Halfheroes Read online

  Cole held up a hand.

  "That's far enough."

  Shit. Not close enough.

  "Daniel, this is a one-time offer. Agree to join me, and I'll let Ms Gray go. You've already lost one of your friends tonight downstairs,"—

  "Wrong, bozo!" whispered Gabe.

  —"but that's what you get for bringing knives to a gunfight. Now call off the helicopter, or I'll let Spot have her."

  Daniel waved a hand at the chopper, and it banked away.

  Gabe nudged his back. "Charge him. I'll go left, you draw his fire."

  Daniel didn't move. "And Sara?" he whispered, looking at Spot, who was drooling.

  "If that thing is trained as well as this jerk claims, he won't move unless she does. And I know she won't move. You have a better idea?"

  Daniel closed his eyes. He couldn't see another way, but he hated the unknowns. He reminded himself, not for the first time, that Sara was the best one at making plans.

  "You don't have time to think about it, boy," called Cole. "I am not a patient man. Yes or no?"

  Daniel opened his eyes.

  "You ready?" whispered Gabe.

  "Well?" said Cole.

  "Yes," said Daniel, and charged.

  The first few seconds in any fight normally determine the final outcome. Those crucial seconds didn't go at all well for the IGLU team on the Birmingham rooftop.

  Caught by surprise, Cole still managed to squeeze off two shots as Daniel approached. The first went harmlessly past his right ear, but the second hit his injured shoulder, ricocheted away and hit Gabe in the neck. He fell to the floor and clasped a hand to the wound. Cole aimed at Gabe's head and held up his hand at Daniel, who skidded to a stop five feet short of him.

  Daniel could understand how Cole had got to the top. His decision-making under pressure was rapid and efficient. Sara was pinned against the edge of the roof, Gabe was down, and Cole was still in charge.

  "Back off, boy," said Cole. This whole boy thing was getting old fast.

  Daniel did as he was told.

  "That's far enough. Now stay."

  Wanker.

  Daniel heard rotor blades. The helicopter was back, approaching the rooftop cautiously. The pilot had interpreted his gesture as an order to circle and return.

  "Nice try," said Cole, shooting a glance at Gabe. Daniel looked. Gabe was keeping pressure on his neck, but it looked like the bullet may have nicked the jugular, in which case he'd need to keep pushing until they could get him to a hospital. He'd heal fast, but heavy blood loss would have much the same result on a halfhero as a human. He was out of the fight.

  "Two halfheroes," said Cole, looking at Sara. "Sneaky."

  Yeah, well, thought Daniel, you're not quite as clever as you think you are, mate.

  "Shame I only need one," said Cole, and raised the gun towards Gabe.

  Daniel moved immediately, but he knew he was too late. The gun came up, Cole's finger tightening on the trigger. Daniel put everything he had into reaching him, and threw himself forwards in a rugby tackle. As he did so, he saw Cole's feet leave the rooftop, his shot going wide.

  Daniel hit the deck hard and looked up. Cole was travelling backwards at speed, his arms flailing. He was heading over the edge of the roof. Luckily, there was a solid object between him and the ground, fifty-one storeys below. Unluckily, the solid object was a helicopter, held aloft by five rotor blades.

  They were called blades for a reason.

  Daniel looked away, but couldn't prevent himself hearing the series of thunks, the brief stutter of the chopper's engine, and a sound like a heavy shower of rain with particularly big drops.

  At that moment, his brain, after seeing the effect, deduced the cause, and Daniel knew Sara must have sent the burst of energy that killed Cole. He looked across the roof in time to see her fall, choosing to jump rather than be caught by the charging Spot. The creature had no way of stopping himself and followed her over the edge with a howl.

  Daniel scrambled to his feet, ran and, before he could think about it, threw himself over the edge.

  4

  Daniel saw Spot first. He'd stopped howling and was dropping silently towards the distant street. Maybe dying was a relief. Whatever they'd done to him, whatever it was Cole had meant by his training programme, perhaps Spot was better off dead.

