After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  “About what?”

  “About anything.” I take a shuddering breath. “I’m scared.”

  “You’re Alexandra,” she says. “Nothing scares you.”

  “But I’m not.” I can feel some pressure on the back of my neck -- maybe she’s testing to see if the pain receptors are dead yet. I hear a papery crinkling and feel her drape something over my shoulders and tuck it into place; must be one of those surgical things to catch the blood and protect the area. That makes me think of something else. “Shouldn’t I be in a gown or something?”

  “No need.” The pressure increases -- she’s definitely poking me with something, but it doesn’t hurt. I hear metal noises, and then her hand is on the newly-shaved part of my neck. “I’m going to start.”

  “No, wait--”

  “Alexandra--”

  “Andrea,” I say. Then I say it louder: “my name is Andrea!”

  “Andrea, then.” She sounds exasperated, and all I can see is the side of her worktable so I don’t even know what she’s about to do, when she’s about to strike. Not that I want to see her cutting into my skin, but... but...

  I can’t help it. Tears well in my eyes and I close them tightly. A sob wracks its way through my body and I feel the doctor move back. “Andrea,” she says, “you have to hold still.”

  I don’t reply. She’s going to slice into my neck and implant something in there that will take my powers forever.

  Forever.

  And for what, exactly? So that the thing I killed doesn’t come back right now? Hell, it’s been eleven years; it’s possible that the next teenage hero will be called soon, and we can work together to defeat him. All I have to do is fight, and I still know how to do that, right?

  Right?

  “Andrea, please,” the doctor says, and now there’s a note of urgency in her voice. “We have to do this now.”

  “Or what?” I ask. Tears are dripping down my nose, slipping off my cheek to run down the vinyl padding of the headrest. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “The Dark King returns.”

  I laugh despite myself. “Besides that, I mean.”

  “Andrea...” She comes close again, and I almost feel the cool metal of the blade on my skin.

  No. Not almost. I do feel it. The anesthetic is wearing off, probably faster than the doctor expected. She sighs and tosses the scalpel -- I’m guessing -- on her tray, and her latex-covered hand turns my chin so I’m facing her. My eyes are still closed.

  “Andrea, look at me.”

  I shake my head.

  “Andrea,” she says again, her voice hard with the same snap of command the Professor used to give me when we were training, “look at me, now!”

  “I need my hands,” I say. “And a tissue. Please?”

  She sighs and I feel her hands on my face. Her thumbs are just above my eyes, pushing upward.

  A small smile touches my lips when I realize she’s not strong enough to open my eyes. I feel the power flow through me, wiping away the last of Colibri’s influence. I know that, sooner or later, I’ll have to figure out what it was she was doing to me.

  But not right now.

  “Andrea, don’t do this.”

  I shrug. “I guess you were right, Doctor.”

  The question seems to confuse her for a moment. “What about?”

  “The Device doesn’t work anymore.”

  I pull both arms as hard as I can, and the restraints rip off the chair. With one newly-free hand, I shove hard against Colibri’s chest; she falls off the stool and tumbles to the floor. It’s even easier to get my legs out of their restraints, and in an instant I’ve got the doctor blindfolded and sitting in the chair herself. “Andrea... Alexandra...” She’s moving her head from side to side, but when she reaches up to remove the blindfold -- actually just the sleeve of her lab coat, but I tied it tightly enough that she’ll need help getting it off -- I slap her hand hard enough to leave a red mark. “Don’t do this,” she pleads. “Let us help you, before you do something you’ll regret.”

  “Something I’ll regret?” I find my purse and open it. “You were going to stick something in my head!”

  “If you keep these powers, you’ll destroy us all!”

  “No!” I shout. “I’m going to save us!” I continue in a slightly more normal tone. “All of us.”

  She pauses. “What do you mean?”

  Good. It's here. I snap the purse shut and move close to the doctor. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “About what?” I know she feels me nearby, and her face is pale; she’s clearly afraid of me now. “What are you sorry about?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I put my fingers on both sides of her neck, pressing hard against her carotid arteries. She tries to hit me, but it’s like a fly attacking a lioness.

  It only takes seconds for the doctor to lose consciousness; the moment she does, I take my hands away and make a run for it.

  If I’m right, Dr. Colibri will be unconscious for about five minutes; that’s more than long enough for me to get to the gym. Even though I don’t have my bag, my membership card lets me through the door and I escape to the locker-room, locking myself in a bathroom stall. My reasoning is simple: where’s the last place someone would expect an overweight girl to go?

  Safe enough for the moment, I take a small mirror out of my purse and check my eyes. When I release my control over that power, they start to glow blue, and my smile is absolutely genuine.

  I put the mirror away and take out the mask.

  I bought it on Saturday, on a whim -- it’s a little blue domino mask, fairly similar to what I wore when I was Alexandra. It’s got an elastic string that holds it in place, not the skin adhesive I used to use, but that’s okay; I can go to a costume shop and get it if I need it.

  I put the mask on, and in the small circular reflection, I look like my old self again.

  Okay, a much bigger version of my old self, and only from the neck up, but it’s better than nothing.

