Playing For Keeps Page 12

  Michelle lay on the grass, unconscious. She bled from a head wound and Peter saw a rock nearby, also bloody.

  Alex was buried similarly to Peter, glaring at their captors. Peter faced away from them and could only hear the footsteps by his ears.

  Clever Jack squatted down. “Heya Petey. S’up?”

  Peter was done being diplomatic with Clever Jack. He was a villain, and there was nothing Peter could say that would make things better for him.

  “Where’s the Librarian?” he asked. He sounded very impotent.

  “Wow, you tracked her here? You’re impressive,” Clever Jack said, losing the tone of superior amusement. “Come on, we’ll take you to her.”

  Where the Academy’s cellblock was the epitome of technological superiority, the villains’ caves stank of medieval torture. To be fair, it was the heroes that had tortured Peter and Keepsie, and not the villains, but their hobbit hole of a hideout was complete with iron-gated cells. Clever Jack led them down the narrow tunnel, the silent and glowering Stan following them.

  “That one’s White Lightning’s,” Clever Jack said, leading them down underneath the hill, pointing at a cage. “That reinforced one is Pallas’s. See that hole over there? That’s where The Crane is going to go. Stan dug us a really deep pit for that stretchy bastard. There’s a puddle of mud at the bottom.” He chuckled. “You guys, you’re going in with the Librarian. You wanted to see her, and I’m nothing if not accommodating.”

  “Then he must be nothing,” Alex whispered to Peter, who was still trying to remove the dirt from his ears.

  Doodad stood outside a cell with apparently no door, only iron bars. The Librarian sat in the corner, her pristine hair still knotted into its bun and her clothes immaculate. Peter wondered if part of her power was to look the part of the librarian as well as have super informative powers. He wondered if now was perhaps not the right time to ask her.

  Doodad placed his hand on the bars and there was a low rumbling and a soft clink, and the bars parted. The Librarian looked at each of them in turn and did not move.

  Clever Jack ushered them inside. “Your new home! Dinner is at six. I hope you like pizza.” The villains walked back up the hall.

  The Librarian addressed each of them in a wooden and disinterested voice. “Peter Ross. Olfactory knowledge of people. Michelle Cooper. Unable to lose balance of a loaded bar tray. A very detailed power. Alex Cardon. Healing power in the area of one square inch at a time, which drains you terribly.”

  Michelle snorted. “And you are?”

  Her glasses glinted in the firelight. “I am the Librarian. I store and retain all knowledge given to me.”

  “You’ve got all of the Academy’s secrets?” Alex asked.

  “Yes.” She sat down and leaned her head against the dirt wall.

  “So, no magical digging powers?” Michelle ventured.

  “None. Seismic Stan, previously thought to be dead, is to date the only known human who can manipulate the land,” The Librarian said.

  “And he is unlikely to help us,” said Peter, sitting down beside her.

  “How did he catch you?” Alex asked.

  “I was hiding at Heretic’s apartment. I thought she could keep me safe, but Doodad found me after Dr. Timson called Heretic away to fight…the newest threat.”

  “And the new threat would be?” Peter asked.

  The Librarian shook her head. “That is classified.”

  Michelle ran her hands along the bars, pulling at them. “Well guys, it seems our rescue effort failed.”

  “Well, it’s nice that our days are having consistency,” Peter said. “We might as well wait for pizza.”

  “I hope it’s vegetarian,” Alex said. Peter looked at him for a surprised moment and then started to laugh. Michelle joined them, and for a moment, it really did seem funny.

  17

  Keepsie regarded the chaos around her with a sick disinterest. She knew it was her fault. There was no “almost” here. Entirely her fault. Although they may be pigheaded torturing bastards, heroes did keep the city free from harm. And the villains clearly did not.

  She had headed away from the Academy and the bar, first, wanting to clear her head without being met with her responsibilities.

  Where was Pallas? The strongest of the heroes should be here to deal with everything, but she was gone. Keepsie hadn’t seen her in weeks. She was probably the one hero Keepsie could stomach.

