Generation Next: A Superhero Adventure (The Pantheon Saga Book 3) Page 9

“That’s why I said not to engage,” Geist growled, no longer speaking in Hugo’s earpiece. “I was tracking the shootout and their approach.”

  Hugo struggled not to vomit as sounds of sliced meat and bone floated up to him, proceeded by more death cries. Nauseated, he dialed down his superhearing and smell, turning to face Geist. “Are those…?”

  “Thor and Nike of The Elite.” The vigilante’s glowing eyes narrowed in the dark. “Patrolling San Miguel.”

  Hugo couldn’t shake off images of Nike’s and Thor’s brutality. How were they anyone’s heroes? “That amount of force…”

  “Gratuitous,” Geist agreed. These ‘Elite’ had to be bad for him to criticize their excessive force. “I’ve been watching them for weeks. Not a fan.” Geist jabbed a warning finger at Hugo. “Keep your distance.”

  Hugo didn’t need another warning. “Agreed.”

  Chapter 11

  Darkness swaddled Greyson in a cold, fathomless embrace. His life had ended in the Gulf of Mexico.

  Finally…peace.

  …until a pinprick of light twinkled in the center of Greyson’s awareness. The dot expanded. Feeling returning to Greyson’s dead limbs, starting at his fingertips. Greyson immediately recognized the horrible occurrence as the pinprick swelled into a floodlight.

  “No.” He shook his head, trying to push back underwater. “Let me die!” Whoever was pulling him back to the land of the living wouldn’t listen.

  “Please!” Greyson begged, not caring how pitiful he sounded. “Please let me die!”

  A shrouded, slender figure appeared over him. And her dazzling smile gutted him. “Can't, Grey,” Lauren declared. “There’s still work to do.” Scalding floodlight washed the darkness away…

  The next thing Greyson knew, he was violently coughing out briny water. Greyson felt so weak, goosebumps prickling his clammy skin. And he couldn’t stop shivering. A spotlight momentarily blinded him, with several silhouettes crowding his hazy vision.

  Greyson was confused but too drained to speak. The shadows talked over each other. Their shared dialect sounded like a bastardized blend of Spanish, French, and maybe Dutch, but with a rhythmic cadence.

  “This one’s alive,” one shadow said in accented English.

  “You serious?” another asked incredulously. “He was a corpse when we pulled him out.” A finger prodded Greyson’s neck. He was powerless to recoil. “Getting a pulse.”

  “Good,” the first voice sounded hopeful. “His energy levels are unreal.”

  “Alright,” the second voice spoke. “You know what to do with him and the others.”

  Others… Panic lurched through Greyson’s shivering body. Did Connie survive the attack? He wanted to ask...until bone-deep fatigue dragged him under.

  Greyson couldn’t fathom how long he’d swum in shadows, yo-yoing between minutes and decades. This time, Greyson wanted out. Not for himself. For Connie, to know she was safe.

  Her survival would mean all Greyson’s wrongdoings weren't pointless.

  Worries festered while sensation returned to his toes and fingers. Then his limbs. And finally, his chest. Instead of cold clamminess, Greyson’s skin was saturated in balmy humidity.

  Darkness enveloped him still, along with slight pressure around his neck. He sucked in deep breaths to recover some strength.

  His diaphragm spasmed as soon as oxygen flooded his lungs. Greyson curled up, violent coughs overwhelming him.

  “Ow,” he wheezed once the coughing subsided. Greyson squinted from the flood of sunlight. Lying on some itchy mattress, he stared at a greyish, concrete wall.

  “So, he lives.” The voice had the same heavy accent as those shadows.

  Greyson yelped in alarm and spun around. His body ached in protest. Wincing, Greyson looked across the small room, which resembled a jail cell.

  A young boy sat on the bed at the opposite side, fluffy black hair, a browned complexion and a sunny smile. Drab grey pants and an oversized t-shirt clothed his rangy physique.

  The same thing I’m wearing, Greyson realized, inspecting himself. Slight pressure lingered around his neck. He studied his cellmate, pressing against the wall behind him. If not for his powers, Greyson suspected this boy could easily take him. “Who are you?”

  The boy’s smile widened. “Fastball.”

  Greyson thought he was joking. Fastball’s smile held no sarcasm. “A made-up name?”

