Authors: S.J. Delos
He stared at me again and then climbed to his feet. “I understand. Anyway, our thanks still.” He walked away and I turned onto my back, arms tucked behind my head and glared at the metal sheets above. If I had laser eye beams, I might have burned a pair of holes clean through the roof. Instead, the only thing that came out of them were silent tears.
I’m not sure what time I fell asleep. It was dark when Derek shook me awake. My eyes jumped open and from the light of the barrel fire nearby, I could see the older man leaning over me, his face only a foot or so from mine. I pulled back, holding up one hand. “Don’t kiss me, dude. I’m awake.”
He chuckled, white teeth contrasting the darkness of his skin. “Twenty years ago, I might have been tempted to do just that,” he said. “Getting my face slapped would have probably been worth it.”
I shook my head with a little snort and then chided myself for not throwing up the aloof shield I’d wielded so well earlier. I blamed the fog of sleep for having let my guard down. “Twenty years ago, you wouldn’t have had to worry about the slapper having super strength.”
He nodded. “True.”
“So, what’s going on? I’m guessing you didn’t wake me just to have a conversation on the dangers of modern flirtation.”
He shook his head and cut his eyes to the closed plywood door. The grin slipped off his face as easily as melted wax. I followed his gaze and saw twin beams filtering in through the space between the boards over one window. In addition to the headlights, the thumping of heavy bass music rattled the warehouse.
The rest of them were huddled together behind a pile of large crates, alternating between staying out of sight and peeking at the door. Panic was the expression they all shared. I arched a brow at Derek.
“We have company,” he said softly.
I shoved the blanket off my legs and got to my feet, looking from the door to Derek. “What are they doing?”
Derek shook his head. “Nothing yet,” he said. “They pulled up about five minutes ago. Natalie peeked out the side window and said they’re just sitting in the car. Drinking and smoking.”
An older guy–Antonio, I believe–came over and put his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “The driver just got out and is standing in front of the car. The rest haven’t moved. Why don’t they just go ahead and come in and trash our stuff? What are they waiting for?”
I pulled my hoodie from the top of a crate and put it on as I slipped my feet into my sneakers. The loose jacket wouldn’t mimic my invulnerability, but I doubted that would matter against a bunch of Norms. As I zipped it up, I looked at Antonio. “Fear. They know that you guys know what they’re going to do. If they draw it out, then you’ll be more scared.”
“How do you know?” Antonio asked.
“She’s got experience instilling fear.” Derek answered without missing a beat.
I gave him a stern look and he smiled at me in response. “You and I are going to have a serious discussion when this is over,” I said to him before glancing around the inside of the warehouse. “Is there another way to get out of here?” While I could just go through the front entrance, I wanted to survey the situation before making any plans.
The older man nodded and pointed to a set of crumbling concrete steps that went up to a partial loft. “Part of the second floor collapsed out into the alley on the other side of the building. Go up the steps and across to where the wall is missing. It’ll bring you out about there.” He pointed to the wall opposite the front entrance.
Antonio looked at him as if he’d just jabbered in something other than English. “Dude, that’s a fifty foot drop to the street. At least.”
I headed to the steps. “Just keep everyone calm and inside, okay?”
Derek nodded. “Okay.” One of his snow-white brows arched. “You have a plan?”
I shrugged. “Not going back to the Max.” At this point, I figured me being an ex-con would matter less than the quartet outside. Afterwards might be a completely different story.
I crossed the room and gingerly ascended the chipped and broken stairs one at a time. I didn’t know if they would stand up to supporting almost nine hundred pounds. Luck was with me, for once, and I reached the top and made my way across the broken wooden floor keeping to the exposed steel I-Beams. Finally, I reached the busted windows and stepped outside without hesitation.
My landing wasn’t the softest or quietest in recorded history. Hell, it wasn’t even close. I hit the asphalt with a loud smack and drove a crater nearly a foot deep into the weathered street. I counted myself lucky that I didn’t drop through into the sewer. I stepped out of the hole and headed to the other side of the building.
I peeked around the corner and saw that all of the boys, five of them in total, were now out of the vehicle. Each boy was large, not Enhanced-big like Behemoth, but normal college jock-sized. Four of them leaned against the front bumper of the car, passing a bottle back and forth. The last stood in front of the plywood door, pounding on it with a fist.
