Action Figures - Issue Four: Cruel Summer Read online

  “Barely,” Nina interjects.

  “— and thanks to them we know that he is a superhuman, but he has an ability no one has ever seen before: he can negate any natural superhuman power set. How that ability works — well, that’s another mystery to add to the pile, but we have a tank, an elemental, and a magic-user who claim their powers completely failed in the King of Pain’s presence.”

  That explains why Sara couldn’t fight back — not that that’s any kind of comfort. I know how terrifying it is when some super-villain corners you, and you’re helpless to fend him off. It’s not something you get over quickly or easily. My second scrap with Manticore ended with him kicking the crap out of me and slicing my hands open to steal the alien thingies that give me my power. I still have nightmares about it. The mere mention of his name gives me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “It’s worth noting that the King of Pain appears to avoid certain power sets. Psyche is the first psionic he’s ever targeted,” Nina says, “and he’s never gone after a tech-based hero like Concorde or TranzSister.”

  “He’s also never engaged an entire super-team at once,” Concorde chimes in, “which suggests his power has some kind of limit. He might not be able to affect more than one superhuman at a time.”

  “The King of Pain’s tendency to avoid certain types of super-hero supports my theory that he doesn’t pick his targets at random. I believe he chooses victims he identifies as weak and vulnerable.”

  Sara, who’s been sitting next to me, her face hidden by her hood, stiffens as Nina says this. I take her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. Her skin is ice-cold.

  “Hold on, hold on,” says the guy calling himself Deuce X. Machine. “I knew Powerhold, and that dude was not weak or vulnerable.”

  “I don’t mean physically weak and vulnerable. One thing I gleaned from speaking with the victims’ friends and family was that, in each and every case, they were dealing with some significant personal issues when the King of Pain went after them,” Nina says. Sara’s frown hardens. “Exactly how he used that against his victims, I can’t say...”

  “Time for the sixty-four dollar question,” TranzSister says. “How do we fight this guy?”

  “You don’t. Not alone you don’t,” Concorde says. “If any of you should encounter the King of Pain, it is vital that you contact the network immediately and get some support. Case history indicates the King of Pain doesn’t go right in for the kill; he likes to play with his targets first, so you’ll have time to call in help. Under no circumstances is anyone to attempt to take the King of Pain on alone. Are we clear?”

  The conference winds down quickly after that. The heroes sign off one by one, and after the screen goes black, Concorde pulls off his helmet. He collapses into an empty chair with a weary sigh. Mindforce pulls his cowl off and pinches the bridge of his nose, the spot right between the eyes, as if attempting to ward off a migraine. All the masks are off, figuratively and literally. Secret identities are a thing of the past.

  “God,” Edison says.

  Natalie slides her goggles and bandana down around her neck. “Now what?”

  “Our first priority is protecting Sara,” Bart says.

  “How?”

  “A safe house is the best bet — someplace secluded, that we can lock down and monitor easily.”

  “You’re talking about keeping the girl in solitary confinement for who knows how long,” Catherine protests. “She has a life, you know.”

  “We can’t send her home,” Natalie says. “That would only endanger her family.”

  “Rotating monitor duty, then,” Edison suggests. “One of us shadows Sara twenty-four hours a day until the King of Pain makes his move.”

  “Not that I’m not on-board with the basic concept,” Astrid says, “but we all have other responsibilities. What if no one is available to stand guard?”

  “We’d have to call in extra hands from the network,” Bart says.

  “I’M RIGHT HERE!” Sara shrieks, leaping to her feet. She pulls her hood away. Her face is beet red and soaked with tears. “I’m in the frigging room! Stop talking about me like I’m not even here! But hey, why start talking to me now? You couldn’t be bothered to tell me some psychopath was after me before telling a room full of complete strangers! It’s not like any of this involves me or anything!”

  Bart stands and moves toward Sara, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. She jerks away, fire in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Sara sneers. “You look kind of like someone I thought I could trust.”

  Bart winces like he’s been kicked in the groin. “I’m sorry you found out about me this way. My secret identity, I mean. That was unfair. You deserved better.”

