Stronger: A Super Human Clash (15 page)

One of the other new trustees, Emily Stanhope—the widow of the supervillain Necroman—asked, “Why us?”

“Because you’re the best of a bad bunch,” Swinden said. “The other inmates look up to you. You all are the toughest, or the smartest, or the prettiest. Whatever works for you.” Then
he glanced at me. “Though maybe not the prettiest.” Then at Cosmo. “Definitely not the toughest.”

“Yeah, very funny,” Cosmo said.

Swinden laughed and walked away.

Emily watched him go as she spoke to the rest of us. “OK. The five of us will need to work together. Make sure we meet at least once a week. There’ll be rivalry between our groups, but we can’t let it get in … the way … of …” She stopped. “He’s gone.”

We all looked at one another for a moment, and then Ashley Roesler—formerly a political correspondent for a North Korean media service—broke the silence. “Is it my birthday or something? Am I dreaming this?”

“Champions of the Oppressed,” I said. “I like that.” I looked at Roman Laberis, one of the newer inmates. “What do you think?”

“I think Hazlegrove is even lazier than before. Now we have to do all his work for him.”

“Roman, you’re missing the big picture,” Cosmo said. “We’ve never had a reason to come together before, and now we’ve not only got a reason, but our meetings will actually be
encouraged
. What we have here is brains, experience, strength, and the ability to foster loyalty among the workforce. Hazlegrove has just put together the best escape committee this prison has ever seen.”

IF THE BACTERIA-BASED
adhesive in the concrete had been a type that set faster, I would have escaped the pit easier: I’d have just kept on top of it as it poured into the pit. But Misseldine had chosen his glue carefully. The heavy mixture clung to my skin, weighing me down, making me too heavy to jump. I tried to climb up the walls, but the dirt crumbled away in my hands.

Within a minute the concrete was up to my waist.

“It’s clear they chose you for your size and strength,” Misseldine shouted down. “If you’d had any intelligence, you’d have destroyed enough of the Trifoliate Orange to allow your friends to get through.”

Quietly, I said, “Harmony, can you hear me?”

“Just about.”

“I’m trapped. I—”

She interrupted me. “I heard. And I can see it too. There’s a camera in your goggles. Can you see a way out?”

“No.” The concrete was creeping up my chest. Already I could feel its great weight pressing against me from all sides. “Getting harder to breathe!” I had my arms above my head—I knew that if I let them get dragged down into the mixture, then moving them would be close to impossible.

“Stay calm, Brawn. Fill your lungs, then take rapid, shallow breaths. Don’t expel all your air at once.”

“The colonel who picked me up from the plane … Tell him to go ahead.”

“Go ahead and do
what
?”

“He knows.” I formed the fingers of my right hand into a point, then pushed my hand deep into the packed dirt of the wall. I did the same with my left hand, forcing it through the dirt a couple of inches away from my right. Then, keeping my arms straight and using all of my strength, I pulled my hands apart.

A mini-avalanche of soil and stones collapsed down on top of me, but I kept going. Pushing my hands into the dirt, pulling them apart.

More and more dirt spilled over me, and I was thankful for the goggles keeping it out of my eyes.

The spill of concrete competed with the collapsing wall of dirt, but I was digging faster than the concrete was being poured.

The soil covered my head, and still I kept going. I wasn’t making much forward progress, but that wasn’t the idea.

Then I could no longer move my feet: The gray mixture
was setting from the ground up. My knees locked next, then my waist. The concrete set around my chest, and I could no longer breathe. Not that I’d have wanted to, because I would have been breathing in dirt.

The soil pressed down on me, but better the soil than Terrain’s concrete-and-bacteria mixture.

Harmony kept me informed as I waited. “It’s working, Brawn. The colonel’s men sprayed a large section of the bushes with the kerosene. It’s burning fast. They’ll have more than enough room to maneuver now. If you can—”

Then her voice was cut off, but I had no way of knowing whether that was because the signal couldn’t get through or because the weight of the concrete and soil had crushed the electronics wired into my leather helmet.

