Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3) Page 35

  “Traitor!” The shriek came from behind him. Frostknife lunged headlong, wielding a long ice spear to run both Solomon and Carolina through.

  Greyson flicked a wrist, altering the spear’s gravity as Frostknife charged at the Shens.

  The weapon abruptly increased in weight, swinging downward. Frostknife cried and dropped to her knees, finding her own spear lodged between her breasts.

  Solomon gaped at the woman. Carolina clung to her older brother, shivering.

  Solomon shook off the surprise. Placing Carolina aside, he advanced on Frostknife angrily.

  Greyson gripped Solomon’s shoulder, holding him in place. Then he limped forward, every step torture. Greyson so longed to pass out. Yet something fueled Greyson beyond the fumes he was running on. Seeing AmeriForce defeated. Exposing AmeriForce for almost killing a child…and him. For these monsters claiming to be heroes, Greyson had only ungovernable hatred.

  Even as Frostknife’s lifeblood spilled out around the spear in syrupy drops, she remained defiant. “Small-minded idiot,” she panted at Greyson. “We…were so close… You ruined…everything.”

  Greyson smiled down at her. “For the record, my comm channel was turned on so your entire army heard what AmeriForce planned for me and Carolina.”

  Frostknife’s face turned paler than before. “You tricked us.”

  Greyson glanced over his shoulder at Solomon. “Think I’d…face AmeriForce with truth, justice, and my plucky little self?” He clutched his skull from the wave of nausea rushing through. “I wanted AmeriForce's crimes to be judged by Amarantha. Then you almost kill Carolina…”

  Hate dripped from Frostknife’s face like the blood from her chest. “So here we are,” she whispered.

  “Here we are,” Greyson repeated. Part of him pitied this woman and her now-dead teammates. Regardless, this confirmed what Greyson had discovered back in St. Louis. “So-called heroes like you sell the world a bag of lies about doing good,” he spat. “When all you want is power no matter who dies.” He trembled. Fuck AmeriForce.

  Frostknife grabbed hold of the ice spear lodged in her chest, struggling to pull it out. “AmeriForce would’ve made this island a paradise…for supers.” Her whisper-breaths grew more labored than Greyson’s. “What we sacrificed to survive…defeat the royals? We had no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.” Greyson seized Frostknife’s spear. “You just chose wrong.”

  He shoved the weapon in until the tip punched through her shoulder blades, spurting out blood. Frostknife arched back, arms splaying out involuntarily. Her blue eyes dulled, and she sagged onto her side.

  And Greyson’s body gave out, dropping in a heap. “I don’t feel well.” The world swam and dimmed.

  He was somewhat aware of Solomon approaching. “Carolina, help me with him.”

  Suddenly, Greyson was on his feet thanks to Solomon and Carolina. His vision blurred at the edges. The need to sleep felt so strong. But he didn’t want to go, focusing on anything he could to keep awake. “Thanks…” Greyson murmured, sounding fuzzy. “Not sure how much I have left.”

  “Do not give up,” Solomon ordered. “Constance is waiting.”

  So is Lauren… a voice stated. Greyson ignored the reverie, realizing that they were outside now under brilliant sunshine. Curls of smoke rising from all around Merenwjick. But the AmeriForce flag was raised while the House Bowen flag with a King Crab had been discarded.

  Greyson took full stock of his surroundings. A balcony, with cheers booming from below. Solomon and his sister raised their hands in front of him to the masses below. Bodies pressed against him, offering eager congrats in English or Amaranthine. Greyson barely recognized anyone past the wall of queasiness and throbbing pain in his abdomen. He was close to vomiting from all the rapid motion around him.

  “Hirsch?” Her voice was like sweet nectar. Connie dropped behind Greyson, full of worry and stained in blood. But she looked unharmed. “Oh God.” She kissed Greyson and gingerly hugged him.

  “I’m fine. Sorta.” Greyson lied. Vertigo nearly pulled him under again. “Okay, not really.” Connie helped him up and guided him to a makeshift hospital a few rooms away.

  Several resistance soldiers lay in beds, some worse off than Greyson. He refused to associate this rebellion as AmeriForce’s any longer. A sweaty doctor soon came running. His nervous carriage told Greyson this was a House Bowen doctor pre-rebellion. The roar from outside grew louder by the minute.

