James just managed to pull himself back to a seated position when there was a massive, earsplitting crash. The van spun, and Rocky was thrown forward, into James. The tires screeched again, and the men up front yelled.
The screeching stopped, and everything grew oddly quiet and still, like the air moments before a storm. James’s stomach dropped out from under him, and he and Rocky rose off the floor, suddenly weightless. It lasted for only a split second, though it felt like an eternity. They floated up like astronauts, their heads almost hitting the roof. James just had enough time to make eye contact with Rocky and raise his hands to cover his head.
With a massive bang, they were thrown back down to earth, landing hard on the floor. The van spun around them, and they were tossed like ragdolls through the air. Once, twice, three times it rolled over. The metal around them crunched, caving in with each impact. James yelled, struggling to cover his head as his body hit the side of the van, then the roof, then the floor. His whole world was a rolling blur. He closed his eyes.
With a jolt, the van came to a rest. James hit the metal side one last time and crumpled to the floor. He somehow stayed conscious, though his head spun and his whole body was alight with pain. The sudden silence around him was sickening. He counted to three, then opened his eyes.
The van was sideways. The floor rose to his left, and the back doors ran parallel to where he lay. He struggled to sit up, disoriented. As he moved, his vision blurred and his head throbbed. He touched the top of his head gingerly and winced as his fingers brushed a massive lump. How he was alive, he didn’t know. His ankle throbbed and appeared swollen, and his chest felt like it had been punctured. Every breath was ragged and painful.
“Are you okay?” he croaked to Rocky.
No response.
“Rocky?” he said. Rocky lay near the front of the van, his back to James. His body was limp. “No, no, no.” James pulled himself toward him. “Rocky?” He touched his friend’s shoulder gently, as if he were made of glass. Rocky’s eyes were closed, and his mouth hung limp. A line of blood ran down his chin. “Come on, man, wake up. Wake up!”
He leaned over the limp body and put his ear near Rocky’s mouth.
Silence.
James closed his eyes. This can’t be happening.
Ever so slightly, a breath rattled from Rocky’s mouth. It was quiet and weak, but it was there.
James sighed with relief, his heart beating against his chest. He pulled himself toward the back doors, struggling against his injured body. His head spun, and darkness appeared at the corners of his vision, but he couldn’t give in. He had to get help for Rocky.
“Help!” he shouted, not caring who heard, who came. “We need help!”
He tried to pull on the door handle, but nothing happened. It was either locked or jammed.
“Help!” he shouted again, banging weakly against the door. “Anyone!”
The bottom door opened as he reached toward it again, and he pitched forward with a yelp, sliding out of the van and into the blinding sunlight.
He landed on his back in gravel, the stones painful against his sore body. The sun blinded him as he squinted and searched for who opened the door.
An SIA agent loomed above him. His dark glasses were askew, and his nose was smashed, blood splattered across his face. With one hand, he fixed his glasses. He raised the other, pointing it at James.
He held a gun.
James scrambled back, trying to get to his feet. But his ankle gave out and he landed back in the gravel, breathing heavily.
The man laughed manically and advanced on James until he blocked out the sunlight. He was as big as a giant, and James stared into the dark, wicked barrel of the gun. This was it. James wondered if it would hurt. He hoped not. He hoped it would be quick and painless.
“Don’t worry, your brother will join you soon,” the man said with a nasty smile. He aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.
James closed his eyes, waiting for the impact—for the explosion of sound and the hot, searing pain that told him it was all over. He almost welcomed it, a relief from the pain.
But it never came.
James opened his eyes, and the man was gone. A new figure loomed above him, silhouetted in the sun. His first thought was of Derek. His brother had come! He’d saved James like he promised he always would.
But the figure stepped forward to reveal a pale face, long black hair, and dark, penetrating eyes.
Calico stood above him, larger than life. Not Derek, but still a Super.
They were saved.
James let his head fall to the ground. The sky spun above him. He felt like he was falling, sinking into a deep abyss. He heard Calico say, “Let’s get them out of here,” before he succumbed to the void. The darkness washed over him like an old friend, and he knew nothing more.
Chapter 19
Two Years Ago
James stood near the three-point line, hands up, ready to catch the ball. His defender had sagged off him, leaving him wide open. It was a sign of disrespect, not covering his three-point shot, one that he’d more than earned.
Rocky dribbled the ball at the top of the key, sweat gleaming on his skin, muscles rippling in his back. They were playing shirts and skins, which James always hated. It was fine for Rocky, who had already developed muscles, but James seemed to be losing the puberty game—he had no muscle to speak of, and he’d recently gone through a growth spurt that left him gangly and uncoordinated, his shoulders slumped forward.
They were playing two-on-two against two other random kids at the park. It was nine to nine, game
