by Chris Dolley
Brenda looked at the flaming boy wonder and narrowed her eyes.
‘Have you been compos mentis all the time? Has this been another test to see how I cope on my own while you sit there giving me the silent treatment and pretending to die?’
‘No,’ said Brian. ‘I tried a kind of mind meld and something went wrong. But I feel better now, thanks for asking. There’s nothing like being set on fire to clear the head.’
Abbiati turned and ran. Dwayne and Michael followed. The three of them circled past Brian and sprinting for the door.
“Wait for me!” shouted Brian heading after them.
Brenda watched, expecting Brian to turn back for her the moment Abbiati and his men left the building. But he didn’t.
‘Brian? What about me? You’re not going to leave me here tied up on the floor. Brian!’
‘Won’t be long,’ he said. ‘There’s something more I need from him.’
‘Brian!’
Brenda couldn’t believe it. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a few seconds to free her. Or at least put her upright. The floor was filthy. There were undoubtedly rats in the building. Maybe roaches.
‘Brian!’
o0o
Two cars were parked outside – the black town car and a black SUV. Two men were crouched by the SUV their guns drawn.
“What’s happened?” shouted one as Abbiati, Dwayne and Michael sprinted towards him. Then he saw Brian behind them. “Fuck! What’s that?”
Abbiati didn’t answer. He was pumping hard and heading for the rear door of the town car. Dwayne already had the driver’s door open and Michael had thrown himself into the front passenger seat.
Abbiati threw himself into the back seat. “Drive!” he shouted, reaching to close the door.
Too late. Brian grabbed the door and jumped in next to him, bouncing on the sumptuous, and soon to be charred, leather upholstered seat.
Abbiati slid over and wedged himself against the far door. Dwayne and Michael turned in unison to stare at the flaming passenger seated within a few inches of the petrol tank.
“Phew,” said Brian. “Nearly missed you. Where we going?”
Three people threw open their doors and tumbled outside. The padded roof above Brian’s head had caught fire and the smell of burning leather was everywhere.
All three scrambled to their feet and ran after the SUV – which was now thirty yards away and accelerating – shouting and waving for it to come back and collect them. Brian lingered in the back of the car long enough to run his hands over anything he thought flammable then, with the rear of the car pleasantly alight, climbed out through the flames to jog after his new friends.
“Wait,” he shouted. “I’m one of you now. I’m not going to hurt anyone.”
The town car exploded.
Up ahead, the SUV had been thrown into reverse and was fishtailing back towards Abbiati at speed.
“Aw, come on, let me be in your gang. I’ll be your best friend.”
The SUV rocked to a halt and three men jumped in the back. Brian was twenty yards away and not going to make it in time.
Not on foot. So he sent his eyes on ahead, found a suitable spot under the chassis of the SUV and bent the space in between, sucking his body forward in a blur of fast extinguishing flame. Blackened, charred, but no longer burning, he clung to his new hiding place beneath the SUV, waiting and listening.
The road below flashed by disturbingly close. Hopefully they weren’t heading for a speed bump.
“Can you see him? Is he following?” Brian could just about recognize Abbiati’s voice from the interior of the SUV. He sounded out of breath and shaken.
“Can’t see him,” said Dwayne. “What was he? No one can burn like that and survive.”
“We must have hit him a dozen times,” said Michael. “I never missed. I know I shot him.”
“We all shot him,” said Dwayne. “The kid’s a fucking freak.”
Brian listened. He was intrigued by Abbiati. He’d never met anyone who could shield his mind before. How did he do it? And what else could he do? He hadn’t tried anything in the warehouse. He hadn’t tried to counter Brian’s powers. He’d resorted to a gun and, when that didn’t work, he’d run.
Was the mind block his only power, or was he ultra careful about using magic in front of witnesses? Listening to the present conversation, it was obvious Dwayne and Michael had never encountered anyone like Brian. Abbiati gave the same impression, but was he playing along? Playing the shocked human to keep his identity secret?