  Fastball’s smile soured. “Who says it’s made up?” he snapped.

  The last thing Greyson wanted was to share cells with some kid with superhero delusions. His only priorities were finding Connie and getting out of wherever ‘here’ was. “What’s your real name?” he asked in gentler tones.

  ‘Fastball’ sighed as if caught lying by a teacher. “Birthname is Rodrigo,” he admitted. “Is your name Lauren?”

  Greyson nearly choked at how casually Rodrigo uttered her name. How the fuck does this kid know that name…? He struggled to control his anger.

  Rodrigo recoiled from whatever he saw on Greyson’s face, raising his hands in mollifying manner. “Not judging. You talk in your sleep.”

  Greyson relaxed. Made sense that Lauren would dominate his dreams and his heart. As Rodrigo had pulled back, Greyson noticed a thin, gunmetal grey band encircling his throat. Touching his own neck, Greyson was startled to feel cold metal.

  “My name’s Greyson.” He tugged at the unyielding band. “What are these neck collars?”

  Rodrigo tapped his neck band with a sullen shrug. “Restrains our powers.”

  Greyson stared at him. Another super. He cursed himself for revealing his real name. Greyson had to escape before someone discovered his identity. “Imprisoning us for being supers is illegal.”

  Shockingly, Rodrigo laughed at his outrage. “Not on Amarantha.”

  Greyson popped off his bed. This kid was joking. “Amarantha? The Caribbean island?”

  Rodrigo cocked his head, confused. “Know another Amarantha?”

  Greyson shuffled to the tiny window, standing on his tiptoes to look outside. All he saw was a forest of thick green shrubbery mixed with arching palm leaves. Cloudless blue dominated the afternoon skies. Greyson knew Rodrigo was telling the truth.

  He turned to his cellmate, wiping sweat beading down his brow with shaky fingers. This humidity left him woozy. “How am I on Amarantha?” The barge had been at least a thousand miles away. “We were in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Rodrigo had an understanding look, head bobbing up and down. “You’ve been out for a while. And You’re with the new batch of supers that came in.”

  Greyson didn’t enjoy that answer. “Define a while?”

  “Four days,” Rodrigo explained. “Having bad nightmares.”

  Greyson shuffled to his bed and sat heavily. His brain was still foggy from nearly drowning, making coherent questions hard to form. Had Amarantha captured him on behalf of the US government? Would they extradite him back to the US?

  And Connie? Which cell was she in? Greyson scrutinized his surroundings closer. The cell’s sanitized aesthetic evoked a sinister abnormality. “What kind of prison is this?”

  “One of many in Côte Royale that can hold supers.”

  Greyson was lost. “Côte Royale?”

  Rodrigo rolled his eyes. “You statesiders don’t know shit about other countries.”

  Greyson leaned away from this child’s critique, which wasn’t entirely wrong. Lauren was the news junkie in their relationship—

  He winced at the memory and contemplated what he knew about this Caribbean nation. Most was unpleasant. Amarantha, a tropical paradise, was one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere thanks to US sanctions over the last decade. Its biggest issue was the horrific treatment of Amaranthine supers, despite their overabundance.

  “Hang on,” Greyson stated, irked by a toddler schooling him on world news. “How old are you?”

  Rodrigo looked offended, puffing his chest out. “Old enough. I’m twenty-one, y
ea.”

  Greyson smiled despite himself. Rodrigo reminded him of the East St. Louis community center kids… His throat tightened. Another part of his old life he'd lost. Greyson focused on the now before the tears came. “I get them jailing me, an American,” Greyson surmised. “But you’re Amaranthine!”

  Rodrigo stared at the floor. Heaviness settled over his bright persona. “I manifested months back. Tried hiding in Noordaal, my hometown.” His soft brown eyes angled up, haunted by whatever had brought him here. “But the government does periodic sweeps to find new supers.”

  Supers were jailed as soon as their powers manifested. That could have been Greyson if he’d been born here. Would’ve done my family a favor. Sweat stung Greyson’s eyes. He swiped it away in annoyance. “Please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Rodrigo watched him more sympathetically. “You were on a ferry or something, yea?”

  Greyson nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Probably got ambushed by Haitian or Amaranthine pirates,” he continued. “They snatch any supers worth capturing and let the regulars drown.”

  Terror stabbed Greyson through the chest. “Good God…they smuggle supers onto Amarantha?”

