The OK Team (23 page)

And with that he takes off, soaring straight as an arrow for the window, and through. Without a sound.

‘Wow, he's in,' I say, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice.

Torch claps a hand on my back. ‘This self-belief stuff actually works, Focus.'

‘Who would have thought?' I grin and point to six thick cables hung between the nearest power pole and

223 the museum. ‘Torch, can you use your flame to cut those powerlines?'

‘Definitely,' he says. We compare our watches and agree on an exact time, then he runs over there.

‘OK, Switchy. Turn yourself into whatever Liarbird needs you to be, and go with Liarbird to the front door.

Liarbird, do what you do best. I'll see you in there.'

I'm about to head for the building itself when Yesterday's voice stops me.

‘Focus? What about me?'

I turn and she looks very small, very young.

‘Right now, Yesterday, I can't think of a role for you,' I reply honestly.

She sadly puts her fingers to her temples. ‘I can tell that you sense my power is crap and I'm a total fraud.'

‘No, Yesterday, that's not true.'

‘It is true, and maybe you're right. Look at Cannonball, and Torch, and you! You can all use actual superpowers.'

‘Yesterday,' I say. ‘I've got to go now, but hear this: If you say you can see into the past, or the future, or the next room, then I'm going to believe you. Just because there isn't a role for you right now, in this particular operation, doesn't mean your time won't come.'

She nods, looking at the ground. ‘I've heard that. Cometh the moment, cometh the man, or woman.'

‘That's right. In fact, don't stay here. Go with Liarbird and Switchy, and once inside, focus as hard as you can on the vibes of the battle. Let me know if you sense anything is about to happen before it happens.'

‘Look into the future, Focus?'

‘You bet, and if you do it, we'll have to change your super name. But concentrate hard, Yesterday, and believe. You could save a life.'

‘Sweet,' she says, smiling now.

‘We need to go. Come on!'

CHAPTER 30
TO THE RESCUE

T
he wall is thick – at least a metre of brick stands between me on the outside and whatever is inside. Calmly, I lose focus and walk straight through it. Still invisible, I let my eyes adjust to the sudden lack of light and assess my surroundings. I'm in a small room with the door open. I can hear voices further inside.

I move into the corridor and head in the same direction the others took on the outside. At a corner, I hear voices quite close. It's Liarbird.

‘Well, all I can say is that you are the least excited contest winners I have ever encountered. Most people would be ecstatic to have won a lifetime supply of doughnuts and would be saying to me, please, oh please, wheel that big trolley of doughnuts in here this minute so we can dive in and eat until we're sick!'

‘It's not a good time right now,' says a husky teenage voice.

‘Yeah, come back later, toots.'

‘I love it when people call me toots,' says Liarbird pleasantly. ‘Well, I'm taking the trolley away, but I'm not coming back later. As you'll remember from when you bought your ticket, if you refuse the prize then it goes to the runner-up.'

‘I don't even remember buying the ticket,' mumbles one of the male voices.

‘Maybe it was Scu – I mean, Moonface?'

‘He'll be mad if we turn this away.'

‘He loves doughnuts.'

‘You've had your chance. See ya,' says Liarbird, her voice sounding further away.

‘Hey! Wait a minute!'

‘Yeah. Come back with them doughnuts.'

‘It's “those” doughnuts,' Liarbird says, her voice getting closer again. ‘Honestly, where do you boys go to school?'

‘Just shut up and put the trolley over there,' says one of the boys.

‘OK, and while I'm at it, do you want to see a trick?'

‘Listen, you dumb chick, just get lost, will you?'

‘I like being called a “dumb chick” even more than “toots”,' Liarbird says happily.

‘Whatever. Don't let the door hit your butt on the way out.'

Liarbird giggles in a very un-Liarbirdish way. ‘You're funny! Here's my trick . . . See the trolley? It bites.'

‘How can a trolley bite?'

‘Yeah, that's stupi –'

Clang! Kwong!

I turn the corner and see two boys unconscious on the ground. Switchy is a trolley carrying boxes of doughnuts, but with the handle now transformed into two massive metal flowers with giant teeth. The flowers are swaying from where they bonked Scumm's henchmen on the head.

‘A lethal, metal-flower-headed doughnut trolley,' I say.

‘Creative.'

‘Thought I'd have some fun,' says Switchy, changing into a black-uniformed ninja. ‘It was 162 per cent successful.'

‘Well, look at you mastering your talent!' I say, grinning.

‘And Liarbird, you were fantastic.'

Liarbird gives me a smile and opens the door again so Yesterday can slip through. The four of us walk deeper and deeper into the old museum.

‘I sense we're getting close,' says Yesterday.

I motion to the others to stop, then creep forward around a corner, and there is the villainous gang, with Mr Fabulous in the middle. I duck back to where the others are. ‘We're there. Yesterday, was that a guess, or did you know?'

‘I'm honestly not sure,' she says, wide-eyed.

Switchy changes into a periscope leading to a TV screen, and sticks his head around the corner so Liarbird and Yesterday can have a look at the enemy too. I make my head invisible – the party trick works! – and take another look for myself.

It's not good.

Mr Fabulous is tied to a chair with chains that are at least a metre thick and cover his whole body. You can only just see the top of his head and the toes of his old boots.

