Authors: Ben Bequer
They didn’t know what they were facing with me, so he’d bring his entire team to bear, and call for friendly reinforcements. Once I got spotted, they would drop their entire arsenal on me, and I would wake up in a cell for supers, never to be heard of again.
“Please don’t do anything stupid,” she said, watching me closely.
“Huh?”
“I can see you getting all worked up.”
I gave her a bewildered look, still lost in the thought of a line of supers waiting for me but I couldn’t even respond. A state trooper stood outside our window as we drove by, waving the cars along. He wore an orange vest and motioned us past with a flashlight.
It was peculiar, because he was vulnerable, standing all alone a few hundred feet from the vehicles. I looked ahead and another trooper stood maybe half the distance to the eventual roadblock. They weren’t even looking inside the vehicles, trying to identify the occupants.
It made no sense, why use the troopers to weed out traffic? If they knew I was here, they had to know state troopers alone couldn’t stop me. Not a hundred of them. To have them out here, defenseless against a Class-A super was careless.
It should be one of the flyers Atmo, FTL or Gamma Demon, perusing the cars for me. Once they spotted me they could call in for Epic and Superdynamic to put me down.
I flipped the wipers on to clear the windshield and saw the line of cars ahead turning off the road into the depressed median, and continuing across the divider. More troopers waving flashlights routed us to the detour. Our row of cars now drove up onto the right lane of the other side, while oncoming traffic was diverted to their left lane of a two lane road. A long row of flares stood in the path we had left, and ahead was the true reason for the roadblock; a horrible accident involving a minivan and an 18-wheeled tanker truck.
The rain was coming down harder and I left the wipers going. I sat back, more relaxed. Apogee’s attention was on the mangled cars lying on the opposite side of the road against a fence. Surrounding the wreck were several emergency trucks, two fire engines, and at least twenty state trooper and local police cars, as well as a dozen or so other vehicles. Above us, a helicopter was on final approach to land a few hundred feet beyond the accident.
“Hold on a second,” Apogee said and lowered her window, motioning for one of the troopers managing traffic.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Mam, please move along,” the trooper said, perturbed.
“Look, I can help.”
He smirked. The trooper was probably a shade over fifty, with a thick gray hair and a bushy mustache, with slits for eyes. “Help by moving your car, miss. And hurry, they’re going to close down the interstate any minute now.”
Apogee was looking at the accident, almost ignoring the trooper.
“Is someone trapped inside the minivan?”
“Miss, you’re holding up traffic.”
“Officer Donovan,” she said, reading his name tag. “Please answer me.”
She was forceful, but respectful, and using his name got past his defenses.
“There’s a mother and three children under there,” he said, almost exasperated. “But we have a crane on the way and we’re going to get them out. Now mam, please, can you and your husband move on? You’re holding up traffic. Sir?” Officer Donovan added and pointed the flashlight at me
I flinched and accelerated, intent on leaving the scene as soon as possible. They weren’t here for us. We were safe.
“Pull over,” she told me once we rejoined the line of creeping cars.
I blinked at her.
“I said pull over,” Apogee commanded.
“Fuck that,” I snapped, and looked forward, but there was nowhere for me to go. The car in front wasn’t moving.
“Blackjack, please.”
My mind raced at all the possibilities. Maybe the Superb Seven were hiding behind that truck, waiting for me, hoping to draw me away from bystanders. Or perhaps they were in the chopper that was moments away from touching down.
“I have to help,” she said, and in her eyes I saw no deception.
I turned off and parked the car on the side of the road. It immediately drew the ire of Trooper Donovan, who I could see in the rear view mirror, running in our direction.
Apogee got out of the car and took a few steps towards the accident, but stopped. She paused for a few seconds then returned to the car, as the trooper reached us.
“I need you to come with me,” she said.
“Hey!” Donovan shouted as he came near. “I’m not kidding goddammit. This isn’t a time for sightseeing. Get back in your damned car and move on. I’m only going to warn you this once.”
“This is crazy, Apogee,” I said, ignoring the trooper. “I can’t be here.”
“One second,” she snapped at the cop, and then back at me. “I can’t go without you, ok? I can’t.”
“Ok, both of you are gonna spend the night in jail,” trooper Donovan said, pulling out his handcuffs.
“Please,” Apogee repeated, and again I found myself helpless against her. And here I thought she was the one under some sort of mind control.
As I got out of the car, she turned to the trooper and said, “Officer Donovan I am Apogee. The super heroine. This is my associate. We’re here to help.”
* * *
I don’t know what it was that made him instantly believe her, because I know he didn’t recognize her face and she wasn’t in her costume. But there was something about her posture, about the way she thrust herself forward, eager to go towards the accident when everyone else was content to rubberneck or move past. And then she had the stance, with her arms cocked and fists buried into her hips, so confident and intense that you could almost imagine her in uniform, ready for action.
“I see,” Donovan stammered, also a bit put off by how big I was, coming around the car in his direction.
“Follow me,” he said and led us across the divider towards the accident.
I shadowed Apogee and trooper Donovan, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. But it was only a matter of time until someone put it all together.
I had ripped my cowl off prior to the New York fight, and with all the cameras, my face was now known to the world. I’m sure Braxton had now spread the word that I had ‘kidnapped Apogee’ among all law enforcement. It was a miracle that Donovan didn’t recognize me when Apogee had introduced herself. I suppose it was late, and he was too preoccupied with the rescue efforts to refuse Apogee’s help, or to even consider her kidnapped or missing. Did super villains show up at an emergency scene to help out?
But I was still afraid of what would happen when they realized who I was.
