No time to worry about that now, however. He heaved himself up again, finding his knees and shins in a similar predicament, but also discovering the pain was merely a dull throb. Normally he’d be screaming in pain, but now, it barely registered.
Russell continued onward, slower than normal as his clothes rubbed aggravatingly. A second bolt of force connected with his shoulder, once more toppling him forward. This time, he managed to roll as he fell, nearing the curb and the speeding tyres beyond that.
Behind him, he spotted the two men. They weren’t far and Dufus was making brilliant time.
Once more jumping up he stood, eyeing the street. Car after car went flashing by, making it nigh on impossible to cross.
So there was the other option.
Carefully judging the distance between himself and the other side of the street, he reached out toward the currents streaming past him with the car’s momentum. He could almost feel their presence as he called them up and coaxed them to recreate the stunt he had performed back at the cathedral. In moments, he had launched himself into the air, like a bird almost, arms outstretched as if diving into the clouds, though not so high. Below him, the cars continued on their course, unaware of what was happening around them.
Four lanes in total passed underneath and Russell started to make his descent again. Once more he tucked himself into a tight ball and somersaulted, bringing himself around to land on his own feet in a cushion of air.
If he’d been at the Olympics doing gymnastics, he most likely would have scored a perfect ten, probably out of the sheer fantasticalness of the manoeuvre. He crouched low and turned to look between the bodies of the cars. In the flashes he caught glimpses of his opponents, trying to peer over the top of cars to catch sight of him.
Staying down, Russell turned back along the road, back toward the walkway and ran, hoping the cars would give him cover. If they didn’t see him, he’d be able to make it back to the train station and safely away from the two predators.
No such luck.
He had made it within twelve feet of the entrance and the walkway when he heard brakes squealing behind him followed by thud after crash as vehicles collided.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw what was going on.
Dufus had stepped onto the street, irrespective of the cars coming at him, and had continued to walk across the road. There was a cacophony of horns blaring and metal screeching as he continued, not physically damaging anything himself, but wreaking havoc with his mere presence. With his size, any driver would rather hit another car than his mass. The damage bill alone from the confrontation between man and machine would be tremendous, not to mention if he wanted to press charges for damages; which would be ridiculous as he would have been the cause of it all, but the way the law worked, he’d still probably be found to be in the right.
Time to stop the skulking, Russell stood up and pushed himself into a sprint. He was already weary from this morning and this activity wasn’t making it any better. He could feel his heart beating in his chest like a massive drum. He wasn’t sure if it was nervousness, fear or just the fact he was unfit. Though, again, he considered the fact that before the ‘incident’ with the bomb, there was no way he could keep up this kind of physical exertion. The bestowing of these powers, accidental or otherwise was a massive blessing. He felt little pain, he had a greater endurance, not to mention the fact he could do things out of the ordinary. But all the same, if it meant going back to a safer more peaceful life, he’d probably do away with the powers.
No you wouldn’t, his mind chided himself. Do away with all this? And go back to being a lazy Student working casually at a department store? There was way more to life than that and he was proving it with every moment.
He ducked behind a column, hoping he was out of their sight. But when a large chunk of concrete exploded, showering the ground around him with fine white dust, he knew he was mistaken.
Taking up the challenge, he continued into the train station. It was far from empty. Each platform, twelve in total, was choked with people. Prams, teens, mothers, grandparents, all walks of human life. And getting through them all would be hell.
Another of Pipsqueaks bolts narrowly missed him, darting past and colliding with the bottom of an escalator, tearing out most of its foundations. The people riding on it screamed in fright as the mechanical steps began to buckle in half, bending under the weight. The support from the upper level began to give way and Russell found himself faced with a bigger problem. The fall for those on the upper steps was considerable enough, not to mention the debris that could come away with it.
There was a burst of air as he pulled it through from the street. On it rode the fumes of exhaust, but that didn’t distract him. In a similar move to the one he’d used to cushion his descent, he gathered the compressed air beneath the structure and eased it down to the ground, the people on it still yelling for help. The concrete above moaned with the strain before snapping away, tearing with it massive chunks of the upper level. Fortunately the people above had avoided the unsteady ground, possibly having found out about the walkway.
Russell shut his eyes, concentrating harder on keeping the people on the escalator safe as it moved. The actual effort required to make the air pillow adjust so slowly, while still giving it sufficient force to keep it from collapsing was intense. He felt the veins on his temples throb as he forced the air to hold its position, allowing it to circulate, but only within the compressed area, as if he had erected an invisible balloon around it.
When the concrete finally touched ground he felt himself swoon. His head felt light and he almost forgot his own predicament.
“Touching.”
Pipsqueak was right beside him, somehow having managed to cross the road with Dufus.
But Russell wasn’t out of tricks yet.
The wind he had called forth as a support was still lingering in a dispersed air bubble he’d kept hold of. Now it was time to take the offensive.