  Sara hadn't screamed. She was falling skydiver-style, limbs spread. Daniel knew she'd be thinking fast, but even Sara couldn't think herself out of this one. Gravity couldn't be argued into looking the other way.

  Daniel fell head first, arms by his sides until he reached her, then flung himself into the spread-eagled position. His brain seemed to have shut off completely. He'd gone after her because he was the toughest, he'd recovered from every injury. If he could get underneath her, he could break her fall.

  Maybe he should have thought it through a bit more thoroughly, but it was too late now.

  He grabbed Sara and twisted round so that she was above him. As soon as she saw him, she turned her back to his chest.

  A second and a half later, he felt a push like a strong gust of wind blow them away from the building. Then, still a good thirty storeys from the street, he crashed into something. The something he'd crashed into exploded around them, and the world went dark blue. He couldn't breathe. He felt something solid at his back and pushed up.

  His head broke the surface of the water a second before Sara's. They swam to the side and pulled themselves out, then lay there gasping. Daniel flexed his muscles experimentally. The pain in his shoulder had been joined by some spectacular aches in his back. Other than that, he seemed remarkably not dead. Which was good.

  "Quick thinking," said Sara, rolling off his chest. "I mean it. Bloody quick thinking."

  Daniel sat up. They were on the roof of an exclusive apartment complex. The bar by the pool was still open, and a middle-aged couple in bathrobes stared in disbelief at the new arrivals.

  Daniel looked up at the taller building they'd fallen from. Sara had pushed them across a four-lane street to hit the pool.

  "Hell of a shot," he said.

  "Wasn't bad, was it? Did Cole, er...?"

  "He went to pieces," said Daniel. She looked blank. "That was, you know, a Bond line. Witty. He went to pieces? Because he hit the helicopter and... oh, never mind."

  As the chopper came closer, he went to the bar.

  "Any chance of a lager to go?"

  Daniel got three lagers. The open-mouthed barman hadn't even charged him. Back in the helicopter, Gabe couldn't manage his, so Daniel drank it for him. They headed to the nearest hospital. He was going to be okay.

  They didn't speak much. Their mission had been to get Cole off the street, but they would have preferred to have arrested him. It had all been a bit messy.

  "We did our best," said Daniel, clinking his bottle against Sara's. "And the guy was a total scumbag."

  "True," she said. They both took a swig.

  "So," said Sara, brightly. "Got plans for next week?"

  "Yes," said Daniel.

  "Anything nice?"

  "No," he said. "Not nice. Not exactly."

  5

  The scalpel was less than an inch from Daniel's right testicle when Abos burst through the door.

  "I've found one!"

  Doctor Pollock (who had long since become inured to remarks about his name and his chosen profession), raised an eyebrow, withdrew the razor-sharp implement to a safe distance, and looked over his shoulder.

  "Sorry," said Abos. "Didn't mean to disturb you. I want to speak to Daniel. Do you mind?"

  Pollock didn't move. He looked back at his patient, from between his open legs.

  "Friend of yours?"

  Daniel shifted his weight, mindful of the ominous groans the hospital bed was making under his considerable bulk. He looked at Abos, then back at the doctor. He wondered what Pollock's reaction would be if he answered the question truthfully, and told him that the young woman currently eying his shaved tes
ticles was, in fact, his father. On reflection, he decided it not to shock the man with a razor-sharp instrument poised over his knackers.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Could you ask her to return to the waiting room, please."

  Abos looked like she might protest. Daniel cleared his throat.

  "Abo- um, Amy?"

  Abos was too strange a name to use in front of others. It would only lead to awkward questions, and the real answer—that it stood for Amorphous Blob Of Slime—would lead to even more awkward questions.

  "Yes, Daniel?"

  Abos looked calm and, as always when standing still, did so with a preternatural lack of movement which unnerved anyone not used to it. But Daniel noticed a slight widening of her eyes and a tiny hint of muscular tension around her lips. Doctor Pollock edged away from her, sensing something he would never have been able to put into words.

  Daniel held up a hand.

