Heroes Lost and Found (30 page)

“Everyone head for my location—I’m bringing him down.” I cut the power and dropped as safely and as quickly as I could, crouching down in the dirt. Dykovski arced in over my head, thrashing and crashing through the trees as he tried to stop on a dime and failed, forgetting his power armor was nowhere near as flexible as a super’s body. Thick wooden branches splintered and flew through the air, feeding the small fires springing up around us.

We’d won a slight reprieve and I needed it. I drew deep breaths despite the smoke, forcing myself to stay alert. I’d already made one big mistake—the next one could get myself or one of the team killed.

Steve came out of the trees and knelt beside me. He coughed and turned his head to one side to spit. “There’s a small lake not too far from here, saw it when I jumped before. Should be easy for a tanker to do a water drop, cool things off around here.” He waved a hand towards Dykovski’s aborted landing area. “Bet the bastard’s got his air conditioning on high and growing icicles on his balls.”

I chuckled in spite of the situation.

Harris staggered out of the brush a minute later. His face was flushed, and I saw the panic rising in the way his eyes darted from side to side, watching the fires, watching Dykovski, watching me.

Baptism by fire in the truest sense of the word.

I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the trembling go up my arm. “Keep frosty. We’re almost done.”

“I just, ah…” He wiped the sweat from his forehead on his leather sleeve. “I’d forgotten how this felt.” A limp smile formed. “Sort of like great sex. You keep forgetting about the foreplay needed to get there.”

I suppressed a shudder at the mental image of Harris in any sort of sexual situation. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Let me drop Peter off, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some water out here.” Rachael flew over us, Peter at her side.

“Be careful,” I warned as Peter descended on a small air funnel to land beside us. “Don’t make the fire any worse.” The hot wind snapped across me. “Damned if you do and all that.”

“Right. Hunter, I’m off to the lake. Let me know where the best place would be to dump some water.”

“On us would be fine.” Peter brushed twigs and leaves off his arms as he moved to the edge of the tree line. “Let me see what I can get in the way of backup. A whole lot of panicking going on right now out there. Not much chance to talk or listen.”

“I bet.” I spat to one side, my throat closing up from the smoke. “Just don’t get trapped by the fire. Keep near us and don’t hesitate to call for help.”

He threw me a salute and ran into the forest.

“Incoming.” Harris pointed ahead of us. The tremble in his voice shot straight to my gut.

A series of trees fell to each side as Dykovski thrashed his way to the edge of the clearing.

I couldn’t help grinning at the sight. The power armor now looked like a warped attempt to camouflage a medieval knight, dead leaves and pine needles sticking out from the joints and falling from his shoulders. The slick, shiny armor was pitted with the nails of a thousand claws, dark bloody stains and smudge marks taking the polish off the suit.

He roared and charged us like a rabid bull.

Harris turned and ran, disappearing into the smoke.

I licked my cracked, scorched lips.

Steve popped his knuckles. The determined look in his eyes reminded me of an angry father about to defend the honor of his family. “Stand aside, Jo. This one’s for you.” He lifted his hands into a boxing stance, his feet digging into the parched earth.

“Hell no.” I stood to his right, loading my imaginary weapons. My arms trembled as I raised them, the weakness threatening to topple me before Dykovski could. Damned tasering still affected my system, shivers and shakes attacking my nerves.

Dykovski raised the goop gun in his right hand. Black tarry substance dripped from the tip, ready to immobilize anything or anyone it touched.

“Wait for it,” Steve snarled, a predatory tone in his words. “Wait for it.” His left foot edged forward, increasing his stance.

Dykovski’s finger tightened on the trigger. The ground shook as he bore down on us, a silent curse forming on his lips.

Steve’s eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared once, twice.

The tar shot out of the end of the pistol, the black baseball spouting towards us. It veered just a fraction in flight, and I saw it was aimed for my face.

Steve shifted, or more specifically his hips did, slamming into me with so much force I knew there’d be more bruises for Hunter to tend to.

The impact sent me flying across the small clearing to land awkwardly, painfully, on my right side. I looked up, slightly dazed from the body check, to see the ebony goop land squarely on Steve’s right hand, clotting his fingers together.

Steve laughed and looped his hand around in a circular motion, spinning his arm three times before pulling it in front of him, assuming the same position as before the attack.

His fist was coated in the goop, the now-solid ball doubling the size of his clenched hand.

Dykovski’s eyes went wide as he skidded to a stop, inches from the super.

“Thanks.” The strongman grinned and punched him square in the chest, using the encased right hand as a battering ram.

Dykovski grunted as he took a few steps back, struggling to keep his balance. A deep dent in the front of the armor showed the strength of Steve’s punch.

Dykovski’s arm shook as he raised it again. A blast of black tar shot out from the nozzle.

Steve sidestepped it at close range, shuffling to one side like he’d been boxing all his life.

The misshapen blob landed with a wet whoosh in the dirt, kicking up a small cloud as it solidified.

Steve charged forward and rammed Dykovski’s right side in the best Pittsburgh Steeler slam I’d ever seen, bar none, head tucked in and shoulder side out in Super Bowl quality.

The impact sent the goop gun flying free, the weapon bouncing away to land at the edge of the clearing.

Dykovski grunted as the heavily armored suit slid a half foot towards me, the thick, fat feet gouging a trench.

His finger tightened on the flamethrower trigger. An uncontrolled stream of fire rose up and arced down, headed for where I lay.

My tongue stuck to the top of my parched mouth as I rolled away. Around me trees ignited, sun-baked leaves burst into flames, and it seemed the ground itself had decided to turn to hot magma. I forced myself to stand, muscles screaming and protesting all the abuse over the past few hours. With a short burst of energy I rose into the air, away from the blistering soil.

