The OK Team 2 (20 page)

CHAPTER 21
THE KNIGHT-HOOD PACT

A
ll around us the trees in the orchard are silent and still, but menacing for as long as the Bushranger remains free to control them. Swoop Swoop, Morphul and Blink squirm around helplessly at the feet of The Gamer, Torch, Cannonball and Tomorrow Girl.

‘Don't even think about wiggling out of those ropes,' says The Gamer. ‘I've spent a whole level winning bonus knotting skills. You're not going anywhere.'

Meanwhile, Logi-Gal is trying to talk me out of the final showdown.

‘This is foolish, Focus. You don't have to fight him solo. Who cares what some dusty old Pact in Gotham decrees? You're going to get yourself killed for a Pact you didn't even have to sign? It's completely illogical.'

‘Of course I have to do it,' I say. ‘If Golden Boy or somebody steps in, I'm de-caped.'

‘And that's worse than being dead?' Logi-Gal asks, hands on hips.

‘In a way, yeah,' I say. She has no idea how becoming a Superhero has changed my life. I can't imagine existence as a non-Hero now I've had a taste of it.

Cyclone Tracy steps forward. ‘We're coming too, Focus. But only as observers. We can step in if we believe you're life is in danger, but if we have to save you, you'll be deemed to have lost the Pact.'

‘It won't happen,' I say and my visibility is surprisingly good given I may be moments from serious bodily harm or worse. ‘Let's get this over with.'

Switchy gives me the thumbs up. I exchange nods with Cannonball and Torch, give The Gamer a grin that hopefully looks braver than I feel. I don't look at Logi-Gal as I leave. I know she'll be frowning and shaking her head.

Switchy becomes a giant video camcorder to record the fight, presumably for Hero HQ, while Cyclone Tracy walks quietly off to one side, the breeze rising slightly as she moves. Cannonball and Tomorrow Girl follow behind. Tomorrow Girl is humming softly,
‘G
rl-Stars That's who we are . . .'

I walk into the orchard, between two rows of hulking trees, bearing oranges, or maybe mandarins. I skirt around a little wooden shed and step into a large clearing. My full attention is on the fruit, keeping an eye out for movement among the trees. But they remain silent and still, like a frozen army.

Bushranger steps out from between two trees, about fifty metres ahead of me. He looks huge in the dim light, his metallic head enormous and bizarre.

‘Prepare to meet your doom, Focus.'

‘You planning to beat me with clichés?'

He roars. ‘Always the disrespect! Always the lack of appreciation for a world class Super-Villain.'

I fold my arms. ‘Who is officially on a low rating and is cheating by using S.T.O.M.P. Really world class, you loser.'

‘How
dare
you. How dare you insult the Bushranger.'

‘I'm going to do more than that, Bush-brain,' I say, and I find that I'm genuinely angry. ‘I'm going to kick you from here to next week and you're going to know you were beaten by a Superhero who was clean, who was fighting using natural abilities, who didn't need to take some artificial S.T.O.M.P.'

‘I think not,' he says. ‘You're just going to eat fruit.'

‘Well, that's Plan B,' I say.

And suddenly his army of trees springs into life and I am pelted by oranges that are like rock-hard bullets. A few hit me, sure to leave nasty bruises, before I can will myself into a mist and watch them sail through me. I float straight at Bushranger and turn solid to land a punch, but am immediately hammered by flying oranges and almost knocked out. Luckily the shock of it sends me into invisibility and I catch my breath as oranges soar into the clearing from the back of the orchard, all missing the Bushranger, but landing right where I had been.

‘I had no idea that fruit trees had such good throwing arms,' I say. ‘But you're going to have to try harder, Helmet Has-been. Elephant Head does this to me most days.'

‘You dare mock my fruit army! Become visible so you can meet your doom,' screams Bushranger.

I make my fist solid for the moment it takes to clobber him in the stomach and then back away, drifting quickly so that I'm standing right behind him.

I become visible. ‘Hey, trees. Over here,' I yell, and then I'm a cloud again.

The oranges land like rocks, but they're all hitting the Bushranger, until my invisibility wavers and I start to get smacked about the back. Something hard and large slams into me. I turn invisible again and momentarily enjoy the satisfaction of watching the Bushranger get battered around for a few seconds before he can mentally tell the trees to stop throwing the fruit.

But then, even though I'm invisible, I realise the back of my head is really hurting and I can feel something sticky. I turn semi-solid, feel around with my hand and realise I'm bleeding. The solid object that hit me must have been a branch, and not an orange.

I'm feeling giddy and realise the wound is worse than I'd thought. My visibility waxes and wanes as I see stars, and I can't stop myself from becoming solid. A whole new wave of oranges and branches slam into me and I feel fear for the first time.

Then suddenly the trees stop throwing fruit and begin to sway.

The Bushranger looks around in surprise, and frowns.

‘The killer blow, trees!' he screeches. ‘Land the killer blow! Focus is hurt. Do it now!'

But the trees don't respond. The whole orchard is swaying and dipping and bobbing. Then I realise that their branches are all synchronised, going up and down together, with the trunks moving in time.

G
rl-Stars

That's who we are

Girls and stars Yes we are!

Her-oes!

And we're girls

We like to

fly

And we like to twirl!

Tomorrow Girl isn't actually singing, but her voice carries into my head and clearly the trees are hearing her too. They're all dancing, like a mutant timber girl-band doing a dance routine. Hundreds and hundreds of trees across the orchard swivel their trunks and wave their branches to the tune as Tomorrow Girl mentally sings to us all.

