Hero Types

Chapter 28

It started with one text.
    'We found him.'
    It was late that Friday and she was watching a romantic comedy on the TV after dinner, and her phone went off. She grabbed it, hoping it was Mickey, whom she hadn't been able to see all week. She'd texted him Tuesday and Thursday, but he'd said he was busy. He had a deadline that he'd been neglecting for too long, he said.
    Her heart seemed to stop for a moment when she read the screen. There was no follow-up.
    She hopped to her feet. "Gran?" She grabbed her coat and pulled on her sneakers. On second thought she dug through the barrel by the door and pulled out her mask. "Gran, I'm going out."
    "Where—no, don't tell me." She shuffled to her bedroom door in her slippers. "I just worry. Unless it's that nice boy's?"
    "...No, it's—"
    "Stop." She held up her hand. "Call if you're not home in the morning."
    "Yeah. I..." She had already gone back into her room. Kit pulled on her mask and tugged her hood over her head, and she slipped out the door.
    The trains were behind. She noticed she was bouncing her leg incessantly the entire way over, and kept having to make conscious efforts to stop.
We found him.
    She jogged the two blocks to the CAA and ran through the back door, considering on what was probably short-term notice nobody had bothered to unlock the front. She slid into the Center, which was empty, and backtracked all the way to the training room, where she'd run straight by them.
    Lucas and Jersey stared at her.
    "I got your text," she said.
    "You might want one of these." Lucas dropped a taser-gun in her hand and took his keys out of his pocket. "Let's go."
    She had to sit in the back because of seniority or something. Everyone was quiet. Jersey didn't seem to have brought his phone. She'd left hers on the couch.
    She would have texted Mickey. He should have been in on it. Maybe they were meeting him there. She wanted to ask. She shouldn't have been keeping secrets from Lucas.
    "Is it just the three of us?"
    "We need to be fast and quiet," Lucas said. "Less flash and firepower, the better. We've got him cornered. We need to catch him by surprise."
    "Where is he?"
    "In the trash," Lucas said. "The old dump, under the bridge."
    "Seriously? How did—"
    "Anonymous tip," he said. "Someone printed the address on a piece of paper and left it in our mail."
    "How do you know that—"
    "We don't." He glanced back at her. "And that's why we need to be quiet."
    The dump was huge. Piles of trash, rusted bits of metal and warped and strained plastic, towered almost halfway to the freeway that ran above, a strip of black in the smog-lit sky. Their headlights reflected on an old mirror as they pulled up outside the wire-grate fence, which seemed dwarfed in comparison to the mess within.
    "Think there're dogs in there?" Jersey whispered to her as they stepped out. She zipped up her jacket.
    "Strays?"
    "Nasty ones, like Pit Bulls or Rottweilers."
    "No, Rottweilers aren't nasty."
    "Maybe not all of them." He looked at the dump, glowing trashcan-fires lighting sectors between garbage mountains for the city's homeless. "Not all villains are psychopaths, either."
    Lucas waved them on and held his finger to his lips. They were all dressed in their street clothes, with just masks pulled over their eyes. Lucas had a ski-mask over his bright hair.
    They had no flashlights, so they stumbled around in the dark till their eyes adjusted. Lucas wouldn't let her light her hands. A part of the fence was bent, half of it flat on the ground, and the hinges were warped. It rattled as they stepped over it.
    "Keep your heads down," Lucas muttered, "and keep those in your pockets." Jersey put his gun away. "Follow me. Stay close and don't get lost."
    They snuck through the junkyard, that colossal relic of human waste and mass disregard. It barely stunk, because the overwhelming amount of sheer stenches of every sort imaginable served to immunize Kit's nose in the first minute, till she could inhale and barely cringe at all.
    A homeless woman watched them creep past from within an old dog house. Her eyes followed them, catching distant firelight in the night. Kit kept glancing back till she could no longer separate her rags and wrinkled face from the general ragged wrinkles of her habitat. A chill ran up her spine, and she turned around and hurried to catch up to Jersey.
