Ultimate Mid-life Crisis

By Adam Graham

What happens when a superhero endures a midlife crisis?

As Powerhouse, Dave Johnson has become a local legend in Seattle but choruses of voices advise him that he’s wasting his time defending the Emerald City. He’s urged to take on more ambitious goals like defending New York, being a full-time comic book executive, or becoming a bat-breaking evangelist. These questions are pushed into the background when Powerhouse is confronted with an unprecedented crime wave launched by the interdimensional warlord Varlock as part of his effort to help King Bel conquer the Earth.

At the same time, Naomi Johnson secretly possesses her husband’s super powers. When her work slows down during the summer, the Johnson children depart to summer camp, and Dave is never home due to the crime wave., she assumes a new identity in Wyoming as Marie Dubois and becomes a vigilante known as Justice Woman. In the course of this, she confronts her unfulfilled hopes and dreams, and her unresolved anger.

While Powerhouse is pushed to the point of physical and mental collapse by Varlock’s scheme, Naomi has to decide whether she’ll go back to her old life or chart a new course. How she decides will affect her, her family, and the entire world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Graham
• Release date: Aug 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310417030

Book preview

Chapter 1

Attack of the Giant Lobster

Giant lobster attacking the city. —Melvin

Mild-mannered dad Dave Johnson stared at the text message on his business cell phone as he sat at his computer desk. On it lay manuscripts for his Powerhouse Presents comic books. He growled. He had no time for jokes. Melvin Stankewicz ought to know by now to only use this number for serious matters. Dave texted back. Really?

The reply came at once. Of course, really.

Melvin must’ve already written that message.

Dave pocketed his phone. This look like a job for . . . He lowered his voice. Powerhouse.

He zoomed up the basement stairs and out the kitchen’s exit into the backyard. Only lawn furniture was in the neighbor’s backyard. Coast was clear.

He transformed into Powerhouse by superimagining himself into his silver armor, with his yellow lightning bolt crest on his chest. His matching motorcycle helmet obscured his face. He activated his rocket pack and soared into the sky. Powerhouse away!

Several minutes later, he found the four-story-high crustacean crushing small boats and waterfront offices along the pier. The beast snapped its huge claws at Powerhouse.

He dodged and superimagined Titanium bands restraining the beast.

Powerhouse flew under the beast’s belly and pushed up.

His muscles strained against the gargantuan crustacean’s underbelly. It barely budged. He turned his rocket pack to its maximum setting. The force thrust him up three hundred feet up in the air along with the giant lobster.

It snapped its claws, but it couldn’t reach him.

Powerhouse frowned. He couldn’t keep this up forever. What was he going to do with this thing?

He glanced around the harbor. He couldn’t throw it into the city jail. If he threw it into the ocean, it’d just come back out. Some days, you just can’t get rid of a seven-ton lobster.

What could he put it in?

Of course. He superimagined a giant flying pressure cooker full of water into existence with the lobster inside of it.

Powerhouse looked down at the boats. Time for them to get fixed. Every damaged boat in the harbor automatically reconstituted themselves.

Time for to rebuild. He used his cell phone to look up on the internet a picture of the portion of town and visualized all the shacks and offices on the dock back in order in real life.

Now what was he going to do with the lobster?

A homeless man shuffled by.

Ooh, that was it. Powerhouse speed dialed Big Gray.

Big Gray answered the phone. Powerhouse, what is it? I’m just flying back from Portugal. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.

I need your help cooking a giant lobster.

Oh, it’s been a while since I prepared one. It a seven-pounder?

More like a seven-tonner.

What? Big Gray gasped.

I caught it attacking the city and put in a giant flying crock pot. Can you cook it?

Of course, I can cook anything. Big Gray laughed. This lobster fry is perfect for my audition tape for the Food Network. I’d like to see Robert Irvine cook a seven-ton lobster.

Maybe given enough time.

Impossible. The human method for cooking a lobster requires eight minutes a pound. Cooking a 14,000 pound lobster would take 78 days. Most of the meat would go bad. With my vast knowledge of hundreds of cultures, and dozens of planets, only I can rise to this challenge. Only I am the Super Chef.