  Of course, Pallas hadn’t caused all this damage.

  The heroes still battled the glowing girl, and it didn’t seem as if she was fighting back. They were high in the air, on the outskirts of town, away from the wreckage of the Academy. The Academy Keepsie had helped wreck.

  She shook her head slowly, and started walking toward it.

  The chaos got worse closer to the Academy. What had looked like simple mayhem on par with something Bugs Bunny would do was now turning into serious violence. A storefront burned brightly with no promising sirens in the distance. A woman lay on the hood of a car, blood caked and tacky around her, shattered glass indicating she’d been dropped. Her legs and neck bent at odd angles that made Keepsie lightheaded to look at, but she didn’t turn away.

  The drones still hovered in the sky above the Academy, diving in and out of the thick smoke that billowed from the formerly white building. More proof of their carnage littered the streets in the form of dead dogs, cars lying on their sides, and more burning buildings. The walk to the center of the city seemed shorter than usual, as walks usually did when one was about to face something unpleasant at the end.

  She stood in the middle of the street with her bar on her left and the Academy on the right. The eerie silence that had engulfed the previous blocks was now gone, replaced with the buzz of the drones.

  They surrounded the Academy, smaller ones rooting around inside, larger ones clearly guarding it. As she approached, they clacked toward her, raising their weapons. She backed off and they returned to their posts.

  She wondered if anyone had been trapped inside. She considered her options.

  She could run in there and die. She could go home and go to bed and let more innocent people die. Or she could go back down to her bar and talk to her friends. Peter would have an idea what to do, and Michelle would back him up, if she didn’t think the idea was stupid.

  * * * * *

  “They went where?”

  Tomas patiently repeated himself. “To rescue The Librarian, a hero you apparently encountered at the Academy.”

  “But why rescue a hero? Why not let the other heroes do it?”

  “The heroes are otherwise occupied. The villains seem to be gathering resources, and The Librarian holds the secrets of the heroes.”

  “Oh crap.”

  Tomas nodded.

  Barry brought Keepsie a soda. “You back with us, Keepsie?”

  Keepsie grinned at him, enjoying the paternal-like attention.

  “I’m OK. I could be better. We need some more reinforcements. Did Michelle manage to call anyone?”

  “I think she got through to Colette, who was going to try to find some other people. She said she’d be here soon. She’s bringing her car.”

  Keepsie took a deep breath. She had several doubts about her plan, especially considering her previous attempts at getting involved. She was an ant trying to meddle in the affairs of giants.

  She went to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips, and became aware of an increasing need for more food. She turned the knob on the grill and went back out to the bar.

  Underneath the counter was a Rolodex of emergency numbers; people Keepsie felt she could count on. She hadn’t been able to get to them yesterday, but now she felt more grounded with the numbers available.

  The first one she called was Wanda, the waitress with the perfect memory.

  “Wanda, it’s Keepsie Branson.”

  “Holy shit, Keepsie, bad time to talk to me about that job. Have you looked outside? The shit’s coming down,�
� came the deep, feminine voice on the other end.

  “Well, I’m not exactly calling about that job, Wanda,” Keepsie said patiently. “But I do need your help.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo, as long as it doesn’t require me to leave home. And where the hell are the heroes, I ask you?”

  Damn. “They’re fighting a big bad, Wanda. There’s shit going down everywhere. You can stay home. I just need to ask you some questions about some phone numbers and some powers.”

  Silence at the other end. Then Wanda said, “You know, kid, when you asked me to catalogue all of that stuff years ago, I thought you were just getting your kicks spying on your customers. I didn’t actually think you’d ever use it.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever need it, sorry to say,” Keepsie said, blushing a little. It had made her feel sneaky to keep track of everything she knew about her customers, but Wanda’s memory banks were infinite, as far as they could tell, and she didn’t mind loaning a bit of her space to Keepsie.

