First Superhero 1: The Second Super (9 page)

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Richter thought that what he was doing was actually fun. He’d lost his humanity. He’d lost his reason to live. Well,
replaced
it would be a better word. Now his reason to live was to just have fun by destroying the Earth. His superpowers drove him mad, and that terrified me.

“So what do you say?” Richter said, extending his hand. “Truce?”

I looked at his young hand. I couldn’t believe someone who was only seventeen held the world in such a state of constant fear, and his hand was just inches away from mine, wanting me to shake it. My gaze turned to Richter’s eyes, and I could feel the anger and rage toward him fill mine.

I let my emotions well up inside me. This man had killed so many, destroyed the lives of many others, and just got done asking me to join him—
after
beating the shit out of me. I was so angry at him, I had to have been shaking. I made a fist and did something that felt amazing.

I punched Richter as hard as I could, square in the face. I let out a yell so loud, and punched him so hard, that a shock wave blew dust and small pebbles back.

Richter went flying backwards into the Washington forest. He took out many trees as he slid for a good mile or two across the ground, screaming in pain the entire way.

The bones in my arm healed themselves almost instantly, and I took to the skies, flying back to Ebon as fast as I could, thankful to have survived another encounter with Richter. I knew, though, that it would most certainly not be my last.

Things were just getting started.

16

TWO SIDES TO THE TRUTH

I
HOVERED
10,000 feet above my house, scanning as far as the eye could see for any sign we were being watched. I could see everything clearly, even from my height. And by everything I mean nothing, since there was not a soul for miles around. All attention was on Ebon; no one suspected the small farm just outside its borders to be where I lived.

I flew down and landed in the backyard. I practically limped to the back door and walked inside. My entire body ached and I felt very sore. However, it occurred to me through all of the discomfort I was in that I had no idea what to say to announce my arrival. Was I just supposed to yell,
Hey, Mom and Dad! I’m home! Back from fighting Richter. We destroyed a mountain and stuff.

Before I could decide, though, Mom came running from the living room and into the entryway for the back yard.

“Kane?” she said as she came around the corner.

I realized my eyes were still glowing, and I turned them off just in time for hers to meet mine.

“Oh my god!” she shouted as she ran to me and hugged me. “Andy, get in here!” she yelled to my dad.

My dad came to see what was going on, and his face was practically glowing he was so proud of me. He walked over to me, and Mom let go of me so Dad could give me a quick hug.

“You looked good out there,” Dad said.

“Oh yeah?” I winced in pain at just the thought of what I’d just gone through. “It sure felt like I had my ass handed to me.”

Mom brought her hand up to her mouth, fighting back tears.

“The important thing is that you got Richter away from the city. You let people know your intentions, and that’s most important.” Dad had a sly smile on his face. “Who knows? People just might start to hope again.”

T
HREE DAYS
after the fight with Richter, and it was still all over the news. Everyone was talking about it on social media too. I stood in the kitchen leaning up against the bar with my phone out, scrolling through one of the many Trending Topics on Twitter that had to do with our battle. (Although I wasn’t really sure you could call it a “battle” when really he just beat the crap out of me, then we talked for a bit.) Thankfully there were no cameras in the Washington State mountains, because a lot of people would be very disappointed, and they
definitely
wouldn’t be calling it a battle of all things.

I had a feeling that they’d be getting the real battle they wanted eventually, though.

“Suit’s ready,” Mom said as she walked into the kitchen, breaking me from my train of thought.

I looked up. “Oh yeah? Thanks, Mom.”

She pulled a glass from the counter and began filling it with water. “It was a real pain to patch up. Try not to get it so torn up again, alright?”

I chuckled. “I’ll try, Mom.” I had a feeling she meant that more because a torn-up suit meant I was in danger, and not because it meant a lot of work for her.

Mom took a couple of gulps of water before placing the glass down on the counter. “Where’s your dad?” she asked as I turned my attention back to my phone and its Twitter feed.