Powerhouse groaned. You don’t want to rename your comic book?

With my foes, it might not be prudent to go into battle as the Super Chef, but perhaps it could be a subtitle of the alternate nickname sort. Big Gray: The Super Chef. Can you take care of it with your executive position?

Oh, yeah, I’m an executive. For a few more days anyway. So, cooking the lobster.

Find a suitable vacant lot and guard that lobster. It should still be alive when I get there to cook it. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.

An hour and a half? Powerhouse tightened his fist. But I’ve got comic scripts I have to review at home. And I was supposed to take Naomi out later. What’s going to take so long?

I apologize, but I have to obtain one half ton of butter and find enough ingredients to make a side dish you can only weigh at a truck stop.

Powerhouse sighed. Naomi wasn’t going to like this.

Mitch Farrow stood at the window of his CEO office, staring over his city from a skyscraper’s top story. Somehow, even the Space Needle looked so insignificant. He could have anything he wanted—except to cure his daughter and ex-wife of AIDS. Nothing could help them.

Not the news helicopter with the Dorado Communications logo on it.

Not Dorado Incorporated’s hotel chain.

Not the giant lobster rampaging near the waterfront.

Giant lobster? What the heck?

Mitch spun around to his marble-topped desk, opened the top right side drawer, and checked his whiskey bottle. Only half-empty. I’m not hallucinating, so who’s got the means, motive, and opportunity to disrupt my nice, cynical reality with a hokey comic book plot?

Varlock! Mitch stormed towards his private elevator.

His cell phone buzzed.

He glared at his calendar app. Stupid G-8 summit!

Why had he agreed to do a teleconference with the world’s leaders?

Varlock would have to wait to get his.

Hours later, the force of Mitch’s pent up anger propelled him up the stairs to Varlock’s office. He pounded on the door.

Its computer beeped and said in a male voice, After hours, there’s only admittance with musical knocks.

Gritting his teeth, he knocked to the tune he sung to himself, You may be right, I may be crazy.

He glowered. Varlock had some nerve to assign him that tune. Though, he’d made out better than the musical knock Fournier had gotten stuck with.

The door opened, and Farrow blazed in and slapped his fist on the desk.

On Varlock’s floating, circular, overhead TV screen, a male national news commentator smiled. Thanks to Powerhouse, the giant lobster’s rampage is over, the waterfront has been saved, fifteen thousand people have enjoyed a free lobster meal, and $50,000 was raised in support of Seattle food banks.

Farrow groaned. The stupid national media was so biased. All that was missing was Powerhouse’s secret identity giving a cheesy wink to the camera. Not that anyone would recognize him.

Is Fournier here yet?

Varlock waved dismissively. We can start without him. What does he ever accomplish?

Outside the door, Fournier knocked to the tune of the Lollipop Guild song. He came in, butter on his chin, and singing softly, We wish to welcome you to Munchkin Land. Otherwise, he almost looked dignified in his pink bowtie and lab coat. That lobster feed was good. Whatever else you want to say about him, the Big Gray knows how to cook.

Mitch glared. You didn’t give money to charity, did you?

Fournier wrinkled his brow. No, the cost of the meal was a free will donation, which I believe is Christianese for the meal is free.

Then I don’t care. He turned toward Varlock. Did you bring that lobster here?

Varlock licked his nose with his frog-like tongue, I was scanning the bottom of the sea and found a seven-ton lobster. I thought, ‘why not release the lobster into Seattle and see what happens?’ So I did.

Mitch folded his arms, Did you forget you’re not allowed to implement any anti-Powerhouse plans without my approval?

Varlock waved his tongue. This was a whim. I wondered what would happen if Powerhouse fought a giant lobster. Now I know.

You really expect me to buy that lame excuse?

Fournier adjusted his bowtie. However crude his method, his idea has some scientific merit. With an opponent like Powerhouse, sometimes the only way to find out if something could hurt him is to try it. Now we have a result.

