Stronger: A Super Human Clash, page 22
“Who?”
“No idea. Hazlegrove is waiting at the helipad. He told me to tell you the usual about not trying to escape.”
The guards at the doors opened them for me, and for a brief moment I felt important. Then I was outside, shielding my eyes against the sun. The mine’s dome had plenty of windows—no glass in them, of course—so I’d seen outside often enough, but this was the first time I’d been out since my stint in the hot box two years earlier.
Hazlegrove was standing with his arms folded on the edge of the helipad. “Someone’s come to pick your brains.”
“Bit rude not making an appointment,” I said.
“Hmph. I don’t know who this man is or what he wants, but someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to get him access to this place.”
A few minutes later we saw it, a black helicopter cruising low over the mountains.
“No markings,” Hazlegrove said. “So it’s not military.”
The copter touched down and its hatch slid open. A young man wearing jeans and a T-shirt jumped out and strode over to us. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He had close-cropped blond hair and a slim build. “Thomas Hazlegrove?” he asked.
“That’s me. Who’re you?”
“I’ll just need a few minutes of your prisoner’s time.”
“I asked you who you are,” Hazlegrove said.
The young man reeled off a long list of numbers. “Recognize that?”
“Should I?”
“That’s the number of the Swiss bank account where you deposit the money you’ve earned by selling the nickel you’ve stolen from this mine. If you don’t want your warden to know about that, you’ll do yourself a favor and walk away right now.”
Hazlegrove nodded, then turned and left.
The young man looked up at me. “Brawn. Walk with me.” He began to stride toward the north side of the dome. “I need your help with something.”
I walked alongside him. “Yeah? Well, first you have to tell me where we are.”
“You don’t know? We’re in Lieberstan, formerly part of the USSR. Sandwiched between Kazakhstan, Russia, Mongolia, and China. Now, assuming the past nine years in this place haven’t eroded your memory, I need you to tell me everything—”
“Nine years? It’s really been that long?”
“It has. I need to know everything about Ragnarök.”
“And what’ll you do for me?”
“I’ll get to that. Tell me about Ragnarök.”
I shrugged. “Ragnarök the man, or Ragnarök the organization?”
“Casey Duval is dead. So are Schizophrenzy, Necroman, and The Scarlet Slayer. Terrain’s in prison. Slaughter is insane, her memories practically shattered. The Glyph … turned out not to be what everyone thought. Ragnarök’s henchmen knew nothing—they were hired hands, most of them barely able to do much more than aim a gun. Harmony Yuan has disappeared—even I haven’t been able to find her—and Senator Gordon Tremont was killed by an unknown assassin eight years ago in Versailles.”
“Senator Tremont?”
The young man nodded. “He was in office for a little more than two weeks when it happened. After he abandoned his plans to create or steal a quantum processor, he thought he could blackmail and bribe his way into power—you can’t keep secrets from a hacker of his skills. Clearly someone took offense to that. The assassination was set up to look like an accident, but my investigation uncovered the truth. Which of course I’m keeping to myself for now. So. You’re the only one left, Brawn.”
“Has anyone ever managed to build a quantum processor, then?”
The man shook his head. “No. It’s a pipe dream. For now, anyway. Under Duval’s guidance Tremont’s people came closer than anyone else. But not close enough.” Then he smiled. “It’d be a nice little toy to have, but it’s not something I would consider necessary. Now, tell me about Casey Duval.”
“He was smart, a bit full of himself. Wanted to control the world and probably would have succeeded if he’d been more careful about choosing his allies. But you don’t want to know that, do you? You want to know about the powers.”
“I’m told he believed that the source of your powers was the blue lights. What were they, and why could only he see them?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He said that he was one of the few who could see them, so presumably other people could too. Casey kept most of what he knew very close to his chest. He was the ultimate manipulator. He didn’t tell many lies, but he was still a master at covering up the truth.”
The blond man kicked at a small pebble and watched it bounce and clatter across the uneven concrete. “Is it true that he believed you were given powers for a reason?”
“So he said.”
“Hmm. If so, the obvious implication is that there was some sort of predestination at work. A plan. And where there’s a plan, there’s someone who designed it. What do you think? Was he lying about that?”
“I don’t think he was lying, but I think he was wrong. There’s no destiny. There can’t be. If there is, then we’re only toys that someone else is playing with. I can’t accept that.”
“But Casey was considerably smarter than you: How could he be wrong and you be right?”
“You’re not seriously asking me that, are you?”
He sighed. “No, I guess not. There is one very important thing I—”
“Stop. No more answers until I get something from you.”
The man pursed his lips and nodded slightly. “OK. Sure. I’m not going to free you or anyone else from this place, nor will I promise to make things easier, but I can swap you certain pieces of information in exchange for your answers.”
“Are my p—”
“Your father died four years ago. Painlessly, if that’s any consolation. A sudden brain aneurysm while he slept. The inquest revealed no specific cause—it was just one of those things. Very rare, but it happens.”
