Super World Two

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Super World Two Page 37

by Lawrence Ambrose


  Yet Jake couldn't deny that for whatever reason the red nose of his GTO remained pointed about dead-on at where his former friend and jarhead partner in crime lived. Coincidence? He wasn't a big believer in coincidences. Not a big believer in being sentimental, either. But wouldn't it be one righteous rush to show up with superpowers and shove them in his old comrade's face?

  Jake drove another twenty miles before he couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He pulled off on a dirt road that looped through sand and scrub brush – Jake had no idea what to call the variety of stunted plants peppering the Martian-like landscape – until the highway shrunk to a thin line in his rearview mirror. He got out, and feeling a little ridiculous, lifted what he guessed was a forty or fifty pound rock. It came out of the dirt nice and easy, but then it might be lighter than it looked. Cradling it in one hand, he spun around and lobbed it as hard as he could. The rock sailed sixty or seventy yards. Huh. He doubted he could've tossed the rock much more than ten feet in the past. Not going to put him in the superhuman hall of fame, but he sure as hell was stronger now. A lot stronger.

  But there was something more. He'd felt something as he'd focused on throwing the rock. A kind of heat. He picked up a pair of smaller rocks, balancing them in either hand, concentrating. They started to exude a faint orangish glow. Jake might've believed it was a trick of the light at first, but the glow deepened into a molten red, and he could feel the heat. On an impulse, he edged the rocks together.

  The ends fused. Jake half-grinned. Now that was something. He dropped them on the ground, which hissed and smoked. Not bad! Not bad at all. Shit, if he could fuse rock, what about steel? Maybe he wouldn't need his welder any more? And...he teased out the implications...if he could hold something that hot, didn't that mean his skin was much tougher or at least more resistant to heat?

  He popped the Pontiac's hood and inched his right hand toward the engine, finally resting on the manifold. He could feel the heat, but there was no discomfort. The engine couldn't have cooled off that much. Driving in the desert for fifty miles, the manifold couldn't have been much less than 200 degrees Fahrenheit. The palm of his right hand showed no damage.

  Next stop: the Gerber survival knife he kept latched under his front seat. He pressed the blade against his forearm – gently at first, then with increasing force. Nothing. He started a hard slice. It made a slight impression but didn't penetrate his skin. All right! Now this was starting to get good. He might not be Superman-strong, but it looked like he might be kind of invulnerable with a super-tough skin. His days of cursing when a tool dropped on his foot or a hot weld burned through his pants might be past.

  He tried moving some rocks with his mind, but that was a no-go. Could he fly? He took a few hops, and while his vertical leap had quadrupled or more, there was no hint he could get airborne. He shoved down his disappointment. Flying ability or not, he'd just won the fucking lottery of life. Be grateful for life's bounties for once, as his dad had always lectured him.

  Jake returned to the highway. He broke out a cold beer and got his tunes going. None of that whiny, pretentious crap that passed for music these days sung by guys who sounded like they'd been half-castrated or had a dildo up their ass – or women in desperate need of a dildo. No – and this was a rare case of agreeing with his cantankerous old man – he liked rock groups where the men actually sounded like men and weren't afraid of being heterosexual: The Doors, Stones, The Who, Bachman-Turner. Christ, even David Bowie had finally become something like a man with his 1984 rock opera.

  He had on the Doors' Peace Frog, and it had just come to Morrison's "Indians scattered on dawn's highway" part when Jake spotted the old RV parked off the side of the road ahead, its emergency lights flashing. He slowed up. Breaking down on "America's loneliest highway" was never a good idea. The last sign he'd seen said something like "Next Services: 10000 Miles." He'd broken down himself once on 50 when he was a kid. An elderly couple had stopped and taken him to a bar where they sold replacement fan belts that looked like slingshot tubing for twenty bucks. The cheap-ass thing had actually worked.

  Some guy in a pickup had already stopped and was down on one knee next to a long-haired dude lying under the rear of the RV. Jake made out a section of exhaust pipe on the road beneath the vehicle. If that's all it was, no big deal: either break it free or string it up with some baling wire. He cruised by, noting the helpless gestures of the portly pickup driver, and thought he'd leave it in his probably incapable hands seeing as how Jake's emergency repair kit in the trunk held neither bailing wire nor anything helpful for repairing an exhaust system.