Don’t defend me! Varlock jutted his nose out towards Fournier. In this organization, you’re what your people call, ‘the weakest link.’ It is your fault we’ve not succeeded. You waste time rather than attacking Powerhouse.

I’m a scientist, sir. Fournier straightened his bow-tie. It’s not my job to run experiments that achieve your desired results. It’s my job to obtain valid results. I’ve run a hundred experiments this month, testing items Powerhouse had created from mental energy expenditure, probing their molecular structure for weakness. I’ve examined the high and low points of his energy patterns.

You’ve wasted time!

Fournier glared at Varlock. I’m not finished! As I was saying, I’ve also run simulations to assess the strength of his armor and his personal shield. I’ve done small scale tests, microscopic analysis, and run thousands of computer simulations to uncover a way to attack Powerhouse that has even a 50.1% chance of success. I’ve drawn plans for weapons systems and redrawn them based on better information. I’ve obtained an encyclopedic knowledge of all that can be known of Powerhouse backwards and forwards, and I’ll continue to study him and experiment to find weaknesses we can exploit.

Varlock licked his cheeks. In the time you’ve wasted on nonsense, you could’ve created four dozen monsters to attack him. I expect one every week.

This is not a cartoon! Fournier waved his fist.

Never thought I’d hear my resident mad scientist say that. Mitch put his hand on Fournier’s shoulder. We know real science takes time. He’s just trying to pick a fight with you to avoid responsibility. Mitch glared at Varlock. It won’t work. You’re the reason Powerhouse got international headlines for saving Seattle from a giant lobster. Whether you call it a plan or you call it a whim, I want approval from myself or King Bel.

Varlock stuck out his tongue. Very well, but I shall get a plan approved by King Bel, then I won’t tell you the details. You or your so-called scientist.

Yeah, that’ll happen. Mitch snorted and spun toward the door. Come on, Fournier. We’re leaving.

Varlock said, You should’ve asked my permission to leave, but I want you to go, so go.

The door opened, and Fournier accompanied Mitch out into the hall.

Fournier sneered. I’m beginning to doubt there’s intelligent alien life.

In her basement, Naomi Johnson sat on her husband’s brown leather couch. He was on the phone and still in his superhero costume as he sat in his titanium Powerhouse Chair.

She smoothed her purple knee-length skirt, tossed her shoulder-length brown hair, and sighed as she eyed the couch’s duck-tape patches. They were bigger every time she was down here. Why couldn’t he let the last piece of junky furniture in the house go?

Well, their bed was getting old, too, but surely it was still in as good of condition as it’d been in on their wedding night. She bit her lip. Perhaps he’d accept a compromise and agree to simply reupholster his couch.

Powerhouse roared. No, that’s not acceptable. I sent back your script last week with revisions, and you’ve completely ignored my changes. He tilted his head a moment. No, this is an all ages title. You don’t put that in there.

After the next reply, he frowned. You don’t work for Amazing Comics. If they jumped off the top of the Space Needle, would you do it too?

Naomi half-smiled. Well, girl, you got what you asked for. You’re no longer married to a janitor. Now, you’re the wife of a big executive who has spent the last two hours tracking down a comic book artist and writer who disobeyed his commands. That’s after he spent an hour and a half playing guard dog to the world’s biggest sea food dinner.

Powerhouse growled into the phone. If you want to do things the way Amazing Comics does things, go sign with them.

Naomi yawned. This was just how she’d wanted to spend her evening, watching Dave gripe at his employees for dressing a superheroine like a hooker when she was supposed to be a positive role model for young girls.

She pursed her lips and stared at the ceiling. If she couldn’t be out with Dave, he could at least stop pretending they were going out any minute now and give her a chance to sneak out to ride Cyrus. Her horse never made her sit here only weighing down office furniture. Her horse appreciated her, maybe more than some people.

I want the revisions in my email box by noon my time, and that’d be Pacific. Have a good evening. Powerhouse hung up the cell phone, stood, and shape-shifted into the muscular, black-haired Dave Johnson. Sorry, honey. Dinner and a movie is pretty well shot, but we could get ice cream.

