The Last Superhero by Cruz Astrid 'Artistikem'

Author:Cruz, Astrid 'Artistikem' [Cruz, Astrid 'Artistikem']
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: superhero
Publisher: Artistikem
Published: 2014-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

30

It's hard to wake up and have so many things come back to you in an instant.

A thousand slaps in the face, blows to the chest. I feel like a boxer after a grueling fight.

And I can't even start to imagine how Steven's having it.

But I can't start crying again because Dad's here to take me home and he's got that frown on his face that says the topic has been discarded and mustn't be brought up again.

So I shut my mouth and wait until I'm told I can go and Mari Paz puts her arm around me and we haven't made it to the hospital's entrance when Ross is rushing towards us and telling us to use another exit.

Glance out the glass doors and there's press. Everywhere.

“What the fuck?” I ask Ross as his hand on my back pushes me forward.

Dad and Mari Paz are too scared to react.

“They've been trying to get to you all this time. I thought you'd be out a little later.”

We're walking fast, almost running, through hallways and doors. A heavy metal one is opened for us by Ross and we step out into a back parking lot. Police officers are there, keeping a smaller group of reporters at bay as we're led to a black SUV and pushed into the tint-windowed and leather-seated machine.

“I have a car,” Dad protests as we sink into the backseat.

“Sorry, Mr. Armstrong. You'll be able to retrieve it later. There's too much media right now trying to get to your daughter.” Ross buckles up in the passenger seat while another agent drives us away. “Agent Suárez,” he says and the driver raises a hand to say hi to us.

I'm looking out the window as we make our way around the building and can't believe my eyes. People chasing us, trying to get to the car. It's moving, you idiots, get out of the way. Also, why? It's not me they want. It shouldn't be me they want.

“Why are the police escorting us out?” Dad's pushing himself forward to see Ross and Suárez's faces.

“We're not police, Mr. Armstrong.” Ross pauses, then continues. “We're members of a small secret counter-terrorism unit that works under the direct orders of the Secretary of Defense.”

That takes my mind off the press frenzy and into the conversation.

“Counter-terrorism? I've already told you he's not a terrorist!”

Ross's stare is more understanding than Dad's.

“We don't have a superhero specialized unit anymore since they are all supposed to be dead.”

Touché.

“How many people knew he was alive?” I ask.

“Ten? Eleven. Tops,” he replies.

“Where did they take him?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“I need to know. I need to see him.”

Ross averts his eyes. Dad stiffens. Mari Paz squeezes my hand.

“They've taken him to a secret facility.”

“Somewhere akin to Guantanamo?”

Ross leans back on his seat.

“You have to understand this isn't something we were prepared to deal with. He signed a contract, he knew the rules and swore to abide by them, or else.”

“Or else, what?”

Suárez stops at a red light.

Ross doesn't answer.

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