Legacy Page 5

  She finished her drink and quickly poured another.

  “You said he’s sick?” she asked. “How does he look?”

  Lucas shrugged. He felt a little put off by his mother’s curiosity, but could he blame her? It had been close to twenty years since she’d last seen the man.

  “He’s kind of thin and pale, but he’s still in pretty good shape”—he remembered the kick to the stomach that had sent him sprawling across the Hog Trough parking lot—“for an old guy.”

  “I was always surprised he didn’t come looking for us,” his mother said. “But at the same time, I was relieved.”

  She poked a finger into her glass, playing with the ice.

  “Do you hate me?” she asked.

  “I don’t hate you,” Lucas told her. “I just wish I’d known about this. Do you know how hard this is for me to wrap my head around?”

  “I know, I know,” she said, nodding sadly. “But I did it to protect you.”

  He was quiet for a moment; then a question came to him.

  “Did you meet any of the others?” he asked her.

  She stared with a confused expression.

  “Any of the other heroes, besides the Raptor? You know, like Talon? Did you meet him?”

  She shook her head and had opened her mouth to explain, when her words were cut off by a strange whining sound. It was coming from outside.

  “What the hell is that?” Lucas asked, standing up. He tried to see through the blinds covering the window over the sink, but it was dark.

  “Sounds like an airplane,” Cordelia said, heading toward the door.

  Lucas didn’t know why, but he was suddenly nervous, frightened by the sound.

  “Sit down,” he ordered his mother.

  She turned and was staring at him in confusion when the first explosion hit, illuminating the kitchen in an eerie orange glow.

  “Lucas,” she whispered.

  “Stay here,” he told her, pushing her back toward the table.

  He went to the trailer door, his hand on the knob for what seemed an eternity before he finally turned it and went outside.

  5

  The trailer park was under attack.

  Strange vehicles that resembled ATVs without wheels floated above the park on what could only have been columns of air. They darted about like dragonflies, their pilots wearing jumpsuits and black masks with red goggles.

  Lucas had never seen anything like it, except maybe in some crazy science-fiction movie.

  Some of the trailers at the back of the park were on fire, and Lucas watched in horror as one of the vehicles flew over the Johansons’ place and opened fire with a weapon that sounded like the cracking of a bullwhip. A beam of red light shot from the barrel of the weapon and ignited the trailer’s propane tanks. The explosion tore apart the Johansons’ double-wide and sent Lucas stumbling backward. The heat rushed to fill his lungs and sear his eyes.

  He had to get help, and get it fast. Digging deep into his pocket, he searched for his phone but found only some change and his truck keys. He must have left the phone on the table in the kitchen! He spun around but was stopped by the sound of someone calling his name.

  Mrs. Taylor was coming out of her trailer, clutching Fluffles in her arms.

  “Go back inside!” Lucas called out, running toward her, waving his arms.

  The old woman didn’t listen, instead heading toward him in a frantic shuffle.

  Lucas chanced a quick glance down to the end of the park. The flying machines were heading directly for them now, destroying all the trailers in their path with shots of devastating red light.

  It was like being in the middle of a war zone, or at least what he thought a war zone would be like.

  A slaughter was more like it.

  Mr. Niles made it out of his burning home and was aiming a shotgun up at one of the floating craft. He didn’t get even one shot off before he was riddled with blasts of laser light that cut him to ribbons.

  Mrs. Taylor was screaming, and Fluffles was trying desperately to get away from her. Lucas grabbed them and practically dragged them toward his place.

  But Fluffles scratched Mrs. Taylor’s face in panic, forcing her to loosen her grip, and the cat sprang from her arms. The old woman let out a cry of dismay and pulled away from Lucas with a sudden burst of strength, toddling after the fleeing cat.

  Neither made it very far.

  “No!” Lucas screamed as one of the vehicles fired on Mrs. Taylor and her beloved cat. Pure instinct kicked in then, telling him to run for his life, but he remembered his mother, still inside their trailer. He turned and felt his blood freeze as he saw her standing in the doorway, a look of horror on her face.

  “C’mon!” he screamed over the sounds of destruction, motioning for her to join him.

  He could hear the ear-piercing whine of the hovercraft engines as they came closer, and the screams of the dying.

  They had very little time. He reached out, roughly grabbing his mother’s arm, and yanked her down the steps.

  “What’s happening?” she cried, her voice raised in panic. “Why are they doing this?”

  Lucas didn’t answer. There wasn’t time for questions, only action. They had to get to his truck if they were to have any chance of escape. He dragged his mother with him, not bothering to turn around. He didn’t want to see how close they were to dying.

  The truck was hit with a beam of red, exploding in a ball of flames that threw them backward. Multiple craft buzzed above their heads like flies over a rotting carcass. Lucas could hear his mother’s moans beside him and it just about broke his heart. He’d always hated to hear her cry, it made him crazy, but now, it drove him to action.

  He didn’t know where the strength came from. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he had risen to his feet and picked his mother up from the ground.

  “I’m going to get you out of here,” he promised her over the humming sounds of the sky vehicles.

