Wonder Guy (29 page)

He cruised above the alleyways, looking for signs of pets or people where they shouldn’t be, looking for anyone skulking in the backyards, any pet slipping its collar. Hundreds of homes lined the streets of the neighborhood, too many to watch at once. He needed to choose an animal to keep an eye on and do a stake out.

There. A pair of pit bulls shared a yard, their shapes distinctive even as glowing green blobs. Or, maybe not. The pair made an unlikely target for dog-nappers of any sort. There must be easier prey than two full-grown pit bulls.

Greg blinked, adjusting his telescopic vision to identify a cluster of glowing, darting blobs moving between him and the dogs. Ah, mosquitoes, the ‘Minnesota state bird.’ These must be close to appear this large, and must have fed recently to glow so bright. He looked back to the dogs when the insects moved on, readjusting his sight. Strange.

He blinked again, adjusting his vision from the heat-signature perception to normal vision and back again. No dogs.

Greg flew down and landed in the yard where the animals had been chained not two minutes ago. Two worn leather collars retained some heat from the necks they’d recently circled. Two chains dangled limply from a clothesline spanning the yard.

Somehow, the dogs had vanished in the blink of an eye. In the few seconds he’d been distracted by that swarm of mosquitoes, the dogs had disappeared. It wasn’t possible. He’d have seen anyone near enough to take them, or anyone approaching them, and the dogs would’ve raised a ruckus. He’d have sworn most of the things happening lately must be impossible. Were disappearing dogs more of the same? He’d ask Serafina when he got the chance. Later. From the house attached to the yard came the sounds of someone moving toward the door. Greg shot skyward again before he’d have to witness the owners’ reaction to the loss of their pets, especially since he had no word of explanation or comfort to offer.

* * * *

Saturdays had a special magic of their own. A Saturday following a night soothed with the music of the falling rain, dawning on a world washed clean and sparkling with dewdrops did remarkable things for Gloria’s spirits. She rose refreshed, eager for a chance to play, create and explore on her day of freedom. Jo’s death, yesterday’s break up with Pete, her distress, all seemed things of the past. They might have occurred years, rather than days ago. If she didn’t think about them too much.

Life went on. Gloria stripped the pale rose cotton sheets from the bed, stuffed them into the hamper with her week’s accumulation of other laundry and zipped her bras into their net bags. She pulled on her most comfortable jeans and her favorite over-sized t-shirt, featuring her favorite frog puppet. Maybe it was just the t-shirt, but she found herself humming an old song Aggie had once taught her, “I’m in love with a big blue frog...”

Saturday mornings meant laundry day and catching up with chores for which she had no time during the week. This coincided nicely with Dad’s day at the VFW hall, hanging with his old pals. Saturday afternoons generally meant some project time or expedition with Aggie. They’d made a practice of visiting local sites of interest, from the Gibbs Farm to the Swedish Museum to the Minnesota History Museum. Gloria wondered what Aggie might be up for today. So much depended on her energy level. They left it to Aggie to pick their activities, though Gloria had a veto power she seldom used.

On her way to the basement laundry room with the heavy hamper in her arms, she found her father sitting bent over the coffee table, groaning.

“Gloria,” he moaned. “If you’ve ever loved me, will you be a peach and get your old dad some coffee and some of those ibuprofen? I swear my head’s gonna fall right off my neck, split in two down the middle.”

“Right after I get my laundry started,” she said cheerily.

“Have mercy, girl.”

“You pick up your empties and clean up around the couch.” Where, in addition to his empties, an inexplicable quantity of torn envelopes, used tissues, cutlery and plates bearing half-eaten food had accumulated. “And by the time you’re done, I’ll have some coffee for you.”

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth–”

“That’s got to be the only bit of Shakespeare you know.” Gloria propped the basement door open with her hip, flipped on the light switch and took the first of the steps. “And you overuse it. Give it a rest.” She proceeded downstairs.

A half hour later, she’d gotten Ike his coffee and seen him out the door with his buddy Stu. An hour more, and she’d had her own coffee and breakfast, taken care of the kitchen clean up, vacuumed the living room, taken out the trash, folded and put away her laundry, remade the bed, changed to a cute baby-blue baby doll top and headed next door.

“Oh, Gloria, honey. I was going to call you.” Aggie looked up from the morning paper as Gloria entered the kitchen.

Hank Luddell sat across the table from Aggie. Half-full mugs of coffee rested before them, along with a box containing a couple pastries and scattered crumbs.

“Hi.” Gloria greeted Hank with an automatic smile, turned back to Aggie and raised her brow in question. What was up here? But the wrenching sensation in her gut told her exactly what was up. She was losing Aggie, too.

Not like she’d lost Jo. Not like she’d lost her mother. But the changes-to-come spread out before her as surely as any array of a gypsy’s fortune telling cards or vision in a crystal ball. Aggie wanted this man in her life, wanted to spend time with him. Mentioning her concern about Greg might have been Aggie’s subtle way of letting Gloria know, too. Inevitably, there’d be less time for Gloria, less time for their projects and expeditions.

She pushed back the rising urge to fight, to keep Aggie to herself. Aggie, who’d never stood in the way of Gloria’s dating Pete, or wished for her young protégée anything but the best life could offer. Aggie deserved whatever her heart desired and Gloria’d be damned if she’d stand in the way of her getting it.

“If you’ve made other plans for today I can take a project home to work on.”

“No, no. I need our outings to keep me inspired,” Aggie assured her. “Hank stopped by to surprise me with some donuts for breakfast.”

“You said you love the filled ones, and there’s a bakery near me.” Hank’s smile kept a fine balance between humility and self-satisfaction.

