Powerless (23 page)

“We’re in,” I tell him, and then words escape me.

We’d been too focused on the door itself to look inside, but now that we’re here, the holding area is not at all what I expected. I’d pictured something like a city jail, cells with steel bars and stainless toilets.

This is more like a hospital ward. The room is the size of a football field, with several rows of metal beds, tables really, running down the middle. The wall on one side is decorated with an array of hand and ankle cuffs hanging from the wall. The handcuffs are positioned about six feet off the ground and the ankle cuffs at least three feet apart. Anyone chained to the wall would be spread-eagle and helpless.

I don’t let myself imagine what this space would look like if it were at full capacity. Thankfully, today, the tables and the cuffs are all empty.

The other wall is a series of cells, like something out of a futuristic quarantine area. The doors are made of the same indestructible plastic as the one that deflected Nitro’s best weapon.

The guys take off, looking for prisoners. The first few cells are vacant, and as clean and sterile as the rest of the room. The fifth cell down is occupied. Not by Deacon, but by an older woman, probably my mom’s age, with fiery red hair.

She jumps to her feet and pounds on the door. It looks like she’s shouting at the top of her lungs, but the door is soundproof. I try to tell her that we’ll be back. From the frantic look she’s giving me, I’m not sure she understands.

I pass more unoccupied cells, then reach one that contains a young boy, no more than seven or eight, who is huddled in the corner, “Jeremy, we need to get these cells open now.”

“I can’t,” he replies.

“Not good enough,” Draven growls. “Try harder.”

“It’s not a matter of trying harder,” Jeremy explains. “There’s no external access. It’s a completely closed system. The release mechanism must be somewhere down there.”

“What am I looking for?” I ask.

“It could be any kind of panel,” he begins. “Keypad, card reader, biometric—oh shit. They’re in. I’ll meet you guys down there.”

I wince at the sound of an explosion and shouting, followed by Jeremy panting as he presumably flees the security room.

Dante has pulled ahead of Draven and Nitro. About halfway down the room he yells.

“Deacon!” He pounds against the glass.

The guys are at his side in a flash. I force myself to remain calm, to think clearly.
Work
the
problem, Kenna.

I start looking for the access panel. Something, anything that looks like it might make these doors open. As I loop back to the first occupied cell, the redheaded woman gestures wildly. She’s pointing between her cell and the next. I move closer to examine the wall. There is an area, about four inches square, that has a more iridescent quality than the rest of the plastic.

I glance at the woman and she nods vigorously. She forms a rectangle with her fingers. A rectangle the size of a security badge.

I fumble in my pocket to pull out the stolen badge and then swipe it over the iridescent area. The whole front wall of her cell slides up.

“I’ve got it!” I shout. I turn to the woman. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she insists, waving me away. “Go. Open the rest.”

I run, flicking the badge over the scanners on each cell, the woman following fast on my heels. When I pass a cell with a small, limp body collapsed on the floor, the woman steps inside. I keep going.

Seven occupied cells in all, and Deacon’s is the last. The guys are still beating on the door when I swipe the card. I’m overcome with emotion—pride, relief, joy—as Dante drops to his knees and cradles the moaning Deacon in his arms. Draven gives me a tight nod. No matter what happens from here on out, at least the twins have been reunited. At least we’ve done that much.

The rest of the cells are empty, and we’ve all congregated around Deacon when Jeremy bursts into the room.

“Half the hero army is on my ass!” he yells, waving a tablet he swiped from the security office. “They were hiding themselves, just like we were, so I wouldn’t know they were here. They must have known we were coming. We’ve got maybe sixty seconds before we’re trapped.”

I look wildly around the room. There is no other way out. If they catch us in here, we’re never leaving.

I turn from Jeremy to face the rest of the team. Dante has Deacon cradled in his arms. He’s as close to lifeless as a living person can be. Draven is holding the young boy, Nitro is struggling to keep a massive villain upright, and the red-haired woman is carrying another unconscious prisoner—a girl about my age, with dark hair and ivory skin. The other two villains look pretty rough, but they’re upright.

We don’t have many options. This little parade won’t be able to move quickly. Certainly not fast enough to stay ahead of an entire hero army.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice. “Jeremy is going to lead everyone out in the most direct path possible.”

“That’s crazy,” he says to me, pointing at the diagram on his stolen tablet. “There are dozens of soldiers between us and the exit.”

“I’ll take care of them.”

“No.” Draven closes the distance between us.

“It’s the only way,” I insist. “I’ll draw the heroes away so you can get everyone to safety.”

He shakes his head.

“They won’t hurt me.” At least I hope they won’t. “I’ll be fine. And you’ll be free to rescue Rebel and keep looking for my mom.”

Without a word, Draven walks over to Jeremy and hands him the terrified child. While Jeremy struggles to hold on to both the tablet and the kid, Draven exchanges a look with Nitro. Nitro nods in return.

“I can’t let you do that, Kenna,” Draven says, turning back to me. “If they’re going to have a chance at finding Rebel and your mom, at taking down the whole corrupt system, you and your power will be way more useful than mine.”

