A Mutant Named Mizzie (3 page)

Until now.

Emily Dread answered on the second ring.

“Uh … hello, Mrs.—er, I mean … Emily,” I stuttered. “This is Captain Justice.”

There was a sudden
clank
on the other line. It sounded like the phone had just been dropped.

“Captain
Justice
,” said Emily Dread (also known as the Botanist) a second later. “This is a … surprise. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Except that—well … I have a question.” I cleared my throat. “Would you happen to know what to feed a baby mutant?”

“Huh?”

Perhaps I needed to start from the beginning. With Mizzie cooing and kicking beside me, I described the strange events of the day: the battle with Abominator and his horde of mutants, the baby in the street, the flesh wound I had sustained during mealtime. By the time I was done, Emily Dread’s husband, Dr. Dominick Dread, had joined the conversation on an extension.

“This is exactly why we never use mutants for our schemes,” he said. “Sure, they can be horrifying and bloodthirsty, but there are also downsides.”

“It’s illegal to create humanoid mutants,” Emily Dread began, “but that doesn’t stop
villains like Abominator from paying rogue scientists huge sums of money to genetically develop cross-species hybrid mutations.”

“They’re raised under the worst conditions imaginable,” Dominick Dread continued. “Kept in cages, abused, forced to fight for their survival. It’s all done to remove every last trace of their humanity. By the time they’re adults, these poor mutants have become mindless killers.”

I glanced at Mizzie. I couldn’t allow such an awful future to engulf her.

“What can I do to stop that from happening?” I asked.

“Capturing Abominator was a good start,” replied Emily Dread. “He was one of the worst mutant rights violators. He must have many more mutants locked away in his lair. No telling what’ll happen to them now that he’s in prison.”

I squeezed the armrest until it snapped loose in my grip. “Can you tell me where to find his lair?”

The pause on the other end of the line lasted so long that I began to wonder if we’d lost our connection. Finally, Dominick Dread spoke up. “Very well. But you didn’t hear it from us.”

I knew what had to be done. But first, we needed to pick up a quick bite to eat.

Before hanging up, the Dread Duo had recommended a few dishes baby mutants might enjoy. Stanley pulled the SUV into the line of cars at the drive-through of a nearby fast-food restaurant.

I rolled down my window as we pulled up to the oversized menu board and a male voice crackled from a speaker:

“Welcome to JumboBurger. How can I help you?”

“Greetings!” I leaned out the window. “I would like to order a Jumbo Deluxe Burger, but without the pickles, lettuce, ketchup, tomatoes, onions, Jumbo Sauce or bun.”

The speaker crackled for a moment before the voice spoke up. “So you just want … the patty?”

“Precisely!”

“Whatever you say, buddy. Pull around to the window.”

Stanley navigated the SUV around the side of the building and up to a window, where an actual human being was waiting—a teenager, with greasy hair and greasier skin. When he caught sight of me, his eyes grew wide.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” he exclaimed. “I used to have all your stuff! The Captain Justice Pump-Action Water Cannon, the battery-operated Wristband of Justice, the Halloween costume—”

“My patty?” I prompted.

“Whuh?” The employee’s pimply brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh, you mean your order. Yeah, a Jumbo Deluxe Burger—hold everything but the patty?”

“That is correct. I would like to pay with currency.”

I gave the employee a stack of bills. He stared at the money as if I’d just handed him Abominator’s Radiation Spear.

“This is like eight hundred bucks,” he said, counting out the bills.

“Is that enough?” I asked.

“Uh … yeah. That should cover it.” The employee handed me my hamburger in a bag, along with nearly all the money I’d given him, plus a few coins.

While Stanley drove, I removed the hamburger patty from the bag and held it out for Mizzie.

“Here comes the heat-seeking hamburger,” I said while twirling the meat in front of her. “It’s locked in on the target and will soon—”

CHOMP!

In one lightning-fast motion, Mizzie lunged and devoured the jumbo patty in a single bite.

Abominator’s lair was several hours away. Stanley switched the SUV into hover mode, and while clouds rolled past the windows, the baby and I napped in the backseat. I jolted awake at the sound of Stanley’s voice.

“We are approaching our destination, sir.”

“Very good,” I mumbled sleepily. Straightening my cape, I glanced out the front window. Up ahead, a mountain rose high into the air. We were headed right for it.

Trees no longer grew at the elevation we were flying. The mountainside was rocky and gray, dotted with patches of snow.

Mizzie let out an anxious cry and covered her eyes as the SUV continued its course.

I reached into a pouch hanging from my utility belt and removed a small device—the same device that had fallen off Abominator that morning. Pointing it out the front window, I pressed the gray button.

All of a sudden, the face of the mountain shifted. A massive section of rocks began to rise like a garage door, revealing an opening.