Brian probed the other men’s minds – Dwayne, Michael and the two in the front – looking for a hint of recognition, a jogged memory of a similar event, a strange, inexplicable incident they’d witnessed. Maybe Abbiati being shot and miraculously surviving. Or everyone thinking he’d been shot, but somehow every bullet fired from point blank range having missed.
But he found nothing. Their thoughts were all over the place. Flashbacks of flaming Brian, fears that he was after them, a desperate search for ways to kill him. Dwayne was actually considering silver bullets soaked in holy water.
And Abbiati’s mind was a total blank. It was as if he wasn’t there.
The SUV put in a tight turn at speed. Brian gripped tighter as he was thrown to one side. And cursed the fact that superstrength had never featured in his catalogue of powers. Maybe he should morph suction pads onto his fingers to improve his grip? Or maybe not. In the coming hours he might need all the magic he could channel. Best to conserve his energy and observe.
Abbiati was on the phone now, talking to someone called Johnny. “Lock the place down,” Abbiati told him. “I want two people on the gate at all times. And bring everyone back. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Brian had ten minutes to work out what he was going to do when the car stopped. Should he try to take Abbiati down? Attempt another mind meld? Stay hidden and observe? None were ideal. And he was losing focus. What had started out as a quest to track down Daddy was splintering into three separate investigations – the search for Daddy, the enigma of Abbiati and the desire to bring him and his crime empire crashing down. And Brian didn’t have a clue which was the more important. The businesslike, neat and tidy Brian said, Concentrate on one case at a time. The search for Daddy was the original case, so stay with that and stop getting sidetracked. Flying off at a tangent every time something interesting came along was a sure way to failure.
But Sacrifice had been dead for years. What were another few days to her? Abbiati was a current threat. His men were out there now, extorting, threatening, beating people up, maiming and murdering. It made sense to deal with him first and take down his empire.
Unless Abbiati had superpowers and Brian was being lured into a trap. There might be a whole nest of demons waiting for him the moment the car stopped.
Abbiati was on the phone again.
“Hey, it’s me,” he said. “You know you said to call if ever I had an emergency?”
There was a pause, presumably while the person on the other end of the line replied.
“Well, I have one now,” continued Abbiati. “There’s a kid about fourteen years old. He took a dozen bullets without flinching and fire can’t kill him. I can’t see how he does it. Even if he was wearing treated body armor his face was unprotected. Now he’s a human fireball and I think he’s after me.”
Another pause. Brian listened, waiting for a name. If only he could project an inner ear into Abbiati’s phone.
“Okay,” said Abbiati. “I’ll be at the house.”
The last sentence had a hint of finality about it. Brian couldn’t see or hear the call being disconnected, but it felt like it had.
“Do you think we should try different ammo?” said Dwayne. “Maybe tell everyone to switch to armor-piercing?”
“Do it.” said Abbiati.
This was turning into a day of firsts. Brian had never been set alight before, and he’d never had to face armor-piercing bullets eithe
r.
Chapter Fourteen
The SUV slowed, turned and then stopped, its engine idling. Abbiati must have opened a window as his voice was suddenly louder and clearer.
“Anyone been watching the place?” he asked.
“No one,” said a voice from outside – presumably a guard on the gate.
“Good. Lock everything down. If you see anyone – especially a woman with a teenage boy – tell me immediately.”
The SUV pulled away. The ground changed from black top to ornamental pink. Brian lowered himself as far as he dare to get a better view of his surroundings. It looked like a parkland estate. Extensive well-kept grounds – lawns, shrubs, mature trees – sweeping up to a large, sprawling house. It had to have at least fifteen rooms. He could see a group of people waiting there. More guards, no doubt. The whole estate was probably crawling with them. A private army. He’d never taken on an army before.
And he still didn’t have a plan. That last phone call was worrying. Who did a man with his own private army turn to for help? It didn’t sound like a request for legal advice. And whoever it was – he, she, or the demonic hordes – they were on their way here.
