A Twilight for Heroes

By David McBride

For decades now neohumans have been among us, those with powers that are fantastic and dangerous. They’ve been the best and worst of humanity, heroes and villains, both. Years ago, the Neohuman Defense League was the shining star of superheroes, but the League was disbanded after scandal tore their ranks apart and questions of their competence and loyalty surfaced. Then came the Report; a detailed medical paper explaining why aging heroes became mentally unstable and eventually lost control of their powers. It was the death knell of super powered teams everywhere.
But now, in Paragon city, where the NDL was born, old threats are rising from the ashes of the past and new ones are making their presence felt. The government is shining a light on possible past abuses of power, a rising star of the military intelligence wing has made it his personal mission to reign in neohumans, and a menace from the League’s past may have gotten back into the game.
It’s a dangerous time to be a neohuman. Never before have the now-retired members of the League needed to come together for the good of humanity. But you never really forget how to be a hero, do you?

• Language: English
• Publisher: David McBride
• Release date: Feb 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311278593

Book preview

A Twilight for Heroes

By David McBride

One

Jake Holtz, one of the founding members of the

Neohuman Defense League, is set to testify next

week before a Senate subcommittee on the alleged

misuse of powers by neohumans. -

Paragon City news report.

Timeline

Jake Holtz had always wanted to be a hero. Now as he sat on the leather sofa, his left hand firmly around his beer and the right hitting random buttons on the remote control, he wondered if it was worth it. His life, once so meaningful and productive, now reduced to this. The big screen TV flickered through a wide array of programming, none of it appealing to him. Then he landed on the twenty-four hour news channel. They were discussing him again; talking heads discussing the pros and cons of a retired superhero telling the government all of his dirty little secrets.

If you ask me, the man on the left said, an accredited professor according to the banner across the screen below him, this all sounds a bit like sour grapes. I mean, the NDL was all he had, all he really knew anymore, and they broke up leaving him and the others to pick up the pieces of their lives. When he was arrested none of his old friends stepped up to defend him, at least not in any substantial way. Couldn’t this just be a way to get back at them?

That’s absurd! the man across from him stated flatly. For a little over twenty years we let these supposed heroes do whatever they wanted, consequences be damned. They destroyed property, they killed and maimed people in the name of justice, and now we’re finally going to find out what things they did that we still don’t know about. It’s high time the government held someone accountable for all these terrible things that have happened.

You seem to be forgetting that the destruction and death that happened around them was caused by the truly evil men and women that they were fighting. They were trying to protect us, and now people like you are looking to start a witch-hunt that—

It’s apologists like you that… And then the yelling started, as it usually did.

Some people still refused to speak ill of the so-called heroes, no matter what information was shoved under their noses. But some took to it with all of the zeal of a fire-and-brimstone preacher speaking of sin. Jake took a long drink from his beer and turned off the TV. His mind started wandering back to a time when no one would ever dare to badmouth his name in public: a time when he wasn’t known as Jake Holtz, but as Timeline, one of the founding members of the Neohuman Defense League. It was almost comedic, he thought sourly. The people who not too long ago were begging for the return of the NDL were now the ones leading the charge against them. At some point in his reverie he drank the last of his beer without realizing it. He tipped the can upside down and scowled at it in disapproval. With a weary sigh he hauled himself off of the couch and went to the kitchen.

The kitchen of his temporary home—at least he hoped it was temporary—was sparsely furnished and featured cupboards that sported little more than cereals. Angling for the refrigerator and the quickly diminishing twelve-pack it contained, he grasped the handle, and jerked back quickly as images of a woman flooded his mind. His powers leapt into action, latching onto the psychic remnants the woman had left behind when she had last touched the handle and hurtling him headlong down her possible future. She was the maid for this place, he realized; a short, plump woman with a thick Italian accent, dark skin and hair, and a habit of humming old disco tunes while she worked. Jake also knew that in two weeks she would discover that her husband of twenty-five years was cheating on her. All this from touching something she touched two days ago.

Sucks to be her, he thought dryly. Got to remember to wear my gloves around this place, he muttered as he used the cuff of his shirt to open the door and retrieve his beverage. He popped the tab and gulped greedily from the new can while leaning against the counter for support. Just that quick glimpse, as unexpected as it was, had left him shaky and drained.

