Heroes Lost and Found (17 page)

“And I’m an Alpha. I deserve this more than you do.”

The wacky logic had me rocking back on my heels. “What?”

“I’m an Alpha. You’re not.” He recited the words as if explaining it to a child. “Status-wise, it’s more important to keep me alive than you. If my plug’s still active, this jammer is better off in my hands than in yours.”

I bounced between wanting to throw up and wanting to taser him again. Instead I looked into his single eye and found nothing there, nothing but the same perverse logic Dykovski believed in, twisted around and thrown back in my face.

“Where are we?” I heard footsteps approaching. We were out of time. “Where are we?” I pressed against the bars. “Tell me.”

Kit grunted. “Still in Oregon. Bundled you two into a truck and drove for about two, two and a half hours. I flew low, stayed out of sight.” He broke off as the door opened.

Dykovski grinned as he stepped through into the room, Thrasher trailing behind exactly two paces. “Good of you to join us, Inferno. Been a while since we had a moment to sit and chat.”

“Bastard.” Kit spat towards him, the limp mouthful of saliva falling far short. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Sure you are.” Dykovski knelt and patted the super on the head. “But I think not just yet.” He stood and shot me a mischievous wink. “Takes a lot to surprise me these days, Inferno, and when I saw you on those surveillance cameras, coming in through the front door yelling and screaming, I was surprised.”

The ex-Guardian walked in a slow circle around Kit.

Thrasher stood off to one side in the parade lineup we’d occupied earlier. He studied the floor, not looking at either of us or at Dykovski. His hands went behind him as he waited.

Kit watched Dykovski in his slow orbit. Kit’s thick forearms bulged and flexed as he struggled to break the black restraints.

“But in the end I’m up here and you’re down there, as you should be. I thought you would have gotten used to that, after all the time we spent together.” Dykovski kicked Kit in the small of the back again.

Kit grunted but didn’t cry out. His teeth ground together as he stared at me, avoiding his ex-Guardian’s face.

Dykovski gestured to Thrasher. “Get Hot Foot and Meltdown. I think we need to all have a chat.”

The strongman left the room at a trot as Dykovski continued to circle Kit like a wolf waiting for the right moment to deliver the killing blow.

“You left me to die,” Kit said, his voice rising in strength. “But I didn’t. I’m going to rip your throat out and dance on your corpse, you bastard.” Anger flashed in his eye, and for a second I saw the old Kit Masters, the superhero I’d loved and adored.

Harris walked in, flanked by the two thugs. He flinched, seeing Masters lying on the ground. His old clothing was gone, exchanged for the same black T-shirt and fatigues the other two supers and Dykovski wore. He glanced at me once with a sad, wistful shake of his head before being yanked into line with the other two.

“Good. The gang’s all here. Let’s begin your lesson for the day.” Dykovski went down on his right knee, pinning Kit’s shoulder.

Kit frowned as Dykovski reached out with both hands to touch him, the long slender fingers caressing his skin like a lost lover. He flinched but couldn’t wriggle away from Dykovski’s grip.

Dykovski ran his fingers through the short dark hair, keeping the good side of Kit’s face pressed to the floor.

“Inferno here was a good man, a good fighter,” Dykovski intoned. “But he never quite figured out the food chain. Predators and prey. Eat or be eaten. Fight or be beaten down. In the bigger scheme of things, you are all where you are supposed to be, here with me. Your destiny wasn’t to save the world; your destiny is to help me rule it.” He shifted his right knee and pressed down on Kit’s scarred ear, pinning him to the floor.

“You asshole,” Kit blustered, staring at Dykovski’s left shoe. “You’re fucking scum. You think you’re a big man ’cause you get off beating on people who can’t fight back? You’re a coward.”

Dykovski ignored the rant and ran his finger down the scarred skin, the fingertip bouncing from ridge to ridge. “And some of you are living on borrowed time.”

His hand landed in Kit’s front pocket. His fingers wriggled, digging out the small chain and the jammer.