One last desperate explosion of willpower sent me at the armored man, my right foot leading. It was a classic move, a move I’d practiced a thousand times and choreographed into a dozen fights.

It would knock him head over heels, flip him like a coin and send him flying.

In theory.

The roaring in my ears increased, building with the roar of the fire around us.

I landed right on target.

The impact shuddered through me, rubber sole slamming against solid metal. It was like slapping a dead fish against the side of a mountain.

I flew backwards and crashed onto the ground in almost the same spot I’d left.

I just couldn’t give anymore. Between the events of the past few days and the brawling here, there was nothing left in my main tank, my reserve tank, my tank top.

It wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it wasn’t supposed to.

I tried not to look at Steve as he moved behind Dykovski, shifting out of sight.

Dykovski’s eyes locked with mine, a sneer on his face. “Nice try, Surf—but I’ve seen all your moves, remember? All of them.”

He spun around with amazing speed, his right armored arm crashing into Steve’s midsection. “I’m no fool, Slammer,” Dykovski yelled. “Think I didn’t know you were going for a back attack? You haven’t changed at all.”

I gasped as the strongman flew backwards to smack into a nearby burning tree, sending it toppling into the growing flames. Steve gave a grunt before falling over, the goop-encrusted hand pawing at the sky as his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious.

“Now to fry your sweet little ass.” Dykovski advanced on me. He raised the flamethrower again, pointing it down at me. “Where were we?”

Chapter Sixteen

I stared at the nozzle and the small flame under it, the igniter waiting to launch a whole new world of pain.

I lifted my right hand and leveled it at his face, palm out. Any charge I could give would be absorbed by the suit. It was created to be immune to attacks like mine. But I wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Goodbye, Surf,” Dykovski sneered. “Too bad we couldn’t work something out. But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of the rest of your supers.”

I glared back. I had nothing to say, and I’d be damned if I went out with a plea on my lips.

All I could think about was how I’d lost the bet with Hunter. I’d really wanted that salsa.

I fired, a weak, half-ass attack only fit for the photo shoots and for scaring children. The charge ran over the power armor, sparking and flaring up at all the joints.

His right eyebrow arched as his lips twisted into an evil smile.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

A head popped up behind Dykovski’s shoulder, eyes wide with rage.

Harris shrieked and slammed his hands down on Dykovski’s back, his fingers digging into the metal tank holding the natural gas fueling the flamethrower.

My heels ground into the dirt as I scraped my way backwards, unsure what was about to happen. If his melting power burned through and allowed the natural gas to escape before Dykovski fired, I’d have a chance at survival.

If all three of us didn’t go up in a fiery explosion, that was.

Dykovski twisted from side to side, reacting to this new attack. He spun around, his head turning as far as it could within the helmet. The armored arms flailed as he tried to reach the man now hanging on to the metal backpack for dear life.

A thundering whoosh filled the air, as if the biggest party balloon had just sprung a leak.

I spun around and pressed my head down in a vain attempt to at least have a face for them to bury. Dirt puffed up into my eyes as I exhaled, my gloved hands tight over the back of my head.

One second.

Two seconds.

The third second was the charm.

A wave of heat poured over me, searing the leather from my heels to my hands. I smelled burning hair and rolled over, slapping at my ponytail to extinguish any fiery strands.

The second odor was much more disturbing.

Burning flesh.

I’d smelled it once, a thousand lifetimes ago, when I worked hospital security for a blessedly short few months. Ambulances filled with rooming house fire victims racing into the ER, the unmistakable reek of charred and flaking skin digging into my nostrils and never leaving.

I looked up at the armored suit in front of me.

Dykovski staggered backwards. The flamethrower on his left arm was gone, the nozzle ruptured. My befuddled mind guessed one of the random sparks had set off whatever had been left in the hose while the rest of the natural gas escaped through the holes Harris had created.

The damage wasn’t enough to pry Dykovski out of his suit. Instead he spun around in a circle, wobbling, his arms impotently flapping away. He looked like a giant robot trying to do the chicken dance.

It would have been funny except for the man rolling in the dirt a few feet away, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I’m blind!” Harris shrieked, both hands over his face. Small wisps of smoke rose from his singed hair. His jacket had taken the brunt of the blast, the leather burned away in places to show the armor plating below, but he was alive.

“I’m coming.” Steve got to his feet, leaning on a nearby tree for support. “I’m coming for ya. Stay still.” He took unsteady steps forward, shaking his head to clear away the confusion. “Stay still.”

Dykovski turned towards me, his erratic movements slowing and stopping as he realized he wasn’t injured. His hands patted his chest and found no breach in the plating save the indentation from Steve’s punch.

He looked at the destroyed weapon on his arm with wide eyes, the disbelief showing. The splintered nozzle hung on his forearm by a metal thread, the warped metal jutting out in sharp prongs. The Guardian device was singed and burnt but still intact, the Agency attachment safe and sound.

“Fuck. I liked that.” He shrugged and drew back his right arm, fingers curled into a fist. “But I bet I can still crush your head like a cantaloupe in this armor.”

“Fuck you,” I gasped, not bothering to even try to stand.

“That’s what you want for your last words?” He chortled.

I knelt in the dirt and threw up my arms to shield myself from the oncoming attack, peeking between leather walls to see what happened.

A moose crashed into Dykovski on his right side, the terrified animal shoving the armored man to one side with little effort. The wide, panicky eyes met mine for a second before the creature charged by me, heading into the trees.