The Bushranger screams in fury.

‘What are you doing to my trees? How dare you make them dance. I control the trees! I am the Bushranger! They obey me!'

Tomorrow Girl is dancing beside her brother, doing the sort of moves girls learn after serious time in front of a bedroom mirror, hairbrush held as a microphone. The trees sway and dance like crazy, along with her.

‘Leave my trees alone. Trees! Listen to me! Stop dancing! I demand you stop dancing! Throw fruit! Pelt him.'

Tomorrow Girl continues her dance routine. ‘It's not my fault if trees prefer dancing to fighting,' she grins. ‘Find a new army, Helmet Head.'

The Bushranger frowns and turns his attention to the grass. Immediately, the tufts of grass near my feet grow and mutate, reaching for my throat. But even before I turn invisible, a burst of flame incinerates the grass with a puff of smoke. And they shrivel with a grassy squeal.

Torch stands to my right, finger smoking. ‘The next grass or weed to move so much as a blade gets it,' he says loudly.

Bushranger is muttering and even before Torch can reload his flame finger, massive strands of grass snake up and around his orange, red and yellow figure, completely pinning him. He struggles desperately for a moment, then relaxes, takes a deep breath and, just as the grass reaches his neck, bursts spectacularly into a full body flame. The grass falls off him, smoking, and Torch lands on the ground on all fours, full-body flame dying away.

Panting, he stands and lights a fearsome looking flame on his index finger.

‘As I was saying . . .' he says grimly.

If grass can cower, the grass cowers.

‘What else have you got, Bushranger?' The Gamer asks. ‘The Pact says Focus has to take you out, but nothing says we can't kick your mutant weeds around first.'

‘Oh, I've got more. Lots more,' says the Bushranger. He reaches behind his back. He pulls out a very large bazooka – a bazooka that looks like it fires real missiles. Deadly missiles.

‘You can't use a bazooka!' I yell. ‘That's against every law in the Hero–Villain guidelines.'

‘The Bushranger listens to no Hero,' says Bushranger and points the bazooka straight at me. I've never looked down the barrel of anything more lethal than a water-pistol before and I'm terrified, instantly dissolving into a mist.

‘Ah yes, Focus,' Bushranger says menacingly. ‘Your one party trick: to turn invisible whenever you're in real danger. Well, I have bad news for you, kid. I'm going to fire this cannon and if you don't stop the missile, I'm going to blow up that little shed that's right behind you.'

I have a sinking feeling, but I try to bluff. ‘What do I care if you blow up a shed in an old orchard – it's probably just full of mouldy fruit?'

‘You might want your clever little girlfriend to take a closer look inside the shed,' he says, triumphantly.

I waver for a moment.

‘Sorry to put you in the firing line, Logi-Gal, but I think you better check it out before I make another stupid mistake,' I say.

Logi-Gal runs to the shed door and wrenches it open.

Even though there are no windows in the shed it is glowing inside.

My stomach flips. Because the glow is distinctly star-shaped. The whole inside of the shed shines with unearthly power.

‘It's the star-stone, Focus. You can't let him destroy it,' says Logi-Gal.

‘I'm sorry, Focus, I have to act,' says Cyclone Tracy. ‘Southern Cross's life is on the line. Logi-Gal, run for cover.' She swirls into a storm and makes a cyclone around the shed. Leaves and fruit and branches swirl around, caught up in the strength of the wind.

‘The star-power is too strong for my wind,' yells Cyclone Tracey. ‘I can't budge it.' The wind dies down completely and she slumps in front of the shed, exhausted.

‘Bad luck, cloud boy. The star-stone, power source of the mighty Southern Cross, is in my sights. My missile will scatter it into smithereens. And then – it's lights out for Southern Cross. Oh yeah, and your breezy girlfriend is toast, for certain.'

And he throws his head back and delivers an impressive bad guy evil laugh. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha.

‘And the best bit is the missile will pass right through your pathetic invisible body on its way so you'll have to live forever more with your cowardice. That's even better than killing you. Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha.'

I'm thinking desperately, searching for a plan.

‘. . . and when I'm done with the star-stone and Miss Windy, I'm going to reload and take out all your little Hero friends. Cannonball, and Tomorrow Girl, and Logi-Gal and The Gamer and Torch and even Switchy, over there pretending to be an orange cart. All your friends will be killed while you play like a cloud, to save your own miserable skin.'

We're all frozen in disbelief and shock.

‘A Hero is a Hero, no matter what, Focus,' yells Logi-Gal.

And I know exactly what I have to do. I got myself into a Pact to the death with this madman. And I will honour it, and do everything I can to save my friends.

Through incredible force of will, battling the fear inside me, I become solid.

‘Have it your way, Bushranger,' I say. ‘S.T.O.M.P. wasn't enough and now you're resorting to bazookas. This is between you and me, right? The Knight-Hood Pact. So shoot me if you must, but leave the others alone.'

‘Focus, no!' Cyclone Tracy's voice carries pure fear. I don't look at her or any of the others. I'm watching Bushranger and that black barrel of the cannon resting on his shoulder. It's taking all my willpower to not fade into a mist of fear. I
have
to remain solid. I have to be the one who stops the missile, to save Tracy and Southern Cross, and to give the rest of the OK Team a chance. I'm burning with anger and confident Switchy will be able to spring into action in the moment after I'm shot to protect the others, but until then nobody can move.