Heat Wave, page 30
Nick touched the back of his hand.
He gave Nick a quick hug. “Go.”
The crowd began to roar. Nick whirled around, looking at the stage. People were beginning to file on, people in suits and dresses. The interim police chief in dress blues, service cap pushed back on his head. Others Nick vaguely recognized. One man caught Nick’s attention. His black suit coat hugged his large frame, tie cinched tightly at his throat. Head shaved.
Anthony. Burke’s driver and bodyguard, the one who’d stopped Nick on the street last spring, forcing him into a limousine where Burke lay waiting. He jumped off the front of the stage, going to one of the security guards, tapping him on the shoulder and whispering in his ear. The security guard nodded and said something back.
Miles grabbed Nick by the elbow. “We need to hurry. Excuse me. Pardon me. So sorry. It’s my kid’s dream to get as close as he can. Loves politics and fireworks. You know how it is. Ah, thank you. So kind.”
Nick looked back, Trey and Bob crowding behind him. He couldn’t see Cap or Dad anymore. It was as if they’d been swallowed whole.
They were still at least ten feet away from the barriers when Miles came to a stop. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get anyone else to move.
The multiple speakers around the stage flared to life, blaring music as the three screens lit up. The crowd cheered, hands above their heads. The screens flashed with images. Nova City, seen from above, a slow, panning shot that looked as if it had been taken from a drone. People walking the streets. Construction workers with yellow hard hats, laughing and shoving each other. A teacher in a classroom, students watching her as her mouth moved silently behind the swell of music. Parents with their kids between them, all smiling at the camera.
“Simon Burke believes in this city,” a narrator said over the images. “He was born here. Raised here. The blood of Nova City runs through his veins.”
The screen changed, showing a white woman with red frizzy hair sitting in a park on a blanket. “Why am I voting for Simon Burke?” she asked, perfect teeth flashing as she grinned. “That’s easy. Because I know he’s a family man.”
She disappeared, replaced by an Asian man with chubby cheeks who stood behind the counter in a bodega. “Because he understands the value of small businesses.”
A Black man, working in a factory, sparks flying behind him as he stood awkwardly, hands twitching, his smile more a grimace. “Because he’ll protect the working class.”
And then the screen changed again, and Simon Burke appeared, standing in front of a group of people, hands animated as he spoke to them, looking loose, relaxed. Whatever he said was muted, the voice-over saying, “Simon Burke knows what it means to struggle. He knows hardship. But instead of blaming others, he accepts responsibility and strives to be better. And that is the core of his mission: to make Nova City a better place for everyone, no matter where they come from.”
“Bullshit,” Trey said under his breath, eyes narrowed as he glared at the screens.
The screens changed once more, this time showing Burke sitting in his immaculate office, scribbling his signature on a piece of paper. He looked up at the camera and smiled. “My name is Simon Burke, and I approve this message.”
His image faded, replaced by white lettering exclaiming IN BURKE WE TRUST!
The crowd picked it up, beginning to chant over and over with an almost religious fervor.
“IN BURKE WE TRUST!
“IN BURKE WE TRUST!”
The chants dissolved into cheers as another figure walked onto the stage, waving both her hands at the crowd. She wore a sharp pinstriped suit tailored to her frame, a red tie, and black pumps, her blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked out onto the masses before her, and for a moment, Nick thought she saw him, a brief pause before her gaze swept away over everyone else. When she reached the podium, the screens changed again, showing her from different angles.
“How the hell are ya, Nova City?” Rebecca Firestone asked, voice carrying over the crowd. “Are you ready for a night you won’t forget?”
They were, if their answering cries were any indication.
“My name is Rebecca Firestone, and it is my great pleasure to stand before you tonight,” she said. “In a moment, the man we’re all here to see will arrive. His critics will scream at the top of their lungs that he’s just another rich man who’s only in it for himself and his wealthy friends. That he doesn’t care about the middle class, or those who have found themselves in the grips of poverty. That, my friends, couldn’t be further from the truth. Simon Burke is a man of the people, one who knows what it’s like to overcome adversity…”
“Man,” Trey whispered in Nick’s ear. “I hope to hell you’re right about her. She’s not doing herself any favors.”