  Then he passed the young, tall, pony-tailed blonde wearing a blue halter top and a dispirited frown, leaning against the front grill working her smartphone. Jake's foot tapped the brake instinctively. A primal power assumed control, causing him to pull over and step out. He was sort of a superman, after all. Wasn't he supposed to help people in need?

  The lady looked up from her cell and Jake found himself staring into eyes as blue and all-encompassing as desert sky around them. He stopped in mid-step, his practiced "lady-killer" rogue's grin disintegrating. This was a face and body that a professional model photographer might've dreamed in his deepest fantasy: golden-tanned, creamy skin, full, lightly moist lips, firm jaw, legs that went on forever...and wasn't that a bit of a six-pack poking out between her shorts and blouse? Jake was lost.

  "It's been one of those days," the dream-girl said with a soft laugh that compelled Jake to add sexy voice to her long list of mouthwatering attributes.

  "I...uh...got that idea." Jake couldn't believe this fucking goddess had actually got him stuttering. When was the last time any woman had made him stutter? Junior high?

  The girl laughed again. "I'm afraid my guy isn't too mechanical. And the people who've stopped, they've been super-nice, but no one has any solutions."

  "Well." Jake took a moment to set aside his star-struckedness and summon his usual kick-ass-who-gives-a-fuck-alpha male. "I'm not sure I'm super-nice but I am a super-mechanic." He thrust out his hand. "Jake Culler of Culler's Precision Automotive, at your service."

  "Oh my God!" She covered her gaping mouth. "Please tell me you're not kidding!"

  "I never kid about cars – not on Highway 50."

  "This godforsaken so-called highway! Uggh!" She shivered. "I wanted to drive on 80, but my boyfriend said this was more direct and has more ambience." She pronounced the last with a French accent. Jake felt his soul might be in serious danger – or the groin area of his jeans, where his better half was starting to stir. What if he got hard? Would he get a super-hard-on? Would it rip through his pants?

  "Well, anyway" – she brushed away a stray strand of straw-blond hair, and tilted her head to the back of the RV– "I'm Jenna. Jenna Wells. If you wouldn't mind taking a super-mechanic look?"

  "You got it. I'm sure we'll have you traveling down this scenic highway shortly."

  "If you manage that, I will personally worship you."

  "It would be mutual."

  He moved around her with a wink, close enough to feel the reflected heat from her body. Assuming that wasn't another superpower. He found the pickup driver and the boyfriend perched on the rear bumper wiping their brows. The fat pickup driver looked like he was pregnant and Jenna's soft and squishy long-haired boyfriend with peach-fuzz on his round cheeks looked like he might want to be. They both were soft enough to melt like marshmallows onto the sun-baked asphalt. Two beta males bonding. Jake couldn't help but be touched.

  "Hey," said Jake, not bothering with handshakes or intros as he lowered himself to the asphalt. "Why don't I take a look."

  He slid under the RV. Predictably, the exhaust pipe had broken off the rusted-out lead into the muffler. The extra weight, with a likely assist from a bump or two in the road, snapped off the nearest support hanger. The RV needed a whole new set of pipes and hangers, and in his shop Jake would've refused to do anything less complete or cheaper. The whole exhaust was a ticking
time bomb. But that brilliant diagnosis wouldn't solve anything – least of all, impress Jenna.

  He lifted the broken length up to the broken joint protruding from the lead end of the muffler. A mere two or three inches separated them. Might as well have been a hundred feet without a pipe repair sleeve or anything to replace the broken hanger. He cast about for a solution – maybe borrow a part from elsewhere – when an image of the fusing rocks flared in his head. Huh. Could work.

  Gripping both ends of the broken pipe, Jake imagined heating them and pulling them together. No welding job he'd ever attempted involved that level of blacksmithery. But watching the pipe ends glowing orange and then red, gradually stretching toward each other under his gentle pull, Jake thought: Until now.

  The pipes joined in a ring of molten metal, squeezing out a thick toothpaste bead just as he would expect from a good weld. But was it a good weld? Jake waited a few seconds before giving the pipe a light tap on the weld. Followed by a harder thump, which shook some rust chips free but didn't budge the pipe. His final test was hanging on it with most of his body weight. Nothing. That section of pipe wasn't going anywhere.