My eyes sting, both with fear and pride. I’ve never been so important before, so valued. And I’ve never been put first. Ever.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He steps close again and presses his palms to my cheeks. “There isn’t time to argue. I’m going to create the biggest distraction they’ve ever seen. And you’re going to scramble the cameras and walk this crew right out the front door.”

I shake my head, wanting to find some other way to get us
all
out safely. But I’ve got nothing.

His lips brush against mine for the briefest second and then he races for the hall. We crowd into the doorway, listening to the echo of his voice as he sings at the top of his lungs.

“We’ve got to go,” Jeremy says, holding the tablet up where he can see the screen. “They’re heading for Draven, but as soon as they realize he’s alone—”

“They’ll come for us,” I finish. I take the boy from Jeremy’s arms. Then I draw in a deep breath and focus a sphere of electromagnetic energy around us that will deflect the sensors but still allow Jeremy to access the plans on the tablet. It’s amazing how quickly I’m getting used to this power. How…
natural
it feels. “Let’s move.”

Jeremy takes the lead. I nudge Dante and Deacon out behind him, followed by the other villain prisoners. Nitro’s next and I bring up the rear. We’ve worked hard to get this far. I’m not leaving anyone behind.

Draven’s voice, still transmitting over Jeremy’s communications system, echoes in my ear. He’s singing, shouting really. Banging on walls. Anything that will draw hero attention onto him.

Then, all of a sudden, he stops.

My heart stutters.

The sounds of soldiers shouting and some kind of scuffle carries though my earpiece. Then Draven’s voice again, this time full of mockery and loathing.

“Well, well, well,” he taunts, “if it isn’t the king of the superheroes himself.”

I gasp. This won’t end well.

“Have you located the others?” Mr. Malone booms.

“No, sir,” a young man’s voice responds. “They aren’t showing up on any of our scans.”

Because of me. I’m keeping us off the radar. As much as I want to help Draven, he would never forgive me if we
all
ended up prisoners.

“Silly villain,” Mr. Malone says so clearly it’s almost as if he’s speaking directly into my ear. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

“Did you really think we would just blindly walk into your trap?” Draven throws back.

I can practically see the arrogant smile on Mr. Malone’s face. “It looks like you did.”

“We’re almost there,” Jeremy says. “Just a few more turns.”

I’m not sure if he says it for us or for Draven.

“If I inherited one thing from my father,” Draven says, his voice taking on a cryptic tone, “it’s the art of misdirection. Make a big fuss over here, and no one will notice what’s going on right under their own noses.”

Mr. Malone scoffs. “Is your father a magician?”

“No,” Draven replies with such sickly sweetness that it makes my stomach lurch, “he’s the President of the Superhero League.”

I stumble and nearly face-plant into the concrete floor. Only a supreme feat of recovery keeps me from squishing the boy in my arms between me and the concrete.

Mr. Malone? Mr. Malone is Draven’s father?

My mind races as I think back over the past few days, trying to put the pieces together. They fit amazingly well. Draven’s icy-blue eyes that look so much like Rebel’s. Like Riley’s. Like Mr. Malone’s. His second power that had to come from a hero parent. His seething resentment when we were interrogating the “golden heir,” Riley.

The affection he has for Rebel. I thought it was only because she was Dante’s girlfriend, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s because she’s his half sister.

If Mr. Malone’s stuttering reaction is any indication, he is just as stunned to learn that Draven—a villain—is his son. Well,
half
villain.

Wow. Just wow.

Once again, Draven is right. This is pretty much the biggest distraction ever. There’s no time to process all of this as we round the corner, racing the last stretch of hall to the main door.

A line of guards is stationed at the entrance, weapons drawn and pointed at us. Before they can even take aim, Nitro sends a wall of fire at them so fast that they scramble to get out of the way.

Despite having his arms full, Dante somehow manages to whip up some wind to push the line of fire away, keeping the guards at bay while we run through.

We race past the fence and up the hill to where our stolen ride is waiting.

“We’re out!” Nitro shouts as he pushes the big villain up the hill in front of him. “We’re clear.”

The way he says it, Nitro sounds as if he’s giving a signal. I turn to ask what’s going on, when Draven shouts, “Now, Quake! Now!”

The ground starts to rumble. It feels like we’re standing on the edge of an erupting volcano. With the small villain boy clutched in my arms, I look around wildly. Quake, Nitro’s bigger, badder brother, stands at the cliff overlooking the bunker about a hundred yards from the SUV. With his hands spread wide and his massive muscles bulging. He looks like The Incredible Hulk trying to levitate a building. Except what he’s doing is much harder. He’s actually leveling a mountain.

“No!” I set the boy down and start to race back to Draven.

I don’t get more than five steps before I collide with a solid wall of wind.

“Let me go!” I scream at Dante.

But he doesn’t let up. And it’s too late. I stare, helpless—more powerless than I have ever felt in my life—as the mountain crumbles. A geyser of dust and rubble shoots out through the opening to the bunker. Then everything is quiet.

There is nothing left but a pile of boulders.

“Nooooo!” I wail helplessly.

I drop to my knees, put my head in my hands. My mind can’t form coherent thoughts.
Draven. Trapped. Crushed. Dead?