  Rodrigo was unfazed by his reaction. “What do you know about the island, Lauren?”

  Greyson flinched again from his mockery. “Greyson.”

  Rodrigo’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever. You Statesiders are no fun. Despite what the news tells you, a virus didn’t ravage Amarantha, and we have some exports.” Rodrigo stood and approached Greyson’s side of the cell. “Humans do whatever they want. If you’re a powerful enough super, you’re chosen.”

  “Chosen for what?”

  Rodrigo’s eyes glazed over as he continued. “Either be sold to other countries as weapons. Or fight for one of Amarantha’s ruling families.”

  Greyson jerked upright. “What the hell?” The more he learned of Amarantha, the more he hated it.

  “I know. Gladiator shit,” Rodrigo agreed with a morbid laugh.

  Greyson got in the youth’s face. He was a bit shorter than Greyson, who barely made five-foot-nine inches. “Why haven’t other countries intervened?”

  Rodrigo straight up laughed. “Amarantha doesn’t have much oil for Europe or America to care about us. Them baselines been scared of us supers for decades. Then fifteen years ago, the rich regulars finally subjugated our kind. Now they rule Amarantha and get rich while supers stay enslaved and poor.”

  Despite the weakness in his bones, Greyson’s mind was engaged. He took another long gaze out the window at blue skies and the blanketing green forest, no longer seeing the beauty. “Can’t the supers rebel?”

  Rodrigo shook his head to dissuade such thinking. “Not with the tech the humans have to neutralize our powers. And after Summerhill…”

  “Summerhill?”

  Rodrigo hugged himself. “Don’t wanna know, yea.” He eyed the door as Greyson was about to inquire further. “Quiet. Daily inspection.”

  Rodrigo darted to his side of the room and stood at attention.

  The door opened, revealing two well-muscled guards in military fatigues carrying shock batons. The Amaranthine pair had swarthy complexions like Rodrigo. The guards scoured the room, ignoring the prisoners.

  Greyson cleared his throat, hoping to get answers. “Excuse me.”

  The two guards turned sharply, their eyes cold and hard.

  “Shut up!” Rodrigo mouthed heatedly.

  Greyson ignored him. “I’m with the latest batch of…supers who arrived. I was with an Asian woman named Constance Ishibashi. Is she here?”

  The guards muttered to each other in their native Amaranthine tongue. The shorter guard raised his baton and clicked a button.

  His neck collar instantly ignited. Fire scorched a torturous path down Greyson’s spine. His shriek flooded the cell. Now Greyson lay spasming on the floor, unable to move, unable to think. He welcomed the pain like a lover, knowing he’d earned it. And the world went dark again.

  A slap across the face jarred Greyson back to life. He blinked away stars.

  Rodrigo crouched over him. Greyson sat up in a panic. Thankfully those guards were gone.

  Rodrigo shoved him back down. “I say keep that piehole SHUT. We both get punished when one of us misbehaves.” He stood and plopped down angrily onto his bed.

  Greyson gingerly stood back up, contrite over his actions. But not the reason. “I’m sorry. But my friend…Connie was with me in the barge.” Greyson sat on his bed, his last horrid words to her surfacing in his thoughts. For that Greyson hated himself even more. “I can’t leave her.”

  For several minutes, Rodrigo stared up at the ceiling in silence. Greyson was about to lie down and sleep when the Amaranthine replied.

  “If your Connie survived the pirate raid, she’ll be at the auction in a few days. No biggie, no worry.”

  Greyson turned to him. “Auction?” He had so much to learn about this island it hurt, literally.

  Rodrigo met his gaze. “You and I get sold off to one of the ruling families. Côte Royale be the port city where all new slaves get processed.” He turned away and smirked at the ceiling. “If our luck sucks, we be sex slaves or something. If our luck rocks, we be pit gladiators fighting to the death.”

  Surprise jolted Greyson up into a seat. “Gladiators. You weren’t kidding.”

  Rodrigo chuckled. “Not about that, yea. Better to have a quick death in the pit than die a little every day serving these baseline bastards.”

  Greyson lay back down, pondering this windy, baffling journey. That Lauren ghost had told him his work wasn’t finished. Clearly, she meant finding Connie, Greyson decided, making sure she escapes to where no one can touch her.

