by C. E. Martin
The sensation now sweeping Jimmy's body was oddly reminiscent of when he had been petrified- only in reverse. Instead of the Fountain's warmth spreading over his body, he felt a chill sweep over him. Then the chill was being drawn up and out through his neck and feeling was coming back to his skin. His clothes began to loosen and he felt his limbs shriveling.
At last, the newcomer released him and Jimmy staggered back. He could barely stay on his feet from the weight of all the equipment he was wearing. He looked at his hands in terror. He was once more flesh and blood.
The newcomer was looking at his own hands and arms now. A wide smile was on his face.
Forms began to shimmer and solidify in the air around the newcomer. Specters. A ring of them, at least a dozen. Jimmy sickeningly realized that at least one he'd shot and disrupted just moments before. He recognized the ghost's wide-rimmed, floppy hat.
Jimmy then gave an involuntary scream as blinding pain filled his body, radiating from his right lower back and out through his stomach. He looked down and saw a shimmering bayonet protruding from the left side of his stomach. Blood was pouring down his legs.
The bayonet faded away and Jimmy collapsed to the ground, rolling onto his back as he fell. He could see the spirit that had just stabbed him. Its face flickered back and forth from a skull to that of a young man, barely older than Jimmy.
Jimmy couldn't discern more as his vision was darkening. Then he saw a bright light. A blue-white light that blinded him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They were several hours into their flight now, and the interior of the small jet was very quiet. Jason sat in the rear of the cabin, quietly listening to music on headphones. They'd managed to get him to eat, but neither sleep nor talk seemed to be on the menu.
Laura sat at the front of the cabin, in a rear-facing chair so her back was to the cockpit. Aside from the crew up front, her Josie and Jason, the small plane was empty.
"I'm going to try again," Josie said quietly to Laura.
"Keep your distance. A plane's no place to fight," Laura cautioned.
"I don't think he wants to fight," Josie she said.
She stood slowly and smoothed the wrinkles in her slacks. She'd put her jacket aside and even stowed her pistol for the long flight to Georgia. Swallowing nervously, she put on a smile and walked to the rear of the cabin.
"Whatcha listening to?" she asked from a row away. The plane's interior had eight seats, four on each side of the aisle running down the middle of the cabin, with every other pair facing to the rear.
Jason took his earphones off and set them in his lap. "I won't... whatever you again."
"Thanks," Josie said. She moved closer and sat in the chair to Jason's left, across the aisle from him, facing toward the rear.
"The Wanted," Jason said.
"Pardon?"
"The Wanted- you asked what I was listening to. I'm listening to The Wanted."
"Oh. I don't listen to much music anymore."
"How old are you?" Jason blurted out.
Josie blushed. "You're not supposed to ask a lady that."
"You don't look old enough to be a Fed," Jason said. "There are girls at my school that look older than you."
"Clean living, I guess," Josie said.
"So what's the deal?" Jason asked, nodding toward Laura, who was pretending to read a magazine up front. "Are you guys like spies or something? Men- I mean, women in black?"
Josie laughed. "We're not spies. She's a doctor, and I'm... an agent. Not the secret kind either."
"A vampire that's a doctor?" Jason said, shaking his head. "That's creepy."
"I can hear you," Laura said, not looking up from her magazine.
Jason swallowed, visibly paling.
"Don't mind her," Josie said. "She's good people. She's saved my life before."
"What is she, like a few hundred years old?"
Laura set her magazine down on her lap and gave Jason an evil glare. "Do I look that old?"
Jason ducked his eyes. Josie turned and gave Laura a glare of her own.
"Whatever," Laura said, picking her magazine back up.
"I don't know how old she is," Josie said, turning back to Jason. "She's friends with my... grandfather."
"This a family business?"
"No. Just me and him."
"You work with your grandpa? Rounding up freaks?"
Josie sighed. "You're not a freak, Jason. Neither am I..."
"Whatever."
Josie decided to change the subject. "Jason, is there anything you didn't mention in your statement?"
Jason crossed his arms over his chest. "Like what? I told them everything- my mom and dad are dead because of some shirtless, bearded guy. End of story."
"Why didn't he kill you?" Josie asked. "Why'd he tear up the car parked in front of your house? Or did you do that?"
Jason ducked his eyes again. He didn't feel like opening up.
"My dad's dead, too," Josie said. "He died when I was very little."
"So?"
"So I know how you feel."
Jason looked out the window of the jet, into the dark sky. He sat there for several long seconds.
"I let him get away."
"Who?"
Jason looked back at Josie and his eyes were tearing up. Josie couldn't tell if it was from grief or anger. "The killer. I could have stopped him but I just let him get away."
Jason looked down at his lap, trying to hold back tears of frustration. "He was so fast. And he... he could fly."
"Fly?" Josie asked. "We don't see that too often."
"Straight up- into the sky. In my dad's body."
Josie leaned forward. "Can you fly?"
"No...." Jason looked down at the floor again.
"Then you didn't let him get away."
"That doesn't bring my parents back. He'll just stay out there, and kill other people. Then take their bodies too."
Josie cocked an eyebrow in surprise. "About that- what do you mean take their bodies?"