  Jake crawled out and dusted himself off. "Should be good to go."

  "Really? That's amazing!..." The boyfriend trailed off, frowning. "But...man, what were you doing under there? I saw some kind of light."

  "It was like you were arc welding or something," said the pickup driver. "I could feel heat coming out from under there...unless I was imagining things."

  Jake smiled mysteriously and made his way to Jenna, who was coming around to greet him with an incredulous half-smile, which blossomed into a grin as she noted his cocky expression.

  "You fixed it!" she cried. "You really fixed it?"

  She sprinted toward him. Jake was sure she was about to jump into her new hero's arms, but she slowed two steps away, looking over Jake's shoulder, her grin contracting into something more circumspect. A glance back confirmed what Jake already knew: Mr. "Squishy" boyfriend was striding up, forcing a smile through his peach-fuzz beard.

  "He seems to have fixed it," the boyfriend agreed. "Though we don't know how."

  "I used my superpowers to melt the pipes together with my bare hands," said Jake.

  "Ha." Jenna took another step toward him, her big blue eyes glowing. "Well, whatever you did, we can't thank you enough."

  Just one more step, and she'd be in my arms, Jake thought. Plant a fat kiss on those gorgeous lips. She wanted to. He could see it in her eyes. But then her soft boyfriend moved around him and draped a possessive arm over her shoulder.

  "Yeah, dude. Thanks again."

  The boyfriend stuck out his hand. Jake resisted the temptation to squeeze as he shook it, his hopefully soulful gaze never leaving Jenna's eyes. Boyfriend steered her around with him, one arm firmly on her waist, as if she might bolt. With an inner sigh, Jake followed. If they'd been in a bar he might've waited for Beta Boy to take a piss and then make his move. Out here, his game was about played out.

  But when the boyfriend hopped into the driver's side, Jake had a few precious moments alone with the goddess as they walked around the RV's nose. She paused by the passenger door, turning to him with a soft flush in her cheeks.

  "It was sweet of you to stop, Jake."

  "No problem, Jenna." He broke out his wallet and handed her his business card. "If you're ever in Sacramento and need a mechanic."

  "Ha, well, we live in Lafayette, north of Denver..."

  "I'm headed to Colorado myself."

  "Family?"

  "An old friend."

  "Well, maybe we'll see you on the road?"

  "I can always hope."

  She held out her arms. There it was, he thought, stepping smoothly into her embrace. Her body was firm and soft in all the right places, bursting with ecstatic possibility. He felt himself responding, and judging from her blushing retreat – a retreat Jake sensed was reluctant – she did, too.

  The RV started, and her boyfriend was glaring across the seat at them.

  "Safe trip, Jake Culler," she murmured.

  "You, too, Jenna Wells."

  He walked to his car, waving as the RV passed, the engine straining as if the driver was flooring it. Jenna raised her hand with an air of regret while her boyfriend stared stonily ahead.

  Back in his GTO, Jake was having trouble escaping the impression Jenna had left on his body. It didn't help matters when he fell in behind the RV, dawdling along at fifty-five. He imagined Jenna leaving the passenger seat and wandering back to the RV's rear window. She'd blow him a kiss and part her blouse suggestively. Then she'd slide down her shorts a tantalizing inch at a time, arching her sweet round ass for his approving view. The rest of the clothes would come off and she'd press her naked body against the window –

  Enough. He tapped the gas and the Pontiac leaped into the oncoming lane and raced past the RV like Usain Bolt passing an overweight jogger, sticking his left hand out the window in final farewell. Soon the RV was a tiny speck in his rearview mirror. Unfortunately, the presence of Jenna Wells loomed larger than ever. And that wasn't the only thing looming large...

  The rod in his jeans was straining upward, and – no shit – the material was starting to fray. He had to loose the monster or face destroying a fifty-dollar pair of jeans. Speaking of which, he hadn't packed any spare clothing. Jesus, what a chode. Still, what choice did he have but to get off this road and...take care of "bidness"? Either that, or he was going to need to walk around with a gaping hole in his pants.

