In Hero Years... I'm Dead Delux Edition (43 page)

Good news: the shots got Mephistopheles’ attention. Bad news: that’s all they did. No blood, no gasps, not even the barest hint of a flinch. Crouching, the demon pinched off the grapnel’s line, flicking it aside, disgusted.

The demon straightened up, eight feet of line dangling from that horn. “Not a good time to make your debut, Rookie. That
is
what the R is for, right?”

“It’s for Wrecker, moron.”

Sure, not the greatest line in the world, but it worked. As he was fixing to tell me I didn’t know how to spell, I tossed the shotgun aside and leaped at him. I ducked beneath a hasty front kick, then came up and jammed a shock-rod against the back of his knee. I hit the juice. Sizzle but no effect. Still, I had leverage, so I shoved him sideways.

He recovered easily, then spun to sweep a leg through mine. I leaped above and he came round. That’s when Vixen hit him with both feet square in the chest. He fell back, but still swatted her out of the air. She flew into the cops, knocking a half-dozen of them down.

Mephistopheles sprang to his feet again and drove at me. I dodged two kicks, then caught his wrist between crossed shock-rods. I started to twist, bringing his elbow in toward his middle, but he locked the armor before I could do any serious damage. Having learned from Red Angel, I took advantage. The second his arm locked, I used it as a pivot-point. Swinging up and around, I planted both feet on his pointy chin.

His head snapped around. He hit the marble floor hard, but bounded up again with all the enthusiasm of a puppy at play. A big
demon puppy
that was getting sick and tired of being batted around. He’d finally figured out that I had more skills than he did, but strength, armor and reach gave him an edge. Neurons fired, and he came up with a new strategy.

He leaped again, but the arc was wrong. He’d land well short of me. Not having to dodge, I was already thinking about how I’d counter-attack. I’d even gathered myself for a flying kick at where I estimated his head would be. When he touched down I was low, rooted and ready.

Just not for what happened.
 

He landed heavy and hard with both feet. 9.5 on the Richter scale. Thugs and cops went down like chessmen on an overturned board. Redhawk, who’d managed to reach his hands and knees, went flat again. And me, being closest to ground zero, didn’t fare any better.

The floor crumbled beneath me. It just opened up, a marble and concrete avalanche burying the floor thirty feet below. I tried to leap clear but fluid gravel makes a lousy springboard.

Gravity 1, Revenant zero.

Falling fast, I made a grab for the hole’s edge. I caught it with one hand. My fingers held, just for a second. Then stone powdered. My grip slipped.

A strong hand caught my wrist.
Redhawk
! “I got you.”

“Yes, indeed, you have each other.” Mephistopheles loomed above us, raising a hoof. “And now I have you both!”

Chapter Thirty-nine

On a scale of survival chances, Redhawk and I ranked slightly lower than a coal shoveler on the
Titanic
. The only silver lining was that Mephistopheles would likely crash through the floor with us. By us, I mean the smear marking where Redhawk and I had once been. If we were lucky, the blood would make things greasy enough that Mephistopheles might slip and turn his ankle.

Before his hoof could fall, the skylight above cascaded down in a thousand razored fragments. A powerfully built man in brown motorcycle leathers and helmet crashed through the glass. He grabbed the flailing end of the line attached to the demon’s horn and yanked, hard. Mephistopheles, off balance already, flew backward. He rolled into his shock troops, crushing the left wing.

The demon came up onto a knee, but his foe gave him no time to recover. The interloper closed fast, whirled, and caught Mephistopheles with a roundhouse kick that sent the demon sprawling. Better yet, the armored faceplate, trailing sparks, spun off into the corner and imbedded itself in the wall.

Mephistopheles rose again, but fear blossomed in those fiery eyes. The faceplate’s loss compromised the armor’s integrity. Half the control circuitry buzzed and smoked in the corner. Mephistopheles moved slowly and stiffly, shaking his head to clear it.

The Man in Brown darted in, delivering a flurry of punches that cracked teeth, shattered Mephistopheles’ nose and drove him back against the wall. The demon shoved off, launching himself at the Man in Brown. Our savior ducked, letting the villain fly over him. The demon landed chest first and skidded. Without waiting for him to stop, the Man in Brown pounced. He ground his feet into the demon’s spine, then snapped a kick to the back of his head, driving his face into the floor. The Man in Brown leaped clear, and Mephistopheles limply slid into the hole.

The trailing line wrapped around twisted rebar. Mephistopheles jerked to a stop, his hooves just grazing the rubble below. Hanging from one horn, he swayed peacefully.

Redhawk heaved me up. The breaking glass had cut him in a couple places, and he was nursing a split lip. Other than that he was good to go. He gave me a comradely nod, and we turned to face Mephistopheles’ henchmen.

And both of us heaved a sigh of relief as the Man in Brown joined us. It shouldn’t have made a difference to the other side, but it did. They made a nice little crowd, carrying a dizzying array of weapons and armor. The first exchange would be nasty and I was pretty sure the only thing that would stop me hitting the floor below was getting impaled on one of Mephistopheles’ horns.

But as Nighthaunt had always been fond of saying, only the craven become criminals. While they outnumbered us and should have driven us back into the hole, they’d been raised their whole lives thinking that guys in costumes are
heroes
. Heroes always win. Each raider was thinking that there was no way he could stand against the three of us. Those with any sense of self-preservation weren’t going to step forward. They’d be more than happy to let the suicidally eager take the first shot.

