by C. E. Martin
"Natasha?" Upsilon asked, worried. He reached for the wolf, but her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed to the dirt floor of the barn. Her sides heaved once, twice, then went still.
As Upsilon watched, the wolf reverted to her human form and lay unmoving.
"Guess she should have spit, instead of swallowed," Kenslir said.
Upsilon whirled, his face enraged. He scooped up a knife off the table and stepped toward Kenslir, ready to ram the blade into the bound man's stomach.
Kenslir reacted faster, bringing his feet up. Faster than the albino could react, he caught the white-haired head between his shins. He held the grip only long enough for Upsilon to get a panicked look on his face. Then he snapped his neck.
The guards on either side of the door immediately began firing their rifles.
Kenslir pulled the dead telepath's body in close with his legs, trying to catch as many rounds as he could with it. Several still struck his legs and arms, but he ignored the minor pain. Wrenching with his arms, he pulled down, using the chains to snap the heavy beam overhead and freeing himself from the suspended position he had been put in.
Falling backwards, Kenslir let Upsilon's body fall on top of him, pulling his knees up under the lifeless, pale corpse as the broken halves of the wood beam splintered and crashed down on either side of him.
The gunmen had their rifles pressed to their shoulders now, and continued to fire in semi-automatic mode, each depress of the trigger unleashing a 7.62mm round.
Kenslir pushed the body away from him with his legs- flinging it at the gunman on the left with little effort. The hundred-sixty-pound body struck the gunman with terrific force, knocking him off his feet and crushing him against the wall behind him. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, as his partner stopped firing to glance over.
Kenslir leapt back to his feet as the remaining gunman looked back at him and sighted again. Snapping out with his right arm, he sent a length of chain cracking out, like a whip. The heavy links smashed into the gunman, breaking his arms and nose and driving him against a wall as well. Unlike his companion, when he dropped to one knee, he was still conscious.
Despite the heavy chains wrapped around his left arm, Kenslir raised it up then whipped it forward, releasing the knife Upsilon had carried to him. The black blade tumbled through the air at tremendous velocity then struck point-first between the gunman's eyes, splintering bone and burying itself to the hilt. The gunmen then fell to the side, lifeless.
Kenslir quickly shrugged off the chains wrapped around his arms and moved to the table with his belongings. First, he slipped on his leather cowboy boots, then pulled on his t-shirt. He was slipping on his shoulder holster harness when the door to the barn burst open.
The first gunman through the door was temporarily stunned by the sight of Upsilon's bloody corpse on the ground. When he finally looked up at Kenslir, the sound of the auto magnum pistol barking once came to his ears and the man's head jerked back- a .44 slug having just exploded his brain.
As the body slumped down, Kenslir fired once more- another head shot that dropped the second gunman coming through the door. Outside, a third gunman hesitated, his AK-47 across his chest, nowhere near ready to fire. Before he could make up his mind, Kenslir put a bullet in it.
No more gunmen were visible.
Kenslir slipped on the tactical targeting visor disguised as wraparound sunglasses. He connected the over-the-ear wire from the glasses to a small transmitter in his shoulder holster, under his right armpit, activating the head-up display. He then crossed the barn and retrieved his knife.
As the visor warmed up, displaying his compass heading, ambient air temperature and other environmental data in his field of view, Kenslir collected one of the AK-47s, then began removing magazines from the others. Unfortunately, the terrorists had been overconfident in their armed base, and none had carried spare ammunition. He'd have to make do with the three and half magazines worth of ammo he had remaining now. Of course, he'd probably be able to gather more in a few minutes.
Stepping outside of the barn, he looked around the area. It was still dark out- just past midnight. The visor immediately brightened his field of view, revealing the night in crisp clarity.
Across the wide center plaza of gathered buildings, red-orange blobs were now moving. Targets identified by a dedicated KH-13 satellite hanging high overhead.