  “Yeah,” Sara says aloud. “I did.”

  “And you’re right. We should have — I should have told you everything right off. I’m afraid the King of Pain is a sore subject for us. We don’t always think clearly where he’s involved.”

  “Oh, well, doesn’t that fill me with confidence? I feel safer already.”

  “Natalie, please take the Squad to the common room or something,” Bart says. “Edison and I need to talk to Sara in private so we can decide what we’re going to do. So we can all decide what to do,” he adds, glancing at Sara.

  Natalie nods and releases a shuddering breath. “I don’t know about you, but I’m wound up like crazy. You up for a few rounds?”

  “Drinking. Drinking is an excellent idea,” Astrid says.

  “I was talking to Matt, actually. How about it, bud? Little ragework sound good?”

  “Let’s go,” Matt says.

  TEN

  “One thing’s bothering me about all this,” I say.

  “Oh, only one thing? I’ve got a list as long as my arm,” Matt says as he straps on a pair of padded sparring gloves.

  “How did the King of Pain find Sara in the first place?”

  “We are public figures, you know.”

  “No, the Hero Squad are public figures. Psyche is a public figure. The King of Pain went after Sara at her home. That means he learned her secret identity.”

  Matt blanches. “Which could mean he knows who we all are,” he says.

  “But how would he know that?” Stuart says.

  “That’s my point,” I say.

  Natalie, who’s been rolling out a series of thin but dense foam mats on the training room floor, pauses. “He’s been stalking you,” she says.

  “Stalking us?” Missy says.

  “Given what we know about his habits, it’s possible — possible? Hell, it’s almost certain he’s been in Kingsport for a while now, waiting for you kids to show yourself.”

  I mentally review our activity over the past several months, looking for a likely moment of first contact. The Winter Island incident was more than three months ago, and we nailed Buzzkill Joy and her gang a little over two months ago, but aside from that ridiculousness with Damage Inc. at the end of April, we’ve been inactive for weeks.

  Hold on. The fight with Kysztykc and his minions happened in relative isolation. The Hero Squad barely scored any love from the media after that one; all the attention went to the Protectorate and the Quantum Quintet. The Buzzkill Joy case, however? We got all the ink there. I mean, we had succeeded in capturing a dangerous fugitive who had once received generous attention from the national news outlets, which can’t resist the sordid tragedy of a mass homicide at a school. If that was the case that put us in the King of Pain’s crosshairs, it’s possible he’d been in the crowd of gawkers watching the cleanup following the Damage Inc. takedown.

  Hmm. It’s not much to go on, but I’ll take whatever we can get.

  “Matt, I need you to help me out with something tomorrow,” I say.

  “Sure. Tell me later,” Matt says. He finishes padding up and bounces out onto the mat to face off against Natalie. They look like they’re wearing streamlined versions of those comically huge padded sui
ts they use in women’s self-defense classes.

  “You ready to go?” she says.

  “You tell me,” Matt says, and when I say the fight is on, I mean the fight is on.

  Matt leads with a series of feint jabs with his left, which drive Natalie back, then he throws a high roundhouse kick. Natalie leans out of the kick’s path, in doing so exposing her midsection. Matt does a funny little skip-step that ends with him ramming his foot into Natalie’s gut. The audience for this exhibition match (me, Stuart, Missy, and Astrid) cry out in unison because holy crap that looked like it hurt.

  That’s nothing compared to what comes next. Natalie, doubled over and wheezing, takes a jackhammer blow to the head. Matt follows with a left uppercut that threatens to dislodge some teeth, but Natalie straightens at the last second. The punch catches nothing but air. It throws Matt off-balance.

  Natalie capitalizes with a rabbit punch to the ribcage. She loops a solid right into his face then goes for a backhand to the other cheek. Matt raises his arm, blocking the attack, then shoves Natalie to spin her around. He snakes an arm under her left armpit and grasps a handful of her hair. That’s nasty enough, but then Matt lays a series of fists into Natalie’s kidneys. She responds with a mule kick to his shin. Matt barks in pain, releases the hold, and takes an elbow to the sternum.