There was a quick rapping on the door. A moment later a man in a black suit opened the door and stuck his head in. The senator’s here, he said in a clipped tone. He could almost make out his reflection in the man’s sunglasses.

Yeah, okay, send him in. Not that the Secret Service man would have turned the senator away even if he asked, but Jake figured he’d rather pretend to have some sort of influence around here. On his way back to the living room he grabbed his gloves off of the coffee table and slid them on, struggling to pull them on as the new latex stuck to his sweaty hands.

A gray haired man of about sixty-five opened the door and crossed the threshold. He wore an immaculately tailored suit and small, silver-rimmed glasses that softened the harsh angles of his hawkish face. The smile he wore was that of a career politician, as fake as the gravity-defying breasts of the strippers at the club Jake frequented. Two Secret Service agents entered behind him, moving to either side of the room after closing the door behind them.

Senator Lohman, Jake said, and extended his hand.

The senator glanced uneasily at the proffered hand. The smile wavered ever so slightly until he noticed that Jake was wearing gloves. The smile broadened as he shook hands with Jake. Jake, I want to talk to you for a few minutes. Is that alright?

Like it would matter if I said no, he thought bitterly. Sure, senator.

Please, call me Robert. It seems like we should be on a first name basis considering we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Can we sit?

Jake motioned to the couch while settling into the adjacent seat, which he immediately regretted because it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the leather couch. The senator lowered himself into the couch, being careful not to put any unnecessary wrinkles into his suit. He sat forward and clasped his hands together.

Are the arrangements satisfactory? Lohman asked.

Other than the perilously low cache of beer and cigarettes? Yeah, they’re fine. Jake leaned over to a small circular table to the left of him, grabbed his pack of cigarettes from it, and lit one up.

Those things will kill you you know.

Thanks for the tip. Jake blew out a series of rings above the senator’s head. You didn’t come here to guard my health, so why don’t you just cut to it.

Lohman’s eyes narrowed. The senator wasn’t used to being talked to in such a brusque manner. Very well. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his smile slowly fading as if he had forgotten how to turn it off. I want to make sure that you’re not having any second thoughts about our arrangement. I’m counting on you to make my case to the American people. But I’m sure you already know how all of this is going to turn out, don’t you? I would sure like to know if this is worth the risk.

You know I don’t do that anymore, he lied. The present’s sucky enough; I don’t need to make it worse by finding out what else is going to go wrong.

Of course, of course. The smile returned in full force.

Jake knew full well what a politician of Lohman’s dubious scruples would do with his powers. In fact, that was the whole reason behind the senate hearings: the misuse of special abilities. If he wanted to, Jake could take off his gloves, shake the senator’s hand, and immediately know multiple things about his future. It was how his power worked. And he had convinced himself to not use it again because of all the trouble it had caused him. He kept his promise…mostly. Who could blame him if every now and then he took a peak through the shroud of time? Not often, just a handful of times in the last year. It was like giving up heroin, he reasoned. No sane person could just give up something like what he had casually. And because of his previous trespasses in years past, he—and all neohumans like him—were being held under a microscope. The people they had protected all these years were now unsure of their saviors, even scared of them in some cases.

Four months ago Jake Holtz had been arrested for what amounted to fraud. The charges stemmed from his ability to play various games of chance and win a good percentage of the time. It was hit and miss, but when it hit it hit big. It had been his weakness: a thirst for wealth and status, the awe of his peers. The government, however, knew his true identity and his abilities. When his name appeared in the newspaper for winning the largest bet in the history of the Kentucky Derby, the authorities took notice. They arrested him and secreted him away to a jail specially built for containing neohumans. A few days into his incarceration, Senator Lohman came to him with an offer: if he could prove that other neohumans had used their powers inappropriately, the senator could arrange to have him released on a suspended sentence. It had sounded good to him at the time. Of course, anything looked better than the inside of a jail cell.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before the senator resumed speaking. So you’ll be ready to give your testimony when the time comes?

Jake allowed himself a small smile. Like a nervous puppy, he mused. Yes, I’ll be ready. I do have one request however.

Yes? the senator said cautiously.

I want to bring Gayle here. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to see or even talk to her. I miss her.

I understand that, but…well I suppose I was going to have to tell you this eventually anyway.

What? Jake stubbed out his cigarette and sat forward.

