Free The Last Hero (Book 1): Ultra by Matt Blake Page A

never been good at lying to my dad. But I couldn’t tell him the truth. How could I possibly begin to tell him the truth?
    “Don’t be long. Dinner’ll be ready in an hour, tops.”
    “I’m just checking in on him, that’s all. I’ll be back in no time.”
    I smiled at Dad. And for a moment, I thought that smile might just look convincing.
    Dad nodded. “Good.” He turned around.
    I lowered the handle and went to step outside.
    “Stay safe, Son.”
    Dad’s words made my chest well down. “I will, Dad.”
    I walked out into the cool summer air, the sounds of the city a distant murmur.
    I wasn’t going to Damon’s. I’d checked in on Damon a few times, sure, and he was doing… well, he was doing okay after the attack. Not amazing. How could anyone be doing amazing? He was just okay.
    But I had something else to do.
    I was going to somewhere else entirely.

    W hen Dad was younger , before the Great Blast, he ran a pretty decent car mechanics shop over on the north side of Staten Island right by the ferry terminal. Peters’ Parts, it was called. Decent business. Never made him rich, but enough for the family to get by in one of the most expensive cities in the world.
    Soon after the Great Blast, after Carrie’s death, Dad kind of let that place go to ruin. He tried selling it, but the building was in such a state after years of ill maintenance that he could never get rid of it. He sold everything worth something inside it, gutted it as well as he could, but he still technically owned that garage. Nowadays, he worked part-time at a grocery store just a few blocks away from our home. Mom worked reception at a salon in the day, and sometimes the late shift at a hotel bar at night. I figured she brought in most of the money. But she seemed alright about that. She seemed content.
    I stood outside the chain linked fences surrounding it, the rain lashing down from the dark clouds above. I was a long way from Damon’s. I was a long way from home.
    But I was exactly where I needed to be.
    I looked up at the chain linked fence. I knew I could try using my powers right away to get inside Peters’ Parts, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself.
    I climbed over the chain linked fence, looking left and right, making sure no one was onto me. My hood was pulled over my head. I knew I probably looked like a criminal, but fortunately, most people around Staten Island knew there wasn’t much worth stealing in Peters’ Parts after all.
    I dropped down the other side. Felt a stitch biting at my stomach. Already, I was out of breath. Damn. This was why I needed to think about exercising more. And no, Wii Sports did not count as exercise.
    I ran across the gravel. One of the windows at the side of the garage was smashed and covered in cobwebs. Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to use that window. I was pushing my luck as it was. Rather just walk in through the door. Rather just…
    The door was locked.
    Shit.
    I stood beneath the smashed window and looked up at it. I could jump up there and squeeze my way inside. I’d have to be careful I wasn’t being watched—I’d already been let off the hook by the CCTV gods once as it was. And I didn’t fancy explaining what I was doing here to Dad. Not one bit.
    My skin crawled as I pictured the rats crawling around inside there. Or cutting my hands on infected glass. Ugh.
    But I had to get inside. The harder it was to get inside this place, the better. Because it meant I wasn’t going to be seen.
    And with what I was planning, I couldn’t be seen.
    I jumped up. Gripped onto the side of the window ledge with my palms. I didn’t have much upper body strength, but I used what little I did have to pull myself up, drag myself inside.
    I felt loose shards of glass nicking at my bare skin, cutting at my hoodie. Inside the garage, total darkness. I could smell mustiness. Damp. And weirdly, weed and urine, like someone had been hanging out in here.
    The thought of dropping into a