That’d be nice. Naomi stood.

Powerhouse’s cell phone rang.

Naomi sighed. There goes the ice cream.

Sorry. Dave took the call, using Powerhouse’s voice. Hey, Roy, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard from the best detective/trucker around.

A few seconds later, he grinned and put his hand over the phone. They have a lead on the location of Major Speed’s nurse! He returned to his call.

After thirty seconds, he spoke in a tone that indicated he was speaking for her benefit. So she hitched ride, and she got off in . . . um, Roy, could you say it again? I need to write her location down. Dave squinted as he created a piece of paper out of nothing. New Braunfels, Texas. Okay, I’ll check it out. Thanks for the tip.

Done so soon? She winced at her sarcastic tone. Who is she?

Dave put the phone away and smiled at her. The nurse who notified us about Major Speed’s kidnapping was spotted hitchhiking several weeks back, and she ended up in a city in Texas. It’s eight here, so it’s six there.

Naomi shook her head. You’ve got that backwards. It’s ten there.

Then there’s no point in going tonight. So, tomorrow, I will descend on New Braunfels, Texas, and the villains who captured Major Speed will beware the might of Powerhouse. Dave slapped his fists together and smiled. So, what type of ice cream do you want?

In his hospital bed, Major Speed reached for the IV filling his body with the poison. He grasped the needle stuck in his left arm and pulled it out. The machine by his bed beeped wildly. Focusing, he willed his metabolism to speed up the process of burning the remaining poison from his system. He vibrated faster and faster until he was sure it’d worked.

He wobbled to his feet.

Karen had done a good job exercising his legs. He took a step and then another. Soon, he’d be ready to rescue Karen. The Pharaoh and his commie friends would regret the day they’d decided to tangle with Major Speed.

Footsteps came down the hall.

Speed hid beside the door.

One of the Pharaoh’s guards entered. Hey, what’s—

Major Speed delivered a left cross to the guard, who sprawled onto the hospital bed. He snatched away the guard’s AR-15 rifle. Remove your work pants and your undershirt.

The guard took off his jeans, his t-shirt, and a tank top.

Good. Major Speed inserted the IV into the guard’s vein.

The guard screamed.

Major Speed covered the guard’s mouth until the guard drifted off into unconsciousness.

The alarm stopped beeping.

Major Speed put on the guard’s jeans and his undershirts. Don’t know why so many people dress like cowboys and workmen in the 21st Century, but I’d rather fight in this than my hospital nightgown. Bet it will handle better with me running. He held the gun tight and ran down the hall at a normal pace. Have to find Karen.

Mitch Farrow lay in his round, king-sized bed, laughing at his half-empty, three-thousand-dollar bottle of wine. Five-dollar wine would get me hammered just as fast. He took another swig.

His black cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. Dr. Fournier. He hit the button on his Bluetooth earplug It’s Farrow.

Sir, I was in the lair, and we have an emergency in Texas. Major Speed has broken loose. Turn on your monitor.

Mitch groped around his nightstand and grabbed a remote. It was upside down. He flipped it over, pressed a button, and a television screen came down from the wall. It showed Major Speed in jeans and a black shirt and carrying an AR-15 through the compound. Mitch cursed.

Fournier said, "The good news is all those leg exercises the nurse has been giving him have paid off. Why do you let her do those?"

So I’d have an excuse not to kill her. Mitch grunted. That’s my business.

Well, the bad news is he’s found the exit, broken open the door, and taken out all the guards on the first level. He appears to be looking for her.

If he’s not going at superspeed, then he’s not at full strength yet. Patch me through to the intercom. Once I let him know where things stand, he’ll voluntarily return to his room.

Major Speed stood in a corridor on the first floor of the complex. He knelt over the unconscious, brown-skinned guard, grabbed his riffle with his free hand. One could only carry so many guns. He tossed the villain’s weapon into a closet.