  “So what exactly do you need?” Wanda asked, her voice getting the waitress matteroffactness she used at work.

  “Names. Phone numbers. Powers. And anything you know about any Third Waves that I didn’t tell you.”

  “Right. OK. There’s you, Laura Keepsie Branson, who can’t have anything taken away from you. You place anyone who attacks your personal belongings in a full stasis mode, whatever that is, and anyone robbing something of yours that is not on your person is trapped with the offending extremity, usually an arm, held until you free them. Ian Smith, also known as Feculent Boy, who can shoot feces from his fists. Totally gross,” she added.

  Keepsie clamped her teeth together to avoid interrupting her. Wanda had her way of regurgitating information, and didn’t appreciate being interrupted even if her information was useless. Once she had gone through Keepsie’s closest friends, she started giving useful information, and Keepsie started to write.

  * * * * *

  Few people were game for venturing out, Keepsie discovered. Those she had talked with last night who decided not to help her were openly hostile. Coming across Alex’s name on the sheet, she tried his cell.

  The voice that answered was quick and whispered. “Hello? Who’s this?”

  “Hey Alex, it’s Keepsie,” she said. “I just wanted—”

  “Keepsie, where the hell are you?” he asked. He sounded terrified, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “I’m at the bar. Listen—”

  “Keepsie?” It was Peter this time. His voice was much more calm than Alex’s, but still hushed. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m at the bar. Did you find the Librarian yet?”

  “We’ve been captured by Clever Jack and Doodad. You have to tell the heroes that Seismic Stan is alive and with Clever Jack and Doodad.”

  “Oh my God, are you guys OK?” Keepsie asked, her heart pounding.

  “We are fine. They also have the Librarian. I believe they are torturing her into learning the heroes’ weaknesses so they will know how to best defeat them. You have to tell them, Keepsie, tell the heroes, tell them before—oh no,” his voice dropped in despair.

  “Wait, where are you guys? Where are they keeping you?”

  The phone went dead. “Peter! Peter! Dammit, Peter!”

  Tomas and Barry looked at her with concern.

  “Clever Jack and Doodad have Peter, Michelle and Alex,” she said in a wooden voice.

  There was something else Peter had said, but Keepsie couldn’t remember it.

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t get a chance to tell me, I guess Clever Jack found out they had a cell phone. What are we going to do?” she asked him, her voice shaking.

  “There’s not much we can do, not with Doodad’s drones watching us. If he and Clever Jack see us coming—”

  Shit. “Tomas, it’s not just the two of them. It’s Seismic Stan too. Peter said we have to tell the Academy.”

  Tomas stared at her, his face growing white.

  “We need to get out of here,” she said.

  He shook his head. “But Colette is on her way here.”

  Keepsie swore and ran past him and up the stairs to the street. A car drove down the cluttered street, and Keepsie saw Colette behind the wheel. She waved at her and turned to look east.

  A rumbling sound echoed over the buildings, and Keepsie stumbled. The glass in several storefronts cracked.

  “Inside, now!” Keepsie yelled to Colette, who climbed out of her brown sedan.

  Keepsie stood still for a moment, bracing herself on the railing, as her cook ran past her down the stairs. She then followed her.

  When she got into the bar, Barry and Tomas were white-faced and talking in low voices. They looked up when she walked in.

  “This is it,” she said, running behind the bar and rummaging in a toolbox. “Ian is a turncoat; Peter, Michelle and Alex are captured, the villain who makes Jack and Doodad look like Boy Scouts is alive, and no one else will help us.”

  She stood up, a short bat in her hand. She flipped through the Rolodex, grabbed a card that was outlined in black and handed it to Barry. “Call the Academy, let them know what’s coming and the information they’re likely to need. Barry, Jason, Colette, let’s, uh, arm ourselves, I guess.”

  “But the Academy is gone. That glowing girl blew it up,” Tomas said.

  “They have an answering service in case the phones go out,” Keepsie said. “They’re really efficient, if we take a moment to stop hating them.”