    "Shh." Her footsteps were loud and Lucas called her out. She ducked her head the next time they passed a group of people—young adults on a high, it sounded and smelled like—and watched her step carefully. Cans and broken plastic hairbrushes, like the kinds you got on picture day, clanked and cracked beneath her sneakers.
    There was a forlorn eeriness in the air. The breeze whispered, lonely and lost, among the mountains of forgotten, discarded treasures. Kit shivered and wished she had Mickey there to grab onto.
    She thought about him. Lucas pulled them behind a rusted-out car when he thought he saw something (something that ended up being a stray cat) and she looked around and wondered where he might have woken up as a child, built half out of trash with his father deep in the dregs of alcoholism.
    Her childhood hadn't been a walk in the park, so to speak. Her mother had died when she was little, her father had walked out before that even happened. Not to mention her baby half-brother.
    But Gran was amazing, and she was lucky in where she was in life, with money and an education. She could go to art school and no one would tell her it was a waste of time. It struck her how different people's lives could be, just by chance, because of their upbringings.
    "Holy shit..."
    She awoke from her musings and ran into Jersey. Lucas shushed them, frantically, and they went back to peering past a system of pipes at the lair of the greatest villain of their time.
    There was a pit, surrounded on nearly all sides by tall piles of garbage, with an opening at the front. Down into the pit, sending a white glow over mounds of wrappers and batteries, was a mound of refrigerators. They were fitted together almost like an igloo, the doors apparently ripped off, light leaking through the gaps. Kit could feel the cold air from there.
    "I'm guessing he's got a thing about the cold," Jersey said. Lucas glanced at her. She nodded. She was mature enough not to say it out loud.
    She still thought it in her head.
I told you so.
    "Come on." Lucas stepped out into the light, crouched, his gun in one hand and sparks flying in the other. "We can't waste any more time."
    They skirted the path of light and lurked behind the garbage wall. A refrigerator was turned right-side-out near the front, like a white domino in a pile of black. Jersey vanished and crept closer, his shadow lengthy in the dusk.
    Up closer, the lair was even bigger. Kit's records had shown over twenty fridges stolen, but there were at least four times as many as that pieced together before her eyes.
    Jersey opened the door.
    "That's it?" she whispered.
    "Shh," Lucas said, creeping past her. "Let's hope so."
    The light was blinding. They all shielded their eyes upon stepping inside.
    "Fuck."
    Lucas smacked Jersey's arm and descended down the stairs.
    The pit dipped deep into the earth, lined with fridges and freezers wedged into the junk and garbage at intervals. It was freezing. Frost crunched beneath Kit's feet. They heard a noise and pressed their backs to the wall. Kit held her breath.
    It was a rat, scuttling between half-melted and refrozen bags of ice. They resumed, hiking deeper into the pit. It was darker now, periods of near total blackness interspersed with the appearance of fridges. The walls of junk steadily morphed till they were completely made of dirt. Old dead roots reached out and scratched their shoulders as they passed.
    Kit had begun to wonder exactly how deep the tunnel went when light appeared ahead, steady and warm. They paused before entering. Lucas motioned for them to take out their guns. Kit raised her other hand, prepared to conjure a shield. They advanced.
    It was a big dome made of refrigerator parts, pulsating with cool light. Icicles hung from the ceiling. In the center of the room, on a frozen puddle with his back to them, sat a dark-clothed man.
    They all shot at once.
    Electrified pods hit his shoulders with little snaps and bzts and pattered off, bouncing back to them. The man stood, dusting off his lap, and turned around. Light reflected off the eyes of his WWII gas mask. He said nothing.
    "What," Jersey said, "have you been expecting us?"
    The Raider remained silent, taking a step forward. Kit resisted the urge to back away.
    Lucas launched himself forward. His gun hit the ground and he threw his hands around the villain's neck. Sparks leapt over his clothes. The man fell silently to his knees, and then his massive gloved hand latched around Lucas's wrist. He twisted him around with startling speed and grabbed his head.
