Emergence

by Various

  When I was just a kid, my parents took me to see the Petrified Forest in Arizona. I remember running my hands along the cold stone that used to be wood and wondering, morbidly I admit, what it would be like if one of them fell on me.

  I suspected I had my answer.

  Another shift of energy as I hit the ground jolted me upright, and I was grateful for the mask that hid my expression from the crowd of people watching. My maneuver might have looked graceful, but Stone had rung my bell, and rung it good. The ringing in my skull reminded me of the Motörhead concert I’d gone to a few years back. At least I’d earned that headache, getting drunk and headbanging the night away, but it paled in comparison to the roar of the ocean that sloshed about between my ears, crashing into the back of my eyes. The whole left side of my face felt raw.

  Stone was up and coming my way again. His grin was a cavern of gnashing stalactites and stalagmites, all looking to tear me apart. I was beginning to think they just might. He was faster than I’d given him credit for, and way more durable than I could take out with my bare hands. If I was going to stop him before he did me, I was going to have to be smart.

  I glanced about only to have my stomach tie itself in knots. As far as weapons went, there wasn’t much to be had. A bunch of cars lined the curb alongside a row of parking meters, but I didn’t figure the short steel poles of the meters would do me much good. Beyond that, there was a metal lamppost, though with the crowd clustered around it, I’d do more damage to them trying to knock it over than I would Stone.

  I dodged around an idiot driver who didn’t have the sense to clear the way for a chimeric battle—come on, how stupid do you have to be?—and ran for the line of parked vehicles. I might have flipped the woman off, too, but Stone wasn’t giving me time to share my thoughts with her. He swung at me, and I kept going, jumping onto the roof of an old car.

  “It’s not a fight if you keep running,” Stone groused and just kept coming.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you not to hit girls?”

  Apparently not. He balled his fist up and brought it down on the roof of the car, shattering the windows and crumpling the top. Of course I wasn’t there anymore, having dropped onto the sidewalk, but all I was doing was delaying Stone. I’d caught him trying to rob the jewelry shop a block down and distracted him from that, but if the police or the DCD—the Department of Chimeric Defense—didn’t get their asses there soon, I’d have to run or they’d need a power washer to scrape me off the street. Either was possible, but I wasn’t done yet, though.

  I ducked low and hit the car parked in front of me, angling my momentum upward at the last second. The car jumped and toppled over. Right on top of Stone. He squawked and went down beneath the vehicle, though I knew it would only hold him a few seconds. Once he got over the shock of it, his chunky hands would rip the thing to shreds. On cue, he started doing exactly that.

  Before he got too far along, I leapt into the air and came down on top of the car’s chassis, trying to crush him underneath, then jumped again so he couldn’t use the vehicle against me liked I’d done him. I landed in the middle of the street, running out of ideas when I spotted something that just might work. My grin would have people thinking I was crazy if they could see it.

  Stone shrugged the car off and had begun scrambling to his feet while I reached down beside me and sunk my fingers into the holes of the manhole cover I’d spotted.

  “What are you gonna do with that, princess?” he asked with a laugh, dusting himself off and strolling toward me with no lack of confidence. Then again, he did just have a car land on him and he brushed it off like it was a fly.

  “Play Frisbee, first off.” I used my power to yank the manhole cover free, then shifted my angle and hurled the steel disc at Stone.

  The gray orbs of his eyes went wide and he threw his arms in front of him to block the cover. Didn’t do him much good. It slammed into his forearms and drove him backward. Shards of rock exploded, and the manhole cover bounced into the air as Stone stumbled into the wreckage of the car, entangling his feet in it. He screamed his rage, but I wasn’t done yet.

  A quick shift caught me up to the cover, and I grabbed the edge of it and changed direction, taking it with me. It was damn heavy, and I knew I couldn’t hold it long without activating my powers, but I wouldn’t need to. Stone looked up at me as I careened toward him, gravity doing all the work. He sneered, getting ready to intercept me. That’s when I hit the switch. I was on him before he could blink.

  I brought the manhole cover down on his head and drove him to his knees. The sound rang out like a collision of busses, but I didn’t’ stop to admire my handiwork. I juggled my power, limiting it to my arms while swinging the manhole cover side to side. Clang, clang, clang, it went as I teed off on his face, driving him backwards until he slammed into the brick wall of the National Holistic Institute, an overpriced, new age massage joint normally filled with hipsters and the walking dead of the early college crowd.

  Nowhere to go, Stone leaned against the wall with whirling eyes, his arms flailing at his sides. I had him on the ropes so I figured it best to keep him there. I smacked him with the manhole cover over and over and over until he crumpled, hitting the ground. Before I could bring the hunk of steel down on his head one last time, I realized he’d begun to shift, regaining his human form.

  Gray stony skin shifted and morphed, turning to pale, plain flesh while I watched. It was freaky. He groaned, voice rising several octaves in the middle of it, and skinny arms clutched at a head covered in a patch of unkempt brown hair that was a few months past due for a good snip. Stone stared up at me, blue eyes sunken in the sockets. He looked ready to vomit.

  He also looked like a little wuss. A naked one at that. I shook my head at seeing him splayed out the way he was on the ground. He was just a kid, not more than thirteen. It explained his name, if nothing else. Had he not been such a dick, I might have felt sorry for him.

  “Please, don’t hit me again,” he gasped, his real face not limited in emotions like his stony one. There was terror there. I liked seeing it, but still, it wasn’t as if I’d murder the little shit. Wasn’t my style.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t hit you with this anymore,” I answered, tossing the manhole cover aside. Then I punched him, triggering my power for some extra oomph. His head clacked against the wall, and he slumped unconscious. He might have been a kid, but his power made him a man.

  While I wasn’t out to administer a dose of fatal street justice, I couldn’t have him running off before the authorities got there, either. Speaking of which, after what seemed forever, the response time in Port Haven for shit, I finally noticed the sound of sirens screaming our direction. That was my cue to vacate.

  “Keep an eye on him,” I told the crowd, “and tell the cops they can thank Whiplash.” They’d probably want to send me a bill.

  I looked at one of the bystanders, who was watching me through his held-out cell phone, then leapt into the air, triggering my power and flying upward like a pinball caught between the flippers. It wasn’t the most graceful of exits, but looked good for video. I hadn’t figured out how to keep the momentum going in a straight line so I could fly without looking like a spaz. Still, it worked. I was gone long before the police arrived, and, from the top of a parking garage, observed a DCD copter flying toward the scene. Definitely best to avoid those jokers. I was home shortly after, slinking into the building, no one the wiser.

  Super villain defeated, there in the quiet confines of my studio apartment, the sad reality of life settled on me. I still had a paper to write for class.

  TWO

  I’d spent the night writing a ten-billion-word essay for my British Lit class and trying to stay off the Internet looking for videos. I managed to get my work done at about midnight and crawled into bed, quite proud of myself. I’d only viewed the best YouTube video of my fight about twenty-four times. The replays on the news don’t count.

 
I dreamed of kicking ass and reading Chaucer while morning rolled around all too quickly. It always did.

  My faithful bed left behind, I stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for work, such as it was. A stranger met me at the mirror. I damn near fell over seeing my face. The entire left side was a solid mass of purplish and blue bruises, my eye encircled with black. It was like I’d gone toe-to-toe with Godzilla. Though that wasn’t too far from the truth. I stared at my reflection and sighed. No doubt work—the illustrious Hot Topicz Boutique—were going to have a field day with my new look. They barely tolerated my piercings and tattoos, though they’d get lucky today. There was no way I’d try to put them back in with my face so swollen. That was a recipe for pain I didn’t have any interest cooking up.

  The drive to work took longer than usual, but I’d expected that and left early. With Hot Topicz only being a few blocks away from the jewelry store Stone had tried to rob—the reason I’d known about it in time to do something—the street where I’d put him down was blocked off. Bored cops waved traffic a couple blocks down before it could swing back around and get on track. I pulled into the parking lot of the mini-mall a good twenty minutes before my shift. Clara, my boss, would probably stroke out at seeing me show up before ten.

  I hopped out of the car, straightened my uniform—which consisted of a blood red blouse with a chintzy HT pin above my breast and black jeans—and took a deep breath before knocking on the glass for someone to let me in. It took a few minutes before Clara came to unlock the door. Her fake purple eyes looked as if they’d seen a sale at Macy’s. She eased the door open and ushered me inside.

  “Oh my God, Vivian.” She stared at my face with undisguised horror. “What happened to you?”

  I laughed it off. “There was a show last night. There I was, banging away and someone in the pit hit me from behind. Knocked me right over the railing,” I told her, getting used to spitting out lies on the quick. “Landed flat on my face. Splat!” I clapped my hands together and Clara jumped at the sound.

  She glanced around, though I’m not sure who she was looking for since it was just us on eth schedule until noon, and shook her head. “Steve didn’t do this, did he?”

  “Uh, hell no he didn’t. He’s an idiot but he’s not abusive. I’d kick his ass if he raised a hand to me.”

  Steve was my on-again, more often than not, off-again boyfriend. We’d dated since we were fifteen, and I’d kept him around mostly to stave off the moments of loneliness that came with becoming a chimeric. It was hard enough keeping a stable relationship going when you were normal, but the alien gift I’d been handed made it damn near impossible.

  “You sure?”

  I laughed. “Of course I’m sure, Clara. Steve wouldn’t hurt a fly if it punched him in the face. Dude’s as much a pacifist as Gandhi.”

  She smiled—a forced one—and pretended to chuckle. She did that a lot around me. “How about you take today off and let that,” her finger drew a circle in the air, gesturing to my face, “heal up a bit.”

  “Seriously?” I asked. “I’m fine. Just some bruising. I only have, like, fifteen hours this week.”

  “I know, but I think it best you let that clear up. I can’t imagine corporate would appreciate…”

  And that’s when I tuned her out. ‘Corporate’ was the world’s greatest scapegoat in this woman’s arsenal. As if anyone from ‘Corporate’ had ever graced our chintzy Mission Square store. This rinky-dink little shop earned just enough to keep it open, but never enough to entice the big bosses into a five-hour trip from the home office in La Futura.

  Clara sighed, which signaled her tirade was over. “…you understand, right?”

  “Sure.” Whatever the hell you said. “I’ll call you next week then, since I’m not scheduled until Tuesday anyway.”

  “You should go home and rest, just take care of yourself. Maybe…slow down a little?”

  I nodded and smiled, making sure to show her my bruised side, and left before I made myself sick swallowing all the things I wanted to say. One day I’d give the woman detailed directions to where she could find a fuck, but I still needed the damn job, for all the good it did me.

  My financial aid scholarships covered just enough for my classes and books at UPH—the University of Port Haven—but that was only because I was working. If I were to quit, they’d drop me and, while I’d qualify for full time tuition, it wouldn’t be enough for me to live on once I paid the school. It was catch-22 that had me hanging either way I leaned.

  My afternoon unexpectedly clear, I left my car in the lot and wandered down Market Street toward the Headstand to check in on Stan. I’d heard on the news that he was okay, but I wanted to be sure. Most of the damage had been cleaned up by then, the wrecked car towed away, the dented manhole cover replaced, but Stan hadn’t gotten the same courtesy from the city. His wall had plywood sheets bolted into place over the hole I’d put there. I groaned, wishing I’d had the money to cover the damages. Maybe I could buy an extra record or two this month. Hardly recompense, I knew.

  To my surprise, the Headstand was open for business, despite the cones and barrels strewn all over the intersection, the light flickering above the door. I slipped inside, the bell chiming as the as the familiar bouquet of incense hit my nose. So many different flavors had been burned there over the years that there was no determining what type was currently burning, the lingering smells long ago having merged into its own unique scent.

  Some stoner band was playing on the stereo—Clutch, Kyuss, or whatever hippy metal was popular these days—and Stan was hunched over, sweeping up the last of the wreckage.

  “Be right with you,” he called out, not bothering to even look.

  “You need some help?” It was kind of late for that, but it felt right to offer.