So, did he act now while the odds were better, or wait and observe?
“Stop!” came a shout from up by the house. “There’s someone under the truck.”
Well, that about killed the ‘wait and observe’ option.
The SUV screeched to a halt. Brian almost lost his grip. Then the truck accelerated. Brian clung on. It was heading for the house at speed. Why? Were they looking for something painful to drive over? A cactus bed, nettles, blocks of rubble? The driver slammed on the brakes again. Brian absorbed as much of the forward momentum with his arms as he could, but was still launched like a human torpedo from the front of the SUV, skidding ten feet on his back across the drive in front of the house.
“Ow, ow, ow!” he said.
Six men – some with rifles, some with pistols – charged towards him. The doors to the SUV flew open. More men, more guns – all of them pointing in one direction. Brian’s.
“Stay down. Hands where we can see them.”
Brian tried a smile and raised two charred stumps.
No one smiled back. Most of their faces were set, emotionless and hard. Except the ones revolted by the blackened, flaking – and occasionally smoldering – body lying on the ground before them.
Abbiati marched into view. He stared down at Brian, grimacing.
“What do you want?” he demanded. “And no more bullshit.”
“To get your attention.”
“Don’t trust him,” said Dwayne. “Look at him. He’s not even human.”
“I’m super-human,” said Brian. “Just what your gang needs. Unless you’ve already got some of us superhuman dudes working for you?”
He tried to sound innocent as he reached out with his mind – probing, listening, flitting from head to head searching for that one incriminating thought. Did anyone here have superhuman powers? Had they seen such powers used? Had they heard rumors?
And was anyone else’s mind shielded from Brian’s view?
A fat ‘no’ to all four questions.
“You’ve got my attention. Now what do you want?” said Abbiati.
“A million dollars,” said Brian. His new plan – hatched a matter of microseconds before he started speaking – make yourself invaluable to Abbiati, go undercover, infiltrate his organization and observe from the inside. It actually made sense. Everything would be easier without the constant threat of being shot, burned alive, or tortured. He’d be able to take his time, come and go as he pleased, maybe try another mind meld. And he’d be able to see whoever it was Abbiati had phoned. Up close with all his senses turned to the max. No hiding in the shrubbery, unable to hear or pick up surface thoughts, having to view everything through a projected inner eye and attempt to lip-read.
“Why should I pay you a million dollars?” said Abbiati
“For my services. Got a building you need burned down? I can do it without accelerants. No one’ll even know it was arson. You want someone taken out? I can get to anyone. Bullets can’t stop me.”
“Don’t trust him,” said Dwayne. “He’s playing mind games like he did back at the warehouse.”
“I don’t,” said Abbiati. “But there is a way he could earn my trust.”
“How?” asked Brian.
“Kill your mother. If she is your mother. Do that in front of witnesses – me and some of the boys – then I’ll trust you.”
Brian tried not to show any emotion as his brain steamed through every option he could think of. How could he appear to kill Brenda in front of witnesses? He couldn’t get her to play dead – they’d check. Could he manufacture a fake Brenda? From what? A spare corpse he’d prepared earlier?
“Make him cut off her head to prove she’s really dead,” said Dwayne.
“Yeah, and put the rest of her in acid just in case she’s the same as him,” added Michael.
“What about some holy water,” added Brian. “Do you want her sprinkled with that too?”
Dwayne, Michael and several of their colleagues nodded.
Brian took a deep breath. Time for the ever-popular Plan B. He’d noticed the remains of his right shoe still smoldering. Perhaps with a little help...
“Deal,” he said, as he re-hydrated the skin around his feet and ankles – not so much with water but with fatty oils. Lots of oil. And he created pockets in what was left of the heels of both shoes. And filled them with methane.
His right foot went first. The methane exploded, creating a small fireball that engulfed his foot.