Behind us, the helicopter’s engines roared to slow the hovering descent, and the skids touched down. Instead of a crack team of super heroes, a group of doctors and nurses jumped out and headed towards the crash. At least I didn’t have that to worry about.
The wreck was worse than I had imagined. A burgundy minivan lay upside down on the side of the road, and the tanker truck was draped atop of it, crushing it down into the mud. There seemed to be no way someone could have survived the crash. The truck’s cab was crumpled on the far side. The rear of the trailer had slammed into the back of the cab and it was likely the truck driver was also dead.
“Who is this, officer Donovan?” A plainclothes officer asked as we approached.
“She says she’s Apogee, Tim.”
Though he was much younger, Tim looked to be in charge.
“Is that a fact?”
I stepped forward, watching two officers talking to the survivors trapped inside the minivan. There was a child’s hand sticking out of the sliver that remained of a window and one of the officers, a young woman, held the little fingers trying to give some sort of reassurance. The driver and passenger’s side roof was crushed down, almost to the headrests, but also buried into the ground by the force of the impact, so I couldn’t see anyone there.
“I am,” Apogee said, moving past the officer in charge and me, and strolling down to the actual crash. “How many people in there?” she asked.
“Five,” Tim said. “A man and his wife, and their three girls.”
“God…”
“The husband’s either unconscious or dead and the wife has a broken leg. But at least she’s talking.”
At hearing the commotion so close to their car, the girl who’s had protruded from the car began to cry, and we could all hear more frantic calls from inside.
“And the girls?” I asked.
“They’re conscious,” Tim answered. “Bumps and bruises, I think.”
“What happened?” I prodded.
Donovan stepped forward, apparently one of the first responders. “It looks like the driver of the minivan either fell asleep or had a problem, because he stopped the car in the middle of the interstate. The truck came along and hit the brakes real hard.” He pointed at a long fresh tire skid illuminated by dozens of road flares.
“Thought those guys were taught to never hit the brakes when someone got in front of them,” I wondered aloud. “You know because the trailer submarines into the cab and kills the driver.”
Tim nodded wearily, looking up at the falling rain.
“Guess that’s what happened. He saved those girls though.”
“What’s the trailer hauling?” Apogee asked.
“Potable water,” Donovan said.
“What are you going to do?”
Apogee studied the crash for a moment.
“If I can lift the tanker,” she started, “Perhaps you can get those people out. Water you said?”
Tim didn’t know what to say, he looked at me, and at a few of the other officers that were gathering around. Word was spreading that a super was on the scene.
“Tim, can we clear the area?” the newly arrived doctors said, shaking the officer’s hand and motioning to the crowd that was gathering.
“Hang on, Walt. We got a super here that’s gonna get that truck off the minivan.” Tim said, pointing at Apogee.
She turned back and saw the doctor.
“I’ll have these people out of here in a moment. Get your teams ready.”
And she went to work.
Apogee figured that the best way to get the tanker trailer off the van was to lift from the rear, and toss it aside. She strolled down into the mud and got a good handhold and strained, lifting as far as she could. The trailer came up as far as her reach, drawing some shocked gasps from the crowd. But she didn’t have a sufficient base to lift the heavy trailer. As she bore more and more of the weight, it buried her feet into the mud. The truck’s top railing was still wedged against the minivan’s twisted under carriage. Screams of excitement and roars of adulation grew as she raised the many tons, but they died down when she was forced to lower the trailer again.
I couldn’t bear to see the helpless shame and frustration in her face, so I decided to help her.
“Do that again,” I said, bounding down towards the minivan. She lifted again, and I wedged myself beneath the trailer, behind the upside down car. I got the best handhold I could and put all my strength to bear, ripping the tanker off the minivan.
“Ok, let’s toss it away from the road,” Apogee said.
I heaved the tanker twenty paces away from the minivan the crowd cheered, amazed at what they had witnessed. Apogee hauled herself out of the mud and came towards me. “Get back away from the door,” she said to the girls inside and ripped the door off.
She stepped aside as the emergency personnel moved and took the girls out one by one in blankets towards the helicopter. A woman then crawled out, still in shock, and was led away from the crash.
Though there was a throng of EMTs and cops between me and her, I heard the woman lamenting that her husband had suffered a heart attack, and didn’t survive the crash.
Apogee stood in the middle of it all, shaking the hands of every officer, paramedic and bystander that wasn’t immediately attending to the injured girls and woman. It wasn’t too hard to imagine her in uniform, patrolling the city, protecting the innocent and helping the weak. She was bashful; almost embarrassed by all the attention, but you could tell she dug it. She enjoyed the feeling of being helpful, of being important to the lives of others.
I let her savor the moment and walked over to the truck’s demolished cab. A state trooper and an EMT stood around it, peering through gaps with flashlights, but they didn’t look immediately concerned. After all, the driver was dead.
“I can get that open for you,” I said motioning for them to step back. I ripped off a huge chunk of mangled fiberglass and aluminum, revealing the bloodied body of the driver. After bending a few pieces of metal to free his body, he slipped down towards me, and I caught him before he fell to the floor.
And I couldn’t help but hold the man.
He was a young guy, no older than Cool Hand, and as thin, wearing a blood-stained flannel shirt and sporting a week old beard growth. I could imagine him driving down the road, listening to his favorite music, when suddenly he spotted the car stopped in front of him. Maybe he had seen the van earlier, seen the girls sleeping in the back, illuminated by the lights placed high on the cab. The driver was in his twenties, his future all ahead of him, but something made him go against all his training, a decision that would cost him his life; and save the lives of three children and their mother.