  "I know you've been looking for a long time."

  "Thirteen months and twenty-three days."

  Daniel nodded.

  "Would another ten minutes more make much difference?"

  Abos considered the question before answering.

  "Oh. Do you want to finish here first?"

  Daniel took a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of the antiseptic splashed over his genitals.

  "Yes, please."

  She didn't move. After a few seconds, Doctor Pollock straightened up and looked at her, the scalpel still in his hand.

  Abos had grown her current body from George Kuku's blood. At first, it had been strange for Daniel to see that face every day. Now, it was hard to remember Abos as anything other than this striking black woman with an open smile and, behind her brown contact lenses, golden eyes.

  "I'll wait outside, shall I?" said Abos. The doctor said nothing. Abos turned at the door, looking under the sheet covering Daniel's open legs.

  "Are they supposed to look like that?" she said. "I'm sure mine didn't."

  The doctor twitched. Daniel glad the scalpel was still a few feet away from his boys.

  Abos left, shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Doctor Pollock turned back to his patient.

  "Expecting any other friends to drop in?"

  "No. Sorry about that."

  Daniel closed his eyes and tried to relax, knowing there was little chance of the vasectomy being a success if he didn't do so. He had briefed Pollock on his unusual physical attributes, overcoming the man's scepticism by stabbing himself in the thigh with a scalpel and bending the blade back on itself. The doctor had agreed to make his incisions as slowly as possible, as instructed.

  It was hard to think of anything other than what was occurring between his legs, but Daniel gave it his best shot. He felt the stitches go in as if Pollock was pulling an invisible string attached to his navel. It was a bizarre sensation.

  A few minutes later and it was done. He swung his legs round and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Daniel suspected Pollock was already mentally composing his account of the first vasectomy on a halfhero. The name and address he had used to book the private procedure were fake, but he still treasured his anonymity.

  "Thank you, doctor. I'm afraid I won't be able to attend any follow-up appointments. I heal fast."

  "Yes, yes, that's fine. Just change the dressing after two days. The stitches are dissolvable, a few hot baths with plenty of salt in the water will take care of them."

  Daniel carefully put on his trousers. There was a tightening sensation in his groin as his body began to heal the incision.

  "Doctor Pollock, I appreciate you fitting me in at such short notice." Both men knew the amount paid for the op had guaranteed a swift climb to the top of the waiting list, but they observed the social convention of not mentioning it.

  "Not at all, not at all. It was fascinating to meet you. I'd always considered halfhe—" His voice tailed off for a moment as if he was worried about causing offence. "Half, um, that is, well, enhanced, er..."

  Daniel sighed.

  "Halfhero is fine. It's not a bad nickname for us."

  "Yes, well, I suppose. I'm afraid I thought halfheroes were an urban myth. I mean, if The Deterrent had fathered children, one might have thought they would follow in his footsteps, perhaps, righting wrongs, protecting the country, and suchlike, er..."

  He stopped speaking again, spotting the corner he was neatly painting himself into.

  "Not that I'm implying you should do that. Not at all. Of course not. No, no, no. I, ah, respect your right to a private existence. Couldn't have been easy growing up as a child of a superhero. Especially when he disappeared. Probably dead. Terrible shame, that. I wonder how on earth it happened? He was remarkable."

  Daniel wondered how Doctor Pollock would respond if he told him The Deterrent was not only alive but had been standing in the same room ten minutes ago.

  "He was. Doctor?"

  "Umm?" Doctor Pollock had drifted into somewhat of a reverie. Daniel suspected he was wondering how to title the piece he planned submitting to The Lancet.

  Daniel picked up the scalpel he had bent on his thigh.

  "I'm so glad you respect my right to a private existence." He began bending the scalpel between finger and thumb, forming a rough circle of metal. "I'd be upset if I thought you didn't."

  He put the scalpel on the tray. Doctor Pollock swallowed.

