“TURN IT off! Turn it off!” I screamed.

“I am,” he shouted back, “but it’s doing no good.”

“What?”

“The fire, it’s no longer because of the system. It’s not programmed for that. Nothing programmed for that,” he said, pointing to the flame cyclone.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Fire tornado. They’re illegal. And I don’t know how to stop it. It’s beyond the programming here.”

“Let’s make rain!” I said desperately. We held hands and tried to build up a massive cloud. Rain fell. I wanted to cheer. And then reality set in. It was too hot for rain. The cloud made the whole room steam up. White-hot steam sizzled in the air.“More,” Sam said. “We can make this work. Focus on the tornado.”

I tried to focus but it was no good. The tornado spun around the room, lighting every tree it hit until the whole room was blazing. Sam kept trying to turn the trees off but it was no good. It had overridden the system, and whatever was inside the big fake forest that made the cylinders burn was turned to the permanent on switch. Some of them were badly damaged, their once pristine black surface marred by ash and burn holes. Finally, the tornado veered to the right and hit the wall. Instead of slowing down, it seemed to spin faster and faster against the side of the building.

Sam focused his attention on the controller and was able to extinguish the trees, except for the ones in the vicinity of the tornado. I looked at the walls of the building. They were large white tiles that overlapped each other like the wooden clapboard siding on a house in a fishing village. The force of the twister had them vibrating, turning from bright white to a glowing yellow.

“Sam, are those things going to hold together?” I asked.

“The tiles are fireproof and heat-proof. They can withstand over a thousand degrees of heat and gale force winds,” he yelled.

They vibrated faster and faster, making a loud banging noise and turning from red to yellow. “They don’t look too anything proof to me,” I said.

“Everything has its limits,” he said peacefully. Or like he was faking it.

“And what happens when that limit is reached?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said, genuine fear creeping into his voice for the first time.We soon got the answer to my question. One of the tiles ripped off the wall, spun quickly around the tornado, and shot out in a small flaming ball. It went right through a tree and hit the opposite wall with a bang. The ball slid down the pristine tiles, melting them into thick white putty. In horror, I saw the wall disappear as the white stuff oozed down to the ground, leaving a metal latticework of structure underneath it. It blocked out access to the exit beyond the wall, a basic white hallway that beckoned like it was heaven.

Sam came out of nowhere and pulled me to the ground, yelling “Duck!” Another flaming tile flew right over our heads. Then another right in front of us. Fireballs were shooting off in all directions, going pop pop pop like fireworks. Soon a barrage of fireballs shot out in all directions. Tiles fell, the walls were oozing, and the metal beams started melting into a firewall of heat and crackle. The tornado grew strength in its corner of the wall, spinning against the side as if it was trying to escape.

We rolled out of the way of the shooting flames and took refuge behind a large tree. We took a second’s break and three loud electronic beeps echoed through the room. A voice, calm and feminine, sort of British, began to speak. “Our systems have detected and emergency situation and our fire suppression system had been activated,” she said.

I saw Sam’s Adam apple jump up and down. He looked nervous. “In thirty seconds we will begin release of fire suppression measures including Halon 1301. Please be advised to exit the building immediately. The room will no longer have oxygen once the measures begin, which will make survival for organic life difficult. Exit can be found at both ends of the building. Please exit the room in thirty seconds… twenty-nine seconds... twenty-eight seconds…” She continued the countdown.

Having stopped, dropped, and rolled, we crawled toward the exit, through what felt like a wall of flames. When we were a few feet away, a large creaking noise sung through the air, and I felt Sam pluck me away as a crash-landed right in the spot where my body had been. Dust filled the room. My eyes watered, but as they cleared, I saw that our exit—our salvation—was blocked by a tree with numerous fire holes cut through its center. Long black metal strands jutted out of the bottom, which were matched by similar strands on the stump still in the ground. I looked up at the door, or where the door should have been. Nothing but tree.

The nice lady announcing our deaths continued to count: “Twenty-one seconds... twenty seconds... nineteen seconds…”

“We have to get to the other door,” Sam said.

“It’s too far!” I yelled.

“Sure,” he said. “If we crawl.”

“Do we have other options? Is there another way?” I asked.

“We can fly!” A look of glee passed over his face. Then he was serious once again.

“How?” I made a face.

“Stop fretting,” he said. “It’s easy. Yes, you can. See, we have a strong tail wind right now. If you put your arms in front to block the landing and position your body just so, you’ll take off.” He pointed to the tornado. “Sarah, if you can make a tornado, you can fly. Trust me.”

He grabbed my hand and put the other in front of his face. “Follow my lead,” he said.

“Fifteen seconds... fourteen seconds... thirteen seconds… ” the woman bleated.

