Captain Marvel

by Tess Sharpe

  “You’re a good sister,” Jella whispered. “Zeke is lucky. And so are Alestra and the baby. Now go. Be strong. Be smart.”

  “Be strong. Be smart,” Rhi repeated back to her as they broke apart.

  Jella followed Scott and Amadeus out of the cavern, and Rhi turned to Carol, the shuttle below, ready to go, and their mission that lay ahead.

  In her mind’s eye, she could see her brother… his floppy hair that always seemed to need a trim. His boyish face encompassed their mother’s eyes, blue and lively… and their father’s crooked front teeth.

  He was her family. A collection of traits and memories they alone in the universe shared. She loved him for his grace, for the core of sweetness in him that never seemed to turn bitter, no matter how much they lost. He was not made of stone and fire like the men of Damaria were supposed to be. But she would be the fierce steel instead, the fire needed to burn her brother free, to destroy any who dared to keep him from her.

  She thought of the flames last night burning Ansel’s island to ashes, remembered her laughter, so free, ringing in her ears, and she smiled.

  “I’m ready,” she said to Carol. And for the first time in her life, she believed it, too.

  28

  CAROL AND Rhi left to intercept Zeke’s prison transport when it was still dark, the shuttle soaring so quickly over the Field of Fire that the spiky landscape melted into a blur as they passed. Carol was back in the cockpit, Rhi at her side, as the eroded mountain range finally gave way to the sprawl of sand dunes and desert.

  “How much time do we have?” Rhi asked yet again as the twin suns peeked behind the sandy horizon. The desert reminded Carol a little of the Sahara—its vastness, how small it made you feel when you stood amid its glory. But here, the sand was red and black, glittering like a pool of blood speckled with ash.

  Carol spotted the road weaving through the sand dunes, the snaking twist of white pavement standing out against the ruby red and jet black. She checked the coordinates Sona had given Rhi and activated the ship’s radar. The screen beeped as it detected an energy signature ten miles ahead and moving fast toward them.

  “They’re coming,” Carol said. “We’ve gotta go. Now.”

  She set the shuttle down behind a sand dune, shards of rock pinging against the shuttle windows so hard Carol had a feeling she was going to owe Hepzibah a special detailing job after this. She grabbed her bag as they hustled out of the shuttle, heading to the road. The wind carved through the desert sand and wound through the surrounding mountains; it whipped at their faces and clothes like a Fury, blowing sand everywhere—hair, mouth, fingernails. The one benefit to a second-skin uniform like Carol’s? It was airtight.

  Together, she and Rhi laid the sonic strip on the road. Carol adjusted the frequency to the highest level as she heard the first rumble of distant engines coming closer—fast.

  Rhi dove for cover behind a sloping hill of sand, and Carol hit the power button on the sonic strip before rolling down the embankment, out of sight. She came to a stop next to Rhi with a grunt.

  “How does this work again?” Rhi whispered as Carol handed her the special earplugs to block out the frequency. The transports were gaining ground; in her earplugs, Carol could detect at least three unique engine sounds. That meant three sets of guards at least, maybe more, depending on how dangerous the Damarians thought Zeke was—or how convinced they were that Rhi would come for him.

  “It’s a high-tech version of a nail strip,” Carol explained. “Their vehicles will pass over the strip, which activates the frequency, which will scramble their brains. It hurts like hell, too, so they won’t be able to fight back. That should give us enough time to get Zeke out and back to the shuttle.”

  “If you say so,” Rhi said skeptically as Carol raised her head, peeking up the embankment. The first transport—a panel security van, blocky with armor—had rounded the curve and now was in sight. Two more transports appeared behind it; the one in the rear was identical to the first, but the middle transport sandwiched between them was larger—and shining with the glow of a force field.

  Gotcha. Carol smiled. “Get ready.”

  The first transport passed over the sonic strip, the tech activating an instant assault on the driver’s ears. Carol heard the surprised yell, the squeal of brakes, the screech of metal crashing into metal as the middle van plowed into the first. The force sent the head transport skidding down the road like a bowling ball spinning out of control; the backup transport swerved on two wheels to avoid it, flipped off the road, and was half buried in a sand dune as the engine squealed, choked, and died.