He had bleach-blonde hair cut into a shaggy surfer style, and the streetlight on the other side of the road gave it a silver glow. The aroma of marijuana hung heavy in the air, noticeable even as far away as I stood. Upon further observation, I noticed a slight sway in his stance. Probably drunk, too.
“Open up, you bums!” he yelled and then glanced back at the others. The four of them laughed and nodded, encouraging the leader to bang on the door again. “Come on! You don’t want us to have to break down the door, do you?”
I wanted to march over to the quintet and throw them to the other side of town. Or at least break ten sets of limbs. However, I didn’t do that sort of thing anymore and I’d never purposefully injured a Norm. Just wading in with fists flying would result in either a trip back to the Max or a return to Martin’s side, neither of which was appealing.
“I ain’t going to ask you again, you fucking bums! Open the door or we’re going to break it down and kick your asses.”
Property damage, on the other hand…
I turned my gaze to their ride, a classic ‘68 Chevy Camaro with cherry red paint and a black ragtop. The woof-woof-woof of the motor indicated a big V-8, probably a 350. It was a very sweet piece of American machinery. Beautiful to see and hear. Too bad it was soon going to be junk.
I turned away from the scene and headed back to the other side of the building, growing more annoyed with each round of laughter I heard. I wasn’t sure how long the rest would be able to hold out. Either they stayed inside until the punks came in after them or they came out and got in my way. I reached the point of my egress and searched for something big and heavy, my temper flaring hotter by the second.
Maybe that prison shrink was right about my so-called “issues”.
I grabbed a twelve-foot piece of steel girder rising up out of the rubble and yanked it free. It felt as if it weighed about half a ton and would do perfectly. I felt a harsh smile form on my face as I put the beam over my shoulder and casually made my way back to the scene of the conflict. It was all I could do not to start whistling.
When I made it back to the other side, I discovered that the punks had tired of waiting for Derek and his people to come out. The substitute door was lying on the ground next to the entrance and I could hear the boys laughing as someone, sounding an awful lot like Natalie, pleaded for them to go away. Then came the sound of flesh hitting flesh and the resulting cry of pain. My jaw tightened and my fury became a conflagration. I’d had no place to go and these people had taken me in. Now someone else was treating them like cheap entertainment.
Not on my fucking watch.
I walked around the building and crossed the parking lot to stand behind the Camaro. I gave the car one final appreciative appraisal before I brought the length of steel over my head and slammed it down on the convertible. The weight of the beam, augmented by my strength, bisected the vehicle length-wise. The two halves remained upright for a second or two before each fell in opposite directions.
The ruckus probably carried for blocks.
I leaned against the mangled remains of the Chevy as everyone came rushing out to see the source of the commotion. The frat boys were first, of course, and Surfer Boy froze upon seeing the destroyed vehicle. Derek was the last to emerge and his eyes widened at the sight. Then he looked at me and covered his open mouth with his hand.
“My car,” Blondie wailed, grabbing at his hair as he staggered to the side. One of his friends, a nearly moose-sized redhead, caught him around the shoulders to keep him from falling over. “What happened to my car?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, dude. I was just walking past and this beam dropped out of the sky. Guess it’s lucky you weren’t in it, huh?”
The rest of the punks looked up to try and locate the origin of the car-smashing hunk of metal. However, Surfer Boy glared at me as if I’d just broken his favorite toy. Which, I guess, I’d actually done.
“You did this, you bitch! You broke my damned car!” He pulled himself free from his friend’s arm and stalked over to me, hands balling into fists.
“How did she break your car, boy?” Derek moved forward to stand between his people and the rest of us. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look at her. She’s what? Five feet tall?”
“Five-six,” I countered.
The boys looked from Derek to me. Then they looked at the huge steel beam.
“You think she just picked that thing up and hit your car with it?” He chuckled and Antonio and a few others chimed in. “It probably weighs ten times what she does.”
The blonde boy didn’t take his eyes off me. “She did it somehow. Maybe she’s a
Freak
.”
I rose up off the car, my own hands becoming fists. “What did you call me?”
Derek turned to the boys. “How much have you guys smoked this evening? Two joints? Three? Probably did a little nose candy, too. Am I right?”
The four of them looked at each other, guilt plastered all over their Abercrombie faces.