By now the bacteria-concrete mixture had completely solidified. I was still able to move my arms through the soil. If I hadn’t knocked all that dirt down on top of myself, I’d have been totally immobilized by the mixture. But I was afraid I’d left it too late. I could feel my lungs burning, felt my head growing light through lack of oxygen.

I jerked my arms down on either side of me, slamming my elbows hard into the concrete. White-hot pain juddered up my arms, and if I hadn’t been locked into an upright position, I might have fainted.

I slammed my elbows down again and again.

I don’t know how many times I did it. It could have been a dozen, two dozen … a hundred times. But eventually the concrete cracked.

With some difficulty I forced my hands into the cracks and pulled. There was no movement at all on my left, but on my right a large chunk of the concrete broke free. Then another, then the section enclosing my chest shattered, and it was all I could do to remain calm and not suck in a deep breath.

I was able to turn to the right a little, enough to allow me to use both hands to pummel the concrete.

When enough had been smashed away, I was able to plant both hands on it, palms down, and push.

With a loud, trembling
crack
the concrete around my legs crumbled, and I was free.

Moving blind, I used my legs to push off against the half-shattered concrete, forcing myself deeper into the soil beneath the gymnasium.

I was moving at a painfully slow speed, swimming up through the dirt, but at least I was moving.

After what felt like forever, my outstretched hands collided with something solid and unyielding. I quickly probed it with my fingers, but couldn’t find an edge. No way past.

And then, in the oxygen-starved haze of my brain, I realized that it was the underside of the gymnasium floor.

I pulled back my right fist and punched upward. A second punch and I felt something splinter, but I couldn’t tell whether it was the floor or my knuckles.

On the third punch my hand burst through.

I grabbed the edge and pulled, felt the floor brush the top of my head. Two more punches, left and right at the same time, and the floor above me shattered, upward and out, and
the blackness beyond my goggles suddenly turned to blinding light.

I heard a voice say, “It’s him!” and then a small hand was grabbing mine. In seconds, more hands were on me, taking my arms, pulling me up.

They weren’t being nearly as much help as they thought they were, but that wasn’t the point.

I collapsed onto the ground, head down, coughing and gasping, filling my lungs over and over with air that tasted sweeter than honey.

“Everyone back, give ’im space!” The colonel crouched down next to me. “Tough day at work, son?”

I coughed. “I’ve had better.”

“Well, we got ’em. Every one. And no fatalities on their side or ours. Misseldine’s already on his way to the nearest lockup, and we got some of those hostage-negotiator fellas coming in to talk some sense into his followers.”

Slowly, with bursts of pain flaring through every muscle and every joint, I sat up.

The colonel was looking up at me. “Don’t feel bad, son. That was a good idea about burning down the bushes. So yer mission ain’t a
total
failure.”

I pointed down at the hole through which I’d emerged. “Failure? Do you have
any
idea what I’ve just been through? I had to—”

He raised a hand to cut me off. “Listen, kid, I been in the forces fer thirty years. There’s nothing ya can tell me that I ain’t heard before. Yer
alive
, ain’t ya?” He slapped me on the arm. “Whatever doesn’t kill ya makes ya stronger.”

* * *

The following afternoon I was lying on my bed reading when I received a visit from Harmony and Dr. Tremont. It was the first time I’d seen the doctor since I’d discovered that he was controlling the whole operation.

“That was almost a disaster,” Tremont said. “They could have killed you.”

Harmony said, “Norman Misseldine is talking about bringing charges against you. For trespassing, destruction of property, endangering the lives of his followers.”

I threw my history textbook aside. “But you told me to go in!”

“I know. I’m just making a point.”

“Which is?”

Tremont said, “Misseldine is smarter than you are, Brawn. He won’t be the only one. You have to do better. A
lot
better.”

Harmony nodded at that. “We’re taking away your TV set. You’re going to have to start
really
studying. We’ll be setting tests that you had better pass. From now on, you’re on basic food. Pizza is for winners. The better you do in the field, the more privileges you’ll receive.”