    Kit threw herself at him. She bounced off, but he lost his grip and Lucas fell to the ground. The Raider turned to her. She could hear his breath rasping through the mask. Her fingers were numb.
    He reached into his pocket and drew out a remote. A button was pressed, and there was the sound of hydraulics in action. A panel in the back of the room slid open.
    A swarm of villains, cloaked, hooded, and renowned, stepped inside. She recognized many of them. The Jaguar, the Weasel, the Houndsman, all tensed and prepared to reap their revenge on those who had foiled them.
    A woman at the front stepped forward. She removed her mask, shaking free her auburn curls, and bared her red, red lips in Lucas's direction.
    "Hello, baby." She held up her hand, and claws extended from her fingertips.
    Kit scrambled away. She'd dropped her gun. "Lucas?"
    He picked himself up, rubbing his wrist. He blinked and turned to her.
    "Run."
    Kit ran.
    The Raider pointed one thick finger their way, and the army charged. Kit's perception was skewed by her panic, but there seemed to be dozens of them. They piled on top of her, knocked her aside and grabbed at her clothes. She struggled, and then she was on the ground and she was suffocating, her hair was caught in somebody's fingers and her mouth had hit a boot.
Fuck.
    She rolled over with a growl and sent her foot into somebody's masked face. They fell off and she sent up a shield. A black-suited someone was trapped inside with her, and she narrowly avoided a fist to the face. She spun around and hooked her foot in the back of the attacker's knee, sending them sprawling forward. Her walls of golden light repelled cruel hands and shotgun bullets, and she sprinted through the crowd. They were blocking the exit.
    "Kit!"
    She whirled around. Lucas was holding his own by the opened panel. He'd lost his ski mask, and his hair was on end. He drove his finger's into someone's throat and they fell, convulsing, to the ground. She made her way toward him.
    "We have to get out of here!" he shouted, and she socked somebody in the face when they went to attack him from behind. Her knuckles ached. If they got out of there, she'd have bruises by next morning.
If they got out of there.
    "You go," he said, elbowing someone away from her, "I have to do something. Run!"
    "Wait—Jersey!"
    "Go!" She couldn't see him anywhere. "I'll be right behind you!"
    "Cover me." She turned to Lucas. He'd grabbed a stray wire in his hands. He bit it open and clutched either end. She got a shock standing near him.
    In her distraction, someone snuck up on her and dealt her a blow in the back of her head. She fell into the wall. They grabbed onto Lucas. The sheer voltage he was channelling through his body melted their gloves. They fell stiff to the ground.
Thud.
    It didn't stop the rest of them from advancing. Kit pushed them back with her shield, but she couldn't expand it any further. She kept searching the gray for a sign of Jersey, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    Lucas shouted, maybe in exertion, perhaps in pain, and all the lights began to flicker. There was a distant mechanic humming, speeding up. A lightbulb snapped, another popped. Sparks flew. Spontaneously, the entire electrical system seemed to give out at once.
    The ceiling burst into flames. She dropped her shield in surprise.
    "Run!" He caught her sleeve and pulled her down the tunnel as the room erupted. She stumbled and ran, trying to look over her shoulders.
    "But—Jersey—"
    "Jersey'll be fine, come on!" He gave her a push, and she ran faster. Flames chased them into the dark, licking at their heels. The back of her neck burned.
    They ran through the tunnel, tripping and hitting walls, bumping elbows and hips. The only light came from the fire behind them, burning up electrical wires, zipping ahead. Lightbulbs burst and glass crunched under their feet. She couldn't think straight, but she felt like they were running downhill.
    There were lights up ahead. She squinted as they closed in on them. Was it the—
    "OOF!"
    Something tore her feet out from under her. The world wrenched sideways and her head smacked the ground.
    She blinked stars from her eyes. Her chin stung and she tasted blood in her mouth. She sat up slowly. She rubbed her head and frowned at the shape moving in front of her.
    "...Mickey?"
    "Watch out—" Lucas pushed a flaming pipe away from her. He winced and rubbed his hands. They were in a larger opening in the tunnel, several large pistons and engines lining the walls. Mickey was on the ground beside her, rubbing his leg. He looked up.
