Read Better to Die a Hero Online
Authors: Michael Van Dagger
Bryan retaliated with a right cross to the girls head sending her sprawling to the rain-pelted roof. He snatched her up by one arm and began spinning like an Olympic athlete competing in the hammer toss. After a half-dozen rotations, he let go of the petite girl sending her cart wheeling far out, off the tall building.
“That was cool,” he said, and then a sensation burned through his side, accompanied by a gushing sound. He looked down to see the betrayer’s sword sticking out his front. The blade withdrew to the same gushing sound.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Steve said. He held out the sword and began circling.
The rain and the wind picked up; Steve jabbed at the things chest then pulled back. He jabbed a second time and a third, but Troll dodged each with ease. He lunged and the tip drew blood. Over extended and off balance, his withdrawal was slow and the monster grabbed the blade.
“Screw you!” Steve jerked the sword back opening a gash on the monster’s palm.
Troll turned and leaped, but instead of flying three stories in the air, he flew ten feet then rolled across the roof holding his side. Steve charged swinging the sword at his downed opponent. Troll rolled and scooted frantically evading the sharp steel. The monster managed to get to his feet and continued running from the slicing metal.
Steve’s head throbbed from the beating he’d taken and with each step came an explosion of pain. Rings of lights popped and flashed in front of him. “Hold still, damn it.” He threw the sword.
The blade skewered Troll’s thick thigh. Faster than the normal eye could follow, Troll snatched it from his wound sending it spinning through the pouring rain.
Steve watched the weapon fly up and away. Even over the downpour, it whistled as it cut through the air and stuck high on the water tower with a muffled twang.
“Oh crap,” he whispered. Steve stared at the thing’s baldhead and thought it odd how the rain bounced off creating an illusion of a cap made of splash.
The two charged swinging at each other like boys on a playground. Each head hunting with wild punches looking for a knockout. The flashes of lights playing out in Steve vision intensified and without warning, he vomited. A punch landed on his neck and he fell to one knee. Two fast strikes to the head put him on his back. He looked upward unable to move and a foot stomped down on his stomach. The beast that was once his friend reached down picking him up by the throat. It raised him over head and heaved him into the beams of the water tower. The impact on the beams and subsequent slide downward didn’t hurt as much as it should. Steve didn’t know whether to be grateful or terrified.
Long bare feet stepped passed and started up the ladder. The rain halted turning into a drizzle. Steve rolled to his back and watched his friend climb. Bryan hobbled up slowly one hand clutching his midsection, the other gripping the rails. At the end of the ladder, he reached out, grabbed the sword and jerked it free.
A bolt of lightning cracked down slamming into Bryan; the entire rooftop lit up. Steve protected his eyes from the intense illumination. He opened his eyes and stared up at the tower but could see nothing, not even the tower. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, the darkness gave way to shapes and objects, and the tower was there again—minus Bryan.
He surveyed the darkness and spotted two large feet laying not ten feet from his location. Head still throbbing he crawled to his friend. A scorched cavity the size of a nickel appeared on Bryan’s ankle and a thin line of smoke twisted upward from the hole. Steve crawled up next to his friend. Bryan’s chest was motionless, his face still like stone. A thicker line of smoke trailed upward at the shoulder. Steve placed a forearm on the massive chest and pulled himself up. Bryan’s mouth fell open and a plume of smoke escaped.
Bryan’s chest then heaved and his eyes opened. He sat up and Steve rolled off. Bryan’s hand darted out and grabbed Steve by the throat. Instantaneously the teenager’s oxygen was gone. Panicked, he struck at the muscular arm to no avail. The familiar rings and flashes of lights flooded over him. A loud thwack interrupted the light show, the strong hand let go, and Steve took a deep breath. He coughed and rubbed his throat. The swords blade was buried deep in Bryan’s skull, all the way to the bridge of the nose. Nora stood behind the brute. She let the sword go. Bryan’s body fell to the side; she dropped to her knees.
“I’m sorry.” She wept while cradling her arm.
Steve saw that her shoulder was dislocated. He wanted to go to her, to put his arms around her and comfort her, but now was not the time. He needed to finish the job. The Troll’s identity had to remain a mystery. He would do what needed to be done and then drop Nora off at a hospital. The teenager pushed through the pain and got to his feet. On shaky legs, he roamed the rooftop until he found the long canvas coat. He drug Bryan’s mutated body away from Nora and laid the coat out beside it. He didn’t have the luxury of time. He pulled the sword from his friend’s skull and without hesitation brought it down hard across the neck. He placed the severed head onto the coat with great care. He repeated the process on both hands and feet and tied the coat around the appendages.
“Bryan,” Steve said, looking up at the storm clouds, “a guy couldn’t have had a better friend.”
BETTER TO DIE A HERO
Epilogue
T
hat winter:
Steve navigated his uncle’s Oldsmobile sedan through the snow staying in the tire tracks of a previous driver brave enough to drive to Harlem River after a night of record snowfall. Nora had suggested the south Bronx location as a meeting place. She had cousins that worked in the area and she knew it would be deserted on a Sunday morning.