I tried not to react as Dykovski pulled it free and waved it in the air.

Harris moaned, unable to hold it in.

“Did you think I wasn’t listening to you two babbling at each other?” Dykovski pointed at the ceiling. “Hidden cameras. Very useful. Agency issue.”

I felt nauseous as he dangled the small, slim, rectangular wafer in the air.

“Why do you think I stripped you down, Surf? I knew you had something on you that blocked my attempts to get your code. Saw it at Cherries ’n’ Lemons. I paid attention when you worked your tech magic. Just had to figure out what and where it was.” He fondled the thin medallion. “I thought it was something in the jacket.”

He moved in on the jammer with both hands, flexing it between his fingers.

Kit wrestled under Dykovski’s knee, twisting around in a vain attempt to break free. “You’re a fucking coward. You’re a disgrace to the Agency and to the other Guardians.” Spittle flew from his lips as he tried to pull away. “Why don’t you fight me one on one, man to man. Don’t hide behind your wristband and your gadgets. Show me what you’re made of. Put your money where your mouth is, you bastard.”

Dykovski ignored him and continued to study the jammer, turning it over and over. He gave a snort, twisting away from Kit’s gaze.

“Dude, you’re drunk again. Pathetic.” His free hand moved up. “Meltdown, if you please.” Dykovski waved him forward. “Please dispose of this.”

Harris looked at me, sweat beading on his forehead.

I gave him a slight nod. There was nothing else I could do or say.

He stepped out of line and reached out a single index finger.

Dykovski held up the jammer to it, delicately pressing it up against the rapidly heating skin.

The black rectangle bent, burned, broke apart in two pieces. Dykovski let go, allowing both halves to drop to the floor. The small chain rattled as it coiled around one shattered half.

“Thank you. Back in line.” He turned his attention to me as Harris returned to his place between the other two supers. “So much for your high-tech wizardry.”

Harris’s lower lip quivered as he stared at the floor and the shattered jammer.

Dykovski patted Kit’s head. “As I was saying before, you’re all living on borrowed time. Tick, tock.” He tapped on the scarred skin with a single finger. “Tick, tock.”

The finger moved and landed on his wristband. It struck a series of numbers, the
click clack
reminding me of an old typewriter.

I’d never heard it before.

I hoped I’d never have to again.

The red digital figures came up, growing in intensity like a dying star about to burn out.

“Goodbye, Inferno. Again.” Dykovski tapped the gold button.

Kit’s good eye locked with mine, strong and fearless.

I couldn’t breathe.

The explosion deafened me, the roar of thunder washing over me as I flung myself against the back of the cage in a primeval urge to get away from death.

Harris let out something between a cry and a shout. I pulled my hands down in time to see him charge at Dykovski, who was still on the ground, Kit Masters’s half-empty skull crumbling under his knee.

Thrasher and Hot Foot grabbed Harris by the arms, dragging him back and keeping well clear of his hands.

“Dude, not here. Not here,” Thrasher mumbled. “Not worth it, not worth it.” He glanced at me for a second, and I saw the fear in his eyes.

Dykovski stood up.

The plug had done its job, severing the spinal cord and blowing most of the skull away, the detritus shooting towards the wall. The blood and brains smeared across Dykovski’s black shirt and camo pants sent a spasm through me, threatening to return the two sandwiches and anything else in my stomach.

“Crappy government tech. Second time’s the charm, I always say.” He looked at his bloody hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Told him once he didn’t have two grey cells to rub together. Guess he did have more than one. Inferno, I stand corrected.”

I couldn’t think. I sat there and shook as Dykovski wiped his hands on his shirt with a stoic look.

Harris stopped struggling. Instead he stared at the dead man, his mouth slightly open. Thrasher let go of his arm, joining him in a silent inspection of the body. Hot Foot shuffled his feet from side to side, looking everywhere but at Kit.

