Emergence (14 page)

Before he got too far along, I leapt into the air and came down on top of the car’s chassis, trying to crush him underneath, then jumped again so he couldn’t use the vehicle against me liked I’d done him. I landed in the middle of the street, running out of ideas when I spotted something that just might work. My grin would have people thinking I was crazy if they could see it.

Stone shrugged the car off and had begun scrambling to his feet while I reached down beside me and sunk my fingers into the holes of the manhole cover I’d spotted.

“What are you gonna do with that, princess?” he asked with a laugh, dusting himself off and strolling toward me with no lack of confidence. Then again, he did just have a car land on him and he brushed it off like it was a fly.

“Play Frisbee, first off.” I used my power to yank the manhole cover free, then shifted my angle and hurled the steel disc at Stone.

The gray orbs of his eyes went wide and he threw his arms in front of him to block the cover. Didn’t do him much good. It slammed into his forearms and drove him backward. Shards of rock exploded, and the manhole cover bounced into the air as Stone stumbled into the wreckage of the car, entangling his feet in it. He screamed his rage, but I wasn’t done yet.

A quick shift caught me up to the cover, and I grabbed the edge of it and changed direction, taking it with me. It was damn heavy, and I knew I couldn’t hold it long without activating my powers, but I wouldn’t need to. Stone looked up at me as I careened toward him, gravity doing all the work. He sneered, getting ready to intercept me. That’s when I hit the switch. I was on him before he could blink.

I brought the manhole cover down on his head and drove him to his knees. The sound rang out like a collision of busses, but I didn’t’ stop to admire my handiwork. I juggled my power, limiting it to my arms while swinging the manhole cover side to side.
Clang, clang, clang,
it went as I teed off on his face, driving him backwards until he slammed into the brick wall of the National Holistic Institute, an overpriced, new age massage joint normally filled with hipsters and the walking dead of the early college crowd.

Nowhere to go, Stone leaned against the wall with whirling eyes, his arms flailing at his sides. I had him on the ropes so I figured it best to keep him there. I smacked him with the manhole cover over and over and over until he crumpled, hitting the ground. Before I could bring the hunk of steel down on his head one last time, I realized he’d begun to shift, regaining his human form.

Gray stony skin shifted and morphed, turning to pale, plain flesh while I watched. It was freaky. He groaned, voice rising several octaves in the middle of it, and skinny arms clutched at a head covered in a patch of unkempt brown hair that was a few months past due for a good snip. Stone stared up at me, blue eyes sunken in the sockets. He looked ready to vomit.

He also looked like a little wuss. A naked one at that. I shook my head at seeing him splayed out the way he was on the ground. He was just a kid, not more than thirteen. It explained his name, if nothing else. Had he not been such a dick, I might have felt sorry for him.

“Please, don’t hit me again,” he gasped, his real face not limited in emotions like his stony one. There was terror there. I liked seeing it, but still, it wasn’t as if I’d murder the little shit. Wasn’t my style.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hit you with
this
anymore,” I answered, tossing the manhole cover aside. Then I punched him, triggering my power for some extra
oomph
. His head
clacked
against the wall, and he slumped unconscious. He might have been a kid, but his power made him a man.

While I wasn’t out to administer a dose of fatal street justice, I couldn’t have him running off before the authorities got there, either. Speaking of which, after what seemed forever, the response time in Port Haven for shit, I finally noticed the sound of sirens screaming our direction. That was my cue to vacate.

“Keep an eye on him,” I told the crowd, “and tell the cops they can thank Whiplash.” They’d probably want to send me a bill.

I looked at one of the bystanders, who was watching me through his held-out cell phone, then leapt into the air, triggering my power and flying upward like a pinball caught between the flippers. It wasn’t the most graceful of exits, but looked good for video. I hadn’t figured out how to keep the momentum going in a straight line so I could fly without looking like a spaz. Still, it worked. I was gone long before the police arrived, and, from the top of a parking garage, observed a DCD copter flying toward the scene. Definitely best to avoid those jokers. I was home shortly after, slinking into the building, no one the wiser.