If the tracks he followed belonged to Nora’s vehicle, she was indeed the braver. The snow was getting deeper and he stopped and turned off the ignition. He paused to stare at the sword on the passenger seat.
He grabbed the sword and stepped out into the snow, locked up and walked down the road. Tires were spinning just around the corner. Someone was gunning an engine.
Excitement built as he rounded the corner. He hadn’t seen her beautiful face in over six months. He was disappointed to find a young couple, their car stuck in the snow. The girl was behind the wheel and the boy behind the car pushing. At least he knew why they had ventured to the secluded spot. Hormones. He’d have done the same if it meant a chance to make out with Nora.
“Need some help there?” Steve said to the boy.
The boy straightened and his graze went straight to the sword Steve was holding.
“Don’t freak,” Steve said. He turned and tossed the sheathed sword a good twenty feet. It speared the snow and stuck up straight.
“Good deal,” the boy said, “for a second I was having visions of Son of Sam.”
Steve placed himself behind the car. “No dogs talking into my ears.”
“Good deal, my grandmother was so frightened of David Berkowitz she had nightmares for years after. She used to scare the bajeezes out of us kids. Now she has nightmares about the Troll.”
“Her and me both.” Steve planted his feet and placed his hands on the car.
“Punch it baby,” the boy yelled to his girlfriend. The two of them pushed and the car moved forward. “Keep it going baby.” The boy ran to the passenger side and climbed in while the car was moving. He stuck his head out the window and hollered at Steve, “Thanks dude.”
Steve waved as he stomped to where he’d thrown the sword. He picked it out of the snow and started to unsheathe it, but quickly pushed the hilt back in. He hadn’t taken the sword from its scabbard since that night for fear that the rain hadn’t washed away Bryan’s blood and he didn’t think he could bare the sight of it—not yet anyway.
“Hey you,” Nora said from behind.
Steve turned. She was as beautiful as ever and he smiled. “Where’d you park?”
“Right behind you.” She walked up to him, put her arms around him, and hugged him vigorously. “So, you kept the weight off.”
“I work out almost every day and watch what I eat,” he said, “not that I have much of an appetite these days.”
“How’s your uncle?”
“Uh, I didn’t email you because it wasn’t an emergency and we said only in an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“George died two months ago.”
“Oh, no. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine now, but it was tough at first. Mrs. Sahbiny and a couple of my uncle’s friends help me with the arrangements. I’d have never been able to do it on my own.”
“You should have called me. We could have talked.” Nora slipped her hands through Steve’s coat and embraced him.
He said, “I wanted to call you several times, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It wasn’t an emergency and I may have started crying. I didn’t want to break down on the phone.”
“You big dummy, you should have called me.”
“I almost did one day, but then somehow his body got lost on the way to the crematorium and I was too stressed to call.”
“You poor guy. Enough time has gone by, I think our secret is safe and we’re out of danger, so you can call me and email me anytime you feel like it. The nightmare is over. You do believe it’s over, right?”
“Yes,” Steve said, “only one last thing to do.” He put his free arm around Nora and they walked to the river’s edge. The sword was heavy in his hand. “Do you want to do it?”
“No, he was your best friend. You should do it.”
“We’ll split it up. You throw the scabbard.” Steve brought the sword up, one hand on the hilt and one hand on the scabbard. He pulled the sword free—slowly, respectfully. There was blood, dry and dark, smeared about in a pattern of swirls, beaten and shaped by the storm that night. He handed the scabbard to Nora.
She stepped away and cocked her arm. “Bryan, you were the coolest.” She threw it as hard as she could into the river.
Steve stepped several paces to the left. “Buddy, you know how I feel.” He took two practice sweeps and hurled the sword on the third. It spun in the air far out into the Harlem River.
Nora said, “Now it’s over.”
“There’s one more thing,” Steve said. He dug into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Remember this?” He held out the antique paper with the Chinese characters written on it.
“Is that the recipe?” She asked.
“I don’t know. It’s the paper that was in the bottle. When you brought the powder back from your Grandfathers, I assumed the paper identified it as rhino horn. It never occurred to me that it was a formula or recipe. It was under my bed for months. Did your grandfather say it was the recipe?”
“I don’t remember. You may be holding the secret to the powder in your hands. What are you going to do with it?”
Steve placed the paper back in his wallet. “Bryan would want me to hang on to it. Who knows what miracles of science and medicine it holds. It could lead to a cure for cancer.”
“Any thoughts about making more and powering up?”
“I’m not even tempted. I like my hair too much and even if there were no side effects, I still wouldn’t be tempted. What’s the point of getting that strong?”
“There is no point.” Nora hooked Steve’s arm and they started back to where they’d parked. “Like you and Bryan said, there are no super villains.”
Steve nodded. “No such thing as super villains.”
BETTER TO DIE A HERO
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BETTER TO DIE A HERO
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Van Dagger writes out of
Seattle
Washington.
Please leave a comment at
www.twitter.com/mvandagger
or a review at www.amazon.com.
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