Stronger: A Super Human Clash (33 page)

“This is … This is wrong. You won’t die here today, Brawn. They’re going to need you, at the end. I … His voice is in my head, telling me I have to fight. I can’t…. He doesn’t
understand
. He only wants what’s best.” Quantum reached out and gently touched my arm. “Do not step into The Chasm.”

Then he was gone, leaving nothing but a slowly settling line of dust across the rail yard.

The others established a wide ring around me, each of them floating several feet above the ground.

“Surrender!” Titan yelled. “Carrying on this fight is madness, Brawn. It’s
suicide
!”

Thunder said, “He’s right. You can’t defeat all of us. You know that.”

I stood up, wincing at the fresh surge of pain as the blackened skin on my legs cracked and split. “Surrender? No. No, I
don’t
surrender! You started this—I’m going to finish it!”

I leaped straight at Titan. He darted up and out of reach—just as I’d expected. I came down in a crouch next to another track, my blistered hands on one of the rails.

He came at me from behind and I spun to face him, ripping the rail away from its sleepers. I slammed the rail against the side of his head. The blow sent him reeling, crashing to the ground.

Abby darted in, her sword and ax spinning. I spun again, and swatted at her with the rail. She jumped up over it—but I immediately swept it back and up, colliding with her ax in a shower of sparks and knocking it free from her grip. Holding the rail in the middle, I spun it around and the other end struck hard against Abby’s left arm.

I carried the movement through, whipping the rail behind me to hit Thunder in the stomach as he was preparing to attack.

I rushed forward and jabbed the end of the rail hard against Paragon’s armor with enough force to split open his chest-plate. As he staggered back and stumbled to the ground, I turned to face Energy, ran straight at her.

She blasted me with another lightning bolt, but I slammed one end of the rail into the dirt ahead of me, using it to block the lightning bolt and disperse it into the ground—and kept moving, using the rail as a pole to vault right over Energy’s head.

As I passed above her, I slammed down with my right foot.
It connected with Energy’s shoulder, pushed her hard against the ground.

I came down next to Joshua Dalton, saw the terror flare in his eyes a half second before my fist connected with his face.

The hook from Paragon’s grappling gun missed my head by less than an inch; I whirled around and grabbed hold of the line, jerked my hand back, and pulled him off his feet. I quickly gathered up the slack and pulled again; Paragon hit a release button and the cable came free.

Abby—her left arm hanging uselessly—rushed at me with her sword. I whipped the cable at her: She slashed at it and missed. I looped the cable around her sword arm, then jumped up and over her, the force pulling her off her feet. As I reached the apex of the jump, I pulled harder still, with both hands on the cable, and Abby soared into the air.

I landed with my feet on either side of Paragon and immediately began to spin, swinging Abby around me on the end of the cable. She crashed into Thunder as he was getting to his feet, and he screamed as her flailing sword raked a diagonal line across his back.

Titan grabbed the fallen rail and tried to rush at me again, but mistimed his attack and got caught up in the cable. It slowed him down long enough for me to hit his jaw with the most powerful punch I could muster.

I felt his nose shatter under my knuckles. His jaw went slack and his head reeled, his eyes rolling. I hit him again, just as hard, and then a third time, and he finally went limp, the rail crashing down to rest across Paragon’s armored back.

Screaming with rage, Energy darted at me from behind, blasting me with fire and lightning at the same time.

I stamped down hard on the raised end of the rail: The other end shot up and smashed into Energy from behind, moments before she reached me. At the same time, I lashed out with my fist and hit her square in the face.

Energy collapsed to the ground, groaning.

Nearby, Thunder was once again trying to get to his feet. I strode over to him, locked my hand around his head, and lifted him up. His arms and legs twitched.

“Can’t defeat
all
of you?” I roared at him. “You wanna rethink that one, Thunder?”

I threw him to the ground.

“You started this!” I shouted at them. “Remember that—
you
attacked
me
! And if you come after me again, I won’t go so easy on you!”

I turned away.

And stopped.

Four people were standing in front of me, one woman and three men.

“Now, that was quite a fight,” the woman said. I recognized her instantly: Slaughter.

