Kelly Meding: Chimera

Alexia pressed her palms against the door, doing whatever it was she did when she “read” metal. She could identify types of metals, even from a distance, and the more natural a metal’s state, the easier it was for her to move or break it.

“Hinges and locks,” she said. “I can break through them with little damage.”

“Perfect,” Ethan said.

“Do you think they’ll bill us for this?” I asked, and he snickered. One of our workplace rules was to cause as little property damage as possible.

We did our best.

Alexia used her Meta power to tear apart the metal in the left door’s hinge and lock, and as a unit we quietly moved the heavy door out of the way. No alarms sounded, which did not surprise me, since (as with the blowtorched gates) all of the police reports said that alarm systems were tampered with.

We entered a short lobby that led into a long hallway. We’d all studied the specs of the warehouse beforehand, so getting through the management section of the building was easy. Then down a long, drab corridor that ended at a pair of swinging double doors. Opaque glass squares didn’t give us much of a view into the main warehouse, but the lights were on. I heard the gentle hum of voices—nothing else to indicate they were moving pallets yet.

Ethan shifted to my right, ready to shove open the door. I thumbed the safety off my Coltson. My heart pounded. My body thrummed with anticipation.

Both doors swung inward on a pop of kinetic energy and slammed flat against the wall on either side. I stepped backward, stunned by the sudden action. Jack and Jill stood less than ten feet away, side by side, feet spread and hands out to their sides like passengers steadying themselves on a rocking boat. Only they weren’t unbalanced. They were ready to fight.

“Didn’t your parents tell you it isn’t polite to crash other people’s parties uninvited?” Jack said in a familiar, petulant teenager tone.

I bristled. Oh, I didn’t like this kid. “Didn’t your parents tell you it’s even less polite to break-and-enter other people’s property?” I asked, and raised my right hand. Over the sight of the pistol, I stared down our teenage thieves.

As a trio, we moved a few steps forward, into the frame of the doorway.

“Since when do Rangers carry guns?” Jill asked.

“News flash, kiddo,” I said. “We aren’t the Rangers anymore. Now, why don’t you both put your superpowered hands behind your backs and come with us quietly?”

“No.”

“We’re busy,” Jack said with a snarl in his voice. He snapped his right hand in our direction.

Energy crackled, and before we could react to defend ourselves, the double doors came slamming right back at us. Like an unexpected tackle from a defensive lineman, the blow sent all three of us tumbling backward in a messy, painful heap. Light exploded behind my eyes as my head cracked off the cement floor. Ethan’s elbow hit my gut. Alexia was somewhere under my left shoulder.

“Okay,” Ethan said as he rolled off to the right. “Now I’m pissed.”

“No more easy way, right?” I said.

“No more easy way.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. Time to take down some teenagers.

Jack had figured out a way to lock the double doors, so we had to waste time letting Alexia tear apart the hinges, and then we knocked the doors down flat. They slammed into the floor with a deafening thud that vibrated up my feet.

Inside the warehouse, three shrink-wrapped pallets were moving into the back of a tractor-trailer. And when I say they were moving, I mean on their own. No pallet jack, no forklift. The pallets hovered a few inches above the ground and slid into the truck. Had to be Jack, which slapped a big, fat telekinetic label on his forehead. Powerful, too, to be moving three pallets at once.

Our targets were both out of sight, hiding somewhere inside the cavernous warehouse and its labyrinth of wrapped pallets, some stacked at least three high. Ethan motioned for us to split up. He gathered the wind and soared up into the rafters to get a bird’s-eye view. The air rippled, and then he careened into the far wall. He hit with a shout and dropped straight to the cement floor, out of sight. It took seconds.

Fury bubbled up from deep inside me, rippling over my skin and through my bones. I wanted to run to Ethan and make sure he was okay, but more than that, I wanted to hurt someone on his behalf. “Tell me you’re okay, Wind Bag,” I said over the com as I charged into the maze of pallets.

No response.

Shit, shit, shit.

Wood creaked nearby as another pallet rose off its stack and hovered its way toward the tractor-trailer. I didn’t know where Alexia was, and I didn’t care. I crept down a row of pallets, listening carefully, channeling my anger into my senses, cataloguing everything—sights, sounds, smells. Something squeaked to my left, and I slipped through an opening between two stacks of pallets. Peeked around the corner.

Jack stood with his back to me, hands out like some fool worshipping at an altar, probably directing his latest pallet of stolen food. I steadied my right hand with my left and sighted the center of his back. The short hairs on my neck prickled with an innate sense of being watched—a sense I’d honed since I was a child and molded to perfection during my days in Las Vegas. That prickling gave me just enough time to duck.

The food above me exploded in a blast of heat, melted plastic, and burning cardboard. The odor of scorched popcorn hit me, along with hot kernels and other bits of superheated shrapnel. I scrambled away, my own skin rippling with memories of agony and helplessness.

I couldn’t see Jill, but I knew she’d done that. The heat blast must have been what knocked Ethan for a loop and what she’d used to melt so many locks and hinges. The powers reminded me of Mayhem, a Bane we’d fought and beaten that final day in Central Park fifteen long years ago. She’d sent concentrated heat blasts in much the same way. And that day, Ethan was the one who’d taken her down.

Please, God, Ethan, you have to be okay.

Someone shrieked far away—a female voice too high-pitched to be Alexia’s. Maybe she’d gotten the drop on Jill. I scooted around my row of pallets until I found another break in the line. It was too thin for my entire body. I concentrated on the muscles and bones in my neck, allowing them to stretch out, burning some of that excess adrenaline as I fit my head down the row and left the rest of my body behind. Peeked around the corner.

Jill was facedown on the cement floor, Alexia braced on top of her, holding her down. They were struggling, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. I retracted my head, then climbed. I couldn’t get through, so I just went over. The boxes held me, and I scrambled to the top.

“What hit me?” Ethan said over the com.

Relief almost tripped me as I stood up and got my bearings. Two more pallets floated their way into the tractor-trailer. Alexia seemed to be doing okay with Jill, so I hopped to the next pallet, eyes peeled for Jack. Something dark zinged in my direction, and I dropped to my knees in time to avoid a child-sized box from slamming into me. It crashed into a taller pallet, smashing and spilling pasta all over the place.

Death by pasta. That’s original.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished for an active power. Teresa’s orbs could blast through everything standing between me and my prey. Ethan’s hot air could knock down pallets and trap the creep. Marco could shift into a panther and prowl the shadows in utter silence. Even Gage’s hypersenses would be more useful in finding this kid.

Someone yelled again—this time I was pretty sure it was Alexia. And then my pallet tower began shaking, as though the building had been hit by an earthquake. I fell to my knees and held on to the plastic wrap beneath me. Metal rolled. It took a second to figure out the noise—the back of the trailer was closing. The pallets were still shaking and the movement churned my stomach. I stretched my left arm out to get a solid grip on the next pallet, then used the anchoring hold to jump across the narrow space between them.