Well, there have been rumblings about some neohumans who took the news of your upcoming testimony… rather badly. I’ve heard from a number of sources that an attempt on your life is possible, indeed is rather likely. So you can see why I’d be reluctant to let you visit your girlfriend who, for all I know, is part of the problem.

Jake felt some of the blood drain form his face. What the hell are you talking about? Where are you hearing this from?

Well I get my information from the special unit that has been newly designated to serve as your around the clock protection. I assure you that these men and women are the best of the best. If they say it’s a problem then it’s a problem. As for who may be behind it…well I’d rather not say right now. Until we have some sort of confirmation anyway, Lohman said, shrugging.

Jake felt a rising irritation with the man. The senator eyed him, gauging his reaction. Jake brought his anger under control, reverting to his carefree demeanor with some effort. To Jake, the gleam in the senator’s eyes seemed akin to a shark, intelligence and viciousness in one deceptively mild package. He knew the senator’s angle in all this: he wanted to appeal to the growing anti-neohuman demographic. Years ago, in the time of heroes, such things were unheard of, blasphemous even. So much had changed in the intervening years, though, and now people were asking questions of those that defended the country. Jake wondered if the senator was simply looking to win votes, or if there was more to it than that. Perhaps there was a deeper reasoning to it, an underlying agenda.

Gayle wouldn’t be involved, Jake blurted out.

Oh I doubt that she would too, but I’d rather err on the side of caution on this one. I know how the two of you feel about each other, but I just can’t allow her to be brought here. I’m sorry.

What if I went to her place? Just for a short time I mean. I just need to see her.

Lohman looked down at his hands, studying them. I’ll think about it.

That’s all I ask. Jake rattled another cigarette out of the pack and lit it, taking deep drags as he slouched back into the chair. He didn’t like the way the senator avoided looking at him. It probably meant that he had already made up his mind, and it wasn’t in Jake’s favor.

The senator looked at his watch, and then toward the door. Looking back at Jake he said, There’s someone I want you to meet. He should be here any minute now.

I can hardly wait, Jake said, and smiled mirthlessly.

. . .

Come on in, Matthew, the senator said to the man standing in the doorway. I want to introduce you to your new assignment. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and guided him from the front door over to where Jake was standing in the living room. The gesture seemed to make the man named Matthew Matthew Steele, this is Jake Holtz, formerly known as Timeline.

A pleasure to meet you, sir. Matthew stuck out his hand in greeting. Jake was surprised at the strength of the grip. I look forward to working with you.

Jake took an appraising look at the man standing in front of him. He looked to be in his early thirties, a bit young to be this chummy with a senator, Jake thought. He had the polished look of one of those models you see posing in clothing catalogues. Bright blond hair that was short and slicked back framed his tanned face and eyes that looked either green or brown, depending on what angle they were viewed from. A dusting of pale stubble covered his angular jaw. A person looking upon him for the first time would be forgiven for mistaking him for a surfer. What set him apart from the beachgoers was the tailored suit and leather shoes he wore. The suit was the color of gunmetal and the shoes were like polished obsidian. James Bond in the flesh, Jake thought wryly.

After the introductions, they moved to sit down: Lohman and Steele on the couch, and Jake in the uncomfortable chair. Matthew took a relaxed posture while the senator kept his back as straight as a board. Jake watched as Matthew’s eyes glided over the contents of the room, such as they were. Jake could sense the attention to detail this man had. He had seen the type before. Hell, he had been the type back in the good old days. If you were to ask him tomorrow how many cigarette butts were in Jake’s ashtray, Matthew would no doubt tell you how many there were and what brand Jake preferred. Matthew exuded a competence that would make anyone feel safe and secure. Jake felt a pang of envy while he wondered how many women he had been able to take home by turning on that confidence, that aura of complete control. The arthritis in Jake’s knees began acting up, serving to increase his resentment.

Well, Matthew, would you like to fill us in on your plan to keep Jake safe and content? the senator prompted.

Certainly, sir. His eyes came to rest on Jake, the irises burning like emeralds in the light. Well I see no reason to move you from this house. It seems like a good location; half a mile back from the road, thick tree cover in the yard, plenty of places for my men to take up defensive positions. Bulletproof windows. You’ve been keeping the shades drawn, right?

