Around him, the people who had made it through the police check points were checking their phones and looking up, searching for something in the sky.
I wonder what’s…
“Ugh!” Blake grunted, grabbing the side of his head with his hand, momentarily stunned and nearly losing his balance. He almost rode into a parked car but regained control, braked, and looked up as he set his feet down. A blue flash—Quinn—soared overhead toward Dover. A moment later his phone made that strange sound again and vibrated in his pocket.
What the hell are you doing?
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the notifications, his mouth falling agape when he read the emergency alert.
20 | KC-135 Stratotanker
Quinn
EXTENDING HIS RIGHT FIST IN FRONT of him, Blue Spekter flew under the three jets, pulling an Immelmann turn that put him above the massive tanker. He studied the left wing; it looked black and scorched compared to the rest of the light gray U. S. Air Force plane. Flames licked up from the seams where the flaps and ailerons connected. On the right wing, those parts moved…on the left, they seemed Blue Spekter noticed the rudder in the vertical stabilizer pushed to the left, but the plane either wasn’t responding or was taking its time turning—until he realized it was angled in the wrong direction.
They aren’t going to make it to the runway…I have to make sure they stay in the air long enough to fly around and land in the other direction. But first. I need to put those flames out before this whole thing explodes…I just hope those fighter pilots don’t think I’m a bad guy…
Blue Spekter settled over the top of the KC-135 and flew to the left most cockpit window. When he knocked on the glass, the pilots jumped in surprise and stared at him. The rushing air, the tanker’s engines, and the two unbelievably loud fighter jets seem to overpower his ability to focus his super hearing. Instead, he did his best to offer a glowing blue thumb and then show both hands, hoping they’d understand he wasn’t there to hurt them. The pilots looked at each other then looked back at Blue Spekter, their faces expressing confusion and concern.
Blue Spekter slowly drifted away from the fuselage until he was hovering—and flying—over the left wing. The fighter jets suddenly moved when they either noticed him or were notified by the pilots. Both fighters were on the left side of the plane now. Blue Spekter raised both hands in surrender and crossed them over his head, alternating them slowly so they’d get the message not to shoot him out of the sky.
He rolled onto his back, and while flying backward over the left wing, he sprayed water from his hands and did his best to soak the burning wing. Unfortunately, at the speed they were traveling, the water dispersed into the air before it even hit the wing. Dammit, we’re flying too fast.
Blue Spekter flipped onto his stomach and flew closer to the wing. He blasted the wing with ice and water and this time he encountered more success—but the water he generated still sprayed into the atmosphere behind the plane and the ice he created fell to the earth like hailstones. Focus Blue Spekter, you can do this.
He blasted the wing with water one last time, but the flames persisted. There’s got to be an active oil or fuel leak in there somewhere. I don’t understand why this isn’t going out.
One of the fighter pilots bravely flew his jet closer to the Stratotanker. He’s trying to get my attention.
Blue Spekter looked at the fighter pilot and overly gestured with raised hands, “What do I do?”
The fighter pilot responded by tipping his wings to the left twice. Blue Spekter cocked his head to the side. You want me to fly the plane to the left?
The pilot pointed at Blue Spekter, then at himself…or herself. The pilot repeated the gesture. Oh, he wants me to follow him.
Blue Spekter nodded and gave the pilot a thumb’s up, but realized he or she wouldn’t see it given his glowing status. Blue Spekter put his arms out and mimicked the pilot’s tipping gesture, indicating he would follow the fighter.
The fighter pulled ahead and Blue Spekter flew to the cockpit window again. He tapped it and gave the pilots a brilliant blue thumbs up, and then he flew to the right side of the plane’s nose. He smirked and pressed his left shoulder and right hand against the R of the word Force in the U.S. Air Force decal on the side of the plane. Then he pushed, willing himself to fly left.
The behemoth tanker groaned and responded, altering its course to follow the path of the fighter in front them. Blue Spekter flew back to the cockpit and checked in on the pilots. They excitedly gave him two thumbs up and applauded. Then, one of them made a gesture with two fingers, pointing at his eyes and then the fighter in front of them.
He nodded. Yup, I’ll keep my eyes on him.
The new flight path took them out over Kittery Point, away from the more densely populated areas—not that people’s lives weren’t still in danger. So far, none of the plane had fallen apart.
When they had crossed over the shoreline and flew over the ocean for a minute or two, the fighter pilot tipped his wings to the right, twice. Blue Spekter understood the gesture and flew to the left side of the fuselage. He checked the rudder behind him—it was still pointing to the left. It must be stuck. This turn will be twice as hard and much more delicate.
This time, he pressed his right shoulder and left hand against the A of the U.S. Air. Force decal.
He pushed and the gigantic plane responded slowly, fighting him the entire way. He lost sight of the fighter jet behind the nose of the tanker, but he couldn’t push the plane any harder because the metal crinkled beneath his shoulder. Crap, I’m not pushing on the airframe…
The fighter jet slowed its turn and allowed Blue Spekter to catch up. Beneath him, the Isle of Shoals seemed far and distant as they swung around in a wide circle.