  The momentum swings back and forth like this for several minutes, and we in the bleachers cringe and groan with every punch, every kick. The display is both impressive and horrifying, particularly because I’ve never seen Matt like this before. Natalie is a stone-cold bad-ass, but to see Matt laying into another human being with such brutality makes me deeply, deeply uneasy.

  Natalie machine-guns a flurry of punches into Matt’s chest, and then rears back for a big palm-heel strike to the chin. Matt stumbles and flops into his back, his legs kicking into the air. Natalie snatches one, and then she executes the most insane move I’ve ever seen: she dives forward and tucks into a roll, slipping an arm around Matt’s captured leg as she goes. The next thing I know, Natalie is on her knees with Matt slung across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  But she’s not done yet. With a grunt of effort, Natalie gets to her feet, and then throws herself back. She lands on top of Matt, driving the last of the air from his lungs. She grasps Matt’s wrist, spins on her back, and ends up with her legs wrapped around Matt’s neck in some kind of crazy chokehold. He’s not going anywhere, and he knows it: Matt slaps at the mat, tapping out.

  They disentangle and stagger to their feet, and for a moment I’m positive they’re going to go right back to beating the bejesus out of each other.

  “I needed that,” Natalie pants. She falls into Matt’s arms (his sweaty, sweaty arms) and kisses Matt on the cheek. “Thanks, partner. Love ya.”

  “Back at you,” Matt says. “Ow.”

  “I agree. Ow.”

  “Dude, that was hardcore,” Stuart says.

  “If that means really really scary, then yeah, totally,” Missy says.

  “What, that? Pft. That wasn’t even a real fight,” Natalie says. “Hey, Astrid, still up for that drink?”

  “Absolutely,” Astrid says.

  “Cool. Let me grab a quick shower and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Shower. Good plan,” Matt says, and we break to change back into our civilian clothes.

  Matt, Stuart, Missy, and I return to the conference room, where the mood is decidedly somber. Sara, who’s never possessed what I would call a healthy skin tone, is as pale as a ghost.

  “Sit down, everyone,” Edison says. We sit. “We’re going with the rotating watch plan. It’s not ideal but we don’t have an ideal option, so we make due. The Entity has agreed to monitor Sara’s house tonight...”

  “Wait. The Entity?” Matt says.

  “Yes.”

  “The Entity,” I say. “Tall, faceless, black leather, doesn’t like anyone? That Entity?”

  “Believe it or not, he was eager to take the job,” Bart says.

  “Which means I didn’t have to talk him into it. Thank God for small favors,” Edison says. “He’s our best bet at ambushing the King of Pain if he does make a move tonight.”

  “What about other nights?” Matt says. “What about in broad daylight? The Entity can’t watch her twenty-four-seven.”

  “Uh...he can’t, can he?” Stuart says.

  “The Entity is on-duty until dawn and I’m taking over after that,” Bart says. “We’ll have to call in some help to make sure we have uninterrupted coverage, but we’ll make it work. I promise.”

  Bart goes to take Sara’s hand. She pulls it away.

  “Carrie, since you live nearby, you’re on back-up duty,” Edison says. “The Entity has your number, so keep your phone on.”

  The Entity has my number. Yeek.

  “The rest of you, I think it goes without saying you need to watch each other’s backs. If you spot the King of Pain, do not engage him. Keep your distance and call us in immediately, got it?”

  Edison waits for questions, comments. We have none. He nods soberly.

  “Stay safe,” he says.

  Matt insists that we walk Sara all the way to her front door as a group, but I have to talk him out of it. If the King of Pain is watching Sara’s place, it’s going to look awfully suspicious for the entire Squad to escort her home like we were her personal Secret Service detail, I say. He resists.

  Sara backs me up. “I’ll be okay,” she tells Matt. He buys it, even though she doesn’t sound remotely convinced of it herself.