Kenslir sighted on the first target, at least a hundred yards away and began to fire. His third round found its mark as he adjusted to the weapon. A head flung back and a glowing body toppled to the ground, dead instantly.
Kenslir sighted again, but the remaining forms had dove behind cover. One glowing head popped up and fired a shot. It came nowhere near Kenslir. He returned fire, again scoring a headshot and dropping his enemy.
He began walking forward now, the stock of the rifle held tight against his shoulder, calmly sighting down the barrel as he moved toward the remaining would-be terrorists cowering behind cover.
A flashing red triangle appeared to the left of his field of vision. Kenslir spun in place quickly and snapped off a round, killing a man in the window of the upper floor of a small house. The farm was nestled in a large valley- a collection of houses, barns and pens that the organization had been using as a training ground.
Kenslir turned back toward his original targets and continued walking closer.
Another glowing head popped up from behind a pile of lumber. Kenslir fired, but the head had ducked back down too quick. The round missed, then the target's hands appeared above the lumber, holding a rifle and fired wildly on full automatic.
He was surprised when one of the rounds actually hit him in the left leg. He ignored the pain and stiffness as his flesh petrified around the bullet then began pushing it back out. He continued walking forward. He was now only seventy five yards away.
A crashing, splintering sound came from his right, followed by the flashing warning indicator. Kenslir turned and fired a quick shot- striking a glowing orange figure hovering above the ground. The target immediately plunged to the dirt, while its five companions continued on, walking shoulder to shoulder.
Of the remaining five, only four glowed a bright, orange red- the super-imposed heat signature of their bodies the spy satellite in orbit above had detected. The fifth terrorist advancing gave off no such heat signature. He was a dark shape, nearly twenty feet tall.
Kenslir adjusted his aim and dropped another advancing terrorist. As the man pitched wildly to the side, his arm extended and a ball of flame launched from his fingertips, ineffectively striking the dirt.
Two slugs slammed into Kenslir's left side next- fired from the men cowering behind cover seventy yards away. He pivoted quickly and squeezed off two shots- catching each man in the chest as they stood behind the lumber pile. Both dropped to the ground, dead.
Turning back to the parahumans advancing, Kenslir now saw the remaining two with heat signatures had stepped behind their more massive companion. The massive, angular, glinting subject.
Kenslir fired two rounds into the approaching behemoth. Sure enough, he recognized the sound of ice splintering when struck by the bullets. This newcomer was surrounded by a thick shell of ice.
A seven-foot-long arm of ice raised and the hand opened toward Kenslir- then it exploded. Shards of ice flew through the air- two spearing into Kenslir's left shoulder and chest. Six-inch long, razor-sharp shards of frozen death.
Kenslir ignored the ice sticking out of his body and adjusted his aim and fired. Behind the ice giant, a figure screamed in pain. A bullet had just smashed into his foot- which had been exposed between the ice man's legs.
The wounded man fell to the ground, screaming and cursing. Then he realized he was now exposed and rolled onto his stomach to stand up quickly.
It had been many years since Kenslir had last seen the weapon the fallen man was wearing. A flamethrower, from the Korean War era. Kenslir sighted without hesitation and began firing rounds in
to the exposed tank on the man's back.
As fuel began spraying from the holes in the thin metal walls of the tank, the man on the ground redoubled his efforts to get up. He had his knees up, under him, about to rise when a tracer round from Kenslir's AK-47 finally sparked against the metal tank.
A brilliant fireball erupted behind the ice giant, toppling him forward.
Kenslir ejected the nearly-empty magazine from his rifle, then pulled a fresh one from the back pocket of his jeans and slammed it home. He then began firing methodically into the head of the fallen ice giant, blasting away chunks of ice.
As Kenslir walked forward, firing, the ice giant slowly rose. But by the time it was back on its feet, most of the icy head was gone- whittled away by the steady volley of bullets. Now much closer to the target, Kenslir could see the shape of the human inside it- a small form surrounded by the animated ice form.