Jake nodded, unprovoked animosity simmering in his blood. Deep in his heart he knew that the man didn’t deserve it, but Jake found it hard not to detest him for being so capable and condescending. Didn’t he remember who Jake had been? Well, that was really the meat of the matter wasn’t it? Jake had been someone, someone great, but now he was a nobody. And this little snot comes in acting like the savior from on high and looking the part too, except he wore a suit instead of white robes.

Yeah, this place is as secure as you can get, Matthew continued, seemingly oblivious to the daggers being stared at him. But considering the nature of the threat I want to double the number of guards on duty. Also, I want to put taps on the phone in case you get any threatening calls.

You want to mike the john too? You know, just in case they try to swim up through the pipes. C’mon guys, don’t you think you’re going a little bit overboard here? Jake asked, looking back and forth between the men for some support.

Better safe than sorry, they said almost in unison.

Ok, fine, Jake said, raising his hands in supplication. But what about Gayle? I want to see her soon.

I’ll see what I can do, Matthew said.

Jake frowned, thinking of the senator’s same noncommittal attitude. That’s not good enough. I want to see her this week, or I’m not talking to your goddamned committee.

Can you take care of it? the senator asked Matthew, panic making his voice shaky.

Sure. Matthew looked at Jake and smiled broadly. I’ll set it up for tomorrow afternoon. Is that okay? Jake nodded. Good. Well senator, we should be going. We’ve all got our work cut out for us. Oh, actually senator, there is one more thing.

Oh?

Yes. I want to bring in someone from the outside to lend some assistance.

The senator gave him a disapproving scowl. You mean all of those men out there aren’t enough? Who else could you possibly need?

Skorpion.

A pregnant moment of silence followed, the name hanging in the air like a thundercloud ready to burst. Jake recovered first. What would you need him for?

Yes, the senator nodded, That’s a good question, Matthew. Besides, isn’t he retired?

Matthew let out a deep laugh. Hardly. We’ve been making sure he keeps a low profile and stays out of the news, but he is still very active for his age. Jake scowled at the comment. He was older than Skorpion. I think we can use him to talk to the other former members of the Defense League. Maybe he can help us get to the bottom of who’s behind these threats. He can still go places and talk to people we can’t.

Proceed cautiously, Mr. Steele. Skorpion is…unpredictable at best and a liability at worst. We can talk about this more later.

Matthew and Robert traded farewells with Jake, and left for the car that awaited them out in the cool autumn night air. Jake glanced around his yard—actually the government’s yard, he reminded himself—and spotted three large men with equally large guns roaming between the trees. They weren’t the Secret Service agents he had grown accustomed to. These must have been Matthew’s men, dressed in camouflage, night-vision goggles strapped onto their heads. A chill wind blew in through the door sending chills up his spine. At least he was fairly certain it was from the breeze.

Gayle

Her steps echoed loudly down the corridor, her high-heels tapping out a staccato rhythm on the floor. The halls of the high-rise apartments were deserted, eerily silent except for her footsteps. The woman known as Gayle hit the up-button for the elevator with a slim manicured finger and waited impatiently for the doors to slide open.

Her name wasn’t always Gayle. Once upon a time she was a normal girl named Christina Claffey, but that was a lifetime ago. She had been an awkward, bookwormish girl in high school, never the center of attention. Usually that was the way she preferred it, but sometimes she had wondered if there was something more out there for her. Then during her sophomore year of high school, as she began transforming from a too-skinny girl with braces into a beautiful woman, she discovered her abilities. Lying dormant in her until then was the power to control wind and manipulate the air itself. At first she was terrified of her new powers and her new status as a neohuman. A teenage girl had enough things to worry about after all, and keeping a secret of that magnitude seemed an impossible task. Frightened of what people would think or do if they found out about her, she asked her father for help.

Back then he was a DEA officer—he has been retired for a number of years now—a straight-arrow officer who could do no wrong in his daughter’s eyes. He made some inquiries and eventually introduced her to the members of government responsible for the Defense League. By this time the League had been around for a number of years and was well known to the public. After a couple months of tests and training she became an official member of the group. Her father had beamed with pride the day that she was accepted. It was a great day for Christina. It was also the last day she would go by that name.

Once in the League, she was informed of the precautions that were required of them. Birth names had to be discarded for new ones so that there were no reprisals against family members by criminals or by anti-neohuman groups. The latter were relatively scarce back then, but the group took no chances. She changed her name to Gayle, leaving off a surname, and used Windweaver as her codename.