  “I love you, Lucas,” she cried.

  He didn’t answer, knowing in his heart he would have the time later to tell her how he felt. They would still have all the time in the world together.

  Lucas was running now, beams of red light following him, striking the dirt. He darted among them, marveling at his newfound strength. He was certain he’d never felt this strong or fast in his life—although nobody had ever been trying to kill him before either.

  But that wasn’t entirely true.

  Racing for his survival, Lucas suddenly remembered Richie Dennison and the feel of the knife blade in his stomach.

  Lucas had somehow survived that. He decided he would survive this as well.

  Two of the craft dropped down in front of him, blocking his way, kicking up clouds of choking dust.

  Lucas spun around, running back the way he had come, toward the only home he had ever known. Two more of the futuristic vehicles zipped close to his head, and he stumbled and fell. He felt his mother struggle beneath him, pushing away his arm to get to her feet.

  “Mom!” he shouted, his voice clogged with dust.

  “Save yourself,” he heard her yell as she ran straight for the futuristic craft.

  “Don’t!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet to go after her.

  It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The machines fired at her, beams of crimson light blasting first through the corrugated steel of their mobile home and then through the fragile form of his mother. Lucas opened his mouth to scream as he watched the woman he loved, who had sacrificed so much for him, cut down.

  He fell to his knees before her, dragging her lifeless body into his arms. He started screaming, begging the ones who had killed her—and all his friends at the trailer park—to kill him as well.

  The pilots of the flying machines were more than happy to oblige. They flew in a buzzing circle around him, opening fire, striking him, as well as igniting the two recently filled propane tanks connected to the back of his trailer.

 
Both he and his mother were consumed in an explosion of hungry fire.

  Lucas awoke to the acrid stink of burning metal.

  He panicked immediately; he and his mother must still be in danger.

  Sitting up, the boy realized he was outside, surrounded by multiple infernos. Everything began to fall into place. He remembered the attacks and what had happened to his mother. The air was thick with oily smoke that obscured his vision, and he crawled on his hands and knees, calling out her name.

  He hoped—prayed—that he was wrong, that what he now recalled hadn’t actually happened.

  That she was still alive.

  He found her body in the twisted remnants of their mobile home. She had been badly burned in the explosion. Tenderly, he reached down to take what remained of her body into his arms, but parts of her crumbled to ash.

  Lucas screamed. His voice was a ragged roar. An impossible strength flowed through his body, and he tore pieces of twisted metal from the ground, hurling them into the air as if the wreckage weighed nothing, as if the superheated metal burning in his grasp was nothing more than a minor irritant.

  How am I still alive? he asked himself. Nearly all his clothing had burned away, and his skin looked different—felt different—the only sign he had survived a fiery explosion being the pinkness of his flesh.

  When he should have been dead—or at least near death—he felt only a pulsing strength.

  As well as an incredible hunger, gnawing in his belly.

  He remembered feeling like that after he had been stabbed. The hunger had been almost overwhelming.

  Total panic began to sink in.

  He started to run blindly, his hands out before him, waving away the choking smoke.

  “Help!” he cried, certain the authorities would have arrived by now. “Help me!”

  He sensed he was no longer alone and stopped short, listening for signs.

  “Hello?” he called out. “I—I need help … please. …”

  Something moved within the smoke, growing more pronounced as it loomed closer.

  What if it’s them? What if the ones that killed my neighbors and my mother … and tried to kill me are still here? They must be searching for survivors.

  Eyes darting around for a weapon, Lucas found a broken piece of metal piping lying on the ground and snatched it up.

  If he was going to die, he was going down fighting.

  A figure emerged from the smoke. It was clad in the colors of darkness and blood.

  Lucas immediately recognized the man.

  “I was afraid something like this would happen,” the superhero said grimly, standing before Lucas like some fearsome demon warrior.

  It was the Raptor.

  His father.

  Lucas let the heavy section of pipe fall from his hands.

  “Who—who were they?” he asked. He suddenly felt incredibly dizzy, his stomach hurting as if he had been gut-shot. He dropped to his knees.

  “They’re an evil I’ve been fighting for a very long time,” the Raptor said, the flames from the burning trailer park reflecting off his black, metallic mask. “Evil beings who will stop at nothing to achieve their goals. …”

  The Raptor looked at Lucas, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and sadness.

  “An evil I’m no longer sure I’m strong enough to fight.”

  And with those words, the Raptor began to cough. For the briefest of moments, the costumed warrior didn’t appear quite so fearsome.

  Lucas doubled over in agony. He felt as though he was dying.

  “Why did they do this?” he gasped, on his hands and knees, looking around at the flaming remains of the trailer park. “Why did they have to kill everyone?”

  “To hurt me,” the Raptor said. “They believe that striking at the things I care for, the things I love, will weaken me all the more.”

  The Raptor coughed again, his body wracked with convulsions. Through pain-clouded eyes, Lucas watched the man drop to one knee beside him.

  “They may have been right,” the Raptor said, struggling to catch his breath. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough to take them on.”