  With an exasperated grunt, Jake whipped his car off the highway, following a dirt road toward a mass of rock a mile or two away. A half-mile in, Jake pulled over under a stunted tree that might've grown up in Chernobyl. He leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath, and unleashed the monster. He was about ready to blow, but when Jenna's delectable form filled his mind he knew he wanted to make this last. He'd probably never see her again, and he wanted to give the lost love of his life a proper sendoff.

  Jake closed his eyes and she appeared before him, so realistically and fully it was as if she was truly there. He could even smell her...or her perfume...an earthy yet ethereal scent, like an arboreal forest, whatever the fuck that was, but it sounded right. She was his Eve, his Primal Woman, the one who would finally love him unconditionally, never betray him, always be in the mood, and clean and cook like a housewife ninja. Oh, yeah, baby...

  Jake went somewhere...somewhere special. Not where he was expecting. More of an out of body experience. An orgasm different and beyond anything he'd ever experienced washed over him. Pure bliss. And he hadn't even started working his hardwood soldier.

  He breathed out a long, satisfied, wondering sigh, and opened his eyes. A puzzled moment as he noted his zipper was open but his Marine Staff Sergeant was nowhere to be seen.

  Jake sat up, adjusting his clothing. They suddenly seemed to need quite a lot of adjusting. Everywhere he looked they were hanging off his body. Everywhere but his chest –

  "What the fuck –"

  His shrill, high-pitched voice – almost as if he'd been imbibing helium – startled him. But not nearly as much as the pair of knockers thrusting out of his t-shirt.

  "What the hell?" he shrieked.

  Shrieked? He shot up in his seat, noting the slimmer arms, the small hands –painted red fingernails!? – and the round hips flaring the top of his jeans which descended in loose wrinkles to his loose-fitting shoes. The rearview mirror now showed the top of a long-haired blond head. Jake tugged the mirror down. Too hard, because it snapped off in his delicately manicured hand.

  He lifted the mirror to his face. Oh no. Several conflicting and incoherent thoughts burst in his brain at once: I'm on drugs. How did Jenna get here? Have I gone insane? Did my fantasy somehow become real? Did some radical transgender sect get hold of me and make me one of their own? Jesus, those eyes, so fucking beautiful –

  Jake closed his eyes and counted to five. Upon opening them, the same stunning
ly gorgeous face still stared back at him.

  "Jake, buddy...is that you?"

  He'd never heard his name sound so sexy. The voice was gently poured molasses...or maybe something lighter, like maple syrup. And those lips, what he could do with those lips –

  Snap out of it, asshole. He rubbed his face. The skin was a soft, pliant, velvet. It made his fingers tingle even as his face that wasn't his tingled.

  "Jake, baby, I can hardly wait to get your steel stallion into my moist starting gate..."

  His tingle spread, but to strange and unfamiliar areas. It was eerie. His words, her voice. Words he'd always fantasized hearing from a beautiful woman. Though if a woman ever said them he'd think she was seriously fucked up. Still...a guy could dream.

  Jake climbed out of the car, half-tripping over his now-baggy clothes. He stood there gazing at his new self in the car windows. He couldn't stop a small rush of admiration: Man, you are one hot broad! He shuddered. Stop that shit. But man, what a heart-stopping smile!

  Jake turned away from his beguiling reflection. The Nevada desert, at least, hadn't changed. Still the same shithole. He'd half-expected it to have transformed into a tropical paradise. So...that meant he wasn't hallucinating. This was real. But what the hell did 'real' mean?

  Had to be the "nanovirus" Jamie had babbled about. No cause to panic. He'd probably revert back to his usual self soon enough. In the meantime, he could make a few adjustments with his clothing and continue on his merry way. A simple tying of his t-shirt cinched it up nice and tight. In fact, he...the body...looked damn good. The ribbon tie at the bottom was a nice feminine touch. The nipples standing out in his reduced shirt caught his eye – definitely could use a bra – but that couldn't be helped for now. He cupped his breasts experimentally, stroking the nipples, startled by the intensity of the sensation. Down, boy. Getting in touch with your feminine side might be okay, but fondling it not so much. He needed to get back on the road, and becoming too turned on by this body might prevent that.

 

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