The strength drained from my body, and I had to sit down. “Oh man …”
“Your mother is still alive and healthy. She’s now living with her sister’s family in Ohio. She has two framed photos of you on her dresser. The first shows you at eight years old, on a red bicycle. The second was clipped from the article in Newsweek, taken when you were in Bolivia. She tells visitors that she keeps that second photo to remind her of the monster who took away her son. She and your father have never told anyone of the time you visited them. They were very proud of you. Well, for a while. But they always held out hope that one day you would see sense.”
“Who are you?”
“An answer for an answer, Brawn.” He glanced at his watch, then inclined his head back toward the helicopter. “And our time is nearly up.”
As I pushed myself to my feet, I said, “Well, at least I got a break for a few minutes. You sure you can’t get me out of here?”
“Brawn, if you can answer this final question, I promise I will do everything I can to get you out of here. This really is important. Important enough for me to fly halfway around the world to ask you in person. It’s related to Casey’s frequently unfinished ramblings about the powers…. You’re the only one left who could possibly know.”
“Know what?”
He stopped walking and looked up at me. “What is The Chasm?”
“I don’t know. He mentioned it a couple of times, implied that it’s where the powers come from. But I never understood what he actually meant.”
“Ah. Disappointing.”
“I don’t know if it’s an actual place. I always had a feeling that The Chasm might just be a state of mind. I think that Casey didn’t really know how to put it into words that other people could comprehend.”
“I once thought that perhaps it was a reference to the incident with Krodin. The Helotry used Pyrokine’s power to drill a hole through to the past and pull Krodin forward through time. But obviously that happened after the modern wave of superhumans appeared.”
“So what difference does that make?” I asked. “When you’re dealing with time travel, words like before and after don’t mean so much. If Krodin’s arrival in our time caused changes to our reality—and we know that can happen—then all the laws of the universe that we take for granted go out the window. Cause no longer has to precede effect. If you throw a rock into a fast-moving river, most of the disturbance to the water will happen downstream. But if the rock is big enough …”
The man nodded. “Coming from a giant blue bald monster with very little formal education, that’s an interesting deduction….” He moved toward the helicopter. “Nice talking to you.”
“You still owe me an answer,” I said.
“Fire away.”
“Who are you, and why did you want to know all of this?”
He smiled. “Ah, but that’s two questions. Shame you didn’t ask them in the other order, because that would have explained a lot more. My name won’t mean anything to you.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“My name is Victor Cross.”
CHAPTER 32
TWENTY-THREE
YEARS AGO
AT FIVE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING I was crouched in front of Casey Duval’s cell flicking tiny bits of grit at him until he woke up.
Casey’s eyes finally opened, and when he saw me, he sat up and started pulling on his boots. “So it’s time.”
“Time for what?” I asked, but he knew. He’d probably known from the first moment I talked to him.
“I presume you haven’t been able to organize any form of transport, or backup. You’ll run interference, then?”
I nodded. “I’ll hold them off for a few minutes at least.”
“This is the right thing to do, you know.” He stood up, then moved to the back wall of the cell. “Outer door’s unlocked?”
“Yeah.”
“I owe you.”
“I know. Turn me back to human.”
“One day. I promise.”
I leaned forward and grabbed hold of the bars. “When you get out of the building, you need to go—”
“I know where I am.” He took a deep breath. “Do it.”
I planted my feet and strained against the bars. The screech of tearing metal clashed with the cracking of reinforced concrete as the entire barred wall was torn free.
Even as the alarms started to wail, Casey was darting past me and heading for the door.
Five seconds later two of the Rangers—Lash and Ollie—raced out of their quarters, their guns cocked and ready.
“Security breach!” Ollie shouted. He saw me crouched there holding on to the bars. “Duval’s gone! Brawn broke him out!”
Lash reduced his speed to a slow walk, moving toward me with his rifle up to his shoulder, peering along its sights at me. “What did you do, you giant blue freak?”
I tossed the barred wall aside—it crashed into the front of Ollie’s car, totaling it. “What does it look like?”
Ollie was circling around me, also with his gun raised. “Facedown, on the floor! Now, Brawn! I swear, I’ll open fire!”
Max came running, followed by Lance and Roz.
“No, no, no, no!” Max said. “You idiot! What were you thinking!?”
Lance said, “Oh man … Why? Why did you do that?”
Max shouted, “Roz, get Ernie on the radio. I want the copter here ASAP. And get Ox to call the chief of police—I want a full sweep of the area. Every cop in the state, every traffic camera!” He strode toward me with his fists clenching and unclenching. “You absolute moron! You’ve just freed the most dangerous man in the country!” He scowled at me for a second, then yelled, “Thunder!”
Thunder’s voice echoed around the room. “I heard. Everyone’s body makes sound all the time. Heartbeat, respiration, the digestive system, muscles expanding and contracting … Those noises combine to create a sound signature that’s completely unique to each person. I’m listening for—”
“I don’t want a blasted lecture!” Max shouted. “Just find him!”
I stood up. “Thunder, don’t do it. Casey hasn’t done anything wrong. We were holding him illegally.” I looked at Lance. “You understand, right?”
Lance shrugged. “I dunno….”