  Matt, Stuart, and Missy break off at the end of my road. I walk with Sara the rest of the way. En route, I bounce an idea off her, a way for me to keep tabs on her at all times. It’s a radical proposal, granted, and it might be awkward for both of us, but if it works...

  “Let me think about it, okay?” Sara says.

  “Sure.”

  “I’m not weak.”

  “No one ever said you were.”

  “Natalie said —”

  “That he went after people who’d been experiencing personal problems,” I say, “and you have to admit, you’ve been under a ton of stress lately.”

  “So? So has Matt. So has Missy. You’ve been under a lot of stress, too. You fight with your mom constantly, you don’t like her boyfriend, and your grandfather dropped dead out of the clear blue not even a month ago, so don’t tell me — oh. Oh, God, Carrie, I’m so sorry,” Sara says, clutching at my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, that was — Carrie, please...”

  “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it,” I say, but I’m unable to keep the tension out of my voice. “I’ve said some dumb things to you, too. Let’s call it even, okay?”

  “...Okay.”

  As we approach Sara’s house, my paranoia kicks into overdrive. I’ve completely lost track of time; it’s late enough that it’s gotten dark out. I’m eyeballing every little shadow like we’re surrounded by ninja assassins waiting to hit Sara with poisoned blowgun darts. Knowing that the Entity is also lurking in the shadows eases my fears a little, but only a little.

  Of course, I’m assuming he’s out there. Is he really? Did he change his mind about playing babysitter? Or worse, has the King of Pain taken him out?

  No. Stop. No. Too much negative thinking. That doesn’t help anything. Let’s get a little optimism going, shall we?

  That bold intention gets shot out of the sky the moment we step inside. Mr. Danvers practically teleports into the living room, all rage and volume.

  “Where the hell have you been, young lady?” he barks, but he doesn’t give Sara a chance to respond (not that he’d listen or care). “I told you to come home right after school! What part of that don’t you understand?”

  “I understand all of it,” Sara says, too drained from the evening to shout back. “Look, I had a really lousy day, all right? I needed to be with my friends. You know, people who listen to me, understand me, actually care about me?”

  “Were tho
se boys there?”

  “What’s with the those boys crap? Their names are Matt and Stuart. You’ve known them since they were little.”

  “Well, they aren’t little anymore, are they? They’re teenagers. I remember what it was like to be that age and trust me, teenage boys only have one thing on their mind, and they’re not above manipulating your feelings to get what they want,” Mr. Danvers says. “I know that Steiger boy’s been having family problems. He could use that to ply your sympathy. He says he’s depressed, says he needs you to comfort him, and next thing you know —”

  “Dad, unless Matt suddenly grows a vagina, I promise you that isn’t going to happen!”

  Whoa.

  Sara clamps her hands over her mouth as though trying to stuff the words back in, but it’s way too late for that. Her bombshell has blown all expression off her father’s face; he stands there, utterly blank, completely silent. He doesn’t even blink.

  “What?” he says at last. He sounds so small.

  That’s when the panic crashes down on Sara. She starts gulping air. Sweat gushes from her hairline. I can feel the terror radiating from her. My hands shake as I’m overwhelmed by a sudden, powerful wave of nausea that isn’t truly mine.

  “Carrie,” Mr. Danvers says, “you should go.”

  Sara looks to me, tears mingling with perspiration.

  “Carrie,” Mr. Danvers says. “You need to leave now.”

  Go, Sara says, but her eyes beg me to stay. Mr. Danvers makes the decision for me and shoves me, physically shoves me toward the door. He’s yelling as he’s pushing me, telling me to get the hell out of his house, and suddenly I’m outside.

  I walk home in a heavy brain-fog, on auto-pilot, barely aware of where I am, where I’m going.

  “Carrie, where have you been? I’ve been calling you for — Carrie? Honey? Are you okay?”

  Mom. That’s my mother speaking. I’m in my living room. When did that happen?

  “No,” I say. “Sara. She’s in trouble. Her dad’s freaking out at her.”

  “Why, what did she do?” Mom says, like an accusation, and that snaps me out of my daze.