as I did before; the burden of the city and its future doesn’t feel as heavy.

  I smile. “Thank you, Mike.”

  “Nah. Thank you, Kit.”

  “Want to go find a raid to bust up?”

  He pulls on his helmet. “Kit Lightning and Black Thunder, taking back the streets.”

  I float off the roof. “No.”

  “Kit Bash and Tail Light.”

  “Hmm. No.”

  Together, we race through the night gone pink in early snow, roof to roof across the city toward its cry.

  The gavel claps against the sound block in the council chamber. “The council will come to order.”

  A lottery prevents most protesters from gaining entry to the council meeting, but Christy ensured I got a ticket. Even so, space in the public gallery is at a premium. I press through the dense crowd to a spot at the gallery window, looking down on the chamber, where the council sits in a semi-circle. The longer the roll call goes on, the more anxious Gardner becomes. Sweat glistens his forehead. He keeps brushing the bottom of his nose with his finger and looking at it like he’ll find something.

  The clerk sits. “Your honor, we have a quorum.”

  “We have a quorum,” Gardner says. “Resolutions?”

  “A resolution from Councilman Schwartz, your honor.”

  Schwartz hikes up the waist of his slacks as he rises. “Your honor, first of all I’d like to thank you for your help in drafting the resolution to privati
ze all remaining civic services to Great Power. You have served this city admirably through very difficult circumstances and we thank you for it.”

  Gardner sniffs. “Uh huh.”

  “I believe all is required now is your honor’s approval so we may proceed with the resolution.”

  The gavel twists in Gardner’s hands. C’mon. “Hearing no objections… I will move to…”

  A barrage of flashes erupts from the cameras of the reporters assembled in the press box. The windows of the gallery bow in their frames as Gardner droops over his microphone.

  I bite my lip. “C’mon…”

  Gardner rubs his nose. “It has come to my attention…”

  Schwartz throws up his hands. “Your honor?”

  Gardner grips the handle of the gavel so hard I think it might break. “The resolution is vetoed.”

  My smile reflects back at me with as much shock as relief. Deep in the thicket of the reporters, Frankie shouts questions toward the dais, unheard in the bewilderment from the council.

  Gardner slams the gavel into the sound block. “Order. Order! We’ll have order or I’ll clear the chamber.”

  Schwartz holds up his hand. “Move for the council to vote to override the veto. Hearing no objections – ”

  Gardner impales the gavel. “I will hear any objections, Councilman Schwartz.”

  “The committee has reported its findings.”

  “Councilman Schwartz, your hearing must be going.”

  “If there is information the committee was not aware of, then I move to send the resolution back to the committee so that it may assess said information. I ask the mayor to withdraw his veto and allow the committee a proper consideration.”

  Bewilderment gives to anger. People in the back push forward. The gallery shakes with frustration. What’s happening?

  Gardner pounds away. “Order. Order. I will withdraw my veto so the committee may reconsider the resolution in light of the new information that has come to my attention. Move to send the resolution back to the committee. Hearing no objections…”

  I never hear the call to adjourn. Gardner flees the dais, Christy trailing behind him in the haggard frustration of a parent dealing with an unruly child. I pull my hood down over my face and try to push out through the crowd surging toward me. I should have gone immediately but the reversal of the council left me numb. Can they override his veto? What happens if they do? I squeeze my way out. Frankie stands just outside the gallery entrance, waiting for me with hungry eyes.

  I keep going.

  She follows me down the stairs, into the atrium crowded with protestors. “I didn’t thank you for saving my life.”

  “I would have been surprised if you did.”

  Frankie smiles. “Given how powerful you are, this cloak and dagger play with the council seems a bit unorthodox.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Everyone is talking, Kit. Sedesky. Gardner. Everyone.”

  I know she knows. I don’t know why I bother pretending.

  I step out of the crowd. “I’m not leaking anything to you.”

  “If the resolution passes, which – SPOILERS – it will, you won’t have a choice. But then all you’ll accomplish is bringing down GP, and since they’re running the city in this scenario, Break Pointe takes it one last time in the ass for posterity.”

  “Is that a joke?”

  “I’m dead serious. Remember what I said? The real power in the world is information. The people who have it shape the story, Kit. The world. You can still make this work for you. Give me what you have. All of it. Don’t wait for the city.”

  My instinct stretches in opposite directions. Thin in the middle. North. South. Be smart. Fuck it all.

  “I can’t do that,” I say.

  “You have all the leverage here.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Blackwood knows who you are.”

  Crying out loud. “How do you know that?”

  “Because Mike Dodge really wants me to look into you and everyone you’ve ever known. But he can’t spoil your little secret, because if you’re Kit Baldwin, you’re not the alien anymore. You’re not scary, or other, you’re just you.”

  “This isn’t about me,” I say.

