Paranormals (Book 1) (31 page)

The inside was very spacious and almost entirely bare. The lights were dim but still on, and Lincoln could make out various blocks on stands at the far end of the hanger-like room.

"Looks like a shooting range," Graham commented, and Lincoln was forced to agree. "You sure this is the place?"

Edmond nodded. "One of three. McLane never worked in here himself. Maybe this is why." He gestured to one side. "There’s a couple of computers and work tables. We’ll give it a once-over, then move on."

Lincoln and Graham poked around physically while Edmond did a little hacking on the main console. Lincoln found more target blocks, an electronic gadget that looked like bandless goggles or compact binoculars, and some material that looked like cotton fabric but felt thicker and heavier.

"There’s nothing here," Graham carped, noisily kicking over a work bench. "Let’s get going."

"Wait," Edmond insisted, "I think I’m getting somewhere." Lincoln glanced over his shoulder — the screen was indeed becoming more active. "Powerhouse, grab one of those DVDs and slip it into the burner."

"One of these?"

"No, the ones that have ‘DVD+R’ on the label. Pop it in the drive that says ‘Writer’ on it. No, the bottom one, there. That’s it. Thanks."

"What?" Graham asked, joining them. "What is it?"

"I’m not sure," Edmond admitted. "The technobabble is
way
beyond me, but the headers and file names identify something called a ‘vortex wave.’ "

"A what?"

"Wait." Lincoln perked up, his interest aroused in spite of himself. " ‘Vortex wave?’ Didn’t the vigilante who nailed Waid’s team call himself—?"

"Exactly," Edmond affirmed. He opened the appropriate software and began burning copies of the files to the first of what would take several CDs. "That can’t be a coincidence. Looks like ‘Vortex’ might not be just a
vigilante
after all. McLane will be pleased when we bring—"

Twin beams of red light flashed past Edmond, targeting the computer’s DVD burner from a sharp angle like a pair of laser-sights. An instant later, the beams — which
were
lasers — shot straight through to the other side, melting the drive and the copy Edmond had been making, but leaving the computer’s hard drive completely untouched.

"Look out!" Graham called. He fired a lightning bolt blindly as he dove behind the very bench he’d kicked over a minute ago.

Lincoln, his ears ringing from Graham’s counterattack, grabbed Edmond and pulled him down as well, using his own body to shield the man who had so far treated him decently.

But the next assault was not aimed at them. The laser beams were at work again, but this time they were shooting upward, systematically destroying the lights. In seconds, the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

"Edmond? Edmond!" Lincoln demanded, shaking the startled man gently by the shoulders. "Can you get us out of here?"

"To hell with that!" Graham called from his hiding place. "Khalkha chose
us
for just this occasion! Don’t you remember how Elliott lost his
thumb
, stupid? It’s
him
!" With that, Graham peeked over his shield and fired a series of smaller bolts, this time aiming more carefully.

Lincoln looked over the table and around the computer. Graham’s efforts were providing brief strobes of light, and he could barely make out a single figure moving along the far wall. The guy was wearing a lot of gold, and a black
cape
. So their attacker’s identity seemed pretty certain, but Graham was missing him by a fairly wide margin.

The question was: Did Lincoln
need
to hide, or was he tough enough to stand up to laser? Before he could resolve these issues, Graham took a break, and Lincoln completely lost sight of him.

"Did I get him?" Graham asked.

"Not even close."

"What the hell do
you
know?"

"Stand up and find out."

Graham grumbled, but not loud enough for Lincoln to catch the words.

Then Lincoln caught a whiff of the now-familiar acidic fumes. "Edmond, what are you doing?" he whispered.

"I’m burning into the floor," Edmond answered. "Making us a dugout. We’ll be able to drop in and wait for him to give away his position. Since he can’t see us any better than we can see him—"

"I wouldn’t be too sure of that."

Regardless of his paranormal protection, the sudden new voice nearly caused Lincoln to jump out of his skin. He was so
close
! The guy was
fast
! He felt a slight breeze go past his left arm, and Edmond grunted as though struck. Then Lincoln heard him moan as he slumped into the very hole he’d just begun making.

"
Got
you!
" Graham roared, firing a lightning bolt from each hand, heedless of whether or not he might hit either of his companions. In the flash of light, Lincoln saw the costumed man — Vortex — standing right next to him. He could have taken a swing at him then and there, but he hesitated.

Graham missed Vortex, but he did accomplish one thing. One of his bolts struck a large pile of computer printouts on a different table, which instantly caught fire. The flames spread quickly to the table itself, and suddenly it wasn’t so dark.

But Vortex was on the move. Putting space between himself and Lincoln, he faced Graham. The air between them rippled — Waid was correct about this paranormal having
multiple abilities
— and suddenly Graham was hurled backward as though Lincoln himself had picked him up and thrown him. The redhead was airborne for several seconds before he crashed back to the floor, moaning, groaning, and cursing the whole way.

Then Vortex said something that Lincoln heard very clearly. It was just one word, "
Lightning
," but it was spat with venomous conviction. He moved towards Graham, leaping over the bench with impressive grace.

Lincoln glanced down at Edmond and realized the man was lying face-first in the loosened rumble of the warehouse floor. Turning him over, he found Edmond was gushing blood from a broken nose, and the uneven flickering of the firelight was still enough to reveal that both his eyes were blackening. Vortex must have hit the man dead-center in the face with perfect accuracy. So much for his not being able to see in the dark.