Super villain defeated, there in the quiet confines of my studio apartment, the sad reality of life settled on me. I still had a paper to write for class.

TWO

I’d spent the night writing a ten-billion-word essay for my British Lit class and
trying
to stay off the Internet looking for videos. I managed to get my work done at about midnight and crawled into bed, quite proud of myself. I’d only viewed the best YouTube video of my fight about twenty-four times. The replays on the news don’t count.

I dreamed of kicking ass and reading Chaucer while morning rolled around all too quickly. It always did.

My faithful bed left behind, I stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for work, such as it was. A stranger met me at the mirror. I damn near fell over seeing my face. The entire left side was a solid mass of purplish and blue bruises, my eye encircled with black. It was like I’d gone toe-to-toe with Godzilla. Though that wasn’t too far from the truth. I stared at my reflection and sighed. No doubt work—the illustrious Hot Topicz Boutique—were going to have a field day with my new look. They barely tolerated my piercings and tattoos, though they’d get lucky today. There was no way I’d try to put them back in with my face so swollen. That was a recipe for pain I didn’t have any interest cooking up.

The drive to work took longer than usual, but I’d expected that and left early. With Hot Topicz only being a few blocks away from the jewelry store Stone had tried to rob—the reason I’d known about it in time to do something—the street where I’d put him down was blocked off. Bored cops waved traffic a couple blocks down before it could swing back around and get on track. I pulled into the parking lot of the mini-mall a good twenty minutes before my shift. Clara, my boss, would probably stroke out at seeing me show up before ten.

I hopped out of the car, straightened my uniform—which consisted of a blood red blouse with a chintzy HT pin above my breast and black jeans—and took a deep breath before knocking on the glass for someone to let me in. It took a few minutes before Clara came to unlock the door. Her fake purple eyes looked as if they’d seen a sale at Macy’s. She eased the door open and ushered me inside.

“Oh my God, Vivian.” She stared at my face with undisguised horror. “What happened to you?”

I laughed it off. “There was a show last night. There I was, banging away and someone in the pit hit me from behind. Knocked me right over the railing,” I told her, getting used to spitting out lies on the quick. “Landed flat on my face.
Splat!
” I clapped my hands together and Clara jumped at the sound.

She glanced around, though I’m not sure who she was looking for since it was just us on eth schedule until noon, and shook her head. “Steve didn’t do this, did he?”

“Uh, hell no he didn’t. He’s an idiot but he’s not abusive. I’d kick his ass if he raised a hand to me.”

Steve was my on-again, more often than not, off-again boyfriend. We’d dated since we were fifteen, and I’d kept him around mostly to stave off the moments of loneliness that came with becoming a chimeric. It was hard enough keeping a stable relationship going when you were normal, but the alien gift I’d been handed made it damn near impossible.

“You sure?”

I laughed. “Of course I’m sure, Clara. Steve wouldn’t hurt a fly if it punched him in the face. Dude’s as much a pacifist as Gandhi.”

She smiled—a forced one—and pretended to chuckle. She did that a lot around me. “How about you take today off and let
that
,” her finger drew a circle in the air, gesturing to my face, “heal up a bit.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “I’m fine. Just some bruising. I only have, like, fifteen hours this week.”

“I know, but I think it best you let that clear up. I can’t imagine corporate would appreciate…”

And that’s when I tuned her out. ‘Corporate’ was the world’s greatest scapegoat in this woman’s arsenal. As if anyone from ‘Corporate’ had ever graced our chintzy Mission Square store. This rinky-dink little shop earned just enough to keep it open, but never enough to entice the big bosses into a five-hour trip from the home office in La Futura.

Clara sighed, which signaled her tirade was over. “…you understand, right?”

“Sure.”
Whatever the hell you said.
“I’ll call you next week then, since I’m not scheduled until Tuesday anyway.”

“You should go home and rest, just take care of yourself. Maybe…slow down a little?”

I nodded and smiled, making sure to show her my bruised side, and left before I made myself sick swallowing all the things I wanted to say. One day I’d give the woman detailed directions to where she could find a fuck, but I still needed the damn job, for all the good it did me.