  “That’s not what you told Sedesky.” Frankie thumbs through the notes on her thumb. “Let’s see… here we go. ‘I have knowledge and I have power. I’ll use them to make the city safe.’ You’re selling the city on an alternative to GP, but you’re asking them to invest in a brand whose market icon right now is a question mark. Don’t let someone else determine your brand, Kit. And don’t let someone else set the market. Want to convince Gardner? Then do what you promised Sedesky you’d do.”

  Blackwood knows who I am. What I can do. This is just a game we’re playing, keeping each other’s secrets in a cold war we’re both desperate to keep from going cosmic. I’m through playing games. If you’re Kit Baldwin, you’re not the alien anymore. Right now the whole world thinks I’m an alien. A threat. So long as they do, he keeps winning the news.

  I look up, as I always do.

  The shadow of a passing airship trails across the faces huddled under the dome, masking their fatigue. Their hunger. My hunger grows by feeding it any thought and I want the comfort Abi offers. The peace and the quiet I had hoped for with Valene. An end to this stretching and pulling between my heart and head.

  I pull on the string of my hoodie. “I know the raids in advance. What I don’t know is where GP is taking the people they’ve been removing from The Derelicts. It’s off the books.”

  Frankie’s tongue pokes out her cheek. “Nobody will go on the record about it, but detainees are being processed in Hughes, and then placed on trains out of town.”

  “Trains? Why trains?”

  “So nobody notices a bunch of buses rolling every last person in Break Pointe beyond the city limits.”

  “Where?”

  She shakes her head. “No one knows. Is this a question you plan to answer any time in the near future?”

  I shrug. “Might as well add it to the set.”

  Her lips creep into a grin. “Maybe I’m there when you do.”

  “Maybe. Maybe a few others are, too.”

  “Others? What are you playing at?”

  I lower my hood. “The game.”

  My shadow swims across the vaulted ceiling. Ben adjusts the position of the light, turning it down so it shines directly on me as I stand outside the shuttered County Assessor’s office on the third floor of City Hall. In the monitor, I see myself as Ben does in the camera, a nervous girl playing at Halloween.

  He holds his light meter before me. “This is so cool.”

  “I’m glad you’re having fun,” I say.

  Frankie takes up position behind the camera. “Don’t think about it. Just talk. We can stop and start again, anytime. This isn’t going out live.”

  “They’ll question you, Frankie.”

  “I’ve had a lot of experience with people that won’t give answers. I might have picked up a thing or two. Ready?”

  “Do I look at you or the camera?”

  Frankie points to the lens. “Right here. Right at them.”

  I bite my lip, afraid. I don’t fear. Not for myself; I fear for the people that might be hurt from what I’m about to do. What am I about to do. No walking away from this. No going back to how it was. Going back would be a mercy for me, but not for anyone else. People suffered in this city. In my city. They have for years, and they’ll go on suffering if I keep quiet.

  I face the camera. “I’m ready.”

  Frankie smiles like she knew it all along. She gives me the count 3, 2, 1 and the red light on the camera turns green. Words jam in my throat. Ben makes a circle in the air with his finger.

  “Hello,” I say, and the rest tumbles out behind it.

  Domino earthquakes cascade through the dark, as the train shudders to a stop. A pickup truck blocks the tracks at an int
ersection east of Hughes on the mainland, just as the woman who called Frankie after the broadcast said it would. The news truck pulls onto the shoulder. Ben jumps out the door in his camera gear. A dozen people or more huddle in the ditch, in a foot of water yet to freeze over. Some of them grip the crushed stone laid for ballast over the railroad ties. Some have baseball bats. Some have their cell phones, already recording.

  Frankie checks the battery on her mic. “You coming out?”

  I linger just inside the door. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve come this far,” she says, and leaves the truck.

  Ben switches the light on atop his helmet-cam, and the live feed pops up on the monitor situated among the dense layers of electronics at the workstation inside the truck. Frankie talks into the camera, though the sound is off; another monitor displays the feed from the studio in New York City, where the anchor watches along with God knows how many millions. Frankie hushes as Responders exit the boxy, yellow cargo containers that the train transports; I scan the different monitors, trying to find another angle on the train. The recording from City Hall we made earlier in the evening is paused on another screen.

  My fingers glide over the keys of the laptop, all of them colored and coded with different functions. I press play.

  “Hello,” I said into the camera.

  People charge out of the ditch at the train, shouting. Yelling. Demanding Let them go. Light erupts from the train.

  The recording I made earlier continues. “Most of you believe I’m an alien. And I am strange, even to myself. I always have been. I never wanted to be strange. Different. If people noticed me then that meant slurs. Spit. Rocks. It meant pain.”

  Crushed stone clangs off the steel of the cargo containers. Responders bound off the train to the ground.

  “My dad taught me to ignore all the insults. All the slurs. To deflect them. And I did. I did it so well, I’ve forgotten most of it. But the best way to encourage a bully is to do nothing. Do nothing, say nothing and you will get pushed around until you’re doing what that bully wants you to do, which is to disappear. To be silent. But I won’t be silent. I won’t disappear. I won’t be invisible, not anymore.”