The warehouse echoed with more of Graham’s lightning bolts, and Lincoln figured that he should return his attention to the fight. If Graham were to report back to McLane that he could have taken a swing at Vortex and didn’t ...

Standing, Lincoln was just in time to see Vortex reach Graham. All of the redhead’s bolts had apparently missed their target, although Vortex’s cape was smoking near one end-corner. He elbowed Graham in the left temple, staggering the lightning man. Graham took a clumsy swing at him, which proved to be a big mistake — Vortex blocked it easily, then rolled his arm around Graham’s and pivoted at the waist, hyper-extending Graham’s elbow. Graham cried out as he was then spun and flipped by the very same arm, landing flat on his back on the concrete floor — his breath fled his body like a rat from a sinking ship.

"Son of a
bitch
!" Vortex bellowed, kicking Graham in the face. "
You killed them
all!
" He threw himself down onto the man, pommeling him.

Lincoln realized that he’d just been watching all of this, slack-jawed and immobile. He had no idea what Vortex was talking about, but one thing was clear: Although he was taking out a lot of emotional frustration on Graham, it seemed doubtful that he was out to
kill
the lightning man — after all, one blast of those lasers of his would accomplish that task at the speed of light.

God only knows what Graham’s done to deserve this
, Lincoln thought.
But ... I have to think about Tommy and Sarah ...

Lincoln stepped forward and kicked the bench. It split in half but still did what he’d wanted — a portion of it flew across the hanger and slammed into Vortex’s back, knocking him off Graham. Lincoln expected that to be the end of it — the force he’d put into that kick could easily have shoved the bench halfway through a normal man’s body — but Vortex, though clearly shaken, managed to roll with it and end up on his feet.

Invulnerability, too? This guy has more paranormal tricks than Khalkha!

Striding forward, flexing his muscles, and trying to sound as rough and intimidating as possible, Lincoln demanded, "Listen, why don’t you just
stand down
, Mister? I don’t want to hurt you—"

He’d half-expected twin beams of light to shoot forward and try to burn through him, but something else happened. When the guy had ...
thrown
Graham backward, or whatever it was he’d done, the air had rippled like a heat wave. Now, however, as Vortex turned that same power onto him, he found that being on the receiving end was a different experience. Instead of a mere ripple, a
tunnel
seemed to appear between himself and the vigilante — it reminded him, of all things, like the opening title sequence on the old "Doctor Who" television series. It was weird and psychedelic ... and the spiral on Vortex’s chest made more sense.

But that wasn’t the only difference. Unlike Graham, he wasn’t pushed away, but instead felt as though he were suddenly under water. It became a little more difficult to breathe, a little more difficult to move, like the atmosphere in the room had increased in density. Still he wasn’t in any pain so far, so — with some strain — he pushed forward.

Vortex grunted in surprise, and then the pressure got stronger — a
lot
stronger. Now Lincoln
was
feeling it, especially in his eyes and ears. He gasped as he felt his body wanting to curl into a fetal ball — it was all he could do to keep his limbs straightened.

But this new level was taking something out of the vigilante, too. There was still a good twenty feet or so between them, but Lincoln could hear Vortex panting now. The initial burst must have been all he was used to, because holding Lincoln at bay was clearly an effort for him.

I guess we’ll just have to see who lasts the longest
...

But it didn’t come to that. An all-too-familiar bolt of lightning suddenly shot past Lincoln to strike Vortex square in the chest. His ... pressure-power, or whatever, cut short immediately, and every muscle in his body tensed and spasmed before he dropped to the floor. He groaned as he tried in vain to get back to his feet.

Graham, his face covered in blood, limped up next to Lincoln. "Be damned," he muttered, his voice sounding nasally and choked. "Still alive, and
conscious
. Tough sonuvabitch." He lifted a shaky hand to the other side of his head and his fingers came away bloody. He turned so Lincoln could see that one of Vortex’s kicks or punches had torn his ear. He was battered, bruised, and rapidly swelling like Sylvester Stallone at the end of
Rocky
, but still he grinned, his teeth cracked and gruesome and one of them missing. "Not alive for long. Thanks for holdin’em, Powerhouse." Cradling his side, he shuffled past Lincoln, one hand already targeting the struggling vigilante. Vortex looked up, perhaps struggling to shoot his lasers or pressure-wave, but his eyes were blinking rapidly, with nothing happening.

In a matter of seconds, he would be dead. One more victim in Graham’s — in McLane’s — long list of victims. A man who could have made one hell of a rogue, who could have been one of McLane’s prized possessions for all the paranormal gifts he’d been given. A man who instead chose to live out every little boy’s fantasy, and who would now die for that fantasy — a potential symbol of real
hope
in an ugly world, snuffed out like a candle.

Lincoln’s decision was made in a heartbeat, almost without any real conscious thought — if he
allowed
himself to think about it, he knew he would hesitate, and then it would be too late.

Taking a single step forward, Lincoln punched the base of Graham’s skull. There was no reaction — no gasp of surprise, no accusing curse, no death rattle. The bone caved in, and the flesh wrenched as his head tried to leave his neck. He was dead before he hit the floor.