The SUV soared through the opening in the side of the mountain and came to rest on the floor of Abominator’s secret lair. I climbed out of the backseat, looking across the vast room. One wall was lined with equipment, tools and extra Radiation Spears. A few hover scooters were parked in one corner. A computer terminal jutted out of another.

The Dread Duo had informed me that Abominator was a loner. No family, no henchmen. The only company he kept was with his mutants.

So then where were they?

While Stanley watched over Mizzie, I explored my surroundings. This wasn’t my first time searching an evil lair. Not even close. Over the course of my career, I’ve learned that there are certain clues to look for. Secret latches. Hidden levers. That kind of thing. And sure enough, in the back of a closet, behind a rack of spare uniforms, my fingers fumbled over a switch. Nodding with satisfaction, I pulled the switch, and …

SPLOOSH!

Green liquid poured over the interior of the closet. It must’ve been some kind of extra-strength acid, because the liquid melted Abominator’s uniforms—and the rack holding them—in an instant.

A good thing to keep in mind when searching an evil lair: Not all hidden switches open secret doors. Some of them also trigger booby traps.

Fortunately, I hopped backward just in time to avoid taking a toxic shower.

I went back to my search, checking and rechecking every possibility. But except for a couple more uncovered booby traps (flames spouting from the floor, a superhero-sized spiked flyswatter shooting from the wall), the investigation turned up nothing.

A baby’s burbling caught my attention. Turning around, I saw Mizzie sitting on the floor of the lair with Stanley watching over her.

“She was growing restless, sir,” said my butler. “I thought I would let her wander a little.”

“Very well,” I said. “Just make sure she doesn’t go near the opening.”

“That shouldn’t be a concern. As soon as I let her out of the vehicle, she rushed to this very spot, and she refuses to go anywhere else.”

Stanley’s pearl-colored eyes peered down at Mizzie as she kicked and giggled. She was pointing down at the floor in front of her with both pudgy gray hands, an intense look of concentration on her face.

“If you ask me, sir,” said Stanley, “she seems particularly interested in
that
part of the floor.”

I approached the two of them with bounding steps, my cape billowing behind me. “Do you think she’s trying to tell us something?”

Stanley’s gaze never shifted. “That may very well be, sir.”

“But she’s just a baby.”

“She is also the only one of us who has ever been here before.”

She
did
seem oddly focused on one spot of the floor. Taking a closer look, I realized that
the tile she was pointing to was a darker shade of gray than the ones around it. The difference was so slight that most people would have walked right past it—just as I’d done at least a dozen times already.

“Blurph,” Mizzie said, pointing at the mismatched tile persistently. “Glooph, bloog.”

“She makes an excellent point!” I observed. Pressing the tile did nothing. Rubbing it had the same result. But when I twisted it, the tile shifted and I heard a click beneath the floor.

By instinct, I grabbed hold of Mizzie and dove sideways, protecting her from any number of booby traps that might befall us. Instead, I heard a rumbling noise, and when I looked up, a section of the wall slid sideways. Behind it was the hidden room I’d been searching for.

“You see that, Stanley?” I boomed with pride. “No villainous secret is safe from Captain Justice’s super-sleuthing!”

“Perhaps the baby deserves some credit as well,” Stanley suggested.

“I believe you’re right.” Admiring the gurgling baby in my arms, I said, “Thank you for your service, Mizzie. I don’t know whether I could’ve done it without you.”

“Glumph!” she said happily.

Putting Mizzie into Stanley’s care, I stood and cautiously entered the room we’d just discovered. But as I stepped inside, I caught my breath. In my many years of confronting supervillains, I’d never seen anything quite so disturbing.

The room was lined with cages. And each cage was crowded with mutants. They resembled the beings I’d fought earlier that day—gray skin, sharp teeth. Except these mutants were younger and far less fearsome. They ranged in age from infant to teenager. Abominator must’ve been keeping them until they were old enough—and fierce enough—to use in his schemes.

They’d been packed into their quarters so tightly that there was barely a place for any of them to sit. The cages were filthy. The smell was unbearable. Bowls that had been left out for food and water were empty.

My stomach twisted at the wretched conditions. Dr. Dread’s words echoed in my mind.
It’s all done to remove every last trace of their humanity
. If Abominator could abuse mutants enough, then they’d go out and abuse others. That was the objective. And judging by the mutants I’d faced this morning, it worked.

As I surveyed the misery on display, I vowed to make a better life for every being in that room. And I thought I had an idea where to start.

Removing my phone, I dialed Zimmerman’s office (I got a surprisingly good signal, considering I was inside a mountain).

“Hiya, Cap!” my business manager answered. “Didja solve that mutant problem yet?”

“Not quite. But I’m a lot closer to figuring out what needs to be done. And I was thinking—maybe I
will
take you up on that offer to use your beach house for a little while.”

“Terrific idea! When were you thinking about coming by?”

“Later tonight.”

Zimmerman took a surprised breath. “So soon?”

“You mentioned that it’s isolated, right?” I asked. “And ultra-secure?”