Heroes Not Wanted

Chapter 3: Solar's Better

Art fired off some of his energy darts at the approaching car from the other side, successfully nailing the wheels. The car flipped over, slamming into the concrete and sliding along for a few seconds, sending sparks flying everywhere. Storm was trying to take care of the other car, wrapping vines around it.

The gunshot froze Art in his tracks. It took him several seconds to swing around, praying desperately that it hadn't been Storm who'd been shot. Instead, he saw worse news—the innocent, ordinary human, Hal-whatever-his-name-was collapsed to the pavement. Blood oozed from the hole in his stomach. Art swore violently, throwing a last energy arrow at the car behind him as he ran towards his wife. He was gratified to hear the car explode. "Thorn!" he shouted.

"Diana's in the car," Storm answered, covering Hal with a shield of vines. "We've got to get her out!"

So, no blowing up the car, then. Art huffed in annoyance and reached his wife, forming more of the glowing staves in his hands. "Plan?" he asked.

"Wing it?" Storm said with a shrug. Plants sprang up in front of them, so tightly woven together that the hail of bullets failed to penetrate them. Storm's tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated.

"I'm not a big fan of that plan," Art told her.

"Noted," she replied.

He dove out from behind their shield, launching both his energy arrows at the windshield of the car before pulling his pistols from their holsters at his hips. With the full attention of the men with guns on his wife, Art was free to shoot into the shattered windshield, aiming carefully to avoid hitting Diana. The girl was tied up in the back of the car, struggling to free herself from her bonds.

There were five men in the car total, which Art thought was a little bit of overkill. Two died before they even realized Art was shooting at them, and the other three ducked down behind their two killed compatriots.

Art scowled at the act of cowardice and ducked back behind Storm. "There're still three of them in there," he told his wife.

"And Diana?" she guessed, grimacing as more bullets struck their shield.

"All tied up in the back of the car," Art confirmed. "She's not going to be much use until we get her untied."

"And Hal?" Storm said, indicating the covered human.

"Oh, we'll figure something out with him," Art said, with a casual wave of his hand. "Can you vine them and distract them while I shoot?"

"Sounds good," Storm agreed. Before she could make her move, though, she grimaced and put a hand to her forehead. "The boy, he's fighting the vines. It hurts."

"Ignore it," Art said. "We've got a job to do."

From the reddening of his wife's cheeks, Art assumed he had said the wrong thing. "Ignore it?" she snapped. "Arthur Brendan, you great idiot, he's hurting me!"

Swiftly, though he was a little late, Art slapped a hand over Storm's mouth. "You're not supposed to say my real name, Thorn!" he reminded her. "We're undercover, remember?"

Vaguely, he could hear the people in the car arguing about something or other. He didn't really care. Storm wasn't finished with him. "You don't care anything about me," she told him sharply. "It's always about you and the mission! I could die and you would just be disappointed that the mission failed."

"Guys!" Diana hollered from in the car. "Stop fighting! Please!"

Art was about to tell Storm and Diana off when a strange feeling overcame him. It almost felt like when one stands above a firepit, the smoke entering the throat. All of the breath felt pulled from his lungs. Instinctively, he covered his face as an explosion blew up around them. The force sent him flying backwards, his flight stopped only by an electric pole behind him.