  And only then would Greyson accept his well-deserved fate.

  Chapter 12

  Quinn was waiting outside Cajun Station when the sharp uproar turned her around. She’d come straight from work, in a white blouse, tweed sports coat, and matching shorts she now regretted in this chilly mid-January evening.

  The source of the commotion hurtled low over downtown San Miguel’s streets faster than a bullet, orange cape fluttering in his wake.

  He paused in mid-flight, pulling up into that infamous standing-on-air pose which Titan had made famous. Several bystanders swarmed beneath him for pictures and selfies, provoking a symphony of angry horns. Tomorrow Man smiled like some benevolent deity, allowing plebeians to glimpse his magnificence. Quinn watched from afar, shaking her head at the obvious attention-grab.

  The blond, blue-eyed pretty boy appeared perfectly carved out of granite in his orange-and-black costume, Quinn had to admit. And the fluttering orange cape actually worked close up, even though superhero capes were impractical. Tomorrow Man had been doing these pitstops around town recently, reminding people he was protecting San Miguel. Quinn didn’t mind, until learning how his managers speed-dial TMZ and Herogasm whenever Tomorrow Man even rescued cats from trees. Gross.

  He looked Quinn’s way, winked, and rocketed into the dusky skies to roaring applause.

  “Subtle,” Quinn remarked. Tomorrow Man’s people had been pestering SLOCO Daily for her to profile him. Quinn had been torn between him or The Elite. But since Tomorrow Man was basically a superpowered Kardashian, she’d chosen the latter.

  “Excuse me,” a familiar voice declared behind her. “Don’t I know you?”

  An eager grin split Quinn’s face. She whirled to see her favorite person in the world. “Giaconda!”

  Annie Machado scurried over, arms spread wide. Quinn bearhugged her taller bestie, not caring if Annie had on gym warmups. She’d been working with a trainer for her post-injury physical therapy and ahead of her wedding in a few months. The embrace went past a minute before the pair untangled.

  “Beautiful Quinnie.” Annie cupped Quinn’s cheeks, eyes twinkling with affection. “I’ve missed your face.” She pecked her forehead twice.

  Quinn’s heart lurched. She caressed Annie on the
cheek lovingly. “I’ve missed your face, too, honey bear.” Seeing this girl was a ray of sunlight. “Shall we?” Quinn gestured to Cajun Station’s entrance. The restaurant was packed tonight, the air infused with mouthwatering food.

  “See Tomorrow Man’s flyby?” Annie inquired as they got seated.

  Quinn rolled her eyes. “He made sure everyone saw.”

  “Dinner would be easier,” Annie began, picking up a menu, “at my place.” Again, she prodded Quinn to forgive her fiancé. Johnny must’ve told Annie about the snub earlier this week.

  “Your fiancé hasn’t apologized for trying to throw me out of your life,” Quinn replied evenly. She hadn’t visited Annie’s place since her friend had healed enough to drive unaided.

  “I’ve yelled at him more than once. Johnny feels bad for hurting your feelings.”

  Annie’s visible pain over this fracture between her best friend and fiancé was hard to endure. But Quinn wouldn't budge. “Then he can grow a pair and tell me himself.” Quinn had apologized for putting Annie in danger. Johnny still hadn’t apologized for his hurtful words. “Let’s switch gears.” She forced on a smile, pushing Johnny from her mind. “I’m not wasting another minute with my person.”

  They talked about their jobs, both ladies work nerds. Annie was juggling so many projects it stunned Quinn how she managed to squeeze in dinner. Then Colin came up. Quinn felt her cheeks turn piping hot while spilling details. “It’s very new, very casual.”

  Annie was bouncing in her seat. “Yay! Just don’t run if things get serious.”

  Annie knew her well. Quinn fought the urge to stick her tongue out. “Colin’s a coworker, so it won’t.” She smiled to herself, remembering last night in toe-curling detail. Quinn sighed in longing. “A warm body in bed is healing.”

  Annie paled, processing her words. “The nightmares are still happening?”

  Quinn suddenly found the menu more interesting than her friend’s gaze. “Yeah.” Only Annie knew the full extent of her night terrors.

  “Might be time to try that support group I mentioned.”

  Quinn shook her head immediately. “No thanks.” She had no interest in exposing her PTSD at some support group for superhero battle survivors.