The Last Hero (Book 1): Ultra (13 page)

I
stood
in the garage and thought about the things that infuriated me most in life.

I watched the metal bar in front of me lift as I focused my mind on it. I could hear other things in the room clanging around me. Items I was lifting simultaneously along with the metal bar. Loose tires. Spare wheels. Tubs of paint, all of them rising through the power of thought.

I gritted my teeth, bit down so hard on my bottom lip that I tasted blood.

And when I tasted blood, I thought about the moment I’d lost my sister.

I felt the anger within. The anger and the sadness. And after I’d felt that, I saw the metal bar in front of me lift higher. I focused on bringing it towards me. Lifting it closer to my current position. The other items I was lifting around the garage all drifted towards me too; the light above flickered, and I felt a breeze.

I thought about Mike Beacon. Not just the times he’d bullied me, not just the times he’d tormented me, made my life a misery. But that moment when I discovered he was dead. The moment I
witnessed
his death.

Nycto holding him by the throat.

Then throwing him right down into the ground, slamming him into oblivion.

I heard Damon’s words in my ears. The words he’d said about the fear in Mike’s eyes. How Mike looked like he just wanted help from somewhere, from someone.

I knew I could’ve been the one to help. I knew I’d failed Mike Beacon.

I’d killed him.

And that just made the anger, the fury, the fear and the guilt, all of them build up inside me.

The metal bar flew towards me. So too did everything else.

I stopped them. Held them stationary in the air. They floated around me, drifted around in a circle. Heavy items. Metal. Wood. Parts of cars. All of them drifted around me like I was the sun and they were the planets.

I knew what I had to do. I had to learn to embrace my powers. I had to learn to use them. I couldn’t turn myself in to the government. They’d never let me free, not once they’d finished with me.

No. I had to get to grips with my powers. Because right now, I knew I was the only person anywhere near capable of stopping Nycto.

I let out a shout and sent everything inside this garage hurtling towards the other sides of the room.

As they flew towards the walls, I used my strength to speed towards every item. To stop them, put them back in place before they damaged their surroundings. I grabbed metal vice grips. Grabbed old steering wheels. Stopped a tire from smashing through one of the windows. I kept on going. Kept on getting faster. Kept on using my speed and my pace and everything I had to make sure I didn’t damage this garage.

When I stopped, I looked around. A few of my targets had hit. A few things had been smashed. So I’d practice. I’d do it again until I was absolutely sure I was stronger, quicker. Because yes, I was scared. I was afraid. But I had to embrace my powers or there’d be a lot more to be afraid about. I couldn’t hide anymore. I had to use my powers.

I had to be someone.

Not an ULTRA. No.

I had to go back before the ULTRAs. I had to give people hope, just as they first had.

I had to be a Hero.

I realized I needed something. Something that all Heroes and ULTRAs had. A disguise of some kind. I thought about the movies. The superhero films, the DC classics. All of the heroes had a disguise. A costume.

I needed a look. I needed to give people hope.

I had work to do.

T
hree hours later
, I stared at myself in the mirror.

I was dressed head to toe in black. Tight black jeans. Black suede desert boots. A black turtle-neck top, tight fit. To look at me, I looked like a magician or someone dressed for a night out.

And then I lifted the black cotton mask and pulled it over my head.

I felt myself transform when that black mask covered my face. To look at me, you wouldn’t know there were eye holes in the material, but I’d cut two tiny slots that allowed me to just about see. I felt warm. I felt like I was wearing a new skin. A second skin.

I wasn’t Kyle anymore.

I was someone else.

Just one final touch.

I lifted the stitching I’d found at an old thrift store in New Jersey. I pressed it up to my chest, stuck it on.

When I’d attached it, I couldn’t help smiling.

I was complete.

On my black chest, a circle. A dark planet with light beaming from around its sides. All around it, other little dots, little stars.

The very same image Orion used to wear.

The logo of hope.

I gawped at myself for a few more minutes before stepping away from the mirror. I felt self-conscious, but not as me, as Kyle. As my new self. As
Orion.

But if I wanted to succeed, there were things I had to do.

Hope I had to restore.

As scary as it was, I had to draw attention to myself to show the public that there was another person with abilities, but that they weren’t all bad. That in the darkness, there was hope.

I had to draw attention to myself. Positive attention.

And there was only one place to start.

H
arry Carson stared
into the large metal container and felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was freezing. Freezing as hell. Sure, might’ve been summer, but New York was no Los Angeles, that was for sure. Everything was different about this place—the weather, the buildings. I mean, the Empire State Building. They don’t build ’em like that in California.

They didn’t do people trafficking like this in California, either.