“Wait,” Nick whispered back, though a trickle of alarm ran down his spine.
“… and who has never let his detractors drown out his message of unity.” She smiled widely. “Simon Burke is here for you. He will always be here for you, whenever you need him. And on today of all days, Independence Day, a message: Simon Burke will win!”
The crowed exploded once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Nova City, join me in welcoming the man of the hour … Simon Burke!”
Chaos. Chaos and noise, a storm of reverence and adulation that threatened to overwhelm Nick. He blocked it out as best he could, vision shrinking to a pinpoint, fixed firmly on Simon Burke, who jogged up the steps to the stage, waving his hands as confetti shot from cannons, brightly colored slips of paper spinning through the air. Rebecca Firestone shook his hand, Burke pulling her close, kissing her cheek. She nodded at whatever he said and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
The crowd continued on and on, a wall of noise that never seemed to end as Burke approached the podium. He wore jeans and a red polo shirt, buttoned all the way up to his throat. (A crime.)
“It’s starting,” he said, cupping his ear. “Are we ready?”
“Getting there,” Gibby said, sounding harried. “How long into the speech?”
“Three minutes. When he starts talking about Extraordinaries registration, it’s on.”
“We’ll be ready,” Jazz said, though she, too, sounded nervous. “Martha? How are we doing?”
“Sending it to you now,” Martha said, all business.
“Got it,” Gibby said. “Crap, this is … complicated.”
Another voice came on the line. Aysha said, “You can do it, Lola. Take a breath. Let it out. Clear your head.”
“Pyro Storm?” Nick asked as Burke grinned, his face on the screens behind him.
“Moving,” Pyro Storm grunted in his ear. “Seventy-second floor, right?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “That’s where he’s put his new office.” He looked up the side of the building, a wave of vertigo washing over him. “You have time. Take it slow.”
“On it. Nick, get ready.”
Without hesitation, Miles and Bob and Trey surrounded Nick. “Mind if I borrow that?” Trey asked the man standing next to him. “Want to get in on the action.”
“Sure,” the man said with a shrug. “Knock yourself out. So long as I get it back.” He handed over a large cardboard sign reading BURKE FOR MAYOR! Trey lowered it in front of him, blocking the sight line between his legs.
As Nick kneeled down, sliding his backpack off and setting it on the ground in front of him, Burke began to speak. “My friends, it is my honor to stand before you today.”
Nick unzipped the backpack.
“Much has been made of the past year, the trials and tribulations we have all faced. It never seems to get any easier, does it?”
Nick lifted his helmet out of the backpack reverently, setting it on the ground next to him.
“And I’ll admit something to you, something that I’ve never said to anyone before. I’ve had doubts. After all, I am just one man. A man with a vision, yes, but greater men than I have had vision, only to fail.”
The costume next, cerulean, with white lines.
“But I promise you, I will not fail.”
Chucks off.
“I see a world where we are free. Where we are safe.”
He rose, sliding the costume up and over his shoulders. Bulky from his shorts and shirt.
“Extraordinaries,” Simon Burke said, leaning toward the microphone. “Those who think they’re better than us simply because of genetic aberrations. I’m here to tell you enough is enough. We will not be silenced. We will not cower in fear.”
Nick looked to the stage and saw Rebecca Firestone staring directly at him from where she sat behind Burke, off to his left. When she saw she’d gotten Nick’s attention, she put her hand on her thigh, fingers spread wide.
Five.
“We will meet the Extraordinary menace head-on.”
Rebecca Firestone folded her thumb against her palm. Four.
“We will never falter.”
Three.
“We will stand tall and brave in the face of those who would try and take away our lives and liberties.”
Two.
“You deserve to know who hides behind the masks of those who call themselves heroes.”
One.