“I think I heard him say he had to do something with the horses.” I began to check out of the conversation and pick up my reading pace. I was able to go through a tweet every second. My phone was having a hard time keeping up.

“Will you run out there and ask him what we’re doing for dinner?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. The tweets were getting good. People were talking about how excited they were for my appearance; how they wished they could be me and give Richter a good punch or two. Which I will admit, that last punch I gave him was pretty solid. I wish there were cameras around to capture
that
Kodak moment.

“Kane!” my mom all but shouted, breaking me from my train of thought.

“Right. Sorry.” I locked my phone and put it in my pocket. I lifted up my wrist, and clicked the stopwatch feature that was on my watch, and it began to count.

Everything slowed around me as I began to run toward the door with my super speed. Running so fast was almost like being teleported to another world. Everything around me was in slow motion, and had its own brand-new beauty.

I opened the front door and ran through it, closing it softly behind me. If I were to accidentally slam it it’d probably bring the house down.

One second.

I ran down the driveway, and onto the worn path in the grass that led to our large red barn.

Two seconds.

I looked out at the horses, who seemed to be frozen mid-stride. They were no doubt galloping, feeling as free and fast as the wind. I smirked at the idea. If only they knew that I was going so fast that to me it seemed like they weren’t moving at all. But they’re horses, so I began laughing at how exactly I would explain that to them.

Three seconds.

I ran into the barn, and came to a stop. I stopped the stopwatch.

“How fast was that?” Dad asked me as he closed the gate on the goat pen. He wasn’t even facing me; he could just tell it was me by the sudden gust of wind.

“Three seconds,” I said, disappointed.

“Why do you sound so disappointed you ran two hundred yards in three seconds?” Dad said with a laugh.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’d just be nice to be faster than a bullet or something. I’m sure those things would hurt like hell.”

Dad laughed. “Wow son, I’d be happy to be able to run as fast as I did in high school. I was one of the best running backs my high school had ever seen.” Dad had a glimmer in his eye just thinking about it. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked over to me. The two of us began walking back to the house.

I felt a twinge of guilt nag at me. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I just want to be the best I can, you know?”

Dad nodded and put his right arm around me. “I think you’re still doing pretty good.”

“I know, I just wish pretty good was enough. I need to push myself if I’m going to stop Richter.”

“Well, Richter’s really the only person you can practice on, so don’t take it out on yourself, alright?” Dad said with a pat on my shoulder.

I nodded my head. “Yeah, okay.” I admired and was thankful for Dad’s intentions, but they didn’t really help that much. On one hand, I had all these people talking about how great I was and how much they wished they were me, while on the other I know the truth, and that’s that I was nowhere near good enough to beat Richter. The only times I’d been able to get a punch in was if I had the element of surprise on my side, and I knew that it was going to take way more than one or two punches to take Richter down.

“Oh yeah,” I said, remembering what I came out to get Dad for, just a few feet away from the front door. “Mom wants to know what’s for dinner?”

“I’m picking up a pizza for your mom and me.” Dad turned to face me right in front of the door with one hand on the doorknob. “You, on the other hand, are going to hang out with Macy and everybody else.”

I couldn’t believe it, but I actually let out a groan. “I really just want to stay home and watch TV, Dad.”

Dad shook his head. “No, Kane. You need to see your friends. Go hang out with them. It’ll do you some good. Don’t forget you’re Kane Andrews, not just…” Bewilderment crossed Dad’s face. “Whatever your Super name is. We really need to come up with something.”

I chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we do. I’m getting tired of being called ‘the other Super guy.’”

Dad opened the door and the two of us walked in. “Oh really? I kinda like the sound of that. ‘The Other Super Guy.’ I dig it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please, Dad. You’re not funny,” I said with a slight smile, letting him know I was being sarcastic.

I went upstairs to my room to get changed out of my basketball shorts and T-shirt. I threw on a pair of jeans and a dark blue henley, then grabbed my phone to text the gang to let them know I wanted to hang out. Before I did, though, an alert popped up on my phone from one of my news apps.

