"So I just flew hundreds of miles for nothing?" He didn't sound happy.

"Not exactly. Come with me-I want to fill you in on the latest development. You're not going to like it." He looked at Lance once again. "Did someone forget to tell me it's Bring Your Kid to Work Day?"

"How old do you think I am?" Paragon asked. "No, he's not mine. He's a stray I picked up along the way. Long story." To Lance, Paragon said, "Stay put. Touch nothing. Talk to no one. Got that?"

"OK. . . . Only, how am I going to get home? My folks have no idea where I am. And they're sick. They need me."

"Should have considered the consequences before you decided to go breaking and entering, shouldn't you?"

"Then someone has to let them know where I am!"

Paragon leaned closer. "That'd be a lot easier if you told me your real name. Now stay put."

Lance watched him follow the officer into a large, dark, unmarked truck. Now what do I do? He stopped a passing soldier. "Is there anywhere I can make a phone call?"

"I look like a tour guide or something?" The man pointed back over his shoulder. "Ask one of those cops back there. Most of them are local."

Great. More cops. Like I haven't spoken to enough of them already today. Lance started toward the police officers when he spotted a trio of people who were much more approachable: teenagers.

They were walking down the hill from the power plant, and from the look of their clothing Lance could see that they were superheroes. Or wanted to be, at least.

The pale-skinned girl stopped in front of him. "You're the one who came in with Paragon?"

"That's right."

The boy gestured toward the jetpack on Lance's back. "You his sidekick or something?"

Lance resisted the temptation to pretend that he and Paragon were equal partners. "Not really. Do you know where I can find a phone?"

"Try a phone booth," the boy said. "They're famous for that."

"Yeah, very helpful," Lance said. He turned to the girls in the hope that they'd be more friendly. "Where would I find a phone booth?"

The shorter, dark-skinned girl said, "Nearest one I can think of is on the edge of town. About ten miles away. But if it's an emergency, you could ask one of the cops to put a call through on his radio."

"Thanks. I'll . . . Maybe I'll wait."

Then she said, "Hey, can you fly me back to town? I'm kind of in a hurry. The colonel told me to get a lift from one of the army trucks but they can't turn around 'cos the road is so narrow."

"Out of gas," Lance said. "Sorry."

"Thanks anyway."

As they moved on, the girl smiled at Lance and he felt his knees weaken. Wow. . . . He ran after them. "Hey, hold up. Why don't you get the guy on the motorbike to give you a lift? He'd be able to get through the traffic no problem."

The girl looked around. "I didn't see anyone with a bike."

"Well, there's one around here somewhere. I saw a helmet on the side of the road back there."

"Ah. That's mine, actually." She removed her army helmet and ran one hand through her hair.

"So you've got a bike but no helmet?" Lance asked. "I mean . . . You have a helmet but you don't have a bike." In his head, a small voice was reminding him of his pledge to never make any friends. He mentally told the voice to shut up.

"Yeah...."

Then the other boy said, "Abby, I thought you were in a hurry?"

"Thunder, what did I say about not using my real name?"

Paragon's voice boomed out. "I told you to stay put and not talk to anyone!"

Lance cringed and turned to see the armored hero striding toward him. "Sorry. I just need to get in touch with my folks."

Paragon stopped in front of Roz. "Good to see you again, Ms. Dalton. Your brother's in good hands, but they still don't know exactly what they're dealing with. The virus is still spreading and it's almost certainly artificial."

"What's the prognosis?" Roz asked.

"There is none, at the moment. According to Colonel Morgan's people, it's looking like it has a communicable rate of about eighty percent. But they're still collating the data, so that figure could be way off. Could be that some of the infected just have the ordinary flu, or even just a cold. And it's not just America: It's broken out in Europe, Africa, and Asia." He paused. "I won't lie to you. At least four people who contracted it have died, but again we're not entirely sure whether there's a direct connection. The medics are trying to isolate whatever it is that's keeping the terrorists immune. If they can do that, they might be able to construct a vaccine or even a cure."

"Did the colonel tell you about Slaughter?"

"He did. You three were lucky she didn't kill you on the spot. The first rule of dealing with Slaughter is that you do not run toward her. You run away. She's too strong and too fast for all of you put together."

Abby began, "Yeah, but-"

"But what?" Paragon's visor swiveled toward her. "I doubt any of you even laid a hand on her. She's way out of your league, understand? She didn't have to face any of you-she could have just flown away. She chose to let you fight her. She was testing you. You failed."

The boy called Thunder said, "I tackled her to the ground. I blocked the sound so that she couldn't hear me coming."

"Well, good for you. Let's just hope she doesn't remember that."

"And she said that I was probably stronger than she was," Abby said.

Paragon sighed. "All right, kids. It's time to close your mouths and open your ears. A few months back Slaughter threw Titan through a moving train. Before he could recover she picked up one of the cars and smashed it down on top of him. The car wasn't empty. It was a miracle that none of the passengers were killed. Last time I tangled with her was in Manhattan: She got away when she started throwing civilians a hundred feet into the air. She didn't care where they landed, but she knew that I'd have to let her escape so I could catch them. That's the sort of person we're dealing with here. She is a cold-blooded killer, and if she discovered your identities she wouldn't hesitate to murder every single member of your families. Don't go patting yourselves on the back because you faced down Slaughter and survived. You didn't win. She let you live. There's a huge difference, and if you can't see that then you should go home, throw away your costumes, and abandon the idea of being a superhero forever." To Roz, he added, "That includes you too. You do not mess with Slaughter. Even Max wouldn't tackle her on his own." He turned to Lance. "What's your name? And don't tell me it's Jason Myers. I want your real name."