***
The tide of the battle had turned. Clint's ghostly army had been reduced to half its numbers within moments of the arrival of the strange men of stone. Their laser weapons had disrupted the shades, forcing them to consume more and more energy each time they reformed themselves. And the lasers had seemingly endless batteries.
But the stone men were also the shade army's salvation. Each contained energy like Clint had never before seen in a person. And he had drained it all from the one named Hades. The power was so immense he was able to immediately restore a dozen specters in the area around him. One returned the favor by running Hades through. The formerly-stone soldier now lay dying in a puddle of his own blood, just as the ghostly soldiers of Clint's own army had done on this very ground so long ago.
And three more stone soldiers remained. Clint would drain them too. As soon as he could find th-
In life, Clint had endured pain unimaginable to the ordinary man- because he had always been able to instantly repair the damage done to his first body. He had waded through fire, had swum to bone crushing depths in the deepest oceans. But those all paled to the sudden pain he felt now.
Blue-white light swelled around Clint as electricity coursed through his body. The lightning-like current flowing through him exploded capillaries and roasted his flesh from the inside out. It arced and popped both within and without of his body, lasting for well over two seconds.
As soon as the electricity flickered out, Clint collapsed to the ground, a burnt husk. But the energy he had drained from the stone soldier was already at work. His stolen body was already being repaired- cells spurred to supernatural speeds.
Catching his breath while he healed, he heard the approach of several heavy sets of boots. Opening his eyes where he lay in the grass, he saw the flicker of the purple lasers once more.
Clint sat up and found the remaining stone soldiers.
One was kneeling beside his fallen comrade Hades, pressing his hands on
the wound from which blood was pouring. The other two were providing covering fire, blasting away at the specters converging around their fallen leader.
Clint leapt to his feet and unleashed twin streams of energy from his eyes. The beams of ionized, superheated air smashed into the closest of the stone soldiers, burning through his iron laser rifle- which promptly exploded in his hands.
Clint then moved at superhuman speed, circling to the left and smashing into the other stone soldier, JANUS, with his shoulder. The collision produced a loud cracking noise and the stone soldier was sent flying.
The last of the stone men, crouching beside the fallen Hades, had just finished cauterizing the boy's wound with a small blast of electricity from his gray fingertips. He snapped his head around and extended his hand, unleashing a lightning bolt-like discharge.
But as fast as the blast was, Clint was faster. He swept in, dodging to the side and kicked the extended arm, sending the flash of lightning into the sky. Then he drove a punch down into the stone soldier's head, knocking him back.
Clint reared back his fist, ready to unleash another blow- a blow so strong he was confident he could shatter the stone man. But Clint's arm would not move. A hand had grabbed his wrist. A hand that held him with unyielding force. He turned his head to see his new attacker, but instead opened his mouth to scream out in pain once again. His vision swirled and he nearly passed out at the raging fire in his right kidney.
The hand holding his wrist released him and Clint staggered away. He reflexively reached for his side and felt something sticking out of it. Despite the agonizing pain he was in, he pulled out the huge knife sticking in his side.
His vision cleared and Clint saw it was a Bowie knife, with a blade over a foot long, and dripping black blood- his blood. A fist slammed into his face next and he saw a bright green flash of light as the bones of his face shattered from the blow.
Clint felt the ground rush up to meet him. He lay still for only a split second before his vision cleared and he could see he was once again facing up toward the stars.
He struggled to rise but again he felt a knife plunge into his body. It splintered his ribs and cleaved his heart in two, pinning him to the ground. Another enormous Bowie knife.
Clint grabbed feebly at the arm holding that knife. Green light flared where his fingers touched his attacker. A face came into view. A face obscured by the same oversized goggles the stone soldiers wore. But this face was not made of stone. It was made of flesh- slightly tanned and smooth as though the man who had impaled him had first stopped to take a shave.
Separate from the chill he felt as his stolen body was dying, Clint felt his spine again go numb with fear. He recognized the chin and the strange green light. He let his eyes flit down to the nametag over the knife-wielding soldier's chest. ANTAEAN.
"You...." Clint gasped, struggling to survive.
***
Whoever the newcomer was, he had torn through the stone soldiers like a hot knife through butter. Colonel Kenslir had watched Hades- Jimmy- fall, through the augmented view of the tactical visor. He was halfway across the battlefield, smashing through the ghosts that could not see him, when Zeus had unleashed one of his electrokinetic blasts on the newcomer.
The fact the man could recover from that electrical blast was astounding. It would have incinerated a normal man. Phillips had been saving all that up for days. The output from that one blast would have rivaled that from any power plant.
He'd barely arrived in time to stop the newcomer from smashing Phillips' head to bits. The tell tale green glow produced when he grabbed the man's wrist told him all he needed to know. Magic was in play.
Mark Kenslir was used to making quick decisions. He hated to take anyone's life when it wasn't absolutely necessary. But this newcomer had raised an army of ghosts and was holding his own against three stone soldiers. He had to be dealt with immediately.
Kenslir carried his twin Bowie knives on every mission. He'd learned the importance of a good blade in Korea. They couldn't inflict the damage of a machine gun or grenade, but they never ran out of ammunition.