We locked eyes and did our own countdown. I had a sudden thought. “Won’t the fire follow the—”

I couldn’t get the word out. We whooshed forward with a powerful wind behind us. The fire followed, trailing us by inches, biting at our toes with wisps of flame. We had to keep going. I couldn’t get scared and I couldn’t flinch, or we’d end up slamming down into this deathtrap. It was terrifying but after a couple seconds in the air it felt weirdly exhilarating. I was in control. My life was in my own hands.

“Ten seconds... nine seconds... eight seconds… ” The countdown went on.

We sped past the trees. Fireballs flew left and right and we dodged fallen branches and hot metal spittle from the melted beams.

“Six seconds… five seconds… four seconds… ” she said.

The door was in sight.

“Three seconds... two seconds… please exit immediately.” The announcer’s voice got louder. It was time for detonation.

We put our hands up. The wind and fire was behind us. Safety beyond.

I could see a metal slab dangling, ready to fall in front of the door.

“1 second. Beginning fire suppression sequence.” There was a moment of pure silence as the forest raged around us.

I covered my face.

 

WE HIT the door at full force, pushing it open with the weight of our bodies. Just as we made it past the doorway, the metal slab slammed down. Some claws of the fire escaped, trailing after us into the hallway. The sprinkler system snapped on but one still singed my arm. I could feel it burning, and I took off the coat and saw a long red line up my arm.

We could see into the practice room through a porthole window. Sam got up to take a peek, still wearing his protective gear. My hands and shoulders felt bruised and I had trouble pulling myself upright. I took a space next to him and watched the room fill with a gray mist. The fires quickly consumed the remnants of oxygen and greedily lapped it up. The fire extinguished like a light turning off when the inert gas poured in through the vents. The tornado was the last to go out. It spun slower and slower and the flame became a dull green before disappearing in a cloud of smoke and ash. It disappeared, and we could see hardened pools of metal, massive white balls of former tiles, and very expensive fake trees burnt to dust. On the ground was a blackened path tracing its course from the center to the wall, which was in bad shape, but still standing.

I was alive. It felt amazing. Sam and I were sitting on the ground, breathing heavy. I tackled Sam, so excited just to be alive. But then a thought crossed my mind. I had just destroyed the most expensive—and secret—thing in all Doolittle Falls. “So,” I started. “Are we in trouble?” I got up, wiping the dust off the suit.

“Don’t worry. They won’t find out,” Sam said.

“Won’t find out? The place is ruined.” There wasn’t really anything we could do about it.

“Oh, you mean about the sim room? That’s nothing. This thing gets wrecked all the time. They’ll fix it. Wouldn’t be the first time. Fire is dangerous and hard to control. Though I’ve never seen it that bad,” he said.

“What do you mean they won’t find out?” I didn’t necessarily have faith in Sam’s ability to hide what we did.

“The fire tornado. It’s illegal to make one of them. If the Bureau of Superhero Affairs finds out we’d get in big trouble. But like I said, they won’t.”

We got our things together and walked outside the building. I had some questions. He just made me feel a little like an interloper. “Illegal why? I thought I could work under your Hero card.”

“Doesn’t matter. Hero card, approval, or anything. Some things are just forbidden. Too dangerous. Like those mind control collars they give telepaths. We have limits, too.” He had pulled out the Hero card on me, literally and figuratively.

“Nobody is allowed to do a fire tornado. Not even the Black Zephyr,” I said.

“Even your hero,” Sam answered. “It’s powerful stuff. The Bureau, because of people’s fears, prevents Heroes from doing what comes naturally to them. When someone, if allowed, could figure out how to control something like the fire tornado and use it for good. But instead we can’t touch it because someone decided it’s dangerous.” He looked petulant. He wanted to do it again.

“That was scary,” I added. My heart was still thumping.

“Well, yeah, because we didn’t know what we were doing. But if we practiced it wouldn’t be, like anything else. That’s why all the Heroes are behind Bergeron. He wants to revamp the Bureau, put someone in charge who knows what it means to be a Hero, and stop this silly bureaucracy.”

“But isn’t Glanton 4 supporting him?” I asked.

“He’s the best,” Sam replied. I raised my eyebrows. “He’ll totally fix the bureau. Now Normals get to set the standards, and it’s silly if they do that for Heroes. If Glanton’s in charge he’ll fix it.” For a moment, he sounded like Dr. Mann.

“Really?” I didn’t agree with him. Unchecked powers didn’t sound like an empirically good thing for the human race. “Well I can’t vote and right now, I’m just happy to be alive and hope to never see another one of those for as long as I live.”

“Oh, so you’re not up for a second round?” he said.

“Sure, are you?”

He laughed. “Called my bluff. Let’s get out of here,” he said, and he walked me back to the golf cart. A clunker on the way in, I looked at it with new, grateful eyes after having narrowly escaped death. After the day we had, it seemed like a majestic steed, ready to take me home.