Bluish sparks surrounded Rachel’s gloves, and the man let go, trying to grab her, but only passing through her body without touching anything.
Knowing that he was strong, and guessing he might be able to rip my armor off, I gave the rockets some fuel, and shot into the air, hovering forty feet above the ground. Continue reading War: Part 9
Between the unconscious bodies on the ground from Jaclyn’s attack, and my sonic blast, Prime’s people hung back until one of of them shouted, “Move!”
Well, if I could call them Prime’s people.
Some of them looked professional — black (probably bulletproof) vests, belts with pouches, knives, and guns. The rest looked like they’d been pulled from local (and not so local) street gangs.
They had guns too — not submachine guns like the professionals, mostly handguns.
Continue reading War: Part 8
Prime stood at the front of the crowd. He didn’t look like someone who had lived most of the way through two millenniums. Under the single light, his brush cut, blond hair shone. His face, all hard lines, but still smooth, could have easily passed for thirty.
As we stepped closer to him, he pulled a sword out of his trench coat. Between Lee’s teaching, and Daniel showing me some books on Roman history, I recognized it as a gladius, the Roman legions’ traditional sword.
Behind me, Marcus muttered, “There can be only one.”
Continue reading War: Part 7
The caller ID on my cellphone showed the call came from HQ — which meant either that I’d been forwarded Prime’s call through HQ or that someone in HQ had called me.
I took the call.
“Nick,” Vaughn said, “you’ve gotta take a look at Double V’s forums. Go to the Grand Lake section. It’s totally crazy.” Continue reading War: Part 3
“So after years of silence, the New Heroes League appeared out of nowhere. How did that happen?”
“I came in late,” Rachel said. “You’ll have to ask the Rocket.”
Erika turned her attention to me. “So?”
“A few of us got to talking,” I began.
“Us?”
“We’re all connected to the original League one way or another. We got together a few times, and we decided we wanted to bring it back instead of letting it end.” Continue reading War: Part 2
Instead of doing something with Haley on Friday night, I found myself flying through the air with Rachel toward the Rocket’s first ever intentional TV interview — or if not the Rocket’s first, my first as the Rocket.
Rachel let go of my shoulder as I pointed myself upright, stopping the rockets for a moment, but then making the rocketpack start a new burn, slowing my descent.
Below me I could see the parking lot where I’d fought Man-machine — until his heart attack, anyway.
It looked a lot like it had that night, half full of cars, and darkness. Continue reading War: Part 1
Standing at the podium, Principal Williams stopped the ceremony.
He held up his hands. “Everyone please be quiet, and stay where you are. We’ve called an ambulance, and they will need the aisles to be clear.”
Not everybody listened. Sean pushed his way out between the aisles of folding chairs, ran across the field, up one of the short stairways, and into the bleachers, joining his family.
I couldn’t blame him for that. Continue reading Graduation: Part 25
One of the men in protective gear — the one I’d guessed might be Ray — pulled a gun, and pointed it at Sean.
Julie stopped talking to Shannon and Camille, and shouted, “Freeze!” Continue reading Graduation: Part 24
Hardwick pushed back his chair, and stood up behind the desk. “Don’t threaten me, George. Ray’s got nothing to offer me that I can’t buy.”
Small flickers of electricity arced between the fingers of his left hand.
Mr. Drucker said, “Yeah? Good, but I wasn’t threatening. I came here to tell you what would happen if you side with these people instead of our kids. I’ll see you at the next meeting.”
He touched his hand back on the beam, and the metal flowed back into position, slightly more shiny in the spots Mr. Drucker had melted.
Then he left. Continue reading Graduation: Part 20
The idea of helping me skip school amused Rachel as much as I thought it might.
It amused her enough to wake up at seven instead of nine, and pretend to be Mom. The school bought it. One of the nice things about not being the kind of guy who gets in trouble regularly is that the staff doesn’t recognize your mother’s voice. Continue reading Graduation: Part 19