  I take the mask off and tuck it back into my purse, then tamp down my glowing eyes.

  And, just to make sure I still have the power, I reach for the little purse hook on the back of the stall door and bend it completely backward with the greatest of ease.

  By the time I’m back out in the mid-morning sun, a gigantic weight has lifted from my chest. The Professor is going to be furious, and those goons are probably going to come for me again, and I knocked out someone who is apparently able to hypnotize me with her eyes, but at least I know the truth now. I know about the balance of power, I know that I’m going to have to face the Dark King again if I keep the powers, and I know that I’m strong enough to defeat the Device after only a few minutes, which means that no one is going to be able to take these powers away from me.

  However, that’s no excuse to show off. Especially on a Monday morning, and especially in these clothes. I catch a bus, intending to head for home, but when I get off to make the transfer, I see a bunch of people standing a little bit down the road. Since I don’t have anywhere to be today, I head in that direction.

  My heart starts to beat a little harder as I realize what’s going on.

  And I know what I have to do.

  In the first Superman movie, there’s that part where Lois is about to fall to her death from the top of the building and Clark sees it, goes to the phone booth, changes, and saves her. I saw that movie when I was a kid, and the first time I did anything public as Alexandra I totally wanted to zip into a phone booth or something, change into my costume, and save the day.

  Yeah. It doesn’t work that way.

  First of all, I have to find my way out of the crowd. Sure, I can run at super-speed, but I still have to move around people. It’s easier to just do that the usual way -- but harder because there are so many of them. Then I have to find a safe place to change, which I’m not going to bother doing because I’m not wearing a costume under my clothes. There’s no costume in my purse, eith
er, and I’m fairly certain that, if the Professor even still has my old outfit, there’s no way I’ll fit into it now.

  At least I have the mask, and at least I’m wearing relatively unassuming clothes -- the long skirt, jacket, and flats are all black, and the shirt is white. Standard business gear. My purse might be a little distinctive, but I’m not married to it; if someone posts a picture online, I’ll just stop using this one. I have others. Phone booths are a thing of the past, and there really aren’t any dark alleys around here, especially at this time of day, but I step into the alcove of a now-closed shop and take the mask out of my purse.

  This is it. The moment of truth. The moment I can stop being Andrea and truly become Alexandra again.

  The empty eye-holes of the mask stare up at me, not judging, not accusing, just waiting for me to make a decision.

  An ambulance zooms by behind me, sirens blaring, followed by another police car.

  My phone vibrates and I glance at the screen: BREAKING NEWS: Driver loses control, knocks utility pole onto day-care building. There’s a URL after it, but I have no need to tap to read more.

  I raise the mask, fit it against my eyes and nose, and pull the elastic tight against my head. Damn thing better not fall off. It doesn’t feel quite right, not like my old mask did, but it’ll be good enough. After all, I’m not fighting evil; I’m just going to help out.

  Just a little bit. Just to get back into the swing of things.

  I turn around, take a deep breath, and run -- really run -- back to the accident scene.

  Time to save the day.

  People who watch cop shows have no idea just how calm and contained everyone is at accident scenes. Police officers, firemen, paramedics; they all know how to do their jobs, and they all know that hurrying, that moving too quickly or cutting corners, will hurt more people than it'll help.

  Which is why I find the incident commander as soon as possible. It's not difficult; I've done this before. The technology is a little newer, and the uniforms are a little different, but soon enough I've found my way to a short, stocky man wearing a heavy yellow jacket and a helmet. "What?" he asks before looking up.

  "I... I mean..."

  I'm taller than him. It's strange, at least from my perspective; I always want to try and slouch when I'm talking to people in positions of authority. That came with the weight gain, and it's something my old therapist tried really hard to get me to stop doing. When he does look up at me, I can see in his eyes that the first message in his brain is "what is this fat girl doing here on my scene?" The second is the blue mask. The third is a flash of recognition, followed by disappointment.

  "Get out of here," he says. "Before I have a couple of officers remove you."

  "I'm here to help," I tell him. "It's me; it's Alexandra."

  "Bull," he says. I hear the telltale sounds of media people setting up cameras and yelling into cell phones, and the commander's face stiffens. "I got enough trouble without some wannabe girl messing with my scene."

  I read his rank from the markings on his helmet. "Look, Lieutenant, just give me a chance, okay?"

  He puts his arm around my back and turns away from the media, as if I'm an employee or a mom who's trying to figure out what's going on. He's good; I'll give him that. "Alexandra disappeared eleven years ago. I don't know who you are, and I don't care, but you're not--"

  I take the heavy metal clipboard from his hand and bend it in half effortlessly.

  The lieutenant is silent for a long moment. Finally, he gives me a small nod. "Out of sight," he says. "Stay away from the media, you got me?"

  "Yes, sir." He doesn't need me to tell him that I don't like them any more than him. "What can I do?"

  He removes his arm from around me and whistles loudly. A young police officer trots over. "What's up, Lieutenant?" He notices me. "Who are you?"

  "Keep this on the DL," the lieutenant says. He pats my arm. "She's back."

  "She..." He makes the connection and steps away. "Holy shit."