A television screen came down from the ceiling. On the screen, Karen was locked in a room and wore a white blouse and pink skirt. Behind her was an open window. The Pharaoh’s hateful voice came over a loud speaker. Is she what you’re looking for?

Karen turned and gasped. Major Speed! You’re free!

That’s temporary, lady. Pharaoh laughed. Major Bigot, her room has a bomb under the floor. She’s on the fourth floor. If you set foot on the third, the bomb goes off. If you leave the building, the bomb goes off. So wake up my men and go to bed like a good little tin soldier.

He couldn’t risk her life. Speed sighed. Guess I don’t have any choice.

No! Karen shook her head. I’m done being a pushed-around victim. I’m sick of being your hostage Pharaoh, and I won’t let you do it anymore.

And what exactly are you going to do about it, lady? The Pharaoh had a smirk in his voice.

She glanced at Speed. Have you found the front entrance?

Yeah. His stomach churned. Why?

I can see it from my window. I’m about twenty feet to the left of it.

Pharaoh laughed. That wall’s too slippery to climb, and he can’t help you, lady. If he leaves, you’ll blow up into a thousand pieces the moment he steps out of the building.

You don’t have me trapped. Karen’s lip quivered. She looked towards the window.

No! Speed lurched forward.

Catch! Karen screamed as hurtled herself to the earth below.

Chapter 2

Dr. Democracy Lends a Hand

I have to try. Major Speed dashed out the compound’s front door.

Karen plummeted toward Earth in slow motion. Her room exploded behind her, the shockwave deflected her path.

She was falling too fast.

Speed dived, arms held out.

She fell into his arms.

He tumbled the ground, but held onto her. He leapt to his feet, gazed at her sleeping face, and smiled. There was a catch Willie Mays would be proud of. Provided she wasn’t dead.

Major Speed felt her pulse. Just unconscious. Poor thing.

He patted her cheek. Karen, wake up.

Did I make it? She murmured as her eyelids fluttered.

You only almost got yourself killed.

She sniffled. I’m sorry.

Speed put a finger to her lips. It was very brave. I just don’t want you risking your life.

Why? She said it like a child.

Yeah, why, Joshua? Speed frowned. Don’t you dare fall for her. The you that belongs in this time is pushing a hundred, if you get back home and live long enough to create a paradox. He cleared his throat. Let’s get out of here and notify the authorities. Which way is town?

It’s through that field. She pointed, her arm trembling. Her eyes closed again. I had to walk about three quarters of a mile.

Footsteps pounded from behind them.

We’d better run, Speed clutched her close and raced toward the field.

He hit an invisible barrier and rocketed backwards, gripping Karen. Can’t drop her. Twisting, he slammed sideways into a tree. The world disappeared.

Powerhouse soared over the city. One more morning patrol to make sure everything was okay and then it was off to Texas.

A net shot up at him.

Powerhouse dodged to the left.

Curse you, Powerhouse! You shall not defeat the Silver Medal.

That guy escaped again? Powerhouse rolled his eyes and flew to a rooftop.

By a heating vent, the villain stood dressed in black with a silver medal around his neck.

Powerhouse folded his arms. How about we skip me humiliating you again, and I simply return you to jail where you belong?

You insolent fool, I almost defeated you! And many others have almost tasted defeat at my hands. Silver Medal cackled. But that was alone.

He dropped a smoke bomb.

When the smoke cleared, five other costumed fighters appeared: the Mime in his grease paint, the Hurler who wore a muscle shirt, the Juggler who was dressed like a court jester as he tapped his foot, the Boomerang Bloke in a Crocodile Dundee hat and khaki shorts, and the Contortionist who lay on the ground with his feet on his shoulders.

Silver Medal laughed. My Sinister Six will destroy you.

The Boomerang Bloke waved his crocodile Dundee hat. Destroy him? The invitation said we were going to give Powerhouse what he deserved. Me and him are pals now. He grabbed a toaster oven off the ground from behind him. I brought him a present.

You shouldn’t have. Powerhouse eyed the toaster’s $1.99 as-is thrift store price tag. Um, that’s nice. He glanced up at Silver Medal. You can’t be the Sinister Six. There’s only five of you. Besides, my comic book company can’t afford to buy out the guys who own the Sinister Six.