“And they’re delicious.” Aggie gestured Gloria toward the box of remaining pastries. “We got to talking about our expeditions and Hank tells me he’s never been to the Sculpture Garden.”

“You’re kidding.” Gloria picked out an apple fritter from the box. “We can’t let that stand uncorrected.” She turned her biggest smile on Hank. “You have to come with us. We can show you around.”

* * * *

“Bring them along the path of the winding water. Thereafter, go north along the chain of lakes,” Elysha commanded the motley assemblage of her underlings. They gathered, nearly invisible, in the shadows of the dripping undergrowth in the hour before dawn. The rain had ceased, leaving the parklands wet, but not so wet as to keep the swarm from flight.

It took some effort for her minions to hold the legions of whining insects in check, confining them to smaller prey, waiting for the right moment to release them to best effect. Now the moment drew near. The Hero couldn’t be in as many places at once as could the members of so large a swarm. He wouldn’t be able to save everyone. While he was occupied in the vain attempt, Elysha would strike at her other target.

The undergrowth rustled and stirred as if a gale wind blew there, but no wind stirred in the upper limbs of the surrounding trees. The scales of a thousand insectile wings glistened in the shadows of leaf and branch.

* * * *

Maybe he’d stop at the computer lab later. Greg stowed the few groceries he’d bought while out on his morning ride. He hated to let much more of the morning pass without making a patrol as Wonder Guy. He had a bad feeling, which had only grown since the incident with the dinosaurs, and had gone to orange alert status since the incident with the disappearing dogs last night.

Part of the problem lay in the niggling suspicion that he was part of the problem. Men weren’t supposed to have superpowers like his, any more than living dinosaurs were supposed to appear in the middle of a twenty-first century city, or any more than pit bulls were supposed to disappear between one moment and the next. The universe didn’t work that way. If magic had laws, he didn’t understand them and knowing as much made him nervous. Magic was afoot, and while some of it might be beneficent, some of it clearly represented an opposing force, the fairy godmothers’ enemy mentioned by Serafina. What had they called her? He had no way of knowing where their enemy would strike next.

He stashed a carton of eggs and a couple of replacement cans of Mountain Dew in his fridge and folded away the empty reusable nylon grocery bags.

Should he contact Serafina? So far he hadn’t found her explanations of any of this very illuminating. He needed more to go on. He hadn’t known nearly enough about this enemy–only that he was supposed to draw her into the open. Okay, he’d do a patrol, go out there and make himself visible, face whatever trouble reared its misshapen head.

Greg exited the garage and, making sure there were no witnesses, said, “Super-ize me.” He took a flying leap in full superhero costume, soared up, among and beyond the leafy branches of neighborhood trees, past a chattering squirrel, and sent a flock of sparrows spiraling up in alarm. He angled back toward the neighborhood where the pit bulls had disappeared. It should be easier by daylight to pick up clues as to how the dogs had managed their disappearing canine act.

His headset beeped. “Young man,” Serafina’s voice broke through. “Please hurry to the lake called Harriet at once. The situation is dire.”

“On my way. What is it?” Greg replied as he veered in midair, turning west to where the lake lay below like an enormous, polished aquamarine, set in its band of deep green woods.

“We can’t see the enemy’s magics.” Serafina’s voice sounded thin and faded into the wind whipping past his ears. “But waves of terror and pain have erupted there.”

At the lake shore people ran frantically in all directions, taking shelter wherever they could find it, darting behind trees and cars, under picnic tables, diving into the lake and below the water.

What scared them? A droning thrummed through the air. He waved his hand to brush aside some mosquitoes and gaped as the true scale of things sprang into perspective. Not tiny insects near him, but enormous mosquitoes, flying far below, near ground level.

A mosquito the size of a full-grown man darted around a tree and cling with all six legs to a woman crouching behind the trunk.

As the mosquito’s proboscis plunged toward the intended victim, Wonder Guy’s heat vision lanced the distance, frying the monster’s brain in its casing. Dead, the mosquito’s six attenuated legs loosened and the woman scrambled free.

Thousands of the giant insects darted everywhere. Greg had to deal with one at a time. He concentrated on individuals in danger and picked off their attackers one by one. True, original bloodsuckers. Talk about vampires.

A sturdily built, gray-haired man ran full tilt along a path winding toward residential streets as a huge mosquito zoomed after him and swooped in from behind, its legs grasping, its proboscis extended.

Greg hit it with his heat vision straight between the bulging eyes, frying the insect’s brain, producing a satisfying sound, “Zap.” So, that’s where the comics got it. A bundle of legs and wings collapsed to the path.

A mosquito flew at a boy and girl in swimsuits. They raced toward a woman beckoning them from the open door of a car. The children’s kite trailed by its string, still held in one chubby hand. The insect entangled in the string, ripped it from its owner’s hand and dove for the children.

Zap. Another one down. The kite sailed away into the sky.

A young couple huddled under a picnic table on which crawled two monstrous bloodsuckers, while three circled above, droning like dentist drills.

Zap. Zap. Zap, zap, zap. The dry corpses hit table and turf with sounds like the rasping of cornhusks.

People ran in every direction from giant mosquitoes. Zap, zap, zap. The swarm seemed endless. As if caught in an out-of-control video game, Greg lost count of his kills. He soared higher to get more of them in his sights. Zap. Zap, zap, zap. The acrid scent of fried mosquito singed the air as if he’d stuck his nose in a giant bug-zapper. He turned this way and that, blasting one after another with his heat vision. A stream of insects followed victims onto residential streets. Zap. Zappity, zappity, zap, zap, zap. The empty husks hit the road and rolled, inspiring drivers to slam on their brakes.

More winged monstrosities hovered above the water, threatening swimmers who dared to rise for a breath. A swath of heat vision cut them from the air to fall into the placid waters.