“Get on,” she said. “Or, if you prefer, you can fly your own way back to your hideout?”
Malcolm got on the motorcycle. Rose had that undefinable girlish smell to her, underlined with a hint of lavender, and he had to focus to keep his hands around her waist, where they belonged.
The ride wasn’t a long one, which was a relief for Malcolm, helmetless as he was. Vanderbrook was not as prosperous as it had once been, and several sections of the city were either abandoned or approaching it.
Malcolm had spent a day and a night searching after leaving his old apartment before finding what he needed. Within Vanderbrook’s old industrial district, inside a small warehouse with broken windows and a leaky roof, lay a trapdoor that led to a clean, modest basement.
Rose brought the bike to a stop behind another building a short distance away from it. Malcolm got off without saying anything, and had to hide his excitement when she took off her helmet and gave him a small nod.
“I have to look at your shoulder,” she said, matter of factly. “Knowing you, you’ll just leave it to get infected.”
“You know me so well,” said Malcolm, with a smile.
He’d taken several factors into account when picking his current hideout. For one, it was not something that anyone would find by accident. Malcolm, himself, had been tipped off to its existence by Rose, who’d found it during one of her episodes in the time before they’d met.
Secondly, it was far away from any residential homes or businesses, and people in general. Malcolm was not dismissive of the possibility of his enemies finding him and attacking him when he least expected it. Multi, the demon that currently projected the most force within the city, wouldn’t hesitate to send in a copy of himself with explosives to finish Malcolm off.
At least this way, he’ll only take out me, and not a host of innocents.
Malcolm led Rose into the warehouse. The trapdoor was over in one corner, and he kept an old carpet pulled over it. It served to hide both the entrance to the hideout, and the long series of electrical cords that he’d connected to an active outlet in the building next door.
There was a single padlock that worked on both the inside and outside of the handle. He twisted the combination, pulled it off, and pulled the hatch open. Malcolm offered Rose a gallant hand. She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she accepted it and worked her way down the ladder.
There was a light within the hideout, but only one. Rose knew where it was and turned it on. Malcolm closed the hatch over them, slid the lock into place, and dropped down after her.
To call the inside of the hideout spartan would have been an understatement. Malcolm had a single twin mattress, a tiny old CRT television that only picked up the local news channels, a water jug, and a few ragged changes of clothing.
Rose, as she always did, examined the space with a mixture of amusement and concern. There were no chairs to sit on, and no couch, so she collapsed onto his frameless mattress and stretched back on her arms.
“Come on,” she said. “Take the shirt off. Let me see that shoulder.”
Malcolm shrugged, but did as commanded. He winced as the fabric of his black long sleeve t-shirt pulled free of the wound, only then noticing the hole in it, along with the hole in his jacket.
“I’ll have to go shopping again tomorrow,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine how irritating this would be if I had a proper, rubber and spandex costume.”
“I can’t imagine you in spandex,” said Rose.
“Neither can I,” said Malcolm.
CHAPTER 5
Malcolm did have money. During his last assignment as a champion, he’d scored a sizable windfall by nudging a high stakes casino game into a favorable outcome. Of course, the use of his powers hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed, but he’d come to an arrangement with the owner and was able to keep his gains, so long as he promised never to gamble there again.
Unfortunately, just because I have money doesn’t mean I can spend it openly. I need to keep a low profile.
“I’m surprised you can even still move your arm.” Rose had pulled a clean handkerchief out of her pocket and was dabbing at his wound, using the water to clean it as much as she could. “You’re missing a chunk of your shoulder.”
Malcolm winced.
“It wasn’t painful until you started poking at it,” he said.
“Right,” said Rose. “What the hell were you thinking, anyway? When did eight against one become winning odds?”
Malcolm tried to shrug, only managing it with his good shoulder. She’d been right to question whether his shoulder still had full mobility with the injury.
“I wasn’t after them,” said Malcolm. “I was watching for Multi. I expect he’ll try another bombing soon, and it would be nice if I could actually stop him, this time.”
He gave Rose a wary look. She was still aligned with the remnants of Rain Dancer’s monster faction, which now only really consisted of Shield Maiden and Fantasy, two sprytes that weren’t openly hostile to him so much as ideologically opposed to the organization he worked for. Multi had also been aligned with Rain Dancer, but from what Rose had told him, things were shaky between him and the others.
“Well, you’re still stupid, then,” said Rose. “Multi isn’t lacking for backup, in case the name didn’t tip you off. Taking stupid risks isn’t exactly good for your future prospects.”
Malcolm scowled. He picked up the TV’s remote off the cement floor and turned it on. It was already set to the local news channel, and he brought the volume up, knowing that they’d be covering the events of the night.
“You’re one to talk,” he said. “Besides, my prospects are already muddled by the fact that the world is currently falling apart.”
Malcolm only recognized one of the two news anchors giving the late-night report. One of the long-time regulars had been killed in one of Multi’s suicide bombings the week before. The remaining anchor had done an admirable job reporting on his coworker’s deaths, keeping his voice steady even as tears crested in the corners of his eyes.
“Vanderbrook still remains on high alert tonight,” said one of the anchors. “Police continue to seek volunteers from citizens after the bombing that destroyed the police station and most of the police force along with it.”
Multi’s handiwork. He targets government buildings, sacrificing his copies for the sake of crippling the city’s infrastructure.
“Several town offices have already been evacuated in anticipation of more strikes.” The new replacement anchor kept her eyes down as she spoke, reading off a paper in front of her. “The attacks of government buildings on local, state, and federal levels have become commonplace all across the country.”
“Indeed, Priscilla,” said the male anchor. “In several cities, including New York, Chicago, and Houston, officials have ordered the evacuation of the civilian population, lacking sufficient police or military protection to keep people safe from the threat of both the monsters and non-gifted criminal elements.”
Malcolm scowled at the TV.
“I don’t know if it makes me feel better or worse,” he said. “On one hand, it’s nice to know that what’s happening in Vanderbrook isn’t because of a specific failure on my part. But on the other…”
Rose gave his good shoulder a squeeze.
“It’s not your responsibility to save the world, you know,” she said.
“Isn’t it, though?”
“…officials have warned that if the suicide bombings continue for much longer, Vanderbrook will need to be placed under martial law, or evacuated,” said the female anchor. “Back to you, Tom.”