“On today of all days, one where we celebrate our God-given rights as a free people, it is my pleasure to announce the Extraordinaires Registration Act, a comprehensive piece of legislation that will—”
Rebecca Firestone—face splotchy, eyes wide—closed her fist.
Zero.
Nick turned his head upward to see a figure skating down the side of Burke Tower, hurtling toward the stage, the glass of the windows cracking under their feet. It was one thing to be told what was coming, but it was something else entirely to see it for himself.
Guardian. His same costume, down to the smallest of details. Anger burst in Nick’s chest, a sense of violation coursing through him. It was his mother’s. It was his. How dare they.
Burke said, “And I promise you. This act will pass. We will know every single Extraordinary, no matter where they go, no matter where they try to hide, we’ll find them and—”
A woman off to Nick’s left screamed. The people around her lifted their heads and began to shout along with her.
Burke faltered, whirling around, looking up to where people were pointing. Still ten stories up, the figure leapt off the side of the building, flipping forward, arms spread wide. Anthony barked an order as he hoisted himself up onto the stage, going for Burke, who stumbled backward, but not before Nick saw the quick flash of a triumphant smile.
The false Guardian hit the stage, causing it to creak and groan as they rose slowly to their feet.
Burke grabbed a microphone from the podium, jerking it free from its stand, feedback squealing as Anthony tried to pull him back. “See?” Burke hissed into the microphone. “See? Even now, they won’t let us be. Do not be frightened. You want to know the truth? Let me be the one to tell it to you. This? This is nothing because this is a child. Show yourself, you coward. Tell everyone who you really are before I do it for you.”
The crowd stopped moving, stopped shoving, stopped screaming.
The figure on the stage cocked their head.
“Fine,” Burke snarled into the microphone. “It’s time to end this charade. The world is watching, and you will not intimidate me, Nicholas Bell.”
The figure lowered their head, hands coming up to the sides of their helmet. They lifted it off, and there, standing on the stage, teeth bared, was Nick. The hair. The face. All of it. It was like looking in a fractured mirror.
And he was smiling.
“Holy shit,” Trey breathed.
“That’s right,” Burke said. “Just as Pyro Storm was revealed to be a mere boy, the same is true about the one who calls himself Guardian. This is who they lift up? This is who they expect to save them?”
“Get down,” Nick snarled, and without hesitating, Trey, Bob, and Miles dropped to their knees. Fake Nick raised his hand toward Burke, and cops drew their weapons, shouting, Anthony thrown to the side, Burke raising his hands as if in fear, but the real Nick was already moving. He crouched low, and with all his might, shot up, feet leaving the ground, the air underneath him pushing him up and up and up until he was above the crowd. Picturing large, flat stones in his head, Nick leapt forward, the bottoms of his boots finding solid air, jumping from one to the next to the next. The people on the stage scattered as he landed right behind his doppelganger. Simon Burke’s eyes bulged from his head, and Fake Nick whirled around.
“Hey,” Nick said. “Got something for ya.” The doppelgänger had no time to react when Nick swung his helmet out in flat arc, smashing it into the side of the liar’s head. Fake Nick stumbled, almost falling to his knees as a dazed expression settled on his face. “And that’s called kicking your own ass!”
“Don’t piss them off,” Gibby warned in his ear. “Stick to the plan, Nick. Get them—”
Fake Nick moved swiftly—near silent—feet barely touching the stage as he shot toward Nick. Nick dropped his helmet and sidestepped, grabbing Fake Nick by the wrist, using momentum against him. He jerked his arm as hard as he could, flinging Fake Nick toward Anthony who was rising to his feet. Fake Nick crashed into him, knocking them both down, Anthony’s legs dangling off the side of the stage as he blinked up toward the darkened sky, face awash with light from the screens above him.
“Don’t,” Nick warned when Fake Nick immediately started pushing himself up once more. “Stay down before I put you down again.”
Fake Nick grinned. “Let’s see how it plays out, yeah? It’s time to take out the garbage.”