  “I take it by the cheering we won?” Greyson noted as the doctor stitched up his puncture wound.

  Connie nodded happily. “Merenwjick is ours. House Fourmon is on the run.” She moved closer, her smile devious. “AmeriForce’s top Amaranthine lieutenants heard everything, like you planned.”

  Greyson matched her smile, light and triumphant despite the pain. “Like we planned.” He stiffened, realizing one of the AmeriForce originals was missing. “Carga—”

  “Dead,” Connie interjected, waving away the concern. “Rodrigo killed the bitch himself.”

  Greyson hadn’t expected that. “Oh.” He cringed. His doctor had begun setting his fractured ribs.

  Connie watched him, growing somber. “I’m sorry about what you had to do.”

  Greyson felt no remorse. “The AmeriForce originals were too far gone.”

  Connie sighed. “I know. Thank you for trusting me.”

  Greyson stroked her cheek. “We’re a team. Always.” He gave her a full and deep kiss, much to his doctor’s chagrin. Greyson ignored him and kept kissing Connie. When he pulled back, Lauren watched from the other side of the makeshift hospital. Greyson almost shrank from piercing shame.

  A hallucination, he remembered and calmed. But Ghost-Lauren harbored no jealousy. Only a message. “There’s still work to do, Grey,” the hallucination declared in breathy whispers.

  Chapter 45

  Awareness returned in slow trickles, a faucet that wouldn’t stop leaking.

  Drip by drip, Quinn came back to the waking world. Both arms were tied to her sides. Whirring noises grew nearer and louder. Quinn then noticed how swollen her throat was from Damián Hazard’s grip. Simple breaths were a chore. As her vision cleared, Quinn found herself seated on dusty earth and tied to some pillar. She turned her head.

  Missy Magnificent was bound beside her, head lolling forward. The superhero was still in costume and still unconscious.

  “Missy,” Quinn whispered hoarsely. Her throat burned. No response. What kind of Taser did Montgomery hit her with?

  Sounds of industry and conversations enveloped her. Hefty guards in black uniforms patrolled the perimeter, carrying semi-automatic rifles and handguns.

  In front of Quinn, some larger contraption sat rooted into the earth reaching to pitch-black heavens. Various construction robots prodded the contraption with their limbs to lock pieces in place. Floodlights set up all over illuminated the vastness of this space.

  Quinn’s bleary mind recognized the site. “I’m underground.”

  Where Damián Hazard wanted to kill her. Panicking, Quinn struggled against her chains to no avail.

  “Missy should’ve known from inception,” Damián Hazard’s urbane voice sounded nearby. “And you should never have agreed to SLOCO Daily’s profile.”

  “Please, Mr. Hazard,” Montgomery Major sniveled. “I thought a publication profile would increase our rewards post-earthquake. And Missy’s an idiot. She believes in all that heroic shit. Give me another chance to convince her.”

  Quinn grew ill hearing this.

  Both men walked into view. Montgomery’s bedraggled appearance was more pronounced beside Damián Hazard. Quinn took a good look at this well-dressed man in his impeccable suit.

  Hazard’s merciless stare found her. “Ms. Bauer,” he greeted courteously. “Welcome back to The Junction.”

  Quinn immediately avoided Hazard’s eyes. “Where exactly?”

  Hazard glanced upward. “Below Five Points Square. The barely beating heart
of this filthy district.” Disgust flickered over his face.

  Montgomery silently watched his unconscious wife.

  Quinn was frightened out of her wits. But after a few near-death experiences, she had improved at keeping a calmer exterior. “Why are we here?”

  “Because you deduced my scheme.” Hazard crouched before Quinn, dominating her space. He spoke each word with meticulous care, yet conveyed menace without raising his voice. “Think of it as an overdue fumigation. The Junction’s residents…are barely a step above parasitic leeches.” His marble-like features sported classist abhorrence. “Will anyone care if I cleanse this large blemish on the City of Wonder and build something better?”

  “Like a den to launder money and cook drugs?”

  Damián Hazard smiled broadly, making Quinn’s flesh crawl. “A lucrative amendment,” he continued. “But thanks to your intrusive curiosity, The Junction’s collapse was fast-tracked to...tonight.”

  Disgust twisted Quinn’s face at such casual disregard. “You’re evil!”