  "Yeah, really." The lieutenant points to the power cables that lay across the top of the building. "Can you do something about those?"

  "I can try."

  He nods. "Good. Take Simon here with you." That's the name on the officer's pin. "Simon, you run interference for her."

  "Yes, lieutenant."

  The lieutenant looks like he wants to say something else to me, but he just shakes his head. "Get going!"

  I follow Officer Simon around the building. There's a couple of electric company men examining the pole, trying to figure out the safest way to remove the lines. "How are you going to get up there?" he asks.

  "Let me worry about that." I tap the electrician on the shoulder. "Can I borrow your gloves?"

  "Who are you?"

  I draw myself up straighter and try to remember how I used to speak. "Who do you think I am?"

  It's the mask that gets them; it's always been the mask. He glances at Officer Simon, who nods. Then he takes off his heavy-duty gloves and hands them to me. They're warm inside, and a little gritty -- the electrician needs to wash his hands more, and maybe moisturize, but now's not the time to be giving him skin-care tips. "Look, if you're really her..."

  "I am her. Really." I look at the side of the building, measuring distances and doing math in my head -- I'm reminded of all those kids in algebra and geometry, back in high school, who always said they'd never need to solve for x in the real world. Well, I'm sure as hell solving for x now. "Power's shut off?"

  "Yeah, but there's still juice in the lines. New transformers, meant to keep things running during a short blackout. Lots of voltage."

  "Great." I swallow hard. I might have healing powers, but I can still be hurt. "Okay, look, the kids and all are probably in there because it's safer than trying to get them out, right?"

  "Right," Officer Simon says. "Once the danger of fire was ruled out, we told them to stay put."

  "Can't be easy, all those little kids in there," the electrician says.

  "Can't be." I take a deep breath. "Okay. What's the quickest way to discharge the power still in the system?"

  "There really isn't one. Usually we just wait until it's all out. Couple of hours, probably."

  "Oh. Great. Well, if I hold onto the lines, and stay grounded, then..."

  But he's already taking off his boots. My feet fit into them, although the thought of this guy's foot sweat makes me feel icky. Still, better safe.

  Officer Simon steps close to me. "Hey, if you're worried, we can wait, or I can ask the Lieutenant to find something else you can do."

  I shake my head. "No offense, but if you had someone who could do this, you wouldn't need me. I have to go up there."

  "Just... be careful, all right?"

  "I will. And..." I try a smile and he actually beams, as if I'm the Alexandra of old. "Thanks."

  "Thank you," he says. The electrician echoes him.

  All right. No more delays. Time to get it done.

  I wish I could still fly. Then I'd be able to get to the roof, pick up the cables, and float around long enough to get everyone out of the building.

  I wish I was Magneto; I could control the metal in the wires and lift them off the building.

  I wish the electric company hadn't gotten around to redoing the wires in this part of the city.

  I wish I wasn't doing this in business wear. I wish I had my outfit. I wish it was still eleven years ago. I wish I wasn't so afraid.

  "If wishes were horses," my grandfather used to say, "then we could all ride."

  I once answered him by saying, "I wish I had a flying horse." Certainly would come in handy now.

  Instead, I climb up onto a picnic table near the building and bend my knees. At least I know the math is right -- I'm in finance, and I work with numbers every day; if I say I need x force to jump y feet in z direction, then I can count on knowing what I have to do so long as my muscles respond the way they're supposed to.

  Moment of truth.
r />   I glance back at the others; Officer Simon holds his hand close to his chest and flashes me a thumbs-up. Despite myself, I feel my nose prickle, the way it does whenever I watch "The Gift" and I see Buffy -- the character, not the cat -- make the decision to save Dawn at the expense of her own life. I'm not saving my sister or anything -- I don't even have a sister -- and I'm not about to jump off a massive tower to defeat the plans of a hell-god, but I am going to make a difference. Yeah, sure, it felt good to fight the Dark King's minions, to save people from them, but the times I felt most powerful was when I saved people from disasters: accidents, fires, that sort of thing. If I could have these powers without having to fight evil... that would be perfect.

  Maybe there's something to what the Professor said about me choosing to be a firefighter or a paramedic. There but for the grace of...

  No. I don't believe in that either.

  Oh, fuck it.

  I bend deeper, tilt back, tilt forward, and launch myself off the picnic table. I hear the wood splinter as my weight and power is concentrated in the balls of my feet, and then I'm airborne. Just for the hell of it, I try to activate that little muscle or whatever in my brain that's supposed to make me fly, and I get so distracted that I almost don't stick the landing -- in fact, to avoid hitting my face on the roof, I need to land on my hands and do a sort of weird cartwheely thing.

  Amazingly, it works, though I realize afterward that I just showed at least three people what I'm wearing under my skirt.

  Hopefully they chalk the blush up to exertion. At least I'm not wearing laundry-day panties. Or, worse, "feel sexy under my clothes" panties.

  Enough talk about my underwear. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? Is it just that I never really did this without my costume before? Because that thing had full coverage and a surprising amount of support in the chest area to boot.

  Damn it, Andrea, concentrate on the task at hand!

  Task at hand. Right. Got it.