He felt the air caress him as it blew past, but he knew the speed and force he had put behind it would be more than enough to put the smaller of the two attackers out of commission. Sure enough, Pipsqueak howled in frustration as the wind took hold of his body and launched him backward toward the street, once more narrowly missing the cars as he landed beside the curb.
Enough was enough, Russell thought to himself.
He wiped his brow and turned around to see Dufus standing right in front of him, distracted by what he had done to Pipsqueak.
“Want some of the same, big fella?”
Russell didn’t see the hand coming. It sort of appeared out of nowhere, colliding with the side of his head and sending him spiralling into darkness.
CHAPTER TEN
He awoke, sitting on the cold metal seat he had also been tied to. It took a while to register all this.
And when he got beyond that, he took in the square room he was located in. It was grey in colour, dreary, almost dirty looking, though it was only the colour of the material used. Thankfully there was nothing unsanitary in here. He assumed there was a door somewhere behind him, for he couldn’t see one in front of him. And the padded walls didn’t seem to reveal any sign of a hinge or outline to represent an exit.
He could, however, hear what sounded like breathing. Over a microphone, perhaps. Or it could have been some sort of electrical device in the distance, rumbling loudly.
“Before we get started, Master Paige, we would like to ask you a few questions.”
Someone was in the room, behind him. A man. He sounded quite tall from the angle of the voice. It was also one of distinct purpose, deep in pitch and resounding, even in this padded room.
“Started on what?”
Someone else giggled.
“I will be the one asking the questions, my boy.”
Boy? Who did this guy think he was? Boy? Russell almost grunted his frustration. He had always been referred to as kid, boy or youth. He was near on twenty-one and yet eve
ryone thought he was sixteen or so. He’d discussed it with one of the men from Home Office. They had dubbed it the ‘Youth Gene’. Like a miracle gene that kept people looking younger than they really were, like Michael J. Fox. Russell was sick of the kind of treatment he received, however. The being asked for ID even when he was two years over the drinking and gambling age. Entering bars, clubs, everywhere that required you to be a certain age. “Can I see your ID?”
There was no point arguing this time, though. Where would it get him? All the same, he couldn’t help himself.
“What did I do? Why am I here?”
“Master Paige. I told you, I would be the one asking the questions. Persist in your insolence and you will be sorry.”
Russell shut his mouth.
The man behind him took a deep breath. The other man giggled once more, at least until Russell heard a loud “crack” and he started whining, “Sorry.”
“Now. What happened when that bomb went off?”
What was this? The secret police? He’d already answered this for Corrigan, “Are you the police?” he knew they weren’t. But why were they so interested in finding out what had happened. Perhaps it was like the X-files. Scully and Mulder. Only these guys liked the more violent approach rather than the soft-spoken subtly the characters in the TV series sometimes displayed. Of course, Russell was never fond of that show. Russell had seen better acting in a local amateur production of South Pacific, and that show was bad enough.
“I warned you Master Paige.”
A searing bolt of pain shot through Russell’s body and he was forced to cry out against it.
“I don’t know! Nothing happened!”
“You did something. You somehow affected the bomb’s reaction. What did you do?”
“How do you know it was me?”
Another bolt erupted into his body, tearing at his nerves, sending him into a fit of pain.
He squirmed against the chair, fighting against the lingering effects that tingled uncomfortably over and under his skin as the sensation ceased.
“We have you on camera. And the device you used. What was it? Where did you get it? What does it do?”
“I don’t know!”
He screamed before he felt the pain this time. He knew it was coming. And sure enough, it coursed through his veins, into his eyeballs, his ears, into every part of his body.
“Lies will get you more pain.”
“I’m not lying! I don’t know what you’re talking about! I didn’t do anything!”
Russell forced his eyes open. Still straining against his bonds, he had to think of a way out of here.
And that was when he saw them. The silver wisps again. He could see the air around him, somewhat stagnant, but ever present.
What the hell was going on here?
“It sounds like he’s telling the truth.”
“Have you gotten anywhere with your studies so far?”
“Almost. A few more test and I’m sure we’ll have something.”
There was a pause as the deep voiced man considered this.
“And you found nothing on his person?”
“Not a thing, except his wallet.”
There was another pause before Deep-Throat spoke again, “Where are your keys, Master Paige?”
Keys? They should have been in his pocket.
“In my pocket.”
“Think carefully before you answer again, Master Paige as you know what will happen if you lie. Where are your keys?”
They were in his pocket. Weren’t they. He moved his left leg a little, trying to feel the weight in his trousers. Nothing. His keys were missing. Had they taken them?
“You’ve got them.”
He practically screamed as the energy ripped through his muscles and into his bones.
He forced himself to yell over the pain, “I don’t know! I don’t know!”
The pain stopped and Russell slumped in his chair, letting his head lull to one side, exhausted from his earlier efforts and wasted from the continued onslaught of electricity or whatever it was this evil Deep-Throat was throwing at him.
“I…uh… I tend to believe him, Sir.”
“So do I,” the man lowered his voice as he spoke to his assistant. Russell didn’t have the strength to even bother straining his ears to hear what was being said. He just wanted to go home. So much for Stacey and Pam keeping an eye out. They didn’t even respond to the damn bridge situation. No one did. He’d been left alone to fight those two mismatched thugs and had his butt kicked.
So much for trusting those damned reporters. Where did it get him? A fight at the cathedral in front of scores of innocent bystanders, almost injuring some of them. Then having to save more innocents from a disabled bridge and the escalator. If none of this had ever happened, he’d be fine, everyone would be fine. They wouldn’t be targeting him and thus putting ordinary people in danger. It was his fault that their lives were put at risk. All because he… What? Russell’s brain stopped thinking for a moment. What? It repeated. He hadn’t done anything. All he’d been doing was walking into that damn car park, walked up the stairs playing with that damn key-ring-
The keys. That was why they had asked for his keys. Somehow, they had something to do with all of this. Then his mind flashed backward to how he had been toying with the button on the key ring. That little black button. Had that been the cause of all this turmoil? This violence?
It had to have been. It had somehow set off their bomb early and obviously done something to it, thus giving himself powers. Instead of flattening the building, it had mutated somehow and, in turn, mutated Russell. Talk about what goes around.
Then where were his keys? They should have been in his pocket. Maybe they fell out in the morning scuffle.
No. He’d used them at work to open his locker. He always kept his jacket in the locker if he wore it to work as he had done today. Then maybe the second fight. But he thought about it. No. Even when he was running along the walkway, he hadn’t felt them bouncing against his leg. His wallet had, but not his keys. Odd. He should have noticed it. Then again, he was being chased by homicidal maniacs, so he had a small excuse. Even still, if he did have them, then these creeps would have them now, and would be using it for whatever means they wished.
But where were they?
Then it struck him.
He could almost see them now. Dangling from his pad-lock which in turn hung from his locker. He’d left them at work. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. One time he had stuffed his jacket inside, locked the door and gone onto the floor to work, only to receive a call from security telling him where they were. And he’d done it again. But this time, he’d left the store without them.
Which had to be a good thing. These idiots weren’t going to get their hands on it.
Fortunate, or coincidence, he thought to himself as the two men behind him continued to mumble. Had he developed some other power, perhaps a second sight, like premonition? He laughed a little at that, knowing full well he had no such extra powers. Or did he?
“What do you find amusing, Master Paige?”
“Nothing,” he covered.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Just thinking, that’s all,” Oops. Bad move.
Deep-Throat finally moved from behind the chair, his sharp angular face almost hawk-like in appearance bent forward to within a couple of centimetres from Russell’s. He could smell his breath. From the look of the man’s suit, he should have been able to afford toothpaste at least, or even a pack of gum.
“May I ask what?”
There was absolutely nothing polite about this man’s manner, but he seemed to love the pretence in his voice.
He had to come up with something innocuous, “About how that smaller fellow went sprawling. He looked like a rage doll."
Deep-Throat reclaimed his full height. He was very tall. His build was pretty good too, but from where Russell was sitting, this man was a giant, “Most amusing.”
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“I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I?”
The man’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments. Almost a cliché action; before narrowing down to tiny slits.
“Most unlikely.”
It was odd. The man was familiar for two reasons. From two different places, but he couldn’t pick either. He was wealthy, yes. Maybe he’d been on the news regarding some investment thing, or, more likely, a law suit or criminal action. Yes. That was it. Russell recognised him from the news. But it was too long ago, something he’d seen back at high school in his media class. But the second place, he couldn’t put his finger on it.
It didn’t matter, anyway. What was more important was what they wanted with him, not to mention would they be letting him go any time soon. From the look on this man’s face, however, he knew the answers to both questions weren’t going to be favourable.
“However, since you seem to be most uncooperative, I’m sorry to say, my friend here will need to run a few tests.”
“What sort of tests?”
There was only a slight buzz now as Deep-Throat pressed a little controller in his hand and the chair radiated a shock of energy. Obviously, his last question was somewhat acceptable.
“That will be up to Doctor Eryn, but let me tell you now, they won’t be pleasant.”
With that, he left the room.
“What, no good byes?”
“I’m still here.”
“What a comfort.”
The second man, Doctor Eryn, moved into view. He was a squat man, slightly chubby, well groomed, more out of professional requirement than choice. Although the man’s giggle and behaviour earlier implied he was a bit of a small-brained weirdo, his manner portrayed something more. This man wasn’t as stupid as he seemed.
“It’s time for you to sleep now,” The Doctor bent down and took hold of Russell’s arm. In one hand the man held a syringe and it didn’t look very inviting.
Trying to yank his arm free of the man’s grip, he wriggled about, feeling the grazes on his arms and legs scratching against the rope, re-opening the wounds. But that didn’t matter. There was no way this mad scientist was going to…
He felt the needle jab into his arm and within moments the energy to struggle seeped out of his fingers as the walls started to go askew. The face of the man before him elongated before shrinking away into nothing.