Diary of a Teenage Superhero

  Chapter Twenty

  I have to say it is luck more than ability that enables me to get my shield up in time. It’s simply an instinct that makes me enable it just as Dan lifts the serving cover. Even then it’s not at full strength. In the split second that I see the burst of light emanate from the cart, I strengthen the shield.

  Still, we are all thrown in all directions. At some point I am knocked out by the blast. Probably I’m only out for a few seconds. It seems longer. I’m still struggling to get to my feet when I realize Jones is helping me up.

  He says something, but I’m still too woozy to make it out.

  “Whassat?” I ask.

  “You saved us, kid,” he says. “All of us.”

  “Don’t call me kid,” I tell him. “My name’s Axel.”

  Although it could be Frank or Joe or Bill or anything, really.

  Who knows?

  “Axel.” He clasps my shoulder. “Thank you.”

  I begin to look around and only now appreciate the level of devastation. Whatever was packed into that cart was designed to blow us to kingdom come. Windows. Walls. Carpets. Everything is black and smoking or blasted into nothing.

  Chad is helping his sister up. Brodie is walking around looking dazed. Dan – poor Dan – is picking himself up off the floor. He is still holding onto the handle of the food cover. Attached to the handle is about six inches of the cover. Where the food cart was is just a hole in the ground.

  If I hadn’t become suspicious at the last moment –

  I shake my head. I don’t want to even think about it.

  “Are you responsible for this?” Chad turns on Mr. Jones. “Did you try to kill us?”

  Jones shakes his head in disbelief. “You just don’t get it, do you kid? I’m here to help you. Save you.” For the first time Jones actually looks angry. “This was Ravana and his group. They’re going to keep on trying to kill you until they succeed. There’s only one way for you to survive this.”

  “And how’s that?” Brodie asks.

  “You need to come with me,” Jones says. “You need to get trained so you can fight Typhoid.”

  “And if we don’t?” Ebony asks.

  As far as I can remember, this is the first time she has spoken. She looks shaken from the explosion, but not weakened. I suspect there is quite a strong character residing beneath this quiet exterior.

  “Then I can’t guarantee your safety.” Jones spreads his hands. “Look around you. Typhoid almost got you this time. It’s only because of Axel’s powers that we survived. And if you don’t care about your own safety, what about the safety of everyone else?”

  I notice the sound of sirens drawing closer. I realize there must be debris from the explosion spread out over a radius of hundreds of feet. Maybe there are already injured or dying people on the street below.

  Jones is right about one thing. Being located in the middle of the city is dangerous – for everyone concerned.

  Strangely, it is Chad who speaks for all of us.

  “Okay,” he says. “We’ll do it your way, but don’t think we intend to be your puppets.”

  I give a laugh. “It’s hard to imagine you as a puppet, Chad.”

  “Very funny.”

  “We need to get out of here,” Jones says. The sirens are drawing closer. The police will be here in seconds asking questions that nobody wants to answer. “There is a van downstairs waiting for us. We’d best take the stairs.”

  It turns out the stairs are not only a good option, but they’re the only option. The elevators are not operating since the blast. We encounter people evacuating the building on the way down. It’s eerily reminiscent of our attack on Ravana’s building, but this time we’re the ones getting evacuated.

  A few minutes later we’re on the street. There’s a large delivery truck parked at the side of the road. A door is built into the side of it which seems a little strange; most of these vehicles only seem to open from the rear. A truck driver jumps out of the cab, rounds the vehicle and unlocks the door.

  Peering at the outside of the vehicle, I turn to Brodie. “Looks like we’re traveling in style.”

  “No doubt.”

  Strangely, despite my sarcasm, the interior is exactly that. You’ve probably seen those amazing campervans that people have which are like little homes on wheels; they have lounge chairs, marble topped bench kitchens, oak wardrobes, television and DVD players. Everything is a little shrunk as if they expect the occupants to be escapees from The Wizard of Oz, but they’re certainly built for comfort.

  This place is like one of those vans. Except it has no windows.

