Super (2 page)

The fear came back and wrapped him up like an iron chain, so tight that he couldn’t breathe. Something was coming up the tree for him. Michael tried to make out a shape in the darkness below, but nothing moved, at least nothing that he could see. And the sound was getting louder, getting closer. His open window was still several feet away, the drop to the yard much more than that.

He’d just started to inch his way back when he caught a glimpse of something. It was confusing at first, because he thought he was just spying his own shadow against the thick floor of leaves below, but that was impossible. The moon wasn’t nearly bright enough in the sky to cast shadows at night, especially in the depths of this tree. He was looking at an outline, a form of someone roughly his size and all in black. But the dimensions were all wrong: it stretched and crept along the branches toward him. A form with shape but no mass.

The shadow looked at Michael and opened its mouth.

Michael pushed off with all his strength, leaping for the window. Branches slapped him in the face, cutting and scraping against bare skin, but his hands found the window’s ledge. His bare feet tore against the wood, getting bloodied and picking up splinters as he scrambled to find purchase. Up over the windowsill he hauled himself, too terrified to look over his shoulder, and dropped himself onto his bedroom floor.

In an instant he was back on his feet and slamming the window shut. As he flipped the latches locked, he saw
something still moving in the tree, the dark shape crawling among the dark branches where he’d been sitting. He threw the curtains closed and sprinted down the hall to his parents’ bedroom.

They were waiting for him. They’d heard the crash as he’d come through the window. They wore exhausted, worried expressions as he fell into their arms, crying uncontrollably. But their worry turned to something worse as they spotted his cut and bleeding hands, his torn feet. They sat him down and cleaned his cuts and asked him what had happened this time, how he’d gotten hurt again, but Michael couldn’t answer. He didn’t know.

Something had happened. He’d seen something terribly
wrong
and yet terribly familiar, but he couldn’t tell his parents what it was. He’d known just minutes before, but it was gone now.

The night terror had stolen it away.

“W
e need a name,” said Eric. “Like a secret society name or something. A league name.”

“A league?” asked Daniel. “You mean like major league baseball?”

“Ha. You know what I mean. We need to call ourselves something. I can’t say
The Supers of Noble’s Green
with a straight face.”

“But
The League of Justice
would be different? You want that on a T-shirt?”

“I don’t want anything on a T-shirt,” said Eric, rolling his eyes.

“How about
The League of Junior Superheroes and Their
Friend Who Really Just Wants to Go Swimming
? That would strike fear into the hearts of evildoers everywhere.”

“Okay, okay! Forget I brought it up.”

The two friends were quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of summer. The buzz of cicadas rose and fell. Tangle Creek burbled below them. A train whistle blew somewhere in the distance.

“Did you pick a superhero name?” asked Daniel. “Because I think
Compulsive Naming Guy
hasn’t been taken yet.”

Eric groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“
Kid List Maker
?”

“You know, Superman was lucky that all he had to worry about was kryptonite. He didn’t have you.”

“
The Brainstormer
? Wait, that almost sounds cool. Scratch that.”

Eric reached his hands out as if to strangle Daniel.

“Do you yield before my superior wit?” asked Daniel. “Can we please go swimming now? I’m melting up here in the sun.”

“Fine. Just let me make sure the coast is clear.”

And with that Eric stepped off their perch on the trellis of the Tangle Creek Bridge, hidden from view beneath the bridge’s roadway but still a full thirty feet above the greenish water below. But he didn’t fall. Eric never fell. He flew.

Tangle Creek Bridge was notorious. The approaching road, a lonely, poorly maintained stretch of Route 16, veered sharply into a hairpin curve just before narrowing onto the one-lane bridge. While this helped to slow down oncoming
traffic, it also meant that drivers had little time to gauge the conditions before they crossed. In the winter if the bridge was icy, or anytime someone was driving carelessly during a rainstorm, the old bridge was a deathtrap.

But for this, the summer before their eighth-grade year, the little-used bridge had served as Daniel and his friends’ secret swimming hole. The water directly underneath was deep enough to dive into and clear of the jagged rocks and sandbars that were so common along much of the rest of the creek. There was an easy-to-climb trellis that led to a spot halfway up, where you could do a pretty excellent cannonball; or if you were really brave, you could keep climbing to the platform just beneath the very top for a straight cliff-style dive.