The first man I also recognized: Casey Duval, now considerably more muscular than the last time I’d met him.

Beside him stood an ordinary-looking man wearing a plain shirt and faded jeans, and next to him … a nearly naked man whose red-blotched skin glistened wetly in the morning sun. He was covered in sores that looked like the worst case of acne ever. The sores dripped a thick, clear liquid that left tiny smoking
craters where it hit the ground. I remembered him from Harmony Yuan’s lectures: This was Dioxin.

Casey said, “So. They turned on you, just like I said they would. You should have stayed in Quebec.”

“You knew where I was?”

“I’ve always known. Ever since you and your friends attacked Tremont’s base in Pennsylvania. You remember the robot? It planted a little something inside your chest. A tracking device that showed me your location at all times.”

“Get it out of me!”

“It’s already gone. Energy’s lightning blast destroyed it—that’s what drew my attention. These people don’t want you around, Brawn. You’ll only ever be a freak to them. Join us.”

“Are you
insane
? You’re a thousand times worse than they are!”

“According to Max Dalton’s propaganda, maybe. But when have you known him to tell the truth?”

Dioxin said, “Ragnarök here is working on a cure. He’s gonna reverse what happened to us.”

“Let’s not jump the gun,” Casey said. “There’s a long way to go before that happens. But if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s me. What do you say, Brawn? I’ve got a place that Dalton will never discover, and you’re going to need time to heal.”

I looked back at the slowly stirring bodies behind me. So what if they were under Max’s control? They’d still attacked me. And they’d keep on doing it, keep attacking until I was dead. “All right,” I said to Casey. “You owe me anyway.”

Casey smiled, and turned to the ordinary-looking man. “Terrain, a dust cloud will obscure our departure.”

“
You’re
Terrain?” I said. “You almost got me killed! Remember Norman Misseldine’s fortress? The trap they paid you to set?”

The man frowned for a second. “Oh, right. That was, what, eight or nine years ago? Yeah, that was a pretty good trap. How’d you get out of it?”

Casey said, “Guys, we really don’t have time to play ‘How’ve you been?’ right now. We need to leave.”

Dioxin said, “Whoa, wait…. We’re just gonna leave these creeps here? Dude, we’re never gonna get another chance like this! This is like, five of the toughest superheroes around,
and
Dalton’s little brother! I say we finish them off right here and now!”

Slaughter said, “I’m with you. Especially
that
little cow,” she added, pointing to Abby. “Stabbed me in the stomach during the battle with Krodin!”

I said, “I remember that. She didn’t stab you—you fell onto her sword. Your fault, not hers. And if any of you lay one hand on them, I’ll break every bone in your bodies.” I looked at Casey as I said that. “Are we clear?”

He nodded. “We’re clear. Despite what you might have read, Brawn, I’m not a killer. And I certainly wouldn’t kick someone when they’re down. We’ll leave these folks to lick their wounds and think about what they’ve done.” He extended his right hand. “Are you in?”

I reached down and grabbed his hand, and shook it. “I’m in.”

LEONARD FRANKLIN—TERRAIN
—had determined that there was a small but potentially profitable seam of platinum ore on the western side of the compound, two hundred yards beyond the dome.

Hazlegrove decided that it was worth mining, although without the dome to shield the prison from the outside world, he first ordered temporary covers to be erected. We planted poles, stretched huge canvas sheets between them, and painted the sheets a dull gray to match the concrete.

And so began a new phase in the mining process: At the start of every shift the workers were chained together and led out through the doors by a line of guards. The work outside was slightly easier, though only because of the fresh breeze that carried away some of the dust. In the older shafts the dust
remained in place, clogging up our lungs, getting into our eyes.

The new shaft had been in operation for a week when the mine received its latest inmate. He was scarred from head to foot, but looked strong, and that was what counted.

The first time the stranger saw me, he stopped and stared until one of the guards jabbed him in the small of his back. “Keep movin’! You never seen a giant blue guy before?”

The stranger said, “Just one.”

Imyram, standing just in front of me, pointed back toward the doors. “Look.”