Then, the metal caved in and dented under Blue Spekter’s shoulder. He shouted, surprised, thinking he had broken through it. Seeing a beam from the airframe a little further back, he pressed on that and shoved harder. The plane groaned in protest again but responded, turning more tightly than before. Minutes passed before Blue Spekter saw land again. The fighter jet kept turning.
Behind him, Blue Spekter heard the engine noise fade away. He looked over his shoulder and saw the two engines were on fire, black smoke billowing out the back of each one. Wait, aren’t the fuel tanks in the wings somewhere? Isn’t this whole plane some kind of flying fuel tank?
He kept an eye on the lead fighter jet while repeatedly checking on the flaming engines. The second fighter jet, having flown alongside him the entire way, put some distance between it and the Stratotanker. He thinks it’s going to blow up…great.
Several moments later, the fire went out and the black smoke faded into the distance. At least I don’t have to worry about that right now.
The tanker began descending but the fighter held its course toward Pease and slowed down a bit. I have to take this thing all the way to the runway, don’t I?
At long last, he finally saw the airport in front of them as they flew over the shoreline. The fighter jet in front of him tipped its wings back and forth several times and pulled up a little. Blue Spekter craned his neck up to look at it, confused. What the heck does that gesture mean?
Then, he looked down. Oh, right, descending too fast; we’re gonna crash. Shit.
Blue Spekter made his way under the airplane to a rectangular square. He was about to push up on it when he realized it was the forward landing gear door. He moved in front of it and put his hands and knees on the bottom of the fuselage. Flying upside-down, he willed himself to fly upward.
The plane didn’t ascend. The ground and the trees, though still far enough away, drew closer. He looked out toward the runway and realized he needed to aim for it. Just before the runway, he saw the traffic on Interstate 95 had been halted by State Police in either direction.
I think the back wheels have to touch down first…now go up, dammit!
He pushed hard and willed himself to fly up again.
Nothing.
He flipped over and cried out as he strained, pressing his back and shoulders against the bottom of the plane. Finally, the nose of the beast rose to match the flight path of the fighter jet. A loud mechanical clicking sound startled him. He looked behind him and saw three sets of landing gear lowering into place. Beneath him, flying over the Walmart parking lot, he saw people cheering and applauding as he prepared to land the plane.
Both fighter jets stayed with him, the second having returned to the side of the tanker. Blue Spekter assumed the pilots were communicating about airspeed and had decelerated to landing speed, but he couldn’t tell since he had never experienced a plane landing from his current vantage point.
Okay, think…what happens…back wheels, front wheels, air brakes, and reverse engines. Reverse engines? Oh no, they can’t…and the rudder is stuck left…which means the plane’s going to steer left like it’s trying to now. You have to stop the plane, keep it on the runway, and keep it in once piece. Then, go make sure the wing fires are out. Easy, right?
Blue Spekter took a deep breath and thought his plan through. There was only enough time to get this right on the first try. Seconds before touch down, he and the massive plane flew over Interstate 95. He glanced down and saw more people cheering and waving at him. He smiled, then focused on getting the nose in the right position because time, speed, and distance were working against him.
Flattening his back and legs against the bottom of the fuselage, the plane made its final approach. As it slowed he felt it pulling to the left, resisting his will to stay lined up with the white centerlines of the runway. He rolled left onto his stomach and then onto his back again, his new position giving him greater control over the plane.
It wasn’t enough.
He rolled himself over again and this time he pushed the plane back on course. Seconds before the plane touched down, he checked the front gear and the rear gear again. He pushed upward, allowing the main landing gear to touch down first. Then, the lead fighter jet landed ahead of him and the second accelerated and ascended away from the airport.
When the main gear made contact with the runway, he heard the familiar screech of rubber as a puff of white smoke appeared around the tires.
Then, the plane bucked left. Oh no you don’t.
He flipped his body around one more time and kept the mighty tanker aimed down the centerline of the runway. When the front landing gear touched down, Blue Spekter shot forward to the front left side of the cockpit and leaned against it with his back. The metal creaked and dented slightly under his body as he pushed hard and slowed the plane down, struggling to keep the plane on the runway.
Ahead of him, the landed fighter jet pulled off the runway when it could. Then, Blue Spekter felt the mighty plane slow of its own accord. The brakes must work.
Ahead of them, a plethora of emergency vehicles with flashing lights waited for the plane to come to a full stop on the runway. They began moving when the plane had nearly stopped.
Check the left engines.
Blue Spekter flew over to the left wing and examined it. The wing didn’t look like it was burning, but he flew up and down its length several times, dousing it with icy water. Someone would probably get pissed with him for soaking the avionics, but he didn’t care; it was either that or watch the plane explode. As the emergency vehicles surrounded the plane and the fire trucks pulled into position around the left wing, Blue Spekter flew to the top of the cockpit and landed on the fuselage, adopting a superhero fists-on-hips pose as he surveyed the situation. He immediately recognized the black SUVs used by the DHS.
Without the sound of rushing wind, he could hear the three crew members in the cockpit beneath him excitedly talking about what just happened. When they shut down the plane’s systems they made their way to the pilot’s hatch on the left bottom side of the nose.