  “Now!”

  She and Rhi leapt to action, galloping up the sandy embankment. The two guards in the lead transport had crawled out of the vehicle—one dragging himself across the surface belly down like road kill before he lost consciousness, the other clutching his bleeding ears as he rolled back and forth, trying to shake the sound away. Rhi hurried up to the conscious guard and kicked him in the head with the kind of precision that would’ve made Hepzibah proud. Hell, it made Carol proud.

  Carol ran up and blasted the remaining doors of each transport, the heat of her photonic energy sizzling the metal and trapping the rest of the guards inside. But they barely noticed: The sonic strip was, as Amadeus had put it, turning their brains into scrambled eggs. The driver in the middle transport slumped over the wheel, already passed out; the two guards in the backup transport, stuck back in the sand dunes, were pressed against the windows, the pain too severe even to scream.

  With the guards secure, Carol stomped on the sonic strip, turning it off. She didn’t care much for the guards’ wellbeing, but she did care about Zeke, and he had to be in that middle transport.

  “All good?” she called to Rhi.

  “All good,” Rhi replied, finishing binding the unconscious guards’ hands. She jogged back to stand behind the first, overturned transport, using it as a shield as she examined the other vehicle ahead, her face alight at the thought that her brother might be inside.

  It reminded Carol of a flatbed truck. The square container— the miniature prison—lay on a shimmering force field instead of a flatbed, the cab in front large enough for just one driver.

  Carol could hear footsteps inside the container. More than one set.

  “Stay behind me,” she whispered. “I’m going to draw whoever’s in there with Zeke away, then you can go inside to free him. Grab him and run to the shuttle. I’ll follow as soon as I can.”

  Rhi nodded.

  Carol held up a finger. One. Two. Three.

  She launched herself over the transport they were using as a shield and darted down the road toward the force field. Fire sprang up along the ground, surrounding the transport, but Carol kept going, leaping through flames that scorched her boots as the Keeper inside the transport fed more of his power into the flame.

  Smoke and heat swirling around her, Carol charged ahead, looping to the back of the container, where she grabbed the red-hot handle and yanked the whole door off its hinges with a pop. She tossed it backward through the flames like a regular human would toss a tissue. Through the heated, rippling air, she could see Rhi peeking around the corner, ready and waiting.

  The flames began to recede around her, sputtering down from above her head to her waist, then her knees, and then just smoldering at her ankles. Whoever was inside was slowing his roll, preparing for his grand entrance. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called, backing up a few steps. “Or are you really that scared of a girl?” It was a precise blow, designed to lure through mockery, and she knew he’d take the bait.

  She’d known it’d be him inside.

  Ansel was a man with all kinds of obsessions, and Rhi was a threat to every one of them. He thought he could take her down with a few guards and himself, but his hubris… it’d take him down in the end.

  Carol was going to make sure of it.

&n
bsp; Smoke wafted in charcoal waves around them as he stepped out of the transport. Carol stood tall, every part of her body screaming, Attack! But she waited, her hands on her hips. She knew that Zeke was inside. And Ansel could set the entire transport on fire in the blink of an eye if he wanted to.

  Ansel stepped away from the transport, flames licking his feet, his eyes fixed on her.

  “So you’re the one giving orders,” he said.

  “The one and only,” Carol replied as they slowly circled each other. If she drew him far enough from the transport, Rhi could dart in and free her brother without interference. “I heard about your house. Pity.”

  He jerked visibly, his nostrils flaring. She smirked, knowing condescension was the easiest way to get to him. A man like that had thin skin. He’d set up the world based on sacrificing the blood of others—so he’d never bleed, and so no one would dare to even prick him. By the time she was done with him, Carol thought with grim anticipation, she would slice his sense of self to ribbons. She stepped back again, her heel landing off the pavement and sinking into sand. Just a few more steps, and he’d be completely turned away from Rhi—and then she could grab Zeke.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “We went through this the first time we spoke, don’t you remember?” Carol said, tsking softly. “I’m your fake history made flesh, Ansel. Your worst nightmare, here to free the women of Damaria and give them back their power.”