Nick had barely had time to steel himself when Fake Nick tackled him, sending them crashing to the stage, wood and metal groaning under the impact. They rolled over once, twice, three times, and then Fake Nick was on top of him, knees pinning his arms to the side, hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing. Fake Nick raised his hips as he glared down at Nick, leaning forward, faces inches apart.
“You should’ve stayed away,” Fake Nick whispered.
“Fake-ass bitch,” Nick managed to choke out. “Didn’t think this through, did you? Because if you look like me, then you probably got the junk, too. Sucks to be you.”
Fake Nick blinked. “What are you—”
Nick kneed him in the balls as hard as he could. Fake Nick opened his mouth in a soundless shriek, cords on his neck jutting out. Nick didn’t wait for him to recover, pressing his hands against Fake Nick’s chest. Instead of pushing with his hands, he pushed with his mind, the spark growing larger, the edges rippling as if alive. The air between him and Fake Nick stuttered as it expanded, a balloon being filled with helium. Fake Nick flew back, sliding along the stage, coming to a stop at Simon Burke’s feet.
Nick jumped to his feet, chest heaving, throat sore. He spat onto the stage as he rubbed his jaw. “That all you got? No other powers to use? What about the smoke? The ice? The water? Man, this is disappointing.”
Fake Nick pushed himself up. Nick prepared for another attack and was stunned when Fake Nick turned toward the crowd, looking panicked. “Help me!” he cried. “That thing isn’t me! I’m the real Nick!”
Nick snorted. “Oh, bullshit. Like people are going to fall for that. They’re not that stupid.”
Apparently they were, because every single cop turned toward Nick.
“Uh,” Nick said, taking a step back. “Hold up a second. I’m the real Nick.”
“Don’t listen to him!” Fake Nick snapped. “He’s trying to get inside your heads.” He looked out into the crowd. “Dad! Where are you? I need you!”
“What! That’s my dad, you asshole. You don’t get to—”
Movement, in the crowd, as Dad and Cap, followed by Trey and Bob and Miles, reached the metal barriers, a cop turning around and pointing his gun toward them. Cap reached out and disarmed the cop neatly, ejecting the magazine and unchambering the last bullet before handing the gun back. “If you’re going to point that thing at someone, you better know how to use it,” Cap said sternly. “Otherwise, you’re an idiot with a gun.”
Dad gripped the barrier, knuckles white as he looked up at the stage. Before Nick could say anything to him, Fake Nick appeared at his side, face streaked with tears. “Dad,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s me. You have to believe me.”
Nick shoved him hard. “Are you out of your damn mind? Like I’d ever cry in front of thousands of people. I’d save that for the safety of my bedroom like a normal teenager who still struggles with showing emotion in front of strangers!”
Fake Nick reached a trembling hand toward Dad. “Please. Help me. Don’t let him hurt me anymore.”
“Shit,” Trey breathed. “I can’t tell which is which.”
“Are you kidding me?” Nick demanded. “I’m literally standing right in front of you!”
“Me, too!” Fake Nick said. “I’m standing right here!”
“What’s happening?” Nick heard one of the cops ask.
“I have no idea,” another cop replied. “You think we’re still going to get overtime for this?”
“We better,” the first cop muttered. “If not, I’m going to report this to my union rep.”
“Aaron?” Miles asked. “Who’s the right one?”
Dad looked between the two Nicks before him. “I…”
“Dad,” Nick and Fake Nick said at the same time, one pleading, the other irritated beyond belief.
“I love you,” Fake Nick said. “You and me, remember? We stand together so we don’t struggle—”
“If you say one more word,” Nick snarled, “I’m going to make you eat your stupid tongue.”
Dad grinned, bright and fierce. “Nicky, no.”
Fake Nick frowned. “What? What do you mean no? Why won’t you—”
“Nicky, yes!” Nick crowed and let his fist fly. When it came down to it, it wasn’t the best punch ever thrown. But the punch didn’t need to be perfect, because surrounding his fist was a wall of air that slammed into Fake Nick, lifting him off the ground. Before he fell and hit the stage, Nick closed his fist, causing Fake Nick to hang suspended, feet kicking into nothing.