The Silver Medal glowered. Then we’ll be the Fearsome Five.

Powerhouse laughed. That rips off Darkwing Duck’s rogues’ gallery.

The Hurler smirked. How about the Satanic Six minus one?

Silver Medal shirked back from Hurler. That’s a bit much. He cleared his throat. We are the Final Five, for we are the last villains you’ll face before oblivion, Powerhouse.

You wish. He smirked inside his helmet. But it works.

Boomerang Bloke dashed to Powerhouse’s side.

The five villains surrounded them.

Bloke formed a T with his hands. Before we get started, Silver Medal, I want to know who I’m fighting. I know you’re like a mad scientist type, but who are these people?.

I guess the introductions are obligatory. Silver Medal jerked his thumb at Hurler. You’re first.

The Hurler had piercings up and down his face and a tattoo of Satan on his arm. I’m the most dangerous man alive, a born killer.

Powerhouse snorted. I caught him breaking into a vending machine.

The Hurler spat. Even an evil sadist gets hungry.

The Contortionist stood, leaned backwards, and touched the back of his knee with his head just below his hips. I am the world’s greatest contortionist. Powerhouse ruined my career when he caught me breaking into a bank.

The Juggler tossed two handkerchiefs and kept them in the air. I robbed banks by juggling bombs while the cashier filled the bag with money.

Powerhouse snickered. I transformed your bombs into tomatoes, and you dropped them on yourself.

A man in mime makeup pointed an imaginary machine gun at them. The Boomerang Bloke jerked his elbow toward the Mime. And who’s he? Does he have the power to make force fields with his hands?

No, he’s what he appears to be. Powerhouse laughed. I caught the Mime holding up a bank with his finger.

The Boomerang Bloke gasped. What is it with you blokes and robbing banks? You trying to undermine the whole bleedin’ economy.

Enough of this. Silver Medal waved his men on. Attack!

The Mime vibrated like he was firing a machine gun.

The other villains gaped at him.

Powerhouse slapped Bloke’s shoulder. It’s up to you, partner. Throw a boomerang at Mime’s gun.

What gun?

The one he thinks he’s holding.

The relatively sane criminals charged.

Bloke threw a boomerang at the Mime. It hit the Mime’s imaginary gun. The Mime yelped silently and sucked his trigger finger.

Juggler approached while keeping four knives in the air. He threw one at Powerhouse as the Silver Medal fired his ray gun.

The Hurler and the Contortionist were about to reach them. Powerhouse grabbed the Boomerang Bloke by his waist and rocketed into the air.

Juggler’s throwing knife hit Silver Medal in the shoulder. Silver Medal’s ray gun got Juggler in the stomach, and he collapsed.

While rubbernecking at his fallen comrades, the Hurler crashed into the Contortionist and became entangled in the Contortionist’s flexible limbs.

The Mime reached into his sock, pulled out an imaginary dagger, and threw it up in a trajectory aimed for Powerhouse’s vulnerable neck.

He ducked. Missed me.

What missed you? Boomerang Bloke asked.

Right, it wasn’t real. Powerhouse groaned. Okay, play time’s over.

He superimagined the crooks tied up and landed.

Bloke sneered at the Final Five. And you call yourselves supervillains!

The Silver Medal pouted. At least we tried rather than finking out. He glanced to Powerhouse. This’ll look better in the comic books, right?

It’ll have to. Powerhouse shrugged.

Good. Now, I need medical attention before I bleed to death.

Juggler said, Yeah, me too.

Powerhouse sighed. It’d probably take longer to ferry the criminals than it’d taken to fight them.

Bloke said, Mate, I’ll watch these blighters while you take the other two to the hospital.

Thanks. Powerhouse created two stretchers, loaded the injured villains on them, and flew through the air. I really need to get to Texas . Hopefully, this won’t hold me up too much.