  They were silent then, the only sound the crackling of the fire as it burned away the only home Lucas had ever known. And suddenly he knew what he was going to do. What he must do.

  “Teach me,” he said, his voice weak from hunger.

  The Raptor looked at him. “Do you know what that means? What that truly means?”

  Lucas slowly nodded. “There has to be someone … someone to stop them from hurting innocent people.”

  The pain grew worse and he hunched over, explosions of color expanding before his eyes.

  “Hold on,” the Raptor said, removing something from one of the many compartments that hung from his belt. “This should help.”

  The superhero held a hypodermic needle, and before Lucas could react, he plunged the needle into Lucas’s arm. Instantly, relief flooded through Lucas, but his eyes grew incredibly heavy.

  “Promise you’ll teach me everything I need to know to hurt them,” he said, reaching out to grip his father’s arm. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” the Raptor said as Lucas surrendered to the embrace of darkness.

  6

  Lucas was dreaming.

  In this dream, he left his bed, drawn by the delicious aroma of bacon cooking. He shuffled into the kitchen and found his mother standing at the stove, turning the sizzling meat in a frying pan.

  Lucas didn’t care for bacon that was too crispy, and he certainly didn’t like his mother that way. He stared at her as she worked at the stove, her body black and still smoldering.

  And suddenly he had to wonder, was it the bacon he smelled?

  Or was it the burning body of his mother?

  He came awake with a yelp.

  He was lying in an enormous bed, his naked body covered by cool silk sheets. Lucas looked around in a rush of panic. The room was huge, bigger than his and his mom’s entire mobile home, and filled with big pieces of heavy wooden furniture.

  And then it all came back to him.

  He remembered his father, who he was.

  Shifting on the bed, he felt a sting in his arm and looked to see that he was hooked up to an IV bag hanging on a bracket over his bed, dripping clear fluid into his vein. He reached over and carefully pulled the needle from the bend in his arm, dropping it onto his pillow. He maneuvered himself into a sitting position and threw his legs over the side of the big bed, letting his feet touch the floor.

  He felt different.

  Lucas studied his legs, arms, and stomach, not quite understanding what he was seeing. His body seemed harder, more muscular. It reminded him of some of his friends who spent way too much time at the gym.

  He saw a mirror across the room and sprang off the bed toward it.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered, staring at his reflection. It was like he’d been given a whole new body. He’d always wanted to look this way, muscular and cut, but he’d never had the discipline.

  Lucas quickly looked back at the bag of liquid that had been draining into his arm, wondering if there was a connection. He decided it was high time for some answers.

  A bathrobe and a pair of sweatpants were slung over a wingback chair in the corner of the room. He quickly dressed and went to the closed door. He feared it might be locked, but it wasn’t, and he turned the knob, stepping out of the room into a long, curving hallway.

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice sounding strange in the silence.

  He walked toward a staircase at the opposite end of the hall and peered over the banister. The house seemed to be enormous.

  “Hello?” he called out again, but still got no response.

  Lucas went down the stairs and found himself in a large foyer. The floor was marble, and the furniture looked antique. On a circular table in the center of the hall, he noticed a vase of dead flowers and a thick coating of dust. In fact, dust coated just about everything.


  As if nobody lived here.

  He walked over to the large wooden front door and opened it, stepping outside. The air was cool, and he pulled his bathrobe tighter around him as he turned around and took a look at where he’d ended up.

  “Holy crap,” he muttered, walking backward to try to fit the view in. He was outside a mansion; that was the only way to describe it. It reminded him of one of those old English manors he’d seen in movies about British royalty. The home was huge, with lush, green grounds on either side, and beyond them, thick woods.

  His curiosity stoked, he went back inside, strolling from the dusty foyer into what appeared to be a parlor; it was hard to tell because the furniture in this room was covered with long white sheets.

  Across the parlor was an open doorway, which led to a sunroom with glass doors looking out onto a patio.

  Lucas was drawn to the view.

  Swinging the glass doors open, he stepped outside, gazing out over more woods and a pristine blue lake to an almost dreamlike vision of a city barely visible through a heavy fog.

  Seraph City, he guessed as a warm breeze flowed across the lake, dispersing some of the mist.

  “An amazing view, isn’t it?” asked a familiar voice behind him.

  Lucas turned to see Clayton Hartwell wheeling a cart through the doorway onto the patio, cane tucked beneath one arm.

  “Thought you might want some breakfast,” he said.

  Lucas had a million questions, but, enticed by the smell of the food, he decided they could wait. At once he felt an aching emptiness begin to form in the pit of his belly. Like somebody hypnotized, he walked to the glass-topped table, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

  Hartwell lifted the metal covers from the various plates on the cart. “I’ve got scrambled eggs, cereal, toast, sausages, and grapefruit,” he said. “Help yourself.”

  Within seconds, Lucas had filled a plate to overflowing and was eating as though it would be his last meal.

  “How is it?” Hartwell asked, hanging his cane from the edge of the table as he sat down across from the boy. He was dressed in his usual dark attire, his white hair slicked back.