“Ow!” he said, sitting up. “What happened? I thought I’d put that out.”
He started slapping at the flames. The men surrounding him jumped back. So far so good. No one had shot him – which was always a plus – and he still wasn’t sure how his body would handle armor-piercing rounds.
He conjured oil into his hands. Not as good as petrol, but it would it have to do until he could reach the SUV. He kept slapping at the, by now, low flame around his right foot. Both hands caught fire and his left foot exploded as the methane ignited.
He jumped to his feet, stamping them on the ground.
“What’s happening?” he said, injecting just the right note of panic into his voice. “I can’t put them out!”
He ran towards Abbiati. “Help me,” he said. “Is there a fire extinguisher in the truck?”
Brian didn’t wait for an answer. He turned, stamping and flapping, and ran for the passenger side of the SUV, the side with the petrol tank.
Still no one had opened fire. From the thoughts he’d sampled, they were more taken aback than feeling threatened. What the hell was happening? Was he dying?
“Don’t get in the truck!” shouted Abbiati, no doubt remembering the last time Brian had climbed inside one of his vehicles. “Get away!”
Brian obeyed, veering away from the open front passenger side door, clutching the door’s edge as he, somewhat theatrically, spun and stamped and whirled and finally slumped against the side of the SUV. Just by the petrol tank.
Brian acted immediately. Turning his body to block everyone’s view, he used his inner eye to visualize the locking cap to the petrol tank. Then he focussed his mind, turning the lock telekinetically. One hand grabbed the cap, turning and pulling. The other he extinguished before reducing its size – extruding both hand and arm until they were thin enough to pass through the opening into the petrol tank. Then, before plunging his arm inside, he covered it in a tight fitting toweling sleeve. All the better to soak up the gas.
Time dawdled. He was moving as fast as he dared. Swirling the coils of his snakelike arm around the insides of the petrol tank, sending out fronds of toweling fingers to soak up as much petrol as he could. Growing a black toweling skin over the obscured parts of his thighs, torso and face. Keeping the petrol away from his burning feet until he deemed the moment right.
B
ut he could hear the thoughts percolating behind him.
What’s he doing? Is he all right? He’s doing something to the truck!
He wouldn’t have enough time to soak up all the petrol he’d need.
“Get away from the truck!” shouted Abbiati and Dwayne in unison. One of them slammed the front passenger door shut. Guns were pointing at Brian. Several people were poised to shoot. He could hear their thoughts. Shoot the freak! Why doesn’t he give the order? Count to two and drill the bastard.
“I feel sick,” said Brian, trying to buy time, his face still turned away, his body slumped against the car. “I’m not sure if I can stand up by myself.”
The first bullet ripped into him. He swayed with the impact, holding onto the truck with his extruded arm, bracing his feet. The second went straight through him. Both armor-piercing and Brian-piercing. A searing pain erupted in his chest. He had to let go. He had to act now!
He drew his arm back at speed, coiling it in, swaddling his body with the soaked toweling, pressing it next to the flame at his feet and...
Whoosh! Flame shot past his eyes, the roar, the heat, the pillar of fire. And soon a bigger explosion. He was already pushing away from the truck with his good arm when the pressure wave from the exploding SUV hit him. He flew through the air, rolling on impact, trying to focus his eyes, his mind, trying to see where the others were.
Several were on the ground. Some had been close to the SUV, others had been luckier.
“Don’t shoot!” shouted Brian. “You’ll make me explode. It’ll take out the entire house and grounds! I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
He staggered to his feet, a ball of flame, hoping his lie had bought himself more time. The pain in his chest was becoming manageable – just – but he wasn’t sure how many more Brian-piercing bullets he could take. He’d never experienced pain with a bullet before.
He raised both hands and tried to look less threatening – as less threatening as any flame covered bulletproof freak could in the circumstances.
Two of the men were still down, but the others were either on their feet or getting there. And far too many pistols and assault weapons were pointing at him. He walked towards them, hands held high.