This was his plan all along. His hushed phone call was to Quake; the look he exchanged with Nitro was a promise. He knew it would come to this, and he was willing to give himself up so we could escape.

I’m caught between sobbing and shouting.
How
could
he
do
this? How could he do this?

A moment later, a
lifetime
later, I feel hands on my shoulders.

“Kenna,” Dante says, his voice just sympathetic enough to piss me off, “we need to go.”

“Don’t.” I shrug off his hands. “You knew.”

He doesn’t deny it. “Hero reinforcements will be here soon,” he says, half pushing, half carrying me to the car. “We can’t be here when they arrive.”

This must be what shock feels like. I’m numb. In the SUV, someone buckles my seat belt. Someone else starts the engine.

We speed away, leaving behind the one person who made me feel powerful. Leaving behind a piece of my heart, crushed beneath a mountain.

Two
days
later

At this altitude, even in the heart of summer, I have to bundle up to go outside and gather wood for the fireplace. The abandoned cabin we found high in the mountains between Boulder and the Wyoming border isn’t just off the grid, it’s practically nonexistent. No power, no heat, and only icy well water running in the plumbing.

I thought Jeremy was going to have a heart attack when he found out there was no Internet. But with a few mini solar panels—what
doesn’t
he have in that damn backpack?—and something he calls a signal replicator, he’s connected enough to keep tabs on the situation.

I dump my armful of wood at the base of the porch steps to chop later, carrying a few pieces inside.

When I walk back into the cabin, everyone is gathered around Jeremy at the dining table. He’s holding the tablet he swiped from the security office at the bunker.

“Kenna, you need to see this.” He attaches something to the tablet and points it at the wall, and then the wall lights up with the projection of a newscast by XSHN, the superhero news network.

The newscaster is on location at the entrance to the bunker, or as the caption at the bottom calls it, ESH Lab Beta Campus. Though large boulders are strewn around, a hole has been dug out of the rubble. And standing there on top of the pile, like a miner rescued from a cave-in, is Mr. Malone. He looks as perfectly pressed as always. As if nothing had happened. As if a mountain hadn’t literally crumbled around him.

Draven stands at his right. My heart practically leaps out of my chest to see him there, alive. Unhurt. But definitely not safe.

His head is encased in a powers-neutralizing helmet—technology I didn’t realize they’d actually perfected. Titanium manacles encircle his wrists and ankles. The crawl at the bottom of the screen announces the capture of one of the most dangerous villains in the super world.

I brace myself on the table to remain upright as the newscaster’s voice echoes in the small cabin.

“The villain infiltrator was brought in by none other than Rebel Malone, daughter of League President Rex Malone.”

“What?” I gasp.

Beside me, Riley’s jaw drops. “Rebel did that?”

The camera pans to Mr. Malone’s left. Standing there in a floral sundress and minimal makeup is Rebel. Only she doesn’t look like the Rebel I know. She looks like the daughter Mr. Malone always wanted. A robot. Her eyes are blank, her face carefully neutral, and her spikey blond hair has been washed and styled like she’s trying for a beauty pageant. It is all kinds of messed up.

“We all have my daughter to thank,” Mr. Malone says, clapping a hand on Rebel’s shoulder, the model of a proud father.

The fact that she doesn’t flinch is proof enough that something is way, way wrong.

“What happened to her?” Riley asks.

Dante slides him an angry glare. “Your father happened.”

Mr. Malone continues, “Rebel single-handedly infiltrated the band of traitors, led by this monster here. Those traitors are responsible for the deaths of heroes and villains alike, as well as numerous terrorist acts that have been kept secret for reasons of superhero security.”

Dante slams his hand on the table. “Bullshit.”

“That’s crazy,” I agree. “No way Rebel was working for her dad.”

Mr. Malone looks so grossly proud. “Due to the heinous nature of this villain’s crimes, I am personally calling for a speedy trial and execution.”

I clap a hand over my mouth to hold back the nausea that washes through me.
Execution? He wants to execute Draven? Even knowing he’s his son?

The broadcast cuts back to the newscaster and Jeremy turns down the volume. For several minutes, we all just sit there, staring at the projection of the pretty, dark-haired newscaster.

After everything I’ve been through in the past week, Mr. Malone spouting lies about Draven and Rebel is too much.

My blood boils at the thought of him distorting the truth about two people who acted so selflessly to free villains from the heroes’ vile and illegal experiments. The. Last. Straw.

Over the last week, I’ve learned a lot about myself. I’ve learned a lot about the world I thought I knew so well. Heroes can be evil. Villains can be good. Draven has shown me that more than anything else. And if that’s true, that bad guys can do good things, then it’s time to show the hypocritical heroes that the opposite is also true. With the right motivation, a good girl can do a bad thing. A lot of bad things. Especially if she has a little villain blood in her veins.

I stare at the video projection, focusing all my fury and disgust on the pixelated version of Mr. Malone. “We’re going to take them down,” I say. I turn back to the group gathered around the table. “We’re going to find my mom. Free Draven. Get Rebel. And bring the heroes to their knees. Every last one of them.”