  Hazard nodded. “You’re welcome.”

  Aside from Geist’s team, only Helena knew the full story. But this bastard didn’t need to know that—ever. “You won’t win.” Quinn meant to sound brave. But her voice caught. What if Geist didn’t find her this time?

  Hazard grabbed Quinn’s jaw. “And who will to stop me? You, soon buried beneath tons of rubble?” He spared a dismissive glance for Missy. “Or a teen burnout so emotionally fragile she can’t win a battle without it being staged?”

  Hazard leaned closer, smile gone. His empty grey stare from drilling through Quinn's brain, paralyzing her. “I could kill you a thousand different ways,” he murmured with calm menace. “Rip your heart out. Hack you to pieces and distribute them all over San Miguel. But I chose burial beneath an artificial earthquake. So, you’ll know your life continued and ended according to my will.” Hazard released Quinn’s jaw and stood. She reminded herself to breathe.

  “Why’s everything fuzzy?”

  The woozy mumbling turned Quinn left. Missy was awake, looking around with puffy eyes. “Quinn? Where are we?” She noticed Hazard and recoiled. “Who are you?”

  Hazard nodded at her. “Montgomery. Your last chance begins now.”

  Missy strained at the chains, giving Quinn hope that her superstrength would free them. To her dismay, Missy’s sluggish struggle had no power behind it. “Why am I so weak?”

  Quinn forced a brave face despite her own terror. “Don't worry, Missy. Help is coming.”

  Montgomery crouched by his wife’s side to cradle her face. “Baby…”

  Missy jerked away. “What did you do to me?” Anger was replenishing her alertness.

  “Just a light sedative," Montgomery spoke as if managing a child. "So we could talk.”

  “Let us go,” Missy demanded.

  Montgomery responded with a sad smile. “Not until you listen to reason.”

  “Reason?” Quinn had no patience for this loser. “So you’ll get your superhero management agency and finally feel like a big boy?” Damián Hazard chuckled.

  Montgomery cracked Quinn across the face. “Quiet, bitch!”

  Missy looked horrified. “Don’t touch her!” Quinn shook her head to clear the sting. She held her tongue, not wanting death to arrive sooner.

  “Tick-tock,” Hazard reminded behind Montgomery.

  Missy stared at her husband like he’d grown fungus on his ratty face. “I thought I knew you.” She sounded pained in ways that no one should.

  Montgomery resumed his begging. “You do know me, baby. Be smart. Join us. Become legendary.”

  Missy refused to meet her husband’s eyes. “On the bodies of people that I swore to protect?”

  Her conscience annoyed Montgomery. “You’ll have millions more to protect.”

  Missy spat in his face. “I’d rather die!” Under better circumstances, Quinn might have laughed.

  Montgomery paled. “Please, Missy—”

  Hazard was no longer amused. “Clearly Missy has less tolerance for unremarkable men than myself.”

  “She’s stubborn.” Montgomery raised his hands pleadingly. “I need more time.”

  Hazard marched forward. “Without Missy, you’ve outlived your already limited worth.”

  Montgomery was about to die. Awfulness aside, knowing this left Quinn horrified.

  “Nonono!” Montgomery backpedaled, producing a quarter from his pocket. “What about a coin toss? Leave it to chance? You choose the side.” He extended the coin to Hazard. “Heads or tails?”

  This delay tactic was so pathetic Quinn actually pitied Montgomery.

  Hazard stopped, studying Montgomery as if determining what kind of creature he was. “Fine.”

  Montgomery relaxed in appreciation. “Now—”

  Damián Hazard swung his arm like a shivering bludgeon, beheading Monty with a gruesome crunch.

  The body remained vertical a few moments longer before sinking to a kneeling posture and pitching forward. The head rolled several feet away as Quinn and Missy screamed.

  Hazard clenched his bloodstained hand proudly. “Heads it is,” he sneered.

  Quinn’s stomach crawled up her throat. “Oh my God.”

  Missy was shrieking her lungs out. “Monty!”

  Meanwhile, Damián Hazard pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He flapped it out and started cleaning Montgomery’s blood off his hand, like one would a sauce stain. “Remove the body…and head,” he ordered. Two guards moved in, removing the mutilated corpse.

