Tuesday Afternoon Mayhem by J. D. Brink

Author:J. D. Brink [Brink, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fugitive Fiction

Miracle Worker had reviewed several blueprints and city works charts on the way over, and he’d already had most of the grids committed to memory anyway. Making the team’s escape from the scene of daring heroics relatively easy. They ducked into a theater basement, slipped down behind a municipal power relay, and then through a trapdoor into an old subway access tunnel. And once they had a safe distance between them, the press, and the authorities of a government that resented them, Spitball could stand it no more.

The New Phenomenal Four (fifth pending) had a tagalong.

“Okay, okay. Everybody bring it to a stop, please.”

They were five shadows in a dark corridor, all black uniforms and flesh tones with one among them sporting more fashionable yellow trim.

“What’s the problem?” Silk Spider asked.

Spitball whirled his finger in the air. “Count us,” he said.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, W finally agreed with him. “I’m sorry, but he’s right. We do appreciate your help, but the truth is, we don’t know you. I’m afraid this is where we must part ways.”

“For now,” Mannequin added. “We couldn’t have done it without you, uh…”

She was fishing for his name.

Oh, come on, Spitball thought. This is embarrassing.

The silhouette with the recurve bow on his back stepped closer to the thinnest among them and took her hand. “Longbow,” he said.

“She knew that,” Spitball muttered.

“They call me Longbow,” he repeated, heavy with insinuation, and kissed her hand.

“Give me a break…” Spitball groaned. “Can we keep this PG? There’s women and children about.” Then he saw the glistening strands of web lines flick onto his thighs, knees, and shins. Spider could take them out from under him at will. It was a subtle—or not so subtle—warning to shut his mouth.

“Thank you for stepping in,” said the shadow with the shaggy beard and dreadlocks, shaking Longbow’s hand. “Things might have otherwise gone very differently.”

“I was a goner for a minute there, myself,” the archer admitted.

“Well, you know, it’s not a game for casual... players...” Spitball said, tapering off under Spider’s glare.

“If it wasn’t for Ms. Luna having the courage to put herself in harm’s way, I’d have suffocated today.”

Spitball stifled an objection—a deeply offended objection. Who was it that gave you mouth to mouth, the disgusting kiss of life? he wanted to shout. It wasn’t the lovely lady. It was me!

“If there were more light down here,” Mannequin told him, “you’d see me blushing.”

Longbow still loosely held her by a few fingers. “I don’t know what kind of heart it takes to give up your perfect form to take on the body of a hideous, inhuman monster… I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been, but I thank you.”

His head began to bow, perhaps to kiss Mannequin’s hand again. But, in a flash, Longbow was holding Spitball’s hand instead. The speedster then tossed Longbow’s aside as if he’d accidentally picked up a turd. “Save the melodrama for the date you usually hire on Saturday nights, Romeo.”

The webs on his legs went taut.

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