With all his strength, he'd plunged that first knife into the newcomer's kidney. It was like trying to stab an elephant- something he'd actually had to do once. The flesh was far denser and tougher than even his own. He'd been surprised the forged steel blade had penetrated without breaking. But it had.
Kenslir followed that up with a quick and lethal strike to his opponent’s face, summoning his ki and lashing out with all his might again. But again, the newcomer had somehow partially survived the blow, stunned but not killed.
Kenslir had one more Bowie knife and he could tell his opponent was injured. He swept in and plunged it down with all his might, feeling it splinter bones as strong as steel before cutting the man's heart in half.
And still, his opponent survived.
Barely clinging to life, the man had grabbed at him, then his eyes had widened in fear and surprise, as though he recognized Kenslir.
Mark Kenslir had been fighting and killing for over sixty years. Even if he hadn't lost half his brain just a few months ago, he doubted he could remember all the men he'd fought in his life. Still, something about the eyes surrounded by that mop of hair and beard seemed familiar.
"Boss!" Atlas called out, breaking the silence. "We have company!"
Mark looked up from the bearded man he had pinned to the ground. Shades were sweeping in. At least twenty of them. From all sides. They no longer carried weapons, and many had a panicked look on their semi-human faces.
And they were fading.
He had almost missed it, but as the ghosts approached they were getting fainter, harder to see. Atlas began firing his laser, but the beams passed harmlessly through the specters. Then they were simply gone.
The bearded man bucked underneath Kenslir. He threw up his arms and pushed the Colonel off with a bright flash of green. Then he streaked up into the air and was gone from sight.
Mark climbed to his feet, watching the bearded man streaking away, clutching his chest. Now he remembered.
"Guys!" Victor said in a panic. He was kneeling by Jimmy again. "I don't think he's gonna make it if we don't get him to a hospital pronto."
"On it!" Phillips said. He raised his left arm and quickly activated several controls on a slim panel strapped to his arm.
"Colonel?" Atlas asked, watching his commander. "Who was that?"
"Someone I killed a long time ago."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
April 10, 1995 was the day it all fell apart. Years of planning, all gone in one fell swoop.
Clint Kerrick had been on set, hosting his new television show, Sea to Sea, when the alarm on his wrist watch had gone off. His producer had rolled her eyes and called for a pause in the filming. But Clint was more than put off. He never set that alarm. It wasn't reminding him to do something- it was warning him.
The bearded host excused himself, asking for a brief break from filming. He rushed back to his dressing room as fast as his spindly legs would carry him. Once locked inside, he stripped off his shiny silk suit and changed into something more sheer. A white body stocking with red and blue lines and a bold "S" over the left breast. Then he changed his body.
Where Clint Kerrick was a skinny, knock-kneed man with a long, unkempt beard and a thin frame that the body stocking hung on loosely, his alter ego was for more impressive. His limbs swelled as muscles grew rapidly into place. He filled the body suit, stretching it to the point it was ready to split apart. His beard shortened to something far more manageable and even his hair shortened- pulling free from a band that had held it back in a ponytail behind his head.
Lifting off from the floor, he floated up to a well-oiled skylight, opened it, then was off like a flash, streaking over the City of Los Angeles faster than the eye could follow.
Flying just under the speed of sound, he was only a few miles from his destination in seconds- his apartment on the 20th floor of a high rise build
ing in downtown that had an excellent ocean view. It had cost him a fortune. And then it was gone.
The explosion was seen and felt all over the city- strong enough to shatter windows for over a mile. Clint had planned it that way- he'd put enough explosives into the home to vaporize anyone who broke in and discovered his secret identity. True, the blast more than likely obliterated the three floors below his, but that was unavoidable. His secrets were more important than his neighbors.
Feeling a pang of regret that he was now going to need a new home, Clint continued his flight, shifting his perception back to that of his gray eyes. And gasped.
A man was falling from the sky. Or more likely, from Clint's twentieth floor apartment. He fell quickly, rotating in mid air and spreading his arms and legs out- as though he were falling backwards into a swimming pool and not leaping to his death.
The fact he had survived the blast was incredible. Clint quickly reasoned the man must have somehow discovered the explosives and leapt out a window just before they detonated.
Clint wondered who he had been. No- who he was. As in, who he currently was.
Despite falling twenty stories and crashing onto a car, crushing its roof and shattering its windows, the man was getting back up. He dropped off the mangled car and brushed his gray suit off, then walked calmly away.
With Clint's secret identity, no doubt.
Clint rocketed down to street level, momentarily breaking the sound barrier. The boom would have shattered nearby windows if the booby-trap in his apartment hadn't already done so.
The man in the suit reacted quickly. He dove to his right and rolled. He came up in a kneeling crouch, a large, silver automatic in both hands and fired off two quick shots.
The large slugs slammed into Clint's chest, startling him and causing him to veer off. Otherwise they did no damage, as they were, after all, just bullets.
Clint landed, and spun to face the man who had just blown up his apartment.
It had to be him- the one they'd warned him about.
"Howdy," the man said, still holding the pistol. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"