“Now,” the old man continued, “you boys can call the cops and say that this little girl, who may or may not be Enhanced, smashed up your car. Maybe when they get here, they call the EAPF to check her out. Maybe not. But I can guarantee that they will take you little punks downtown for possession and public intoxication. Good luck explaining that one to Mommy and Daddy.”
Blondie looked back over his shoulder at Derek and then faced me again. The old man’s sobering logic might have given his buddies something to consider, but the big boy looked as if he were still planning to do something that wasn’t going to end well for him.
Or me.
“Bitch broke my car, man,” he growled, taking another step closer. “She’s going to pay for that.” His glassy eyes looked me up and down and the sideways grin that appeared on his face told me where his mind had gone. It was the same look that a lot of guards at the Max had when they looked at you. Like they wondered how you were in bed and enjoyed the daydream of finding out. “I’m gonna take it out of that sweet ass.” He stalked towards me with a look in his eyes that made every alarm in my head scream.
This was going to get bad.
“Mark, man. Let’s go.” One of the boys broke away from the others and grabbed Blondie by the arm. “Stop thinking with your dick and just let the insurance handle the car. You’re covered, right?” He glanced over at me and leaned closer to his friend. “Dude, she’s an Enhanced. Besides, your dad will shit kittens if he has to buy off another … incident.”
I blinked, looking between the two boys. I wasn’t surprised by the revelation. Anybody willing to get tanked up and drive to the worst part of town to harass homeless people wouldn’t hesitate to spike a girl’s drink or worse.
I stared at the lot of them. Rich, and privileged, they rode the wave of influence generated by their parents’ money, believing that they could whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted and never had to worry about the consequences. They thought they were invulnerable. They thought they were untouchable. The truth couldn’t be farther away.
I glared at the two of them and reached out, pushing my fingers through the scrap that used to be a classic Camaro. My gaze never wavered as I tore a large chunk free and crushed it into a soccer ball-sized sphere. I held it up over my head, sweeping my eyes over the entire assembled group so they could get a good look at what I’d done. Then I dropped the lump of steel at the feet of Mark and his friend. It hit asphalt with a clanging thud.
“Incident?” I took one step forward, causing the duo to take one back. I kept picturing the situation from earlier in the day, only it was the frat boy’s face leering over me rather than Fred’s. “What a nice way to say that you raped a girl. That is what you mean, right?”
This was how shit like that started. Little punks thinking they could do whatever they liked to whomever they wanted, damned be the consequences. Never thinking of what repercussions their decisions had on their victims. As screwed up and evil as Martin could be, he never,
ever
condoned rape. And he dealt harshly with supervillains that did.
“Easy, lady,” Mark’s friend stammered, “we don’t want any trouble. Not with an Enhanced.” His eyes couldn’t get any wider and I could see the tremble in his knees from where I stood. His friend, on the other hand, looked like he still wanted a little revenge, despite seeing what I could do.
“Not with an Enhanced, huh?” I nodded to the blonde boy. “But your buddy here wanted to take a little something out of my sweet ass, as I recall.” I spread my arms and thrust my chest out, giving them both a clear look down the top of my shirt. “Why don’t you come and take it, then? Or can’t you get it up unless your date is all roofied-out?”
The bigger boy released an animal growl based in fury and pharmacology. He shrugged off his friend’s arm and rushed at me, right arm drawn back behind his head. “I’ll show you, you cunt!” He screamed as he brought around a haymaker that would have removed a few teeth and cracked my skull.
You know, if I wasn’t invulnerable.
In the comics, the bad guys punch Superman and he just stands there unmoving. Sometimes he even laughs at them. Things are a little different in the real world.
Mark’s fist collided with my temple and it was a damned good thing I was near indestructible. A blow like that would have seriously injured-or killed-a normal person. Instead of smashing my brain around, the impact pushed my head to the side, despite my being prepared for it. I think a few strands of hair were jolted out of place.
The snap-crackle-pop of Mark’s hand shattering was loud enough for everyone to hear.
The blonde boy dropped to his knees, cradling his destroyed paw and wailing at the top of his lungs. I glanced down and noticed, with perverse satisfaction, that two of his fingers were jutting out at crazy-wrong angles. So much for that football scholarship.
The other boy took a step towards us and I stopped him with a look and shake of my head. This wasn’t finished, but I needed a second or two to compose myself or else I was going to kill someone this evening. The impulse was pushing at me something fierce.