Children of the Spear (Novella): Origin

by Gervais, Rhