by C. E. Martin
To be more precise, it was the body of the boy from Wisconsin.
No longer skewered by the makeshift spear Kerrick had flung at him, Jason Trumball's body bounced and flopped along the ground- a meaty sack full of breaking bones. But the body finally stopped tumbling and rolling as the C-135 accelerated and began to rise away from the earth once more.
Then the body sat up.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
They were running now. Or rather, Mark was. Josie just clung to his back as best she could.
After Kenslir had set his legs, he'd poured emergency water rations taken from his combat vest onto the wounds. Normally part of pilot survival vests, the small water pouches served as first aid for the cursed super soldier, healing his injuries rapidly. Josie had watched as petrified flesh had mended, then turned back to skin again- absorbing all the water. Minutes after that, Kenslir was on his feet again- only the bloody tears in his pants to indicate he'd ever been injured.
With their tactical visors back in place, the pair quickly got their bearings- they were a half a mile away, west of the battle raging with the ghost army, in a large field that continued south to merge with the road the specters had marched on from Antietam.
Kenslir had convinced Josie to get on his back just as the C-135 made its low-flying pass over the area. Kenslir immediately set off at quick run, gradually accelerating to a speed better than any mortal man could run.
"Jimmy!" Josie called out, tuning her tactical visor to the channel for Kane.
"Oh, my, God! Josie!" Jimmy immediately responded. "You're alive!"
"We're on the ground, headed south," Josie said. Her voice shook and vibrated from the jostling as the Colonel ran. She was afraid that at any minute she would fly off his back.
"We're headed east- to D.C.," Jimmy explained. "The plane is in bad shape, but the pilot thinks he can make it back to Andrews."
>>>CASULTIES?<<< Kenslir texted over his own visor. Josie marveled that he could run, hold her legs with his arms and still work the cybernetic controls so effortlessly. She wondered exactly how long he'd been using the tactical visor.
"Uh... well...." Jimmy said. "We're not sure."
"He means Jason," Pam Keegan said, coming into the conversation. "He caught some shrapnel through the chest when Kerrick boarded us."
"Is he going to make it?" Josie asked, genuinely concerned.
"Not sure," Jimmy answered. "I sure hope so- that was the plan, anyway."
>>>WHAT PLAN?<<<
***
Jason had been dreaming of home- of his mother and father, and all the good times they'd had. Then it had all come to an abrupt end. They were in their family car, laughing and driving when another car smashed into them. The impact was bone crushing.
Jason awoke from his dream tumbling and spinning. He could feel his bones breaking, could feel the ground slapping his body repeatedly, all over. It took him two full seconds to realize that he was rolling along the ground, bouncing and skipping like a golf ball. A second after that he stopped tumbling.
The sensation was strange. His body felt ruptured and broken while at the same time invigorated and powerful. A strange relief was sweeping over him- from ribs slowly moving back into place on their own, back out of internal organs they'd punctured, to broken limbs straightening themselves.
He opened his eyes and saw grass- he had landed face down. He stood- with ease, his limbs swelling with strength. He had never felt so strong, so alive. It was more than even the night in Wisconsin when he'd touched his father's killer and stolen some of his energy.
Jason looked around- and froze in his tracks. Cold chills raced up his spine as he saw the remnants of the ghost army all around. Only a few hundred remained. Scattered around the wide, open area on either side of the road- all looking at him, puzzled.
Seeing the ghosts immobile, not taking any action, Jason continued to look around. He quickly located the three stone soldiers and even the redheaded vampire- brushing herself off. Then he found his father's killer.
Jason balled his fists tightly, his arms trembling with rage at the sight of the thing still wearing his father's body. He took a step forward, giving into rage without any real plan.
Across the large clearing where the forest had been leveled on either side of the road, past the milling, confused specters, Clint Kerrick was looking at Jason. Intently.