  Fire exploded from his hands. Carol ducked, the heat blasting over her back and striking the sand behind her, turning it instantly to glass. “Tell me who you really are!” he hissed, anger flaring in his eyes.

  One more step. If he took just one more step toward her, the way was clear. Out of the corner of her eye, Carol could see Rhi tensing, readying herself. Ansel kept his attention trained on her, fascinated, a covetous light gleaming in his dark eyes… the same way he looked at Umbra. This man loved power over all else. And he wanted all of it for himself, even if he had to enslave the more powerful to get it.

  “I’m a lot of things,” Carol said. “Captain. Commander. Hero. But all you really need to know is this: I’m the woman who’s going to kick your ass.”

  She lunged for him, and his hands flew up—not to shield himself, but to shoot more fire at her. He didn’t expect her to punch him.

  Unfortunately for him, he was wrong.

  That first crunch of her fist against his cheekbone felt joyous, like coming home. Powered by her rage, her skill, and her blended Kree and human blood—the impact singing through her like a battle cry—she watched in satisfaction as his head snapped back. The blow sent him spinning before she yanked him back by the shoulder.

  Fire sprouted across his body, blooming wherever she touched him, and then leaped to her. She could feel the sleeve of her suit heat up, the material stretching, the fibers starting to shrivel under the high-temperature onslaught.

  Her fist smashed into the side of his head this time, and she heard his teeth clack together before he yelled and reached out, grabbing her hand. Fire tunneled and rose between them like the cyclone from the botanical gardens, but now she was in the eye of the storm.

  Ansel’s flames surrounded them in a swirling cloud of acrid orange and red. She couldn’t see through it—couldn’t tell whether Rhi had rescued Zeke. Suddenly, her feet were swept off the ground and she went flying into the air, caught in the spin of the flames as Ansel’s power fed into them. The fire grew stronger, higher, faster.

  For a brief moment, all she could think of was the thrill of being in the air again—suspension, the hot wind below her, the sky above. Then she jolted back to reality, where she was inside a fire cyclone, in the grip of a sociopathic pyrotech hell-bent on dragging her to her death.

  She yanked her arm free and kicked him away, thrusting both her hands out to fight the fire’s trajectory as the heat tore through her suit. Meant to destroy her, the energy filled her, fed her, strengthened her. Power raced along her veins, illuminating them under her skin. She could feel it: the tang in the back of her throat signaling that point when she became even more. When she was just beaming out pure energy.

  Ansel’s fire pulsed, trying to resist the pull of the power inside her, its inexorable beckoning. But nothing can resist the stars for long. And she was made of battle-worn starlight—her own kind of fire, one that never went out.

  His, on the other hand…

  With each pulse of power Carol drew into her body, the cyclone of flame sagged and jerked until finally it broke apart, sending them flying in opposite directions. Carol fell to earth and rolled across the sand, her shoulders slamming into the overturned transport.

  The swirling heat and energy she’d drawn from the fire tornado was a restless, living thing inside her chest—eager to burst free, to dance along the metal, to scorch and singe. Her skin buzzed as she got to her feet, her teeth chattering—not from the heat, but from the adrenaline shot of power. She staggered over to the transport, only to find it was empty. Rhi and Zeke had got out.

  Relief washed over her like a warm waterfall. When she heard the rattling behind her, she turned in time to see Ansel—bloodied and battered from the spill to the ground—trying to rise to his feet and failing.

  Time to finish him off. She knew Rhi wanted to do it, but Carol believed in taking advantage of openings.

  “You know,” she said, pulling the energy inside her, focusing on her hands as they lit up, glowing redder than the suns above. “On my planet, we have a saying. Behind every great man is a woman. You’re vile, far from great, but I did think you’d be harder to beat than this. I guess Umbra’s the real power behind the presidency.”