The chains are glowing green, as though powered by some unearthly energy.

‘Do you think it's Fabu-nite, the one substance said to weaken Mr Fabulous?' Switchy's voice whispers from somewhere below the periscope's lens.

‘No idea,' I say, honestly. ‘Isn't Fabu-nite blue? I wish Torch was with us. He'd know. Which reminds me – he's due to cut the power in one minute.'

‘Focus,' Yesterday says, ‘how do we get rid of the weapons?'

It's a good point. Not only is Mr Fabulous wrapped in giant green-glowing chains, he is also targeted by more army weapons than your average soldier would expect to see in three lifetimes. Two of Moonface's henchmen are pointing what look like handguns at the old Hero. Another two are pointing bazookas, which are like rocket-launchers that balance on a person's shoulder. Next to them is a teenager holding a sub-machine gun, pointing at Mr Fabulous's chest.

Scumm himself, still wearing his enormous moon-themed helmet, has a remote control that appears to be connected to the four cannons that are also pointing at Mr Fabulous.

Beyond Moonface, there is a full-sized tank, its turret pointing directly at our old mentor.

Beyond that is a fighter jet, with all missiles pointed straight at his chest.

Behind all this, the arch Villain Scorch, aka William Weld, is wandering around in the background, muttering and occasionally blasting a chair with what looks like extreme heat from his nose, both nostrils, melting whatever it touches.

We might be out of our depth. I feel myself start to blur but refuse to let it happen. My body becomes more or less sharp again, through sheer will.

‘A plan,' I say. ‘Hmmm. Switchy, you need to be a bird.'

I turn to face the others and Yesterday has a small brown swallow sitting on her forearm. Its head cocks, listening.

‘Nice,' I say. ‘OK, fly to the broken window and tell Cannonball he has to take out Weld, I mean Scorch. He's a veteran, highly-graded Villain so Cannonball is not to underestimate him. He has to fly fast and keep moving around, so Scorch can't get a clean shot at him with his nose-rays. Got it? Meanwhile, we'll rescue Mr Fabulous.'

‘How?' asks Liarbird. ‘There are only 437 of us.'

‘I'm working on that,' I say. ‘Go, Switchy.'

The swallow chirrups quietly and suddenly flaps its wings, flying in a lurching path towards the roof.

‘What's that?' I hear one of Scumm's henchmen yell.

‘Just a bird,' says Scumm's voice. ‘Relax. This old place must be full of nests and stuff.'

‘How long until they pay the ransom?' asks another henchman.

‘Soon,' says an old voice. It must be Scorch. ‘I don't know why Heroes aren't crawling all over this place. Surely Golden Boy or somebody has taken out the meteor by now.

We need to get their attention.'

‘We could fire a rocket through the roof,' says Scumm.

‘And give them an easy entry point, right on top of us.

Genius,' says Scorch.

‘I was just making a suggestion.' Moonface sounds sulky.

I peer around the corner. All the guns, rockets, cannons, tanks and jet are still pointing right at Mr Fabulous.

And that's when Torch does his thing outside and the lights cut out.

‘Hey!' yells a henchman. ‘What's going on?'

Scorch, from the far side of the room, is in control. ‘Keep your guns on Mr Fabulous. Just aim for the glowing chains.

Moonface, can you see anything?'

Moonface's massive helmet is glowing, giving him his own light source. I have to admit I'm impressed. There's no way a blockhead like Scumm has come up with this on his own.

‘A fuse must have blown or something. I'll start the emergency generator you brought along, boss.'

It's time for me to move. Still invisible, I leave my hiding spot and follow Moonface's glowing orb. He crouches and flicks a switch and there's the hum of a power generator.

As the lights come back on, Moonface straightens up and I let him see my head, floating all alone in space above my invisible body.

‘What??? Fuzzy-Wuzzy Freak Show??' he yells in surprise.

‘Nope, Scumm-bucket. The name's Focus,' I say, and I swing a punch at him. My arm turns out to be completely blurred through the usual fear and it swings harmlessly past.

Moonface starts to laugh, and I feel the doubt creeping in.

No!

‘A Hero is a Hero,' I say to myself, somewhere deep in my fuzzy head. ‘No matter what!'

And then my right arm is perfectly solid for the time it takes to belt the top of Scumm's helmet so that it covers his eyes. As he blunders around, losing his balance, my suddenly-solid left hand grabs him by the back of his costume, feels around and gives him the wedgie to end all wedgies.

‘Ouuuuuwwwwwwww,' says Scumm. I boot him in the backside and he collides heavily with the massive framework of a tank and lies quietly.

Scorch has seen me. ‘One of your little hobbies, hey, Fabulous. Well, he's toast now.'

I see Scorch lift his head so his nostrils are pointing towards me. A ray of pure energy and heat passes through where I would be if I wasn't now invisible. I feel it warming my scattered molecules as it passes.

‘Man, you must have a nasty time if you get a head cold,' I say from within my unharmed cloud.

‘Dodge this, you freak!' Scorch screams and fires again.

Still a mist, I watch the blast melt a chair behind me.

‘How come your name is “Scorch” and not “Sinus”?'

I ask. ‘Or “Hot Snot”?'

‘Why, you little . . .'