My financial aid scholarships covered just enough for my classes and books at UPH—the University of Port Haven—but that was only because I was working. If I were to quit, they’d drop me and, while I’d qualify for full time tuition, it wouldn’t be enough for me to live on once I paid the school. It was catch-22 that had me hanging either way I leaned.

My afternoon unexpectedly clear, I left my car in the lot and wandered down Market Street toward the Headstand to check in on Stan. I’d heard on the news that he was okay, but I wanted to be sure. Most of the damage had been cleaned up by then, the wrecked car towed away, the dented manhole cover replaced, but Stan hadn’t gotten the same courtesy from the city. His wall had plywood sheets bolted into place over the hole I’d put there. I groaned, wishing I’d had the money to cover the damages.
Maybe I could buy an extra record or two this month.
Hardly recompense, I knew.

To my surprise, the Headstand was open for business, despite the cones and barrels strewn all over the intersection, the light flickering above the door. I slipped inside, the bell chiming as the as the familiar bouquet of incense hit my nose. So many different flavors had been burned there over the years that there was no determining what type was currently burning, the lingering smells long ago having merged into its own unique scent.

Some stoner band was playing on the stereo—Clutch, Kyuss, or whatever hippy metal was popular these days—and Stan was hunched over, sweeping up the last of the wreckage.

“Be right with you,” he called out, not bothering to even look.

“You need some help?” It was kind of late for that, but it felt right to offer.

He glanced up and smiled. “Hey, Viv! Nah, I got it handled.” Stan gestured to the wall, twin plywood boards nailed up inside. “Doing some redecorating. What do you think?”

“It’s uh…classy.”

He chuckled. “A few coats of paint and it’ll look better than it did before.”

As infectious as his laughter was, I found my smile hard to come by. I couldn’t stop staring at the makeshift wall. What if he’d been on the other side of it when I’d hit? Tears welled up, and I blinked them away before Stan saw them. He was an observant old guy, though.

“You all right, Viv?” He started over, but I waved him off.

“Hells yeah, dude,” I answered. “Lots of dust in here, that’s all. That new Overkill come in yet?”

Stan grinned. “Just got it yesterday, right before the big brouhaha. Man, I tell you, the chimeric situation is really getting to be a mess. You see the Red Wraith got killed yesterday? I mean, the guy was in the midst of killing some chimeric-murdering nutcase sniper dude, but still…oh, Overkill. Yeah, let me get it for ya.”

“And the new Vader, too, while you’re at it,” I called out as he made his way into the backroom. He gave a quick wave to let me know he’d heard me before disappearing behind the curtain of beads. I sighed. Stan was right. Things were getting heavy these days, which is why I tried to keep a low profile, but I’d been the idiot to try and tackle Stone out on the street. I owed Stan a little cash, at the very least, to make up for wrecking his shop.

He came back out holding the albums up like trophies and went to ring them up. I pulled my credit card out of my little purse and handed it to him, afraid my fingers wouldn’t let go.

“Determined customer discount,” he said, quoting me a price that was about five bucks cheaper than it should have been.

“Awww, you don’t have to do that.”

“Already done, sweetheart,” he answered, taking the card from me. “If it weren’t for you coming in, the place would be a ghost town. I appreciate that, you know. You’ve always been loyal when most kids are out downloading the latest stuff. Or torrenting. Whatever it is you guys call it.”

I sighed and nodded, my stomach tight with guilt, but it wasn’t like I could explain things to him.
You know that crazy costumed chick who flew through the wall? Well, that was me, Stan. I’m Whiplash and I break shit. A lot.

He handed me my credit card back along with the bag, patting me on the hand as he did. “Don’t you worry, Viv, the Head ain’t going nowhere.” He glanced about conspiratorially. “Besides, it was just the disco and redneck sections that got busted.” He chuckled, shooing me toward the door.

I couldn’t help myself and laughed, then waved goodbye and thanked him again as I went back out into the California swelter, clutching my prizes to my chest. I might not be able to eat for the next week, but I’d damn sure have some good tunes to starve to.

Back at the car, with nowhere to go and no more money to spend, I headed for home to jam out, the one real pleasure left to me.

The drive was way more eventful than the trip in.