Heroic Measures (continued)

Walter made it down the block, trying to avoid any more of the large puddles. That turned out to be more of a challenge than he originally would have thought. It had been pouring steadily, so there had been little chance for the rain water to drain off. Skirting some of the larger ones made his progress along the street slower than he would have liked—and it did not completely avoid Walter occasionally finding himself ankle-deep in a small pool of standing water.

He made it about halfway down the block when he spied something huddled in one of the doors. At first, he thought it might have been that stray animal taking shelter from the storm, but realized as he got closer that the shape was entirely wrong.

Oh great. Probably some homeless person . . .

Homeless and transient citizens were not a major problem for the city, but they did exist. Most of them, once identified, were taken to either shelter or hospitals that could care for them. Occasionally, though, new ones arrived or existing ones managed to escape detection or, as much as he hesitated to use the term, capture.

Walter approached carefully, ignoring the rain now. Whoever it was, they were probably not dangerous—at least not enough that he could not subdue them with a quick jolt. He hated to do it and silently hoped that it would not be necessary.

As came nearer, though, a chill traveled along his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. The figure was not huddled, as he had first thought. It was sprawled, as if it had collapsed suddenly on the trio of steps that led to the building’s door.

Walter slowed almost to a stop, studying the still form. It was impossible to tell in the dark whether or not it was breathing. Walter hesitated and then leaned closer. Lightning flashed overhead, briefly bathing the alcove in faint illumination. It was enough, though.

His body frozen with surprise, although he wanted to stumble backward, Walter stared at the once-again dark figure. Although he could not recall the man’s name immediately, Walter recognized the face from one of the heroes in the gymnasium. Its eyes rolled upward, exposing nearly all of their whites. The mouth hung slack and open. His body rested limply across the steps, as if it no longer contained any bones.

Walter leaned closer, noting the jagged metallic stripes along the sleeves and legs of the dead man’s outfit. He did not recognize the design. Walter looked the hero’s body over, without actually touching it, for signs of injury. He found none, but admitted to himself that it was difficult to tell in the rain. Walter wondered how long the man had been lying there.

He turned, remaining in a protective crouch, and surveyed the immediate area. He saw nothing but dark windows and rolling dark clouds. The silhouetted shapes of the aircraft passed overhead, but seemed no more interested in him than before. Whatever had killed this hero could still be in the area—or long gone. Walter could not tell. Some instinct told him that he was in no immediate danger.

Reaching down, he snapped the headset free of the man’s head. He felt a bit ghoulish doing so, but told himself firmly that the dead hero could no longer use it. It had a slightly different design than the one he had been issued, but the controls seemed to be the same. The left ear piece was smashed beyond hope of repair.

Probably when he fell, Walter told himself.

He lifted the other side to his ear. For a moment, he thought he heard it crackle with sound, but when he tried to listen more intently, it was silent. Probing at the controls produced no better results.

Probably shorted out in the rain.

Walter placed it gently down next to the dead man’s head. Turning, he surveyed the area again. Something had killed this man. He had trouble believing that the man had slipped and fallen in the rain. There was no point in looking for footprints: the rain had long since washed them away.