Each one's life a novel no-one else has read

Entre Nous - Rush

I'm down a phone again. My second warranty replacement Blackberry failed after I had it just over a week. That makes three bad phones in six months. I'd be pissed if I had time, but I'm so busy writing Blackout that I just keep right on trucking. To that end, I figured I'd share some excerpts from the third chapter with you. Enjoy!

The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. A few people looked up at the costumed heroes with interest. “Hi, everyone,” said Faith. “Ground floor, please.” They rode downward in silence until one woman asked hesitantly if she could have their autographs. Before the elevator finished its descent, Faith and Irlene had both signed several autographs.

“Is it always like this?” Irlene whispered as they crossed the lobby.

“Sometimes. Being in Just Cause makes you a celebrity, like if you were in a band.”

“Wow,” breathed Irlene. “I never thought that being a superhero would make me famous. Will I get to be on TV and in the papers?”

“Probably,” said Faith. She worked hard to keep her private life out of the media. At the end of the day, she wanted to be able to enjoy a quiet dinner with Bobby in a restaurant somewhere. They stepped out into the bright sunshine that peeked down between the other skyscrapers to illuminate the plaza.

“So what do we do?”

“Mostly we just be seen,” said Faith. “We’re a visual deterrent to street crime.”

“Street crime? We don’t go after parahuman villains?” Irlene stared unabashedly at the passing New Yorkers who took in the colorfully-attired women with typical aplomb.

Faith laughed. “I hate to burst your bubble, Irlene, but Just Cause hasn’t run across any parapowered criminals since early ’75.” She bent in and whispered conspiratorially. “We think we might have got them all.”

Irlene’s eyes widened behind her pink mask. “Really?”

Faith shrugged. “No way to tell for sure until someone new surfaces, but we’ve tracked down all the parahuman offenders we know of.”

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It hulked in a back corner of the yard, surrounded by numerous wrecks which Harlan had moved with the ingenious crane arrangement he’d built from more scrap parts. Anyone who didn’t know what it was would have only seen what looked like two semi truck cabs stacked on top of each other with some parts sticking out at random. But Harlan knew better.

He’d built a suit.

Not just any suit, either. This one was big. It crouched on four heavy hydraulic legs powered by the Diesel engine in the lower truck cab. When he powered them up, the rig would raise itself up to a fearsome height, nearly fifteen feet tall. The suit’s feet were padded with numerous layers of rubber, carefully cut and fitted from rotting tires. The upper cab boasted four arms, designed not for any purpose except destruction. Two housed mobile versions of the belt-fed bolt guns, one of which had killed the vagrant. Another carried a powerful flamethrower with a large tank of pressurized fuel. The last held a huge circular saw blade. Harlan had found it in a disused corner of the junkyard. It must have belonged to a timber mill at some point, but now it ran on Diesel power from the upper cab. Heavy armor plating protected the engines and hydraulics, and the pilot’s cabin at the very top of the suit was armored like a pillbox.

He had no name for the suit. He didn’t even know exactly why he’d built it, except he was compelled to. When he dreamed, gears and pistons and hoses filled his thoughts. The only time he truly felt good about himself—happy, even—was when he was working on the suit. He felt almost like it was an extension of himself, like he was building a second skin to go outside of his own.

He’d never switched it on, but he knew it would work flawlessly, as did everything he ever designed and built. When that day finally came, he’d crawl into the machine’s belly and become a part of it, and he would feel complete for the first time in his life.

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“Where do you want to head first?” asked Tommy.

“Central Park,” said Javier without hesitation. “Then I don’t care.” He whooped and leaped between the steel louvers into the open air beyond. A moment later, his boot rockets flared and he began a spiraling descent toward a more reasonable altitude. Tommy followed him out, letting the winds buoy him after his patrol partner.

Javier – as Javelin – flew fast enough that Tommy had to summon a minor gale to catch up to him. The Puerto Rican man headed for Central Park like he was possessed.

“Did we get a call already?” Tommy shouted over the rushing wind. Most of the team had to use walkie-talkies, something Tommy found awkward and distracting while airborne, but Javier’s radio was built right into his helmet.

Javier didn’t immediately reply. They cruised lengthwise along the southern edge of the giant park. People on the paths looked up as the heroes flew past. Many of them smiled and waved. Tommy waved back; Just Cause was as popular as ever. “There!” called Javier and pointed. Tommy saw a small group of four young black men turn to flee toward some trees. “Cut ‘em off, Tommy!”

The winds blew fierce around Tommy as he swooped in to block the four men. One of them pulled a cheap pistol from his waistband. A concentrated burst of air sent it flying into the underbrush and left the man wringing his hand in pain. They turned to flee from Tommy and Javier dropped down in front of them. He fired a particle beam blast into the ground, leaving behind ashes and charred dirt.

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Shane glanced at her as he changed lanes to avoid a stalled box truck. Horns and some angry shouts filtered into the cab. “You could always crash at my place. I mean, you know, on the couch,” he added quickly as she stiffened.

“Your roommate won’t mind?” she asked, feeling her cheeks grow hot. The power hidden inside her growled like a living thing, begging to be let out to play for awhile. She concentrated on keeping it controlled, telling herself that this man was not trying to hurt her the way Donny had.

“I barely see him. When he’s not in school, he’s working. He won’t mind.”

“I’ll think about it.” He smiled for a moment before leaning on the horn at a lady in a big Dodge station wagon who wouldn’t be denied her lane change. “Learn how to drive, you asshole!” he yelled out the window. She shook her fist at him.

It was such a cliché New York moment that Gretchen broke out in giggles.

Shane chuckled and took a crumpled cigarette pack from the clutter on his dashboard. “Smoke?” he asked as he thumbed out a Camel and stuck it between his lips.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

He paused with his lighter halfway to his mouth. “Oh. Uh, do you mind if I do?”

She shrugged. “There’s so much gunk in the air here, I don’t think I’d notice.”