  That’s slightly disconcerting, but we file in and attempt to make ourselves comfortable. It seems that Dan has an insatiable appetite. No sooner are we seated in respective corners of the van than he is searching through the fridge for something to eat.

  “Really?” I say to him. “You’re hungry?”

  He looks at me completely straight faced. “Someone blew up my ice cream.”

  Can’t argue with that.

  Shaking my head in disbelief, I look for somewhere to sit. There’s a place next to Ebony. I give her a slight smile and she nods slightly. I’m not sure what to say to her. We’ve been through a lot together in a short time, but I barely know her. I consider trying to act cool, but end up with dorky instead.

  I hold out a hand. “Hi. I’m Axel.”

  She looks at me as if I’m slightly mad. Maybe I am.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m Ebony.” She seems stuck for words. “We’ve already met. Did you hit your head or –”

  “No, I’m just kidding around.”

  Well, that exchange has worked just fine. Now she thinks I’m a crazy person. Yep, I’m a real ladies man. No doubt about that. I’m beginning to suspect I had as little success in my pre-hero life as I do now.

  “How long do you think this is going to take?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” I’m glad she’s decided to ignore my gawkiness. “Mr. Jones said something about it taking several hours to get to the base.”

  Ebony lets out a long sigh. She seems so fragile. It’s hard to believe she is part of this superhero squad. Typhoid seems pretty intent on killing us all. Maybe she would be happier retiring to a little town in the country and becoming a librarian. She seems that type.

  “Maybe you won’t have to fight,” I say suddenly. “I mean, if you don’t want to.”

  She looks at me, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’m just saying, well, you didn’t choose to be here and you might want out.”

  Ebony frowns. “Where would I go?”

  That’s a good question. It’s a big, bad wide world out there and particularly tough for someone with no family, no friends and no visible means of support.

  Hell, where would any of us go?

  Suddenly I notice a mark on the back of Ebony’s hand. It’s a burn.

  “What happened to your hand?” I examine it. “Was that from the blast?”

  She nods. “It’s okay.”

  “You should have gotten it checked out.”

  At that moment, Brodie comes over and sees me holding Ebony’s hand.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  “Sure. I just noticed Ebony’s got a burn on her hand.”

  “Really?”

  I don’t like the accusatory tone in Brodie’s voice.

  Yes. Really, I think. Why else would I be holding hands with her?

  “You should get that checked out,” Brodie says.

  “I will,” Ebony says. “I’ll get them to look at it when we reach the facility.”

  Brodie shoots a look at me. I suspect she wants to hit me or something, but I have no idea why.

  The following hours pass slowly. There are a couple of books in the van, but none of them are page turners. The television is still showing all the same old junk. It turns out the truck only has sleeping areas for two, so the rest of us simp
ly crash out in the chairs where we’re seated.

  Chad comes over to where I’m slouched.

  “Got any ideas about where we’re headed?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. Probably some sort of military base.”

  “I think we’re going to South Carolina.”

  “What’s in South Carolina?” I ask.

  “There’s a major military base at Charleston,” he says. “It would be easy for an organization like The Agency to work in conjunction with the American government.”

  “You think The Agency is working with the government?”

  “Sure it is. Haven’t you seen Men in Black? Haven’t you seen all the conspiracy stuff on the net about secret societies and the New World Order?”

  “You think the government is in on this whole thing?”

  He shrugs. “Who knows? But I’m not trusting any of them.”

  No argument there. “So you think we’re going to South Carolina? It’s hard to tell what’s going on from inside this truck. We could be sitting in a parking lot with the engine running for all we know.”

  “You watch,” he says. “It’s Charleston.”

  I nod. After a while I close my eyes and an indeterminable time passes. Finally I’m jolted into wakefulness. At first I wonder what’s brought me back to life from the land of nod, but then I know. The truck has come to a halt. No sooner do we look blearily at each other than the back of the truck starts to disengage. It slowly eases down into a ramp and we find ourselves parked in an underground facility illuminated by stark artificial lights.

  Mr. Jones is waiting at the foot of the ramp.

  “Welcome to The Agency,” he says.