The sounds echoed from the city. Sounds of nighttime partygoers, all going about their normal lives. The air was thick with the smell of sewerage and filth. The water splashed up against the side of the harbor, making the air seem even colder.

As much as Harry hated New York, hated his visits to this godforsaken place, he couldn’t deny his happiness at seeing what was inside the container.

“How many?” he asked as he stepped further into the darkness. The smell of sweat hit him first. He heard muffled cries. Rattling teeth. Shivering. But he distanced himself from it. He had to. After all, this was just business.

“Twelve,” Danilo said, leaning against the side of the container door. He puffed on a cigarette, which made Harry want to hurl. Never liked cigarettes, not since they killed his mother.

“You did good. They should shift a fair amount when I get them back to Los Angeles. Sure the trip’s gonna be okay?”

Danilo smiled, revealing a mouthful of golden teeth. “Perfect,” he said.

Harry took one last look around the container. Looked at the women inside—all of them beautiful as far as he could tell.

He saw the desperation. Saw them looking at him, eager for help.

And then he distanced himself from them and closed the door, stepped back out into the night.

The trip they had planned for these girls wasn’t ideal. A trip right through America hauling this container across so they could get the girls over to Los Angeles. It wasn’t easy—it’d take days, and that wasn’t including stops. But these girls went for so much money that it made the trip worthwhile. Besides, since the crackdown on immigration and state to state travel after the Era of the Ultras, it wasn’t like they had a better option. Planes were out of the question. Boats, likewise.

Driving was the only way to do it.

And if one or two of the girls didn’t make it there, well… that was just life.

“Ready to talk dollar yet? Danilo asked.

Harry slipped his glasses from his face and wiped his nose. “You know how it works.”

“Three times I make this trip. Three times I risk my life, same tiny deposit. I want more. More money. Up front.”

Harry was disappointed at Danilo’s sudden shift in mood. But he couldn’t blame him. In truth, he probably had ripped him off a little. “I’ll give you ten thousand up front. But no total pay rise. How’s that sound?”

Danilo tilted his head like he was considering. He’d better damn consider it.

“Ten thousand now, five thousand later. Final offer.”

Another pause between them. More silence.

Then, Danilo held his hand out to shake Harry’s.

It was when Harry grabbed Danilo’s hand that he saw the movement in the corner of his eye.

It was over on top of one of the metal containers much like the one the girls were inside.

At first, Harry thought it must be an animal of some kind. After all, nobody would be around these parts at this time. Everybody knew shit went down at the harbor. Shit you didn’t want to risk involving yourself in. You steered clear, stayed away.

So who the hell was this?

“Brad?” Harry had people waiting in the shadows. People watching. He walked over towards the side of the container, the one where he’d seen the movement. It was pitch black down there. He couldn’t hear a thing.

He walked a little further down it, holding his breath. It was too quiet. Way too quiet. Usually, he’d hear his goons saying something to one another. Never usually this quiet.

He went to open his mouth when he saw two of his men lying unconscious on the ground.

“What…”

He didn’t finish speaking.

A fist smacked his cheek.

He fell back. Hit the ground, slamming the back of his head against the concrete.

The seconds that followed were a blur. He heard Danilo shout something, heard a few shots fired, a grunt of pain.

When he looked up, the taste of blood in his mouth, he saw something impossible. No—something
possible
alright. He’d seen news of the new ULTRA earlier today.

But this wasn’t the same one.

This was someone else.

Some
thing
else.

He watched the way the figure in black moved. The way it jumped around Danilo, taunting him, shifting fluidly from left to right, knocking the gun from his hands, taking him down.

He watched the figure move over to the front of the container—his damned container—and open up the door with total ease.

He heard the figure mutter something in a… well, a higher pitched voice than he expected.

“Come on. Quick. Get out!”

Harry watched his women step out of the container. Watched them thank this… this monster in black. He saw the crest of Orion on his chest. Could it be? They said Saint had risen again. Did Saint have a competitor, just like the old times?

He watched his women leave, three of them, four of them, five, six… the rest.

And then he watched the man in black turn around. Look over at him. Completely at one with the darkness.

“Too slow,” Harry whispered, between a grimace.

He lifted his pistol and fired three times at the figure.

He heard a grunt. Saw a splatter of blood from the figure’s side.

Before he could fire and re-aim, he saw the figure run off, disappear into the shadows, limping away.

Harry leaned back and stared up at the moon, a grin on his face. Nycto’s competitor. Nycto’s competitor! He couldn’t stop laughing. Nycto’s competitor, and he couldn’t even dodge a damn bullet.