For all his amazing abilities, Clint Kerrick was no general, no soldier. Military tactics were something he had never studied in life or afterlife. But even he knew the odds didn't look good.
The stone soldiers and the vampire had been holding their own, forcing him to quietly drain back some of the energy he'd given his spectral army. But now the son of his clone was here- and he had the same ability. His plummet from the low-flying airplane had allowed him to heal his injuries and take out a good half of the shades Kerrick commanded. Throwing more at him would be pointless.
He had only one real option at this point- to attack.
A blur the human eye could barely follow, Kerrick surged forward, feet leaving the ground as he raced toward Jason like a missile. As he flew, he poured as much of his energy as he could out, into the ghosts around him. No sense bringing the boy more energy.
When he finally struck Jason, less than a half-second from when he had launched himself into the air, he drove his right forearm into the boys chest, using the long sleeve of his sweater to shield himself from skin on skin contact.
Jason was flung off his feet, his chest collapsed, a shock wave spreading out from the point of impact, bursting blood vessels and tearing skin. He felt himself lifted from the ground and flung through the air like a broken ragdoll. He briefly imagined that this is what it must feel like to be struck by a speeding train.
When he crashed to the ground a second later, the energy coursing through him was already at work. But his attacker knew this and didn't let up.
Jason's face was just touching wet grass when Kerrick appeared behind him and grabbed him by the hair. His head was jerked back with such force his scalp separated from his skull. He felt, and heard, the vertebrae in his neck break.
Kerrick then dropped onto his back- ramming down with both knees and breaking his spine and bones. The pain was white-hot, and surely would have caused him to lose consciousness- if it weren't for the energy he had absorbed from the spectral army.
Jason flung himself off from the ground, clenching every muscle in his body. Despite the terrific injuries he had sustained, that body still worked- already mending at nearly instantaneous speed. And as he tightened his muscles, their density increased. They became as dense as bone- a dense mass of woven fiber that could not exist in nature.
Jason spun around and unleashed a fist at his attacker, somehow knowing where to punch, without being able to see him. As his fist of enhanced flesh and bone crashed into the equally-tough flesh of Kerrick, bright light flashed between the men.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
It had all started for Clint Kerrick many, many years ago. Long before his death. He had been a young college student then- a sophomore studying broadcast journalism and wishing women found him more interesting.
On his way home from the campus library, he had spied a shooting star in the night sky. He made a wish as it fell- that he could be greater than he was.
Then he noticed that it was indeed falling. And not too far away.
Clint changed his course and began heading down backroads- away from the small college town and out into wide open pastures and farmland. Past stands of trees and over small creeks.
In short order, he found the site of the crashed object- a swath of burning trees and a long furrow in the ground of pasture once filled with frightened cattle. Once filled, because the cattle had stampeded away in terror when whatever it was crashed to earth.
Clint parked along the side of the road and hastily climbed over a barbed wire fence- his eyes riveted to the glowing crater in the middle of the field. Making his way closer
, he stepped around and over the shattered parts of cows blown apart by the impact.
The crater was only a few feet deep- the object having slowed significantly before impact. Something still glowed hotly in the crater- a blackened sphere about three feet across, covered in spike-like protrusions. It reminded Clint of pictures he'd seen of sea mines from World War 2.
He stepped gingerly forward, eyes going back and forth between the ground and the glowing, pulsing object in the crater. But he wasn't watching either close enough. Dirt crumbled and he lost his footing, pitching forward.
His hands snapped out in front of him, reflexively- and he landed on the hot shell of the fallen object. Bright light exploded everywhere, obscuring his vision as pain radiated up from his hands, his flesh sizzling and burning. But the pain quickly transformed to something else.
Clint stepped back from the sphere, his vision clearing. He looked down at his hands, gasping at the site of bone and blackened flesh where his palms had been. Then he gasped again as the flesh began to turn pink again- began to swell shut around his wounds. Then he watched as his arms seemed to swell- large muscles standing out.