She had entered the league halfway into its existence, and left when the team disbanded two years ago. During her time with them she had become an icon for young girls everywhere, human and neohuman alike. Also, she met the man that she intended to marry: Timeline. Dating within the team wasn’t unheard of, but it definitely wasn’t encouraged. They kept it as inconspicuous as possible right up until the team was shut down. After leaving the team she used her fame to parlay a modeling contract. Her sculpted body and flowing blond hair made her more money in one year than she had made during her entire career with the League. She didn’t hold it against them; she knew the real reason for being there was to save people, not to get rich off of it. Still, she enjoyed the life of a retired superhero.

The elevator dinged as it stopped at the top floor. She stepped from it and walked down the hall to her left. Her long black dress clung tightly to her body but billowed out at the bottom around her ankles. If it weren’t for the telltale drumbeat of her heels on tile one would have thought she was floating down the hall. She rummaged in her purse for the key to her room, extracted it, and put her hand on the doorknob. The door opened before she could insert the key.

She backed against the wall just outside the room. The opening between the door and the frame was only a few inches wide. With a racing heart she peered around the corner. It was dark inside, just like she had left it. Reaching out with her powers she felt the air inside. If someone in there was breathing she would sense it, but there was nothing. Gaining back her confidence, she took off her high-heels and flung the door open wide. She moved quickly to her left in a crouch and ducked behind her couch. The wind followed her in from the hallway, tossing papers from a desk and blowing her hair and dress haphazardly.

No one was there. She suddenly felt a flush of embarrassment at the thought of what it would have looked like to someone watching. A wispy blond charging into her apartment and ducking for cover behind her leather couch. Wouldn’t that make daddy proud. He’d most likely die of embarrassment. Still, she wondered, how did the door get open? She was almost sure she had locked it before she left, and positive she had at least closed it. She reasoned that it was probably another crazed fan that knew she would be gone for the evening. Lord knew it happened enough: three times this year to be exact. What could possess someone to break into the residence of a person with enough power at their fingertips to level a building?

Gayle turned on the lights in the living room and began looking for anything missing. When a quick scan showed that everything was still there she started getting nervous. Reverting to her habits as a little girl that she could never fully shake, she bit at her manicured nails. For a moment she considered calling the police, but quickly dismissed that thought. She could practically hear them now: Big bad superhero can’t even keep her own apartment from getting broken into. And that’s just what they would say within earshot. All the worst stuff would be saved for when they were back at the station making fun of her. She didn’t need that grief.

But still, something was making her uneasy. Something on the air, something she vaguely recognized but couldn’t quite place. She went to her bedroom to make sure everything was where it belonged in there, too. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open to reveal a perfectly normal room. Her bed was made, closet closed, TV and DVD player still there, expensive and overly complicated stereo system accounted for. But this is where her feeling of unease was coming from. Someone’s been in here. She knew it like they had marked their territory like an animal. A weak odor of perspiration lingered in the air, carried to her by her powers like a golden retriever fetching a bone. She flicked the light switch.

The only thing that warned her of what was about to happen was the slight difference in resistance of the switch. She felt it in her finger as some secondary connection was made. Immediately she pulled air to her in order to build a wall of hard air between her and whatever was happening. It was part of her training to respond instantly to any perceived threat. Tonight it would do her no good.

The explosion was thunderous, seeming to come from all around her. She felt the pressure wave hit her shield and shatter it like an eggshell under a sledgehammer. The flames that followed fed on the condensed air and expanded to fill every square inch of the apartment, pushing everything else out beneath the wave of destruction. Gayle’s torn and burning body was thrown clear of the thirtieth-story room and into the night like a comet burning up on reentry. Fiery pieces of furniture and clothing followed her down.

Glass blown out by the explosion and illuminated by the fire came down like blazing rain.

Skorpion

The underbelly of Paragon City was almost the same as every other major city in America: pimps, drug dealers, various other assorted criminals, and the back alleys and abandoned warehouses that hid them. The only major difference was that this was the home city for the Neohuman Defense League. You would think that two years after the team had disbanded the number of high-profile criminals, neohuman hate groups, and assassins would diminish, but no, they still migrated to this place looking for the target of their obsession, a target that no longer existed. I did my best to fill the void the team left behind.