Breaking News: 15 People Taken Hostage—Mostly Women and Children—Inside Church on Texas-Mexico Border.

My heart skipped a beat.

I ran downstairs. “Mom! Dad!” I shouted.

“Kitchen!” Mom shouted.

I ran into the kitchen with super speed, causing the two of them to jump when I suddenly appeared in front of them. “I need my suit,” I said.

“What for?” Mom asked.

I read them the headline, and Mom shook her head the entire time.

“The police can handle it,” she said.

“They
might
be able to handle it. This is the Texas-Mexico border we’re talking here. The cartel kills people down there all the time. Fifteen people are nothing to them. I
know I
can save them. It’d not only give me a chance to practice my skills—which I’ll remind you are
not
good enough to take on Richter—
and
it’ll let people know once and for all that I’m on their side.”

Dad looked at the ground, deep in thought. I could tell just by the look on his face that he agreed with me, he was just trying to figure out a way to tell that to Mom.

“I’m going,” I said. “Whether you like it—or hell, even
I
like it or not—I have to. It’s my responsibility.” With that, I turned and grabbed my suit off the counter. I put it on as I went out the door and launched into the air, beginning my ten-minute flight to Texas.

17

INTERFERANCE

I
HOVERED
above the warehouse where, just below, I could see dozens of police and SWAT vehicles in the parking lot of the building, along with news vans and their crew scrambling to set up shop. Their flashing lights were pulsating bright as the sun was beginning to go down.

I trained my super-hearing on the command center, listening in to their conversation.

“…two men by the door, and one more that we know of who’s the one communicating with us. There’s no way to tell how many more there are in the room with the hostages.”

“And which room would that be?” an older gentleman with a Hispanic accent asked.

The young man who was speaking earlier answered. “We believe they are holed up in a manager’s office toward the middle of the warehouse. We’re in the process of getting cameras on the inside in order to know for sure.”

I turned my attention to the warehouse itself. It was a large one: about the size of a football field. There were holes spread out across the ceiling in varying sizes, put there by rust and erosion. Broken windows lined almost the entire upper part of the wall where it met with the ceiling. I flew to the backside of the warehouse. I made my eyes stop glowing, not wanting to be seen. I then flew to the ground as fast and quiet as I could, trying my best to stay out of sight.

I leaned against the warehouse, trying to make myself as small as I could. I listened carefully, but didn’t hear anybody coming my way. I still had the element of surprise on my side, which had been the thing to thank for any of the small victories I’d had so far. I intended to keep it on my side for as long as possible, although I knew that I’d have to get my hands dirty at some point. I had to if I planned on not having Richter handing my ass to me next time we met.

I tried listening into the warehouse, but all I could hear were people whimpering, trying to hold back tears. There were a couple of whispers, but they were in Spanish. Then I hit the jackpot. One of the hostage takers began speaking into a phone, in English.

“What the hell is going on, Beta?” he yelled into the phone. He spoke perfect English, with just a slight Hispanic accent that was only there because he was angry.

“What do you mean, Charlie?” I could hear the man I assumed was Beta say through the phone.

“You’re supposed to pay the police to stay off us! I’ve got over a dozen police and SWAT cars busting down my doors, and it’s all on the news.”

Beta laughed. “You really think you’re all over the news? Who do you think you are, Richter?”

“Stop your laughing! This is no time for jokes! This is serious. You call the police off. You pay them.”

“Do not think that I do not know what I am doing,” Beta said, his voice growing dark. “You are a measly little gang. The police are busting down your doors because my people did not pay them. You’ve served your use.”

“How can I get my hostage money when the police are about to kill me?!” Charlie screamed into the phone.

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before getting too comfortable. Neither I nor my people care what you do or what happens to you. You have served your usefulness. I suggest you find a way to get the money to pay the police fast. I have a feeling they aren’t going to want to negotiate with you for very much longer.” With that, there was a click, and the phone call ended.