Clint's pants and shirt seemed too small now- his muscles, muscles he'd never before had, straining against them. Fabric split and tore and he was suddenly a titan in shredded strips of cloth.
He felt powerful. Alive. It was magnificent.
Clint looked back to the fallen object. It was no meteorite. It was clearly artificially made. Yet it its outer, blackened shell had no markings- if any had once been there they were surely burned off.
Clint stepped forward again. But his new muscles were far more powerful than he'd wagered. He sprang into the air, then continued upwards. His step became a bound. A bound of several hundred feet.
When he landed, he bent his legs and tried again- springing upwards.
When he passed above a low cloud, Clint knew he was flying. He experimented and quickly got the hang of his new ability. He looped and streaked in the sky, cheering loudly with glee.
Blinking lights in the distance finally caught his attention. Somehow he could see the lights- police and fire trucks- racing toward him. For the fallen object, no doubt.
Clint raced back to the ground, crashing hard and creating a new mini-crater. But the impact was nothing. His body was unharmed.
Ignoring the heat of the small, fallen object, Clint picked it up and dashed back across the field. He ripped open the trunk of his car and dropped the strange, alien thing inside.
Yes, it had to be alien. Some sort of vessel that had fallen from the heavens.
Clint regarded his reflection in a window of the car. He studied the strong face looking back at him for several seconds. It was similar to his own, but changed. Leaner. He barely looked the same.
Then he knew. He knew that he was no longer Clint Kerrick. He was just living in Clint Kerrick's body. Or what had been his body.
He got behind the wheel of his car- Clint's car- and started it. He would have to drive away- find someplace to hide and collect his thoughts. Figure out why he was here and what this all meant.
It would take him many years to figure that out. Then many more of planning and plotting, followed by faking his own death. But one day, he would fulfill his purpose.
***
As Colonel Kenslir burst out of a stand of trees, he immediately saw a line of figures jogging toward him. Or maybe just away from the battle raging past one more clump of trees.
They were shimmering figures, dressed in Civil War uniforms. They carried no weapons, and seemed to be having difficulty running. Then they sighted Kenslir- or rather, Josie, riding on his back.
Kenslir came to a stop and set Josie down as the ghosts changed direction and headed toward them. There were at least a dozen of them. Faces fading back and forth between skulls and angry flesh glared as they approached.
Kenslir balled his fists and waited.
Josie stepped around her grandfather and extended her hand, reaching out with her mind. The closest ghost stumbled to a stop, panic showing on its supernatural face. Then it quickly faded to nothing.
Beside it, another ghosts did the same a moment later as Josie's gaze fell upon it.
The remaining ghosts all stopped now. They looked on, their faces revealing nothing. Then one more vanished as Josie turned her attention to it.
The line of remaining ghosts all broke apart- turning to vaporous streams that swirled around Kenslir and Josie- giving the duo a wide berth as they slipped by. Once past, they reformed and resumed their halting run.
Kenslir gave Josie a perplexed look as they watched the ghosts depart.
"I froze them," Josie said. "I figured, on TV, they always talk about cold spots..."
"I get it," Kenslir said. He scooped Josie up, holding her in front of him now, an arm under her back, the other under her legs. "Let's see what they were running from."
Again, the Colonel broke into a super-human run, quick steps, almost bounds, carrying him across the open patch of land quickly. When they reached a thick stand of trees, he expertly, and swiftly dodged between them.
As they passed through the trees, they both began to heard loud noises- meaty sounds of something slapping against something else. Finally, they cleared the stand of trees and came upon the final stages of the battle with Clint Kerrick's ghost army.
Where before the ghosts had been arranged in a neat marching formation, then gave way to a wild mob clawing at the stone soldiers, now they resembled a cyclone of fog- swirling in place over the road. Like a thick wall of moving fog, the ghosts were orbiting a point on the road- their strange, cloud like formation a hundred feet across and half that high.