I don’t want the scum to be disappointed.

Outside the dilapidated building, I sat admiring the graffiti on the walls while waiting for the men inside to get down to business. The group that came in the Escalade parked down the adjacent alley were local gun merchants. They specialized in military hardware, but sometimes they were able to get their hands on experimental stuff that even the military was afraid to touch. They were an elusive little group, frequently disappearing into the deep shadows of Paragon.

The two men that had arrived in the Civic down the street were hired killers. A friend in the FBI had told me about their arrival late yesterday. I assumed they were here for me. As the only active member of the former NDL, I’d become an obvious target. I no longer had any of the heavy hitters that used to be by my side for every battle, or even official government backing for my actions. It was just little old me, and I had accrued quite an enemy list even before the team fell apart. Professional killers were drawn to me like flies to a corpse. Last I heard the bounty was up to two million.

I stuck to the shadows as I made my way to the side of the building. An old rusty fire escape hung to the side. As far as I could tell the only thing holding it on was a rusty bolt and the will of God, but it was my only way up, so I moved a trash bin under it, climbed on and reached for the ladder. I silently cursed myself for not bringing a grappling hook as the structure creaked and moaned under my weight. The metal grating squeaked with relief as I made it onto the rooftop.

A light rain began to fall through the chill night. It beaded up on the thick material of my coat and fell like tears onto the ground. The coat was made to look like leather so that I could blend into a crowd of people if need be, but it was made of a material akin to Kevlar in its toughness. It was long, and swept the ground as I crouch-ran over to a roof vent. The mask I wore was black with blood-red striations through it, and it was equipped with lenses that could switch to a number of enhanced vision features.

I keyed the command for night vision. Immediately my sight turned green and the small illumination cast by the streetlights was more than enough for me.

Pulling the cover free from the vent, I crawled inside. The night vision kept me from being blind in the enclosed space, but just barely. The gloves I had on were military prototypes that copied the tiny hairs on a gecko’s footpad to allow me to cling to surfaces with ease. When one of the tech guys tried to explain to me how they worked my eyes glazed over and I think I went into a science-induced coma. All I knew was that so far they were working. I lowered myself down slowly, one hand at a time as my legs took up the slack of keeping me stable. After a long minute I reached the end of the vent. Luckily for me it seemed like everything of value had been stripped from this place, including the exhaust fan that would have been in the vent to carry fumes from the warehouse to the already smog-filled air outside.

I was about fifty feet above a concrete floor, and the only thing that kept me there were a pair of gloves that some tech guy who wanted to be a spymaster invented. Wonderful. Through the grate at the end I could see everyone: on the left were the four gun dealers, two of them holding large cases at their sides. On the right were the two hired guns, one of them holding a small attaché case. Their conversation echoed up to me.

So these fit your specifications, right? one of the dealers asked. He stood in front of the men with the cases, empty hands at his sides.

Yes. These should be satisfactory. The assassin that spoke had a thick accent, possibly eastern European.

The lead dealer made a quick motion with his head and the two men with the cases stepped forward, placed them on the ground by the lead man, and stepped back. Then the man with the attaché case stepped forward, set it on the down, and picked up the two cases. He winced at the weight of them.

I didn’t need to see any more. I wedged myself in the vent with my legs, pulled my sticky gloves free of the metal, and dug around in my pockets. My sight returned to normal at the touch of a button. Removing a fist-sized magnet from my jacket, I placed it against the ductwork, made sure it stuck, and uncoiled a small line that was attached to it. In my other hand I held a black metal sphere with a pin in the top.

Pleasure doin’ business with ya, said the lead dealer. It sounded like a badly faked Italian accent.

Grabbing a hold of the line, I kicked the grate free and watched it fall gracelessly to the floor with a clatter before I dropped the grenade. It was an impact activated flash-bang, so instead of a timer or fuse—which would cost me precious seconds—it would explode as soon as it hit the ground. My eyes were shut so tight they were watering when the flash came. The explosion was deafening and made my ears ring. The echoes seemed like they would never stop reverberating off the cracked plaster walls and concrete floor.

I had about ten seconds before they recovered.

With my hands wrapped tightly around the line, I dropped into the middle of them, my gloves against the wire making a high-pitched whistle. I was still a