They did, coming hard and fast. What the front-liners lacked in intelligence, they made up for in ferocity. A few shot, but most bashed us with shields. They tried to use the weight of their attack to push us into the hole. It looked at first as if they might succeed, then the Man in Brown shattered a Lexan shield with a single punch. That give a few people pause–not just those stuck with plastic splinters–and that bought us some breathing room.

A few guys–insane, crazy-mean guys–kept coming. It didn’t take killing to stop them, but there had to be some serious convincing to put them out of the fight. With them my shock-rod served better as baton than a cattle-prod. Snap a wrist, crush an ankle, break a jaw or scatter teeth and even the most hard-headed guys will reconsider. While Redhawk still seemed reluctant to hand out bone-breaking punishment, The Man in Brown had no such reservations.

Just as the raiders had been pushed back enough to clog the entrance, they gathered themselves to counter-attack. That’s when Vixen and the cops hit the right wing. Folks in the back started tumbling down the stairs. Their yelps eroded morale, but didn’t break it.

Then the earth shook. A terrific metallic din rattled everything, drilling into skulls. It didn’t take a degree in rocket science to realize the giant robot had gone down outside. The bright ones figured we had allies–powerful allies—and the rout began.
 

Just to emphasize the virtues of retreat, Gravilass streaked through the shattered skylight. Her eyes glittered hotly. A sonic shotgun melted into slag. Serious resistance evaporated. Things devolved into a grand game of tag, which Vixen, Gravilass and the cops played avidly.

Redhawk turned and looked at the two of us. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re a welcome sight.”

The Man in Brown doffed his helmet. “It’s fun working with you again.”

Redhawk’s jaw slackened. “Graviton? But, but…”

I frowned. “I thought we left you back in the lair…”

“I got to thinking about what you said and, well, you had that jet bike there and…”

“And even though you can’t leap tall buildings anymore…”

“Hey, I made it halfway.” Grant, sans glasses, smiled, as happy as I’d seen him since my return. “I thought about how, in all my adventures, I’d never truly been in jeopardy.”

Redhawk frowned. “What about…?”

“Doesn’t really count.” Grant shifted the helmet under his other arm. “I may have recovered from my injuries, but without facing the fear of being hurt again, I could never be completely healed.”

Redhawk looked at me. “And who are you?”

I told him.

Shock again slackened his expression. “But, you can’t be. You inherited this whole plan. I mean, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree…”

My eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You’re Sinisterion’s son.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one told me,
per se
. I heard something once. A slip. After I became mayor, I looked up the coroner’s records on Sinisterion’s wife. The coroner had noted that she’d had at least one child.”

“Who gave you the hint? When?”

He folded his arms. “A long time ago I’d asked Nighthaunt why you were joining C4 and I wasn’t. He just smiled and said ‘you keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ When I asked why you were an enemy, he said, ‘Blood will out.’”

My stomach tightened. “It all makes sense now.” I laughed–too close to my father’s laugh for comfort.

Grant watched me closely. “What’s so funny?”

“Mr. Big has been playing Redhawk, Constitution and me off against each other. He’s been making us thinks the others are the mastermind behind this all. But his plan had been growing and slipping into place for years. Vicki was right. He’d groomed someone else for my part in events: Sinisterion. Then when Sinisterion retired and went public with his book, he needed another patsy. He arranged for me to be released. He knew I’d come back here. I was primed to come for you, Redhawk.”

“Why me?”

“Austria. Twenty years ago. I’d been set up. It was easy to imagine you were part of it.” I shook my head. “Damn, this has been coming together for as long as I’ve been gone. Longer maybe.”

“Who?”

“Who else?”

Redhawk’s eyes half shut. “No, it can’t be. He’s dead.”

“No, he’s not.” I tucked my shock-rod in the holster and nodded off toward North Winchester County. “Haste Manor may be gone. Nick Haste may be gone, but Nighthaunt lives. He’s in his Mausoleum. He’s orchestrated all this.”

“I can’t believe…”

“Yes, you can, Greg, you know he’s Mr. Big.”

Redhawk shook his head. “But why do this to his city?”

“Good question.” I shrugged. “Let’s go get an answer.”

We surveyed the carnage from the top of the stairs. Grant had pulled his helmet on again. He would become known as Karate King–he slapped a couple of Kid Coyote’s spare Ks on a
gi
for a publicity shot–and captured hoods moaned at the sight of him. The cops were rounding people up, cuffing them together in little circles, while Gravilass hovered above them and glowered.

I found Coyote on the stairs outside with Vixen and Puma. “I need to borrow the car.”

He tossed me the weapons’-system key. “No staying out late, and be sure to fill the tank.”

“Gotcha, dad.”

Redhawk and I slid into the seats. The engine purred. I slipped it into gear and we roared down the stairs, weaving our way around shards of giant robot. I let Terry know that we were off and he should coordinate with The Man in Brown on rounding up gangs. He didn’t ask about anything else and I didn’t tell.

Redhawk pointed to the right. “North Winchester’s that way.”

“Need to make a stop first.” I took us south, into Market Square. The roving bands hadn’t gotten this far yet, so we traveled in relative quiet. At least, it was quiet until I skidded the Chaser to a halt in front of the First Capital City Savings and Loan and launched two armor-piercing rockets. Both blew through the glass easily. The first cracked the vault’s case and the second knocked the door off the hinges.

Redhawk looked at me. “You’re going to be able to explain this, right?”