At the doorway, Swinden was escorting a prisoner out. She was an older woman I knew only as Francine. I’d never spoken to her. “Where are they—?”

The guard said, “Prisoner exchange. Not your business, Brawn.”

Three days later I was called to take a look at the crusher, which had jammed up again, and saw the scarred stranger staring at me. He caught me looking back and said, “You don’t recognize me, do ya?”

“Should I?”

“Yeah. You should.” He was shirtless, and came close enough that I could clearly see the hundreds of scars on his face, torso, and arms. “Time was, you and me were partners. Kinda. But then Ragnarök hadda go and spoil everything.”

“Dioxin?”

“Used to be, yeah.” He smirked, his face a contorted mess of badly healed wounds and a patchwork of different-colored
grafts. “You been here all this time, Brawn? That’s, like, ten
years
.”

“That long already, huh? Time sure flies.”

“Ragnarök’s dead, did you hear? Man, he sure left some mess behind. The world’s changed out there, Brawn. Guys like us, we don’t belong there.” He looked around. “Not sayin’ we belong
here
either.”

Two guards approached. “You two freaks—back to work! Brawn, they need you over at processing.”

“Got a lot to tell you,” Dioxin said. “Lotta stuff you need to know. Gotta tell you about Wagner and Cooper and the others!”

The guards grabbed Dioxin, taking an arm each.

“We’re gonna get out of here!” Dioxin shouted as the guards dragged him away. “We were a team before—we can do it again! Terrain’s here too, right? We just need Slaughter. We’ll get out and we’re gonna make them pay for this! Are you with me?”

I was already halfway across the compound. I didn’t bother to answer.

Dioxin was wrong. We had never been a team. What we’d been was a collection of bitter, disillusioned superhumans who occasionally united under Casey Duval’s leadership.

Dioxin had worked with Casey a lot more than I had, but I wasn’t entirely innocent. I’d helped them plunder bank vaults to fund Casey’s research, and I’d stood with them against Dalton and his friends on more than one occasion. But part of the reason I was with them was that they were too scared of what
I’d do to them if they killed the good guys. They’d seen me lose control and single-handedly defeat six of the world’s most powerful heroes: There was no way they’d be able to beat me. And I think Casey always knew that.

At the processing station the mechanism that drove the crusher was jammed. This happened a couple of times a month, and all it usually needed was a hard thump in the right area. For months I’d been asking Hazlegrove to take the crusher off-line so that it could be given a complete overhaul, but he’d always refused. That would take three or four days, and as it was, the crusher was barely able to keep up with the workload.

I had just reached the crusher when something in its driveshaft snapped.

A chunk of rusty metal shot out from the crusher’s mechanism. It streaked across the compound, right into the midst of a bunch of kids who were lining up with their bowls to receive their midday meal.

There was a scream, and by the time I reached them, the cook had torn strips from his apron and wrapped them around the little girl’s arm.

It was Estelle, the daughter of my friends Imyram and Edmond, the same little girl I’d helped deliver nine years earlier. Beneath the ever-present grime of the mine she was pale with shock, cradling her arm as blood soaked through the crude bandage.

I scooped her up and ran to the office where Hazlegrove and DePaiva were both leaning over a giant ledger. “We need the doctor!” I shouted through the narrow doorway.

Hazlegrove didn’t look up. “Doctor’s not due for another two weeks.”

“Hazlegrove, we need the doctor right
now
!”

He set down his pen. “That’s
Mister
Hazlegrove. And I told you, the doctor will be here in about two weeks.”

“Then pass me a first-aid kit or something!”

He looked at the girl in my arms. “What happened?”

“Something flew off the crusher. Hit her arm.”

Hazlegrove jumped to his feet so fast he knocked his chair over. “How bad is it??”

“Very—I think it might have hit an artery. She’s losing a lot of blood!”

He rushed out past me. “No, you idiot! The crusher! Is it still running?”

“Give her to me,” DePaiva said. “I’ll take a look.”

I passed the trembling girl to him, and he carried her into the office and gently sat her on the desk. “I need to have a look….” He peeled back the bandage, then quickly rewrapped it and turned to me. “It’s not an artery. She’ll be fine.”