    "Mickey, what—" She looked around. The flames were advancing, running on the wires up ahead, where she could see a glimpse of the night sky in the near distance. She squinted at him. "What're you doing here?"
    He looked at her. The flames glistened in his eyes. He opened his mouth and didn't say anything. There were tools on the ground, and there was fresh grease on his hands. She shook her head.
    "No..."
    He grimaced. "I'm sorry, Kit."
    "Kit." Lucas was on the balls of his feet, tense in the midst of the fire as it spread. She couldn't take her eyes off Mickey.
    "No—"
    "I'm sorry," he said, "this isn't what you think--"
    "You fucking—you're working for—"
    "I messed up, Kit, I messed up so—"
    "You—" there were no words. She scrambled to her feet and backed away. "No. No."
    "Kit—"
    "Stop. Shut up. No. You..." she didn't have anything to say that he didn't know already. She turned to Lucas. "We need to go."
    "Kitten—"
    "Don't!" she snapped. She whirled on him. "Don't call me that! Lucas, let's go." She turned and started to run. He grabbed her ankle and almost tripped her again.
    "Kitten, don't leave me here—"
    "Let go of me!"
    "Don't leave me—" there was jingling. She forged ahead, and he struggled to keep ahold of her while he was grounded by the chains around his wrist. He was crying. Her cheeks were burning and another piston burst into flames at her back. The light reflected in his eyes. "Kit, please."
    She stared.
    "Please." He was shaking. "Help me..."
    "No." She kicked his hand away and she turned her back and ran. Lucas cast a look over his shoulder and another her way, and she ignored him. They sprinted into the moonlight. Jersey was waiting for them.
    "I found a way out," he said, and he waved them toward a gap in the fence. The cool air was moist on her flaking skin. Her sneakers squeaked on dewy pieces of glass. Lucas didn't move. He stared at her. She focused on the sky, gulping down fresh air.
    "Kit?" Jersey stopped. She wiped her eyes.
    "I have to go back."
    "What—"
    "I have to go back." She turned around and charged back into the tunnel.
    Flames licked at her. The heat was blinding. The air shimmered and bounced with it. She produced a shield and squinted through the smoke.
    "Mickey? Mickey!" She was coughing. She couldn't see anything. "Mickey—"
    He was curled in a ball beside a fallen pistol, his hands over his face. She fell to her knees and repeated his name. She dropped one hand, weakening her shield, and shook him. He didn't respond.
    "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." She grabbed his wrist and pulled on the chain. It was hot. She wrenched her hand away. She couldn't see. There was moisture in her eyes, and part of it was just because of the incinerating heat. "Mickey..."
    There were tools on the ground, and nothing big enough to cut through that kind of chain. There were a pair of wire cutters on the ground. She eyed his hand. She snatched them up, dropped her shield, and snapped through the pieces of his metal arm.
    She inhaled smoke and wheezed the entire time. Her skin was on fire. She couldn't see. She felt his hand snap off and she pulled the cuff off his broken wrist. She hooked her hands under his arms and pulled him away. Another piston burst and she averted her eyes. Metal bits caught in her hair.
    She struggled and dropped him, tripping over her own feet. She couldn't pull him with one hand, and she doubted she had the strength to conjure a shield anyway. She couldn't breathe.
    "Kit—"
    Someone grabbed her shoulder. Lucas pushed past her and grabbed his feet. Together they made it the last ten yards.
    They lurched into the night air, and Kit collapsed on the ground. She laid on her back and choked. Everything was hazy.
    "...hospital."
    "We can't go back to the Center, they'll come find us. I'll get them out of here. We need to find a place to stay."
    "My—" Kit gagged. Jersey dropped down beside her. She shook her head, shaking, and tried to force her voice out. "My grandmother's. Take us there."
    She let her head flop to the ground. Something metal was digging into her cheek. She blinked at Mickey, outlined against the fire. This asshole, she thought.
    She didn't remember anything after that.