If that was Nycto’s competitor, then the world was doomed.

If that was Nycto’s competitor, then better get on Nycto’s side while there was still time.

Y
ou don’t know
pain until you’re shot in the stomach.

I was back home. The sky outside was dark, totally pitch black. The wind rattled against my window as I sat in the complete blackness of my bedroom. I’d turned the TV on just to cover any noise I might make crying out. I had no idea how I’d managed to drag myself back here, get inside, without making any sounds. I’d come all the way from the harbor over on Manhattan Island, and the pain in my stomach, right in the middle, was so sharp that I could barely breathe, let alone speed along with my ULTRA powers.

I lay back on my bed and lifted my clothing. My super black clothing I’d spent so much time perfecting the look of. I could feel dampness through my fingers. So damp that it was making my head spin, making me want to throw up. I knew what the dampness was. I knew what caused dampness like that. Blood. No doubt about it.

I knew I’d been reckless. I’d jumped down into the middle of one of the dodgy dealings at the harbor, which people talked about all the time because I knew it’d bring some attention my way. Some good attention. I wanted to ease people into the idea that more than one ULTRA was back—only not all of them were bad. This one wanted to help people. This one was good. Nycto might’ve been a sign that things were going to crap, but I wanted to be a sign of hope. A spark of light.

And I’d been shot. I’d been frigging shot.

I lifted my top. When I saw the wound on my stomach, I felt even worse. There was blood coming out of my body. I looked away. I didn’t want to look at it. Didn’t want to face it. I imagined all the people that were going to find me like this and never knew what I’d been capable of. I imagined Mom coming in during the morning, putting it down to some gang incident or other. Maybe it’d be better if I used the last of my strength to just fly away from here, to disappear forever. At least that way, my parents would live with the smallest hope that I was still alive, out in the world somewhere.

I tried to take a deep breath in, but it hurt too much. I squeezed my eyes shut, felt them sting. Being an ULTRA always looked so easy. The way they used their powers, it was seamless. But now I was finding out for myself that it wasn’t as easy as it looked. I’d trained. Hard. But I had a long, long way to go.

If I was going anywhere at all.

And then I remembered something.

The party venue. The doctors said I’d had injuries, but something had happened when I was unconscious. I’d… I’d healed myself in some way.

Maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence. Maybe if I focused on this bullet wound, I could heal it, just like I’d woken myself from my coma.

I looked down at my stomach. Tried to focus on the pain it was causing me—wasn’t exactly hard. I squeezed my teeth together.
Heal. Heal. Heal.

But the pain just grew. More blood slipped out. I let out a little babyish yelp.

It was too hard. I didn’t have what it took to heal myself, so how the hell was I supposed to make people believe in me?

I was about to close my eyes when I saw what was flickering on the television screen in the corner of my bedroom.

It was a breaking news scene from the harbor over on Manhattan Island. Something happened. My head was so light that I could barely make out the words.

And then they clicked: MYSTERY MAN CAUSES CHAOS AT HARBOR: ULTRA?

I felt a twinge of pride inside. A speck of joy. They were at the scene of the crime. The police were apprehending the suspects. The women had got…

Oh no.

Oh God no.

The next shot showed that container that I’d saved the women from. Only there were a lot of stunned people standing around it. A lot of police, armed, and grainy footage of a man firing at the women as they ran away.

Most of them got away. Most of them fled.

But one of them fell.

“Obviously, this just shows what happens when an ULTRA tries to police the world,” the police officer said. “We had this here under control. Now… now it’s all fallen apart. We’ve got a young lady dead. And that’s all because of the ULTRAs trying to go about business in their own way, just like they did the last time they were around.”

I felt a twinge of responsibility as I saw that footage replay of the poor fleeing woman hit the road and go still. I’d started this chaos. I’d wanted to help those women—and maybe I had helped the bulk of them—but I’d caused a death in the process. I was responsible for the death of an innocent person.

As my head grew lighter, I started to wonder if maybe it would be better if I just faded to sleep. Maybe it would be better if I just…

I heard the floor to the left of my bed creak.

I felt a breeze touch my skin.

Funny story. Ever since I’d been a little kid, I’d sworn this bedroom was haunted. The sound of the floor on my left creaking—which it only ever did when someone stood on it. Always followed by a breeze from a window that I swore I’d shut. Always.

But never had I seen anyone standing over me. Never.

I turned over to look anyway. To check that the ghost who obviously wouldn’t be there
wasn’t
there.

When I saw the figure in black standing over me as I lay in my bed, I wasn’t sure how to react.

I tried to scream.

They covered my mouth before I had the chance, and then I was unconscious.