Abby came running from her room, her sword in her hand. “Well, I do know. And you shouldn’t have done that, Brawn.”
Thunder’s voice said, “I agree with Abby. Hold on, I think I’ve got him….”
Max tried to get in my way as I strode toward Thunder’s quarters. I pushed him aside and roared, “Thunder—don’t! We had no right to hold him!”
Roz ran alongside me. “Brawn, they kidnapped Max! You know that!”
“After we illegally attacked their base. Just because the people Casey worked with kidnapped Max, that doesn’t mean he was involved.”
Roz ran to the door of Thunder’s quarters and stood with her back to it, facing me with her hands raised. “Back away. Now.”
“Don’t fight me on this, Roz. You’d understand that I’m right if Max hadn’t been messing with your mind.”
The door opened, and Thunder stood there wearing only his jeans. “Casey’s on Degraw Avenue, heading west. He’s on foot, but he’s fast. Abby, Roz—go bring him back. I’ll deal with Brawn.”
Roz hesitated for a moment, then moved aside and started to run. Thunder glared at me, and I stared back.
Lance began, “Guys, don’t …”
And then there was nothing but silence, and I realized that Thunder was blocking the sound from reaching me. I suddenly felt dizzy, sick, like I was going to throw up. Something hard and invisible slammed into my chest: one of Thunder’s shock waves.
Another hit me in the stomach, then smashed into my face.
Then a wave of pressure hit me, forcing me back, pummeling every part of my body like I was caught in a tidal wave.
It was taking all of my strength just to remain standing.
But I still saw Thunder as a friend—I didn’t want to hit him, and I knew that if I did, I might kill him.
So I turned and ran. Max and Lance darted clear just before Lash and Ollie opened fire on me.
I felt their shots slam into me: one in my right arm, the other square in my chest. But I kept moving, straight at them.
Ollie fired four more times before he threw himself to the ground, and each one of his shots hit home: The last one clipped my neck and actually drew blood.
Lash either wasn’t fast enough or didn’t care about his own safety. He was still shooting at me point-blank as I picked him up and threw him back over my head.
He hit the ground somewhere behind me, but I didn’t stop to look.
I jumped as I ran, crashed through the large garage doors, showering the dark street outside with buckled strips of aluminum.
My hearing returned as I raced along Fort Lee Road, heading west toward Degraw Avenue.
I knew that Casey was fast, but Abby was faster. She would catch up with him … if I didn’t catch her first: My stride was at least twice as long as Abby’s, plus I was a lot stronger than she was.
The road wasn’t well lit, but I could see a small figure running ahead of me, and I knew from the silhouette that it was Roz.
Before I could reach her, I realized that a wave of sirens was approaching from far behind me. The police.
Oh, this just keeps getting better! I didn’t want to fight the police any more than I wanted to fight my friends.
Roz must have heard the sirens—or my bare feet pounding along the road—because she suddenly stopped and turned to face me. “Brawn—no! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
“Outta my way, Roz! I don’t want to have to—”
Again, I was hit by something invisible, but this was different from one of Thunder’s shock waves. It was like running into a strong, sticky net that had been strung across the road. It grabbed me, slowed me down, wound itself around my limbs.
It pulled at the back of my knees and pushed against my chest at the same time, toppling me onto my back. Then it started to drag me backward along the road.
I formed my hands into claws and slammed them down, fingers digging deep, gouging rough furrows into the road’s surface.
But Roz wasn’t able to keep her telekinetic shield up for long. The pressure weakened enough for me to roll to my feet, and soon it was no worse than wading upstream against a fast-flowing river.
Exhausted, Roz collapsed to the ground as I passed her, but she still had enough strength to call out: “Brawn, please …”
Her hold finally shattered, I was once more able to run at full speed. I reached the junction for the interstate and paused. I knew that Thunder was probably still able to hear Casey, and could well be feeding his location to Abby over the two-way radio, or even directly by throwing his voice so that only she could hear him. Which way would Casey have gone?
Ahead the sky was a flickering blue and red: more police cars coming. Those behind me were already racing along Fort Lee Road, less than a minute away.
And then I saw them, on the overpass: Abby had her sword drawn, its point only inches away from Casey’s throat. Casey had his arms raised with his back to the high wire-mesh fence. Behind him was a forty-foot drop onto the interstate, which was already heavy with traffic.
“Abby!” I roared. “Don’t!”
She didn’t alter her position. “Stay back, Brawn!”
I slowed as I reached her, approaching from her left. “Lower the sword. I mean it, Abby!”
The sirens were all around us now, half a dozen police cars stopped at either end of the overpass.
“Shouldn’t have come after me, Brawn,” Casey said. “I could have handled this. But now that the cops have seen you, they’ll be more inclined to open fire.”
I ignored him. “Abby, please … You don’t know what you’re doing. Max has been tinkering with your mind, making you believe that Casey is one of the bad guys. But he hasn’t done anything wrong! Sure, the people he was working for are dangerous, but not him. You have to let him go.”
The point of the sword wavered. “Back away! I don’t want to have to hurt you too!”