  Daniel eased himself off the bed, wincing. It wasn't pain, just the disconcerting sensation that his genitalia had taken a leave of absence, replaced by what seemed to be an egg box stuffed with cotton wool. He reached into his back pocket and placed a thick envelope next to the scalpel.

  "A bonus to show my appreciation for your discretion. And to cover the damage to your security camera outside."

  What dama—? Oh." The envelope disappeared into Pollock's pocket as he bravely overcame his distaste for the sordid business of finance. A few hours later, he would feign surprise as his practice manager showed him the unrecognisable lump of metal hanging where the security camera had been.

  "Is there a back entrance leading out to the carpark?"

  Pollock opened the door to a corridor and pointed at the fire exit.

  He watched Daniel leave with mixed feelings. He was a few thousand pounds richer, but he couldn't help but regret not being able to write that article. A real shame, just when he'd thought of a title for it: Slicing Open A Super-Scrotum.

  Ah, well.

  Abos was waiting in the carpark, next to Daniel's Yamaha. She wore leathers and a helmet as if she was prepared to ride pillion, but Daniel knew she was unlikely to be doing that.

  Some time alone on the bike would give him time to think about what she'd said in the clinic. Abos had been searching for so long, Daniel had begun to suspect her quest would never yield results.

  Had she really found one?

  "Where?" he said as he got closer, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to scratch his crotch.

  "Cromer."

  Daniel stared. The only word he associated with Cromer was crabs.

  The irony wasn't lost on him.

  6

  Abos rode on the back of the bike until they were out of the carpark. The spring foliage in the lane was taking on the greener hue that signalled the start of summer and, although Daniel couldn't hear anything over the sound of the engine, he knew the late afternoon birdsong would be loud and joyous. Often, he and Abos would have stopped to listen, but when she squeezed his shoulder to stop him, he knew she wasn't after another lesson in British birds and their habitats.

  He stopped the bike. Abos slid off and, keeping her helmet on, jogged into the forest.

  Daniel eased himself from the seat and followed, aware of sensation returning to his bruised testicles. He loved the speed and the freedom of the motorbike; the instant feedback of the tyres on the tarmac as he leaned into a corner. The only aspect of biking he wasn't able to share with fellow enthusiasts was the element of danger. If he fell off,
the damage to the bike, other vehicles and their occupants were the only real dangers. An impact that would break normal human bones might only leave a small bruise or two on him. Even they would fade within a few hours.

  What Daniel had failed to consider was how bad a choice a motorbike was for a man who had just undergone a vasectomy.

  "You're an idiot, Harbin," he muttered as he limped along the path, adopting a more wide-legged gait than normal.

  Abos met him at the edge of a clearing.

  "Not worried you'll be seen?" said Daniel.

  Abos shook her head, her voice muffled by the black helmet.

  "It's getting darker, and there's cloud cover. "

  Abos pushed up her visor, reached in and squeezed out her contact lenses, putting them in a small case before zipping them into a rucksack pocket. Her golden eyes scanned the clearing before settling back on Daniel. He would never get used to those eyes.

  "Meet you at the pier," she said. "How long will you be?"

  Daniel had chosen a private clinic in leafy Surrey for his procedure. The Yamaha could cruise at double the national speed limit, and he had could easily elude the police. On the couple of occasions they had given chase, he had dived down the nearest country lane, grabbed his bike and jumped over the hedge with it. When the sirens had faded, he'd jumped back over, faced the other way, and roared off.

  He reckoned on being able to make the run in well under four hours, but his nether regions were now itching as the anaesthetic wore off, and Daniel suspected he would need a few, as the apt American expression has it, comfort breaks.

  "Five hours, give or take."

  "Give or take what?"

  Daniel waited. After a few seconds, Abos spoke again.

  "Oh. It's an expression, a turn of phrase. Right?"

  "Right." Abos's command of the English language was excellent - she had spent decades teaching the subject in a Welsh school. But there were blank spots, and they included slang or local expressions. Not every piece of knowledge accumulated during the time in her last body had transferred to this new one. Sometimes, the way she spoke was very much like George, and George's vocabulary was different to Cressida's.