“That felt sort of good,” Dykovski announced with a wide grin. “Sort of like having Christmas twice in the same week.” He slapped his hands together, the noise deafening in the quiet room. “All right, then. Meltdown, back to your box for a bit of rest. Same with you two boys.” He glanced down at me. “I think I’ll leave you a roommate for a bit. Give you something to think about.”

I pulled my knees up and hid my face, burying myself in aching, bruised muscles. The door slammed and left me in silence.

Chapter Ten

I shifted in the cage, every move becoming more uncomfortable. It’d been the better part of an hour since Kit’s death, and some things just couldn’t be put off forever.

“Thrasher,” I called out. A minute later I repeated myself, hoping to sound as friendly as possible under the circumstances.

The door opened. Hot Foot walked in, rubbing his eyes with one hand. The dazed look told me he’d been asleep. His bald head gleamed in the fluorescent lighting.

“Thrasher’s busy. What?”

I shifted against the bars. “I hate to bother you, but I’d like to use the bathroom. Thrasher said to call him if I needed to go.”

The middle-aged man stroked his chin, pressing his lips together into a thin line. I saw him assessing the risk and the fear in his eyes if he made the wrong choice. I couldn’t blame him given recent events.

“Look, I’ll leave the door open. You can watch if you want, but I have to warn you, I’m nervous about that sort of thing.” I spread my hands. “Dykovski won’t be too happy if he comes in here and finds I’ve messed myself now, will he? You want to clean it up?”

Hot Foot grunted. “Wait here a minute.” He didn’t look at Kit’s remains lying a few feet away from my cage.

I couldn’t stop looking at them. The lone eye continued to stare at me, the unwavering brown orb daring me to do something, anything to save myself.

Problem was, I couldn’t think of anything.

Hot Foot returned a minute later, carrying the key in one hand. He knelt by the cage and fiddled with the lock. “Bathroom’s over there. Don’t close the door the entire way.” He coughed. “Don’t be too long. Boss is in a fit over something, been yelling up a storm in his room.” The door swung open, the bottom edge of the metal dragging through the puddle of drying blood.

“Oh?” I crawled out of the cage. “Running out of people to kill?”

“Don’t be fucking with the Controller,” Hot Foot snapped. “You’re lucky to be alive. If you knew how much he hated you and your buddies—” He broke off, shaking his head.

I held back my response. He wasn’t the enemy, Dykovski was. There was no point in causing more friction.

“Thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes cleaning up.” I staggered towards the bathroom.

The small room was barren of all but the basic necessities—a thin sliver of white soap sitting on the porcelain sink, a stack of paper towels wadded up behind the faucets waited to be used.

I left the door half open.

The polished steel mirror was warped in spots but reflective enough to show me what a mess I’d gotten myself into. Dried blood caked my upper lip, and I stopped counting the yellow, blue and black bruises after reaching double digits.

There was plenty of hot water, and I let it run to calm my nerves, the steam filling the small room despite the door still being partially ajar. My bladder let out a sigh of relief as it emptied, making me at least three pounds lighter by my estimation.

“You about done?” The nervous shout jolted me out of my inspection. “I don’t have all day to play babysitter.”

“One second more. Thanks for being so patient, I really appreciate it.”

A last wipe across my face with a damp paper towel and I walked out, feeling a bit more civilized despite my lack of clothing.

“What’s your name?” I stood by the cage, delaying the inevitable.

“Hot Foot.” He glared at me. “Get back in the cage.”

“I mean your real name,” I prompted again, hoping for more success than I’d had with Thrasher.

“Oh, that.” He laughed. “Don’t remember, don’t want to remember.” He ran a finger over his ear and worked on digging out a piece of wax. “Going to build a whole new world and burn down the old.”

I crouched down and waited, prolonging my freedom. “With Dykovski as your leader? He’ll kill you as soon as he gets tired of you.”

“Maybe.” The scene around me shifted, changed, and I was in the cage and the lock was back on and I had a few fingerprints in places I didn’t like. “But you’ll be ahead of me in that line, so I’m okay with it.”