really have a plan going into this; he’d sort of stumbled onto the robbery in progress. So … time to improvise.
He sidles his way to one of the fallen cartons. Tries to move it. Nearly gives himself a hernia. Right. Bad plan. Next?
Garth spies the open store door and makes a gimpy dash for it. Once inside, he sees the broken counter glass, the goods scattered on the floor, and the man lying on the ground. Garth limps over and puts a hand on the man’s neck. A pulse. Good. The man groans. Better. “Sir, can you move?”
The man says something, either a prayer or a curse, then rolls over to look at Garth. And then he lets out a girlish scream.
It takes a moment for Garth to remember that he’s wearing a black trencher and black ski mask, probably looking more like a criminal than a wannabe hero. Maybe he’ll rethink the costume idea. “Sir, I’m here to help. Do you need an ambulance?”
The man considers his wounds, then shakes his head. “Did you stop him? Elephant Man?”
“He’s outside.”
“Tied up? Unconscious?”
“Well. No. Not exactly. He’s sort of fighting another former hero for your stuff.”
The man lets out a truly impressive curse.
“Sorry,” Garth says. “It’s my first fight.”
“You should reconsider the day job.” The man tries to get up, then groans and lies back down.
“I’ll call the police,” Garth says. “Phone?”
The man weakly motions to the broken counter.
Garth hobbles over, picking his way around the broken glass. Spying the phone, he reaches down for it … and sees the baseball bat half-buried in the debris on the floor.
Oh yeah.
Walking out of the pawnshop, Garth tosses the phone to the battered man and tells him to call nine-one-one. Outside, the two rabids are still trading blows. They’ve drawn a cautious crowd of onlookers, all of whom look ready to bolt in a heartbeat. None of them are trying to step in or look in on the man whose store was being robbed. Garth isn’t really surprised. Elephant Man and the Ram are pretty damn frightening. Each time a punch connects is like a small peal of thunder.
He creeps forward, quiet as the mouse Elephant Man had called him. He brings up the bat. And he actually grins. Maybe he is just an extrahuman wannabe. But he’d been the home-run king for the Middlewood Hornets junior and senior year.
It occurs to him, as he takes the first swing, that a real hero wouldn’t hit someone from behind.
But then, he’s no hero.
Final score: Garth 2, rabids 0.
He doesn’t stick around for the official collar. But when he gets back to the apartment, Terry and the others throw an impromptu party. And when they get the news that finally, finally, some of the Latents are coming through and making their way to New Chicago to help, then Garth allows himself to get good and drunk.
No, they have no idea what they’re doing. But hell, doing something is worlds better than doing nothing.
CHAPTER 48
JET
Hypnotic’s power is more insidious than the other Mentalists’. Or perhaps it is not the ability but the skill behind it. Other Mentalists are grade-schoolers with scissors; he is a surgeon—focused, precise, and, at times, surprisingly creative. Aaron and I both are certain his is the power we need to mimic if we’re ever to get the Squadron under control.
—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #57
Two big differences from when Jet had approached Hypnotic’s hideout a few days earlier: one, this time there were about a hundred people standing outside of the abandoned building, staring blankly, unmoving. And two: Jet was waiting until she and the others were in place before going in, no matter how worried she was about Iridium.
Jet and Frostbite touched down simultaneously. As she absorbed the Shadow floater, he walked up to the nearest civilian and waved a hand in front of the woman’s eyes. No reaction. He snapped his fingers, but still nothing.
“No one’s home,” he said.
“Look at them all.” Jet stared at a group of entranced normals, some in business suits, some in more relaxed garb, a few in workout clothing. “They couldn’t have all just been walking here when they fell under his power.”
“Think Hypnotic summoned them?”
“Maybe. Snared them with his mental mojo, then directed them here.”
“To do what? Be lawn gnomes?”
Looking at a young girl, frozen hand in hand with a woman in a professional unisuit, Jet sighed. “Hostages.”
“We can get EMTs here to clear them out.”
“And what if his Mental wave or