From within the swirling formation, bright flashes of light crackled. The sounds of something striking something echoed loudly from within the cloud.
Kenslir set Josie down and she promptly stiffened, raising her hands to unleash her cryokinesis once more.
The Colonel looked up in time to see a ghost break away from the swirling, spectral cloud. It seemed to solidify for a moment, straining to take a step. Then it broke apart- its form sucked back into the cyclone raging on the road.
A moment later and a stone soldier flew out of the mass of shades, flopping and tumbling on the road.
Kenslir and Josie sprinted to him, recognizing Victor as he tried to stand.
"Colonel!" the man of stone declared. "We need your help!"
Despite never tiring, the stone soldier seemed unsteady on his feet.
"What's goin’ on in there?" Josie asked. "Where is everyone?"
As if in answer to her question, Laura Olson staggered back out of the spinning wall of ghosts, dropping to one knee. She rose back up intent to wade back in when she noticed Kenslir, Josie and Victor.
"We've got him on the ropes!" she grinned, her face a bloody pulp, several of her teeth missing.
Kenslir sprinted over quickly, grabbing her by the arm, before the vampire could go back in. "Wait!"
"I could sure use a pick me up," Laura smiled, almost fainting. Kenslir had to catch her to keep her from collapsing to the ground.
"I'm going back in," Victor declared, his voice quavering in fear just a bit. Before Josie could stop him, he charged back into the cloud and was quickly swallowed by the mass of translucent forms it was made of.
"Stay with her!" Kenslir snapped, jolting Josie out of her astonishment. She nodded and walked over to the Colonel and knelt beside Laura Olson.
"Is she...?"
Kenslir frowned, looking back and forth at the swirling cloud, still reverberating with the sound of what surely had to be combat within it, and the vampire in his arms.
"Laura!" he yelled, shaking the redhead. But she did not seem to waken.
"Dammit," Kenslir growled, almost under his breath, then leaned in and kissed the vampire.
Dr. Laura Olson seemed to spring instantly back to life. She grabbed Kenslir's neck with both hands and vigorously returned the kiss- blue-gree
n light crackling from between their mouths.
The Colonel finally broke the kiss off after a few seconds and pushed away from Laura.
"My prince," the vampire grinned.
"Stay here- both of you," Kenslir said. Then he stood and dashed into the swirling ghost cloud, a flash of green energy and a scream like that of a thousand banshees erupting as he was swallowed by its depths.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Inside the formation of swirling ghosts, the wind was whipping and blowing, stirring up dust and debris from the surface of the road. But the grit and sand blown up by the spectral maelstrom did little to faze Colonel Kenslir or the combatants in the eye of the ghostly formation.
Clint Kerrick was struggling mightily against his attackers- lashing out with kicks and punches with inhuman speed- almost too fast for the eye to follow. The parahuman fought desperately against his primary opponent, Jason Trumball, while Captain Smith clung to his back, trying to snap his neck in a wrestling hold.
To the side, Colonel Phillips extended both his arms- once more unleashing a searing bolt of electricity into the parahuman. Almost immediately, a ghost seemed to be pulled from the swirling wall of the formation. It flew rapidly backwards, toward Kerrick, clearly struggling to try and stay in formation with its compatriots. But it was drawn surely back, pulled by an unseen force, fading as it moved from the wall, until it ceased to exist just a few feet from Kerrick.
Jason struck at Kerrick once more- the blow landing on his opponent's chin and turning his head with a thunderous crack. Kenslir was sure he felt the force of the blow tremble through the ground.
Kerrick tried to strike back, but Captain Smith's hold on his arms and neck limited his movements, and despite all his struggling, he could not reach Jason.
Pushing against the wind kicked up by the swirling shades, Victor was now pushing closer to the restrained parahuman. He kicked out with his foot, striking Kerrick's right knee and shattering it.