His second magazine spent, Kenslir slammed in another and shifted his fire to one leg. By now the shards of ice in his chest and shoulder had dropped off- leaving no mark where they had been.
The ice giant ignored the burning corpses of the two figures behind it and extended its other hand, again exploding it and sending a shower of shards at Kenslir.
Covering his face with his forearm, Kenslir ignored the shotgun like blast and the dozen slivers of ice that struck him. Then he lowered his arm and resumed firing- this time at the giant's left knee.
Ice splintered and shattered as the 7.62mm bullets broke off great pieces of it. The headless ice giant staggered back, unsure what to do. Then its knee splintered the rest of the way, and the huge construct fell to the ground.
Kenslir slung his rifle over his shoulder, swinging it around to his back and sprinted forward. The ice giant was changing form now, shrinking down to something much smaller- a virtual suit of ice armor for the parahuman inside it.
Kenslir grabbed the weirdly fluid, yet solid ice with both hands and shoved. Where his fingers touched the cold ice, bright green light flared.
The icy form slid back, several feet, right into the burning flames on the front of the house the parahumans had emerged from. Ignited by the exploding flamethrower tank, the house was burning now- great sheets of flame roiling upwards.
The ice form shuddered and split open and a thin form leapt out. Wearing blue coveralls and canvas sneakers, the young man who had been in control of the ice dashed away from the flames melting his icy armor. He looked up at Kenslir just in time to see the AK-47 fire again- a single round that cored out his eye and ruptured his head.
Kenslir looked around the compound of buildings, trying to find more figures in the augmented view of the tactical visor. He had counted considerably more armed and unarmed terrorists when he was brought here. Which meant it was time to gather some more ammunition and go house to house.
He reached down to the melting ice and broke off a large piece, then pressed it to his neck. The ice slowly melted, its water soaking into the wound. When the ice was all gone, Kenslir pulled his hand away and the wound from the Russian weregirl was fully healed.
Unslinging his rifle, he checked the magazine then headed grimly for the closest building.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The witch's necklace had proven most useful to Clint Kerrick. With it he had easily been able to fly to Washington D.C.. In fact, he still had a great deal of power when he arrived. Enough to snap the neck of a surprised member of the park police who tried to stop him as he approached the Washington Monument on foot. Enough to ignore the puny bullets of another park policeman shooting him in the back.
Clint smiled evilly as he approached the monument. What his eyes could not see was a glowing, almost blinding glare in his mind. Pure energy, glowing as hotly as the sun. All from the monument itself.
In his first life, Kerrick had always considered tapping that power. But he wasn't sure if he could do so unnoticed. And he hadn't wanted the humans to figure out the nature of his powers. It was too great a gamble he would be seen, even with the monument containing so much power.
But that was then. Now, in this new life, he had in mind a very specific use for all that power. And it wouldn't matter who saw him tap it. As the park policeman firing his bullets into Clint's back finally paused to reload, the resurrected terrorist reached a trembling, nervous hand out to touch the cool, white marble.
Fire seemed to swell within Clint as power coursed through his fingertips, up his arms and into every atom of his being. Power unlike anything he'd ever drawn in before. The lifeforce of millions, drawn over a century and accumulated and unused for so long.
The park policeman had begun firing again, unable to think of any other recourse or action. He'd told the flying man to put up his hands and had been flatly ignored. Then the intruder had pushed aside a barrier and approached the monument.
Clint turned toward the officer, his hand still on the monument. He smiled as he unleashed white hot streams of pyrokinetic force at the policeman. The officer flashed a bright white as his temperature soared to several thousand degrees in under a second. His body was turned to ash and vaporized in one quick blast, scattering only light in the terrific heat. Not even smoke remained to mark where the man had been. Even the sidewalk on which he had stood was singed and melted from the incredible heat.
