Heroic Measures (continued)

A hero dressed in vermillion, and trailing an immense cape, struggled against two of the dark figures. He was holding his own, it appeared to Walter, but just barely. It was a matter of whose strength faltered first. Walter saw another duo of aircraft turn and start their approach. He glanced back down at the beleaguered hero and, without consciously thinking about it, made his decision.

His arc caught one of the black-clad figures directly in the middle of its back. It froze, its spine—or whatever passed for one—curving backward as the wave of current immobilized it. A few moments later, it dropped to the ground like a severed tree branch, but continuing twitching uncontrollably.

Freed from a dual attack, the vermillion-clad hero made quick work of the other figure. His fist came up in what looked to Walter like a nasty uppercut. He then grabbed the stunned begin and sent him skidding like an oversized stone across several puddles before smashing against brick and iron patio fronting an Italian delicatessen. It remained still after that, as its companion now did.

Walter hurriedly raised his arm again and managed to release a bolt that caught the starboard wing of the aircraft on his left. It was enough, though, to cause the small craft to swerve, clipping its companion’s wing. The two craft collided, seemed unable to untangle themselves, and smashed into one of the top three stories of a law corporation building. Despite his distaste for most lawyers, Walter hoped there had been no one inside. Fortunately, unlike in the movies, neither of the craft exploded and Walter began to wonder what exactly they used for fuel. He turned his gaze forward once more.

The vermillion-clad hero offered Walter a grateful salute. Its mouth moved in what Walter interpreted as an expression of gratitude, but was unable to hear it due to the distance and the rain. Walter raised his hand to wave, but the hero turned, his cape flowing in a highly dramatic fashion, and dashed in the direction of the main fray. Walter stared after him dumbly for a moment before realizing that he probably resembled an idiot standing there in the rain with his mouth hanging open.

He spied a hero dressed in a bright red outfit, fighting about three layers deep in the mob.

“Red!” he shouted, waving his arm frantically overhead.

He grunted with frustration, realizing that his voice could barely carry past the sound of the rain and thunder, much less through whatever din was present in the midst of that chaotic jumble of combatants. The red-clad figure disappeared from view and, for a moment, Walter feared that he had been defeated by his assailants. He felt light-headed with relief when, long moments later, the hero reappeared further down in the crowd.

It might not even be Red.

The only way to know for certain, Walter knew, was to charge in there himself.

“I’m getting too old for this”, he remarked in a whisper to no one in particular.

His feet, though, disregarded the comment and sent him running toward the melee.