Blue Spekter turned and watched the second fighter jet fly around the airport, presumably aligning itself to land behind the tanker. The pilot of the first jet parked his plane and opened the canopy of his cockpit, shouting at Blue Spekter and waving his arms. Blue Spekter waved at him, hearing the man shout about, “what an awesome job you did.”
The hatch opened beneath him and Blue Spekter jumped off the plane and dropped to the ground. The three crew members slid down the ladder and stepped away from their plane, staring at Blue Spekter, visibly shaken and speechless.
“You guys okay?” Blue Spekter asked, aware of people running toward them. One of the pilots dropped to his knees and began praying in Spanish. The second man dropped to his knees and dry heaved.
“Thank you,” the third pilot said with a thick southern accent, holding his composure. “I thought we were goners up there, but then you showed up. The flight controls weren’t responding, and we couldn’t steer the plane. I had no idea of what we were gonna do…I got a wife and two kids back home, just like these guys…how do I ever thank you? What are you?”
“I’m a friend, and I’m here to help. People around here call me Blue Spekter.”
“You just saved our lives; how can we ever thank you?” the Hispanic man asked.
“Uh, pay it forward, I guess. And gentlemen? Thank you for your service.”
The DHS crew and a number of other rescue personnel cautiously circled Blue Spekter. He turned and nodded at them. “Hi guys.” At least this time, no one’s pulling their weapons.
“Hello,” one of the suits answered, arms folded across his chest. Blue Spekter recognized him as the leader of the foiled Sheraton capture attempt.
“Want to try and put another bullet in my leg?” Quinn asked. The agent’s eyes widened with surprise at the recognition.
Nearby, one of the firefighters started clapping. “Thank you, Blue Spekter,” the man said loudly, glaring at the agent. Then, another joined in. Eventually, everyone except the DHS agent was clapping in support and appreciation of what he had done to save the crew and the citizens of Portsmouth.
Blue Spekter took a step toward the DHS team leader. No one flinched or reached for their weapons. “I’m here to help, nothing worse. See ya.” Then, he rocketed into the sky, a silly and wonderful grin dancing on his face.
❖
Blake
“That should have been me!” Blake shouted into his phone. “Why can’t I do the things he can do?” He paced between the first and second bases of the baseball diamond in Hislop Park.
“Can he do all the things you can do?” Victor patiently asked.
“No, I don’t think so. He can fly, Victor. We were zapped with the same energy; the same power. It doesn’t make sense, we should have the same abilities.”
“You’re not identical people, Blake. It’s entirely possible the energy reacts to DNA and your biological make up. This is why Mother Superior’s newfound idea is so terrible; we don’t know what will happen if we put other people into the reactor. Right now, you’re fire, he’s water; you run super-fast, he flies.”
“But we’re both really strong, we both recover quickly, we both have super hearing and vision, and we’re bulletproof.”
“And you can move objects and he can stop objects. I don’t have the scientific data to explain why any of this is the way it is, Blake. I’m sorry. With time and proper research, we could learn so much from both of you.”
Blake sighed.
“Listen, buddy, there’s still no evidence that suggests you won’t develop identical abilities in the future. You told me once that you hovered over the ground when you almost wiped out on your bike, have you tried to hover since?”
“I don’t want to hover, I want to fly.”
“Baby steps, Blake. You might have to be the superhero who hovers for a few weeks before you can fly through the air. I don’t know what else to tell you, except to remind you that you didn’t run six-minute miles at school without training and conditioning. Some of these powers might need training to develop. I can also tell you this: While you sulk, Quinn practices. If you
want to get better than him, then practice harder.”
“Yeah, fine,” Blake said, not feeling the encouragement Victor tried to impart. “Listen, I gotta go.”
“Okay. One more quick question: have you had any luck convincing Quinn to come back?
“Oh, yeah. He’s agreed to help us.”
“Fantastic. I look forward to your return.”
“You do?”
“Yes, why?”
“You know we’re going to majorly fuck with your Order, right? You seem happy about it.”
“Oh, right, sorry. I mean, Mother Superior has to be stopped. All cards on the table, I’ve been told that if she’s taken out, I’m up next for promotion. That’s why I’m excited.”
“So, you’re going to become Mother Superior?
Victor laughed. “No, we just call her that. Her title is Hegumenia. I would become the Hegumen—that’s the masculine version of the word.”
“Right, whatever. Well, good luck with that.”
“See you soon, Blake, and thank you. What you’re doing far surpasses what any superhero would do. I know how amazing you will be—you’ll overshadow Quinn in no time.”
21 | Frustrated
Quinn
“DAMMIT,” QUINN EXCLAIMED, SLAPPING HIS hand on the coffee table while he ate dinner and watched the evening news with his dads in the living room.
“What’s wrong?” Daddio asked, startled. His other dad raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry. I just don’t get them—the reporter and the Chief of Police. Blue Spekter has done nothing but good things around here and the police still won’t say anything nice about him.”
“Ah,” Daddio responded.
Quinn stood and paced around the living room. “I mean, come on, he just saved the city from annihilation by a fuel-filled plane that…”
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