Clint laughed at the power surging within him. It was unimaginable. But even he had his limits. Finally, reluctantly, he released his hold on the marble. He could always come back later. But first, he had a new army to raise.
***
The military was definitely treating him better than his hometown police had. Jason had a new set of clothes and was staying in a plush hotel room in what he had been told was the BOQ- the Bachelor Officers' Quarters. And he was eating some of the best food he'd had in his whole life. He could almost close his eyes and believe he was on vacation.
Over the roar of the TV- turned to a pay-per-view event his mother would have been deeply disturbed to find him watching- Jason heard a knock at his door. He opened his eyes and gulped down the mouthful of delicious steak he'd been chewing.
"Just a minute," Jason said, rising from the small table in the room and reaching for the remote. He lowered the volume and went to the door, wondering who it was.
The smile he had from a full belly and his comfortable accommodations evaporated when Jason opened the door and saw Colonel Kenslir standing there- flanked by Josie Winters and the vampire, Laura Olson.
Kenslir was now wearing an ACU camouflage uniform, while Josie and Laura had changed into more comfortable slacks, blouses and government-issue nylon windbreakers.
"Good morning, Mr. Trumball," Kenslir said. "May we come in?"
"Yeah, sure," Jason stammered, stepping back and gesturing. Josie was the first through the door, followed by Laura Olson, then the Colonel.
Jason closed the door behind them, then noticed Josie was staring at the TV and the nude women on the screen. Jason turned a bright red and frantically worked the remote, turning off the TV.
"I had no idea you were such a little perv," Laura said, moving to the side of the room.
"Uh," Jason gulped. He rushed around Josie and began picking up his morning meal- steak and eggs. When he had scooped it all up, he stacked it on a dresser, then pulled a chair out for himself and motioned for Josie to take the other one.
Colonel Kenslir pulled another chair from the desk located next to the bed and sat it near the table, waiting for Josie to sit first.
"What can I do for you?" Jason asked, still embarrassed.
"I'd like to talk about the night your parents were murdered," Kenslir said. He pulled a small digital recorder from his shirt pocket and turned it on.
"I've talked enough about it," Jason said a little angrily.
"I'm interested in the bearded man's death," Kenslir said. "And what you told Agent Winters."
Jason looked at Josie, trying to read her. Were they going to think he was crazy?
"It was a shadow."
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"But shaped like a man?"
"Yeah," Jason said. He couldn't read Kenslir- the big man's face was a like a mask of emotionless stone.
"And it could fly? You're sure of that?"
"Yeah..."
"Have you ever seen anything like that before?"
Jason looked at Josie, then Laura Olson and laughed. "You're kidding, right? No- I haven't seen anything like this before. Before my parents were killed, I thought the world made sense."
"Tell me about when he touched you," Kenslir said.
Jason bristled. "I'm done talking about this. I want to know what you're gonna do with me."
Kenslir regarded him quietly for several long seconds. "We're going to get you some justice."
Jason was perplexed and looked to Josie.
"He means we're trying to stop the man who killed your parents," she said.
"Man? That was no man," Jason said. "He was some kind of... monster." He glanced at Laura as he said the last.
The vampire glared back, but held her tongue.
"He was no monster," Kenslir said. "He was a spirit."
"A spirit?" Jason had seen a lot, but ghosts were something he wasn't ready to buy into yet. "Like on TV?"
"I don't watch TV," Kenslir said. "He was a spirit- hopping from one body to the next. We call that non-corporeal astral projection."
"Non-corporeal- what?"
"He was a man, but he has the ability to move from one body to the next. Like changing his clothes," Kenslir explained.
"That's crazy," Jason said.
"Crazier than a vampire?" Laura chimed in from the side of the room. "Or a boy who can drain the energy from others by touching them?"
"Just who are you people?" Jason asked.
"We're the good guys," Josie answered. She started to reach for Jason's hand, but stopped herself.
"Good guys, hunh? Well tell me why he looked like my dad, then."
"Because your father was his clone."