"Lance McKendrick."

"Good. I'll get the police to call your house and let your folks know that you're all right."

"I'm not going home?"

"Not yet. I want you to tell me everything about that warehouse and the men who chased you. The colonel's scheduled a meeting in fifteen minutes. So get some rest because it's going to be a long night."

"Can you do me a favor first?" Lance asked. "Abby here needs to get back home. . . . Can you take her?"

Paragon nodded. "All right. What about you?" he asked Thunder.

"I'm cool. I'm not expected home for another hour."

"OK. Lance, you better be here when I get back. I mean it."

Paragon scooped Abby up in his arms and launched himself into the air.

Lance glanced at the others and then turned in a slow circle, taking in the military vehicles and dozens of soldiers. "So . . . What exactly is going on here?" he asked Thunder.

The boy ignored him, and passed a slip of paper to Roz. "My number. I'm guessing that this isn't over. You need me, just call."

"What about Abby?"

"I can contact her. I know where she lives."

Roz nodded, then Thunder vaulted easily over the low fence and ran across the field.

After a couple of seconds, Lance asked Roz, "Was that guy wearing a wet suit? What a dweeb!"

"He can hear you, you know," Roz said. "Super-hearing."

Lance smirked. "Yeah, right."

Thunder's voice appeared out of nowhere: "She is right. I can hear everything."

"Now that's just creepy," Lance said. "So, uh, Ms. Dalton? What's happening here?"

"Call me Roz," she said. She told Lance about the attack on the power plant, and the fight with Slaughter.

"And the other two just showed up?" Lance asked. "Scubaboy and the cute chick just decided they were superheroes?"

Roz's eyes narrowed a little. "The cute chick?"

"Um . . . I mean, the cute babe." He saw her expression of distaste and hastily suggested, "Girl?"

"It's the cute part that I find objectionable. But, yes, they just turned up. Thunder was able to listen in on the terrorists-they referred to something called The Helotry, but we don't know exactly what that means."

"I've heard that word before," Lance said. "Recently, I mean. . . ." He shrugged. "So what were they after?"

"We don't know."

"But you said that the power plant isn't even operational yet, right? That means they can't have been after the uranium."

"Plutonium," Roz corrected. "The plant was finished ahead of schedule . . . ," Roz said. A frown line appeared on her forehead. "So that could mean that they had to move their plans up."

"Right. They took advantage of everyone getting the flu and they . . . Wait, how did the bad guys know that they wouldn't get sick?"

"We think they caused it," Roz said.

"Nah. . . . They wouldn't make the whole world sick just to distract everyone's attention from the attack on the power plant." It was his turn to frown. "Thunder was right-this isn't over, is it? They're planning something much bigger than this. And they want everyone out of the way because . . . I've no idea."

A passing soldier sneezed violently, and Lance flinched. "Oh great. Now we probably have it too."

Roz stared at him.

"What?"

"You go to school, right?"

"When the mood strikes me. Why? Don't you?"

"No, I'm homeschooled. But is anyone in your school sick?"

"Sure. Lots of them. So many that school was actually canceled today. My math teacher got it first, then the social studies teacher, then . . . Huh. That's odd. . . ."

"Only the teachers, right?" Roz asked.

"Yeah. . . . My folks are sick, so are most of my aunts and uncles. But not me or my brother or any of my cousins, that I know of."

Roz nodded. "That's what I thought. The plague is only affecting the adults."

CHAPTER 12.

Abby pointed toward the yard at the back of Leftover's Finer Diner. "Down there. Can you land in the alley?"

Paragon descended, the down-thrust from his jetpack scattering the litter and debris from the alley floor. "You live here?"

"No, I work here. But I need to change back into my work clothes before I go home."

"And how far is home?"

"About a mile."

"All right. Get changed and I'll take you."

Abby vaulted over the wall, and landed silently. The diner was still open, but the back door was closed so there was no one to see her. She felt a little guilty for having run out on Dave on such a busy night, but reminded herself that such was the life of a superhero.

She ducked into the shed and began to quickly change out of her costume. I'm a superhero. She realized she was grinning but couldn't help herself. I helped rescue Max Dalton and all those other people! I even fought Slaughter! She shook herself. No, can't think like that. Paragon was right. We were lucky. She could have ripped my head off.

She pulled on her shoes, put away her costume and sword-and the U.S. Army helmet she'd forgotten to give back-then returned to the yard. She quickly scaled the wall and dropped down next to Paragon.

He was talking to someone on his radio. "Yeah . . . Got it. All right, Colonel. Understood. One hour, then." He disconnected the call. "There's no rush. The colonel's delayed the meeting until we can get more data from the CDC. Probably just as well, because we're going to have to walk to your place. Some local superhero-spotters saw us flying over the town and they're searching for us. You know the back routes?"

"Sure. Back this way and then we can turn right." She had to almost run to keep up with Paragon's long strides. "Can I ask you a question? Why 'Paragon'? I mean, that's kind of an arrogant name. And you don't seem like the arrogant type. If you were, you wouldn't be hiding your face. Paragon means 'the very best,' right?"