I jumped to my feet. “This is totally unfair!”

“Wrong,” Tremont said. “It’s perfectly reasonable.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Your schedule.”

I snatched it out of his hand. According to the schedule I would be getting up at six every morning. Exercise for one hour, then I was allowed fifteen minutes to shower and eat
breakfast. This was followed by studying until noon. I had a half-hour lunch break, then more studying until five. I was sure I could handle the basic math, English, history, and geography, but that was just the morning session: The afternoon session covered espionage, military history, world politics, and basic computer skills.

I stopped reading there, and looked up. “I’m not doing all this.”

“Yes, you are,” Harmony said. “If you refuse, we’ll take away your bed. See how you like sleeping on the concrete floor for a few weeks. Brawn, you
have
to catch up. You’re way behind everyone else your age.”

“And whose fault is that? Yours! You’re the ones who locked me away in the Antarctic for a
year
!”

Dr. Tremont shook his head. “Don’t blame others for your mistakes and failures, Brawn. That’s just pathetic. It’s childish.”

I knew I was being manipulated again, but I still couldn’t quite see how. If you looked at it from their point of view, everything they said almost made sense. Almost.

I had the feeling that no matter what path I chose, it would end up being exactly what they wanted me to do.

“Don’t call me Brawn. I have a real name, you know. And if you want to give me a code name, I want it to be Hercules.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Harmony said. “We’ve discussed it, and the name doesn’t track well. Hercules was a demigod, the son of Zeus and Alcmena. He was manipulated by the goddess Hera into killing his wife and children. That’s not the sort of image we want to present when we go public.
We feel that the name Brawn works much better. It’s simple, it’s a word most people already know, and it has no religious or mythological connections. We’ve been thinking—”

“I’ve been thinking
too
,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

Tremont tutted. “That would be unwise. There would be repercussions.”

“Right. You’ll kill my parents.”

“You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

I sighed. “No, I don’t. But here’s something for
you
to think about. If anything happens to my folks, I’ll know who to blame.”

The silence stretched out as they glared at me.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Harmony asked.

“What do you think it means? You’ve got them under surveillance. That’s good. You can make sure that no harm comes to them, because your lives depend on their safety.”

Tremont took a step closer. “You are actually
threatening
us? Are you insane as well as stupid? Brawn, we control the entire—”

I grabbed hold of his arms and lifted him straight up. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Put me down!”

“Why? Give me a reason I shouldn’t just squeeze my hands together and crush you like an empty soda can.”

He choked out the words, “Your … parents …”

“No, you’re not getting this, Doctor. If you kill them, there’s nothing to stop me from destroying your entire operation, starting with you. You gotta stop thinking of my ma and pa as leverage against me. Think of them as my conscience. They
wouldn’t want me to tear your head from your shoulders. I can do that. It really wouldn’t take much effort.” I opened my hands and let him drop to the floor. “How do you like that, huh? Not so much fun being on the other side of a threat, is it?”

As Harmony helped the doctor to his feet, he said, “You wouldn’t do it. You’re not a killer.”

“How do you know? Just because I never
have
killed, that doesn’t mean I never will. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I wouldn’t kill you. But I could very easily
ruin
you. I could go to the newspapers and TV stations, tell them everything you’ve done. I could explain to them that you spent eight and a half billion dollars of the taxpayers’ money tracking down an escaped prisoner who was only thirteen years old at the time.”

They jumped aside as I strode toward the oversized door. “Find someone else to do your dirty work for you. I’m leaving. If anything happens to my parents, I’ll find you and kill you all.”

Then Dr. Tremont suddenly blurted, “We need you! The
world
needs you!”

“Maybe it does,” I said. “But it sure doesn’t need
you
.”

IT WAS THREE O’CLOCK
in the morning, and I was climbing out through the hole I’d smashed in the wall of a convenience store, carrying two canvas bags stuffed with food, a large bag of tortilla chips between my teeth, when a woman’s voice said, “Stealing from the 7-Eleven? That’s just pathetic!”