Major Speed awoke tied to a slab and surrounded by the six guards who had held him in the compound. Karen lay next to him on an adjoining slab.

A Red Army Colonel approached wearing a brown cape. His monocle fell out of his eye, and he picked it up and put it back in. Good morning to you, Comrade Speed.

Speed growled. Don’t call me comrade, commie.

I called you Comrade Speed, not Comrade Commie. Regardless, I have questions, and I want answers regarding the American defenses.

You’ll never get answers.

I will! The red colonel slammed his fist on the table, and the monocle popped out of his eye again. He ducked as he retrieved it. The villain stuck out his tongue and moved it up and down.

Speed blinked. Why would you want defense information that’s fifty-five years old, anyway? I was transported here from 1957 by one of your fancy commie weapons.

I don’t intend for you to talk. I intend for you to suffer. The monocle popped out again.

Major Speed arched his brows. This guy sounded more and more like an actor delivering movie lines rather than a real commie.

The door slammed open. Not so fast!

Major Speed turned his head. In the doorway was a short man wearing a pink bowtie and an American flag button-down shirt. Two men wearing gas masks stood beside him.

The Red Colonel sneered. So we meet again, Dr. Democracy.

Dr. Democracy said, You’re surrounded, Colonel Putin. Give us Major Speed and the girl.

If you insist. The Colonel bowed.

Major Speed scrunched his brows. That guy had to be up to something.

Dr. Democracy straightened his pink bowtie. Tom, Jasper, help Major Speed and the girl to the America Van while I deal with these reds.

The bigger one scooped up Karen’s still form.

Major Speed asked, Is she alive?

Yes, said the big guy carrying her in his arms.

The shorter one untied Speed, helped him down, and led him outside to a van painted in American Flag colors.

Major Speed glanced sideways at the other guy, his eyes narrowed. If the commies have taken over, how can you drive such a conspicuous van?

Um, ask the doc. The short guy opened the door to the van.

I can manage. Speed stepped on the running board and lowered into the seat before closing the door. Something wasn’t quite kosher here.

The men put Karen in the captain’s seat behind him.

Speed grunted. He might have enough of his strength back to get away, but he couldn’t carry Karen far enough, and he wasn’t leaving her.

The back of the van open and closed.

A moment later, Dr. Democracy hopped into the driver’s seat. The item he held was a plastic black garment bag on a hanger. He twisted toward Speed and smiled. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. You don’t know me, but you saved my mother’s life when she escaped from the Communists in Poland.

Speed rubbed his head. Was that in ‘52?

No, it was 1954. She spoke highly of you and your friend, Black Cobra.

That was when he’d been in Poland and helped some refugees. Perhaps this guy was legit. Best to keep testing him, just to be sure. So doesn’t this van stick out in a war zone, with the commies in charge of everything?

The doc waved. That would only be a problem if we were professional soldiers. I’m a scientist, and they’re my assistants. The communists don’t run everything. The battle’s ongoing.

Perhaps that explained some of the amateurish conduct. Don’t worry, doc. I’ll be happy to do anything I can to help defeat the Reds.

I’m sure. Dr. Democracy handed him the garment bag. Major, the best thing you can do to stop this from happening is to go back to your own time to stop them from taking over. So I’m sending you back to the past.

You can do that?

Of course, it’s taken years, but I’ve perfected my time machine.

Major Speed glanced back at Karen. What about her?

She belongs to this time. I’ll see that she’s properly taken care of.

Can I say goodbye to her?

If she wakes up in time. We have to get you back before the reds catch up to us. Plus she may not exist as you know her.

What do you mean?

When you return to 1957, it’ll lead to changes in history, setting things right. She’ll grow up in a different world.

Perhaps he should let her sleep. She’d wake up in a better time, when Major Speed was only someone in the history books who helped the cause of freedom in defeating Communism.

Naomi sat in a coffee shop in Seattle in a green leather chair across from Carmella Carmichael. Her friend was absentmindedly detangling her amber curls with her fingers. Naomi twisted four packets of Splenda into her half-caf, non-fat, sugar-free chocolate latte and replaced the