  “You think I didn’t have a contingency plan?” he slurred, spitting out a mouthful of blood and teeth. He pulled out a comm, chucking it at her. She caught it and looked down at the screen.

  Arrival Time: 10 minutes.

  “The strike team is very talented,” Ansel said. “Well trained. By my estimation, it’ll take precisely twenty-three seconds to kill each girl, but if they finish the job sooner, they get a reward.”

  He smiled, a slick bloody thing that turned Carol’s stomach and made her stop in her tracks, a shiver going down her back.

  “Your move, Captain.”

  29

  SCOTT PULLED the transport into a gully behind the tall security fence surrounding Fort Olvar and powered it down with the flick of a switch. The fort was composed of a series of domes grouped around an oasis in the desert. Spiky trees with lush green leaves and pockmarked bark were planted in a circle around the perimeter fence, which rippled and sparked every few seconds with the power of a force field.

  His stomach thrummed with excitement and eagerness to jump into the action. Not being able to hold his Ant-Man form for long was getting to him. He loved his suit, loved the amazing—and sometimes hilarious—abilities it gave him, and it rankled him that he felt like he hadn’t been enough help on this mission.

  Not about you, buddy, is what Carol would tell him, but still… He glanced over at Amadeus, wondering whether he felt the same way.

  This place had made him grateful for Earth, grateful for Cassie’s childhood on it—and despite their differences, grateful to Peggy for being a strong example for their daughter.

  “It’s still early—hopefully we won’t run into too many Damarians,” Scott said.

  “You ready, Jella?” Amadeus asked.

  She nodded from her spot next to Scott, unbuckling the seatbelt. They piled out of the transport, and Jella cast an uncertain look at Scott. “I’m not sure how long I can conceal both of you, even when you’re in your ant form, Scott. But I’ll hold it as long as possible.”

  “And I’ll try to stay small as long as I can,” Scott promised. “Hopefully, that’ll make it easier.”

  Amadeus hurried over to the fence and pulled out a small case he flipped open to reveal three magnets. He held one an inch from the fence and let it go, the chain link drawing the magnet to
it with a snap, and the force field rippling at the addition. He set the other two magnets at the bottom; when the last one snapped into place, a beam of orange light seared through the force field. The metal smoked as Amadeus kicked open the hole he’d just carved out.

  Scott hit the button on his wrist. He’d told Carol it was like walking through wet cement, and it was—everything felt wrong. Normally, he tunneled down with a whoosh, glorying in the rush of it—the sheer joy of looking up and seeing the world turned gigantic, the individual blades of grass towering over him like trees… there was nothing like it.

  A finger—Amadeus’s—dipped down, and Scott hopped onto it, running up Amadeus’s arm and perching on his shoulder. As Jella began to manipulate the air around them, it wobbled like the horizon in a heat wave. They moved forward slowly, passing a platoon of guards heading to start their morning exercise, and not one head snapped toward them.

  “Good so far,” Amadeus muttered, looking down at his handheld scanner. “The biggest energy signature is coming from the small gray dome over there.” He raised his hand to point, but Jella shook her head and he dropped it quickly, not wanting to breach the protective barrier she was manipulating around them.

  Scott tugged on the collar of Amadeus’s shirt. “We need to hurry.” He could feel his hold slipping, his muscles tightening with the need to change back, to grow.

  Jella sped up; just as they turned the corner, with the gray dome blocking them from view from the recruits lining up in the exercise yard, Scott lost hold. As he popped back to regular size, he dove forward off Amadeus’s shoulders and out of Jella’s range. When he turned back, he couldn’t see them at all, Jella’s power blending her and Amadeus perfectly into the gray of the dome. Now if they just stayed there, this might work.

  Scott’s jaw ached from the sudden snap back to large, his bones creaking from the strain—not from old age, as Cassie liked to needle him. God, he missed his kid. He was going to hug her extra tight when he got back. The image of Fern with her father would haunt him for the rest of his life.