  The brutal act left Quinn woozy and Missy a sobbing mess. The teen was useless, combined with whatever sedatives remained in her system.

  The spotlights around them flickered. A few overloaded in showers of sparks, plunging portions of the chamber into shadow.

  Quinn beamed. Hope was renewed. “The cavalry’s arrived.”

  Missy, beset with grief, swiveled her head around. “Huh?”

  Several guards brought up their firearms, scanning the darkened perimeters with hawk-like accuracy. “What’s that?” one female guard demanded.

  Hazard finished cleaning his hand. “Intruders.” He remained urbane despite the threat.

  A beefier guard looked baffled. “Who?”

  Hazard looked perturbed by his obtuseness. “Geist. And his band of self-styled vigilantes.”

  By the snickers and bafflement, most clearly believed the Geist-is-an-urban-myth lie. Quinn almost felt sorry for what they were about to face.

  A fireball ripped through the chamber, sending several guards flying.

  And everything became chaos. Gunfire barked, followed by hard smacks and anguished screams. Quinn saw one silhouette in a trench coat, each flip or strike illuminated by flashes of gunfire. Geist, carving a ferocious path through the security with his ruthless brand of justice. Whistling arrows trailed by anguish of impaled guards made Quinn’s heart sing. Longshadow.

  The hooded archer landed in a crouch amid half a dozen guards. She ping-ponged among them with rapid-fire Muay Thai kicks, knees and bow strikes. One guard ate a double axel kick to the face. Another thug aimed his rifle from several yards away.

  Therese fired an arrow into his gut without looking. Show-off.

  Missy shrieked at the erupting violence. Soon, battered bodies piled up around Therese and Geist.

  The Midnight Son stared a hole into Hazard. He cocked his twin pistols. Therese notched an arrow in her bow.

  Hazard shrugged off his jacket. “The Midnight Son,” he bellowed. “Care to lose another teammate?”

  Therese drew her arrow back farther.

  Geist’s blood-red eyes burned with hatred. “Your scheme ends tonight, Damián.

  Hazard approached, arms spread in challenge. “Please try. I’ve used augmentation since our last fight.”

  Therese smoldered. “As have we.” Her bowstring twanged while shooting an arrow.

  To Quinn’s shock, Hazard caught the arrow out of midair and stud
ied it contemptuously. “Toys. How quaint.” The arrowhead exploded in his face. He lurched away from the bright burn, screaming.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Geist squeezed off a hailstorm of bullets, shredding Hazard’s fancy shirt and vest, juddering his body.

  Dozens of gunshots later, he remained upright.

  Therese fired another explosive arrow at Hazard. A brilliant plume scorched his shirt’s tattered shreds.

  Hazard didn’t fall. In fact, he charged at Geist and Therese with a feral grin. In the backdrop, massive equipment whirred and prodded the machine to install finishing touches.

  What will it take to stop him? Quinn worried as two silhouettes dropped beside her and Missy.

  “Domino. Blackjack,” she gasped in relief. “Thank God.”

  The woman codenamed Domino struck a tall, athletic figure in her dark-red tactical suit and goggles. She smiled. “QB.” Crouching beside Quinn, this former IDF soldier pulled a glowing knife from her boots.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Blackjack apologized. “Been disabling every seismic machine around The Junction manually.”

  One quick swipe from Domino’s hot knife sliced the chain around Quinn like butter. “This quake generator is the final one,” Domino explained, pointing at the massive machine connected to the center pillars. “We’ll deal with that after you’re free and clear.

  Missy stared teary-eyed at the menacing vigilantes, backing away.

  Quinn reached for Missy’s arm. “It’s okay. These are friends of Geist.” That mostly calmed the teen.

  A terrifying thought seized Quinn. “The residents around the Five Points?”

  Blackjack helped her up and winked. “Getting evacuated as we speak.”

  Quinn was confused. Geist’s teammates were down here. “By who…Oh.” The epiphany landed and Quinn was smiling stupidly. One super she knew could evacuate a huge mass of people in world-record speed.

  Domino smiled back. “Yes. Him.” She was guiding Missy’s deadweight to her feet. “Now we’re getting you and Missy out of here.”

  Quinn paused, angling another look at the Hazard vs Geist and Therese battle. “Help them first.”

  Domino waved off her concerns. “They can handle Damián Hazard.”