  Tomas returned to the phone with the card in hand and started dialing. Keepsie put the toolbox on the bar. Inside was an assortment of bludgeoning weapons from wrenches to short bats. Barry stared at her.

  “Would you prefer a knife? I think Colette can lower the ‘no one touches my knives’ rule for today,” Keepsie said. Colette nodded grimly, her blonde braid bobbing off her neck. “But this is what I have to keep the bar fights to a minimum.”

  “Keepsie, I’m fifty-five years old,” Barry said. “My dreams of fighting supervillains died about twenty-five years ago.”

  “Then why are you here?” she asked. “You, Tomas, and Colette are the only ones who showed up. Jason’s here by chance. I need someone to help. I need someone to have my back because I’m not sure I know what the hell I’m doing. I need someone who has planned his whole life to be a hero but the Academy decided otherwise. But if you are too old, then by all means, stay here. Of course, if Stan decides to get his revenge on the city, you’ll be in a basement in an earthquake with two stories of steel and stone above you.”

  Barry stared at her for a moment. Without moving his eyes from her face, he reached into the toolbox and pulled out a wrench. “I’m set.”

  “Good,” she said with a nod. “Tomas, there’s a bat in the back if you want. Colette, get yourself a knife.”

  Colette walked into the kitchen, her jaw set.

  Tomas slammed the phone down, causing Keepsie and Barry to jump. “The answering service will not believe me. They said the heroes are too busy keeping the city safe to start chasing ghosts. They will not listen!” He broke off into a string of Norwegian.

  Keepsie sighed. “Then it’s just us, then. Great.”

  Colette returned from the kitchen, her apron on and her chef’s knife tucked into the strings. “I’m not going. Someone has to hold down the fort.”

  Keepsie stared at her. “Did you hear us? Seismic Stan. Here. Earthquakes. Basement bar. Besides, you know best how to filet someone, we need you and your knife.”

  Keepsie expected Colette to go red with rage, but the color drained from her face. “So I’m dead if I stay, and I’m likely dead if I go.”

  Keepsie put her hand on her arm. “If you stay and die, you’ll be alone, and won’t help anyone. If you go and die, you’ll be with us, and you’ll have tried to help Peter.”

  Colette grunted. “Fine. We’ll take my car.”

  Her motley crew assembled, Keepsie took
a moment at the door to compose herself, then opened it.

  The street was deathly quiet. Keepsie wondered for a moment where the townspeople were; had they had evacuated or were they hiding in their homes? Another rumble sounded from far away and Keepsie staggered.

  They piled into the car and sat panting for a moment, Colette at the wheel.

  “So leader,” Colette asked, “where are we going?”

  Keepsie swallowed and pointed east. “Go that way. I hate to say it, but that’s where the rumbles were coming from, and wherever Stan is, is where Clever Jack and Doodad are. And wherever Clever Jack and Doodad are, that’s where the others are.”

  Colette nodded, and floored it.

  Keepsie turned around in her seat. The Academy still belched smoke from its innards, and Keepsie felt a shameful but true sense of satisfaction.

  Colette drove them away from the carnage, swerving in the road to avoid more of Doodad’s robots that tried to jump onto the car. The rumbling continued and Colette swerved again to avoid trashcans and displaced parked cars. The road started to split ahead of them, a black crack in the asphalt.

  “Oh, shit, Colette,” Barry said, bracing himself on the dash.

  “Hold on,” Colette said, her voice low and concentrated. “My suspension’s going to be shit after this.”

  She floored it and they bounced high as the car barreled over the broken road. The car gave a great groan and limped to a stop at the park. The rumbling stopped for the moment, and Colette turned in her seat, wincing as her she did so.

  “I’ll probably need a raise to pay for a new car,” she said.

  Keepsie took a deep breath, realizing she’d been holding it. “You’ve got it.”

  18

  Peter stared at the dropped cell phone, which had begun to short circuit against his face. He looked up and Doodad was glaring at him.

  “Where did you get that?” he asked.