Train Rescue

Editorial Note: this was written back in 2017 and on a different blog; I republish it here for Throwback Thursday. Enjoy!

“Will you just hold still?” growled the Malevolent Med-Student.

“Er, no,” Jennifer said. “I’d rather not, honestly. And once again, I really must protest. Tying me to a train track is clearly a violation of-”

‘Yes, yes, I know,” the Malevolent Med-Student interrupted. “It’s cliché. It’s been done. Why don’t I murder you in an original way, can’t I drop you into a pit of radioactive ferrets, I know, I know. I would love to do any of that, or all of it! But look, the trouble is, my minion Candystriper got herself captured and I don’t know when she’ll get the chance to fire up the Death Kazoos and escape (if she manages to do that at all, and meanwhile here I am trying to practice supervillainy without an assistant. I don’t have time for an original death. Train tracks will have to do.”

Jennifer blinked. “That wasn’t my complaint. I don’t want you to murder me in an original way.  I’d really prefer-”

“At last,” the Malevolent Med-Student said, “someone who appreciates the classics.”  He glanced at his watch. “The 11:15 should be along shortly. I’d expect someone to attempt a rescue about thirty seconds before the train hits. They’re always so punctual.”

11:15 came and 11;15 went. No train appeared. Jennifer felt hopeful. “Well, doesn’t look like anyone’s coming. Can you untie me now?”

The Malevolent Med-Student stabbed furiously at his phone. “Blasted search engine, can’t get a signal worth a damn out here…”  He swore again. “There should’ve been a train! Where’d the blasted thing go?”

“Perhaps it was held up at the station?” Jennifer suggested.

“Indeed it was!” boomed a new voice. “Held up by justice!”

“Oh Lord, not-” the Malevolent Med-Student said, right before a white-gloved fist slammed into his head and sent him spinning like a top into a nearby clump of bushes.

“Remain calm, citizen!” said Captain Happily Married exultantly. “We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy!”

“You can lower your voice now, dear,” said his wife, who had just pulled up behind him. She gestured, and a white soccer ball floated over to Jennifer, produced a tiny laser, and began neatly cutting Jennifer loose. “The supervillain’s unconscious; everything’s secure.”

“Right,” said the Captain. “Well, that was easy. Should I pick up some milk on the way home?”

“Would you? We’re almost out. Oh, and a package of peanut butter, and also pickles. And a lemon.”

“Right oh, Super Soccer Mom!” said the Captain, before soaring away into the sky, cape streaming behind him.

The soccer ball chirped happily when it had lasered through the last ropes. Jennifer looked askance at Super Soccer Mom, who shrugged. “We’re pregnant again. Number seven.”

“Congratulations,” said Jennifer. “I’d like to go home now.”

There was a sudden distant whistle. “The train’ll be along in a few,” said Super Soccer Mom. “Or you could catch a ride with me and Seymour here. He can carry two in a pinch.” She gestured to the soccer ball.

“I think I’ll walk,” Jennifer said.

Super Soccer Mom shrugged again. “Suit yourself.”  She grabbed hold of the soccer ball, which powered up a small jet engine and carried her away into the sky.

Not for the last time, Jennifer seriously considered moving to a non-superhero city.