  He glanced up and smiled. “Hey, Viv! Nah, I got it handled.” Stan gestured to the wall, twin plywood boards nailed up inside. “Doing some redecorating. What do you think?”

  “It’s uh…classy.”

  He chuckled. “A few coats of paint and it’ll look better than it did before.”

  As infectious as his laughter was, I found my smile hard to come by. I couldn’t stop staring at the makeshift wall. What if he’d been on the other side of it when I’d hit? Tears welled up, and I blinked them away before Stan saw them. He was an observant old guy, though.

  “You all right, Viv?” He started over, but I waved him off.

  “Hells yeah, dude,” I answered. “Lots of dust in here, that’s all. That new Overkill come in yet?”

  Stan grinned. “Just got it yesterday, right before the big brouhaha. Man, I tell you, the chimeric situation is really getting to be a mess. You see the Red Wraith got killed yesterday? I mean, the guy was in the midst of killing some chimeric-murdering nutcase sniper dude, but still…oh, Overkill. Yeah, let me get it for ya.”

  “And the new Vader, too, while you’re at it,” I called out as he made his way into the backroom. He gave a quick wave to let me know he’d heard me before disappearing behind the curtain of beads. I sighed. Stan was right. Things were getting heavy these days, which is why I tried to keep a low profile, but I’d been the idiot to try and tackle Stone out on the street. I owed Stan a little cash, at the very least, to make up for wrecking his shop.

  He came back out holding the albums up like trophies and went to ring them up. I pulled my credit card out of my little purse and handed it to him, afraid my fingers wouldn’t let go.

  “Determined customer discount,” he said, quoting me a price that was about five bucks cheaper than it should have been.

  “Awww, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Already done, sweetheart,” he answered, taking the card from me. “If it weren’t for you coming in, the place would be a ghost town. I appreciate that, you know. You’ve always been loyal when most kids are out downloading the latest stuff. Or torrenting. Whatever it is you guys call it.”

  I s
ighed and nodded, my stomach tight with guilt, but it wasn’t like I could explain things to him. You know that crazy costumed chick who flew through the wall? Well, that was me, Stan. I’m Whiplash and I break shit. A lot.

  He handed me my credit card back along with the bag, patting me on the hand as he did. “Don’t you worry, Viv, the Head ain’t going nowhere.” He glanced about conspiratorially. “Besides, it was just the disco and redneck sections that got busted.” He chuckled, shooing me toward the door.

  I couldn’t help myself and laughed, then waved goodbye and thanked him again as I went back out into the California swelter, clutching my prizes to my chest. I might not be able to eat for the next week, but I’d damn sure have some good tunes to starve to.

  Back at the car, with nowhere to go and no more money to spend, I headed for home to jam out, the one real pleasure left to me.

  The drive was way more eventful than the trip in.

  Not more than five blocks from where I’d trounced Stone, traffic came to a standstill, cars bumper-to-bumper. It was odd, though. There wasn’t a single horn being honked or curse word flying. There was only a dull murmur of amazement, and even the people on the sidewalks were getting into it. Fingers pointed into the distance.

  I stared out the windshield to see what everyone was looking at. It took a moment before I noticed anything, but then there he was: Hero. Even without his costume, flying around in trousers and a short-sleeved henley, I recognized the guy; he brought on a shitload of mixed feelings in me, though I’d let go of my anger at him for, well, saving my life.

  Hero hovered in place in the sky right above Buena Vista Park, staring down at something I couldn’t see, blocked from view by the buildings. As always, he looked confident. Though I suppose it’s hard not to look that way when your manifestation came with textbook super powers that made you invincible.

  My stomach churned at the memory. He’d been a hero even then, but one of a different kind, not some media icon cloaked out in red tights and a white cape. He’d since ditched those threads, but I’d cursed him for years before I began to understand he’d made a split-second decision on impulse, and not based on some sadistic urge to see me suffer the loss of my family. I’d hated him a long time, even though it was just me being all emo and immature, and used to be the mere mention of Hero, which was a lot, put me in a downward spiral. He hadn’t been the one to kill my parents and sister, no matter how long I’d held it against him.