Or, if you were Eric, you could fly.

Daniel had spent much of the summer watching Mollie and Eric approach the bridge from the north, keeping low and barely skimming the water as they flew, just enough to kick up a spray that would cool you off on a hot summer afternoon. Or if they were looking for a real soak, they’d fly a loop up and over the bridge, then free-fall into the deep green water.

Though Daniel wasn’t a flier, of course, he did like to hold on to Eric’s arms and tag along as they skimmed the creek—that was better than any water ride in any amusement park in the country. He’d tried it once with Mollie, but she’d dragged him so low that he’d gone face-first into the creek. Daniel had hit so hard that he nearly lost his trunks,
and when he’d come up for air, Mollie had been doubled over snorting and laughing herself blue.

Today, Daniel was feeling in more of a high-dive mood. Low impact, high altitude. And he liked climbing up to enjoy the other great thing about Tangle Creek Bridge—the scenery. The old bridge itself looked like something off a postcard. The bleached-wood trestles and low stone wall that made it so treacherous also made it a local landmark. Tangle Creek was framed on either bank by green forest, and the water ran clean—it was free of the soapy suds or oily sheen that polluted so many of the lakes and rivers closer to the more industrial parts of Pennsylvania. Noble’s Green might feel like the small town that time forgot, but sometimes that had its advantages.

Daniel sat on his bridge perch, in no hurry, and enjoyed the breeze. Wildflowers were blooming along the bank, and they’d sweetened the already sweet air.

A machine-gun-like succession of small sneezes broke the idyllic moment.

“Hi, Rohan,” Daniel said as he glanced down to see his small friend climbing up the last few feet of the trellis while struggling to hold a handkerchief to his nose.

“Wild … wild geraniums,” Rohan said. “Very bad on the allergies.”

Daniel offered him a hand up, thankful that Rohan pocketed the snotty handkerchief before accepting.

“You diving?” asked Daniel.

“Me?” answered Rohan. “I’m not the high-diving type,
thank you. You may enjoy hitching a ride with Eric, but it just gives me motion sickness. I’ll go down a ways and try a cannonball. Hey, where is Eric, anyway?”

“Making sure the coast is clear.”

Rohan squinted at Daniel—it was odd to see Rohan without his ever-present inch-thick glasses, but he’d left them on the bank with their shoes and towels. But Daniel knew that while
he
might be a blur to Rohan, the rest of the world—the trees on the far bank and even the distant peak of Mount Noble—was uniquely visible to his friend. Rohan could make out the gathering raindrops of the highest cloud. Even beyond.

Daniel thought about what Rohan had said about hitching a ride with Eric. His friend was only half right. Daniel did love that feeling of pretend flying, the freedom, the taste of the cold air. But every time Eric took him along, it was a bitter pill. Flying was glorious, and as Eric liked to say, there was nothing else like it. But it was also a stinging reminder of just how ordinary Daniel was. He wasn’t a flier—he was a passenger, a guest. At best, he was just along for the ride.

As if on cue, there was a sudden rush of wind, a swirl of movement in the air, and Eric was back. He stayed floating just a few feet away from Daniel’s perch but still high above the water below.

Eric didn’t wear a cape, and though he might not have a code name (yet), he was still the unseen superhero of Noble’s Green. Only a handful of other kids knew it, but he was the reason the town bragged about being the safest place on
earth and could mean it. Lowest accident rate in the country, practically zero crime. An abnormally high number of UFO sightings, most of which were oddly kid-shaped, but that was all.

Mostly thanks to Eric.

“What are you two jabbering about?” Eric asked.

“I just got here,” answered Rohan. “We haven’t even started our jabbering.”

“So what do you have planned for us today?” asked Daniel. “I’m gonna try a high dive, Rohan’s doing a cannonball, but you’re doing something awesome, right?”

Eric shrugged, but Daniel knew it was false modesty. The Supers of Noble’s Green were the best-kept secret, probably in the world, but Eric loved the chance to show off for his friends. And why not? The Supers were a special group of kids, each with a unique power. Mollie flew at super-speed, little Rose could turn invisible, Rohan could hear a baby cough in the next town. But Eric was different—a flier who was also super-fast, super-strong, and super-tough—he could do almost anything. He was a superhero even to the Supers.

It was hard for Daniel to believe that he once hadn’t trusted Eric. Impossible to believe these days, after all they’d been through.

Eric started rising, slowly, into the air. Then, with his arms down at his sides, he rocketed upward and disappeared into the sky like a missile.

“What do you think?” asked Rohan. “Corkscrew cannonball?”

“Nah,” said Daniel. “He did two of those last time. I think he’ll pull out an oldie-but-goodie. Maybe a thunder dive.”

“Meh. Thunder dive is very last summer. Too old-fashioned.”

“Says the boy who wears ties to school.”

“Watch it. Ties are cool.”

They sat there for a few moments searching the heavens, squinting against the bright afternoon sun. Of course Rohan spotted him first.

“Uh-oh,” said Rohan.

“What? What do you see?”

“He’s coming down and … Oh, no!”

“What?”

“Belly flop!”

Then Daniel saw him—arms and legs out like a parachutist in free fall.

“Aw, man!” said Daniel as he held on tight and closed his eyes.

There was a brief echo of laughter as Eric plummeted past them, followed by a monumental splash. It was the kind of splash that you feel in your toes, a cracking explosion that ended in a thirty-foot-tall plume of water that soaked everything in sight: the bridge, the bank, and—just as Eric had planned—Daniel and Rohan.

The two square inches of skin where Daniel’s butt met the seat were the only area of his body that did not get soaked by the cannonball tsunami. Every other spot was
drenched. Rohan whined about water getting up his nose as Eric came floating up for air. That kind of fall would have flattened anyone else, but Eric just smiled.

“So, judges,” he said. “What’s my score?”

“I’ll give you a ten for style,” said Daniel. “But your form was a little off. Five point five.”

“You get zero point zero from me,” said Rohan. “I’m going to be tasting creek water for a week.”

Eric put his hands on his head in mock outrage. “What? Well, I’ll just have to try harder next time!”

“No!” said Daniel. “No next time! Not necessary!”

But it was too late. Eric was already peeling off into the sky above in preparation for his second super-soaking belly flop of the day.

“Way to go,” said Daniel, elbowing Rohan in the ribs. “Better hold on to something—What is it?”

Rohan had that faraway look on his face that meant he was sensing something that no one else could. It could be a small distraction, like a particularly delicious smell from several miles away, a baking pie in the next town over. Or it could mean trouble.

“Rohan?”

“There’s a car coming,” his friend answered. “Too fast.”

Daniel understood immediately. He looked up to see Eric plummeting once more out of the sky, oblivious to the approaching car. Daniel tried to wave him off, was shouting at him to slow down, but Eric didn’t hear. He connected
with the water just when Daniel heard the motor above their heads as the car neared the bridge.

When the second splash passed, Daniel opened his eyes to see Eric ricocheting back up out of the creek, laughing as he flew up toward them. But as Eric landed on the trellis, the laughter stopped. He heard what Daniel was already hearing—the screeching of tires and the scraping of metal from the bridge above.

Daniel grabbed Eric by the shoulder and shouted in his ear. “Car! It’s going to—”

His words were lost in a jaw-rattling crash, and then the world went strangely silent for a moment as a sleek black Porsche came flying over their heads, falling.

Then not.

Eric was there. Hidden from whoever was inside, he had a grip on the underside of the car and had stopped its fall. It was a surreal moment as the car floated high above Tangle Creek, held up by Eric, just a few feet away from where Daniel and Rohan were sitting.

The driver’s side window was open, and a pale-faced teenager leaned his head out. He still couldn’t see Eric beneath him, but he looked straight at Daniel—a bewildered, questioning look on his face.

“Uh,” answered Daniel. What else was there to say?

Then the car shook. It quivered for half a second, and Daniel noticed something shocking—Eric was straining. Veins bulged in his neck and his arms were shaking under
the Porsche’s weight. Then he fell, and the car fell with him. They hit the water together, Eric disappearing beneath it. The car bobbed on the surface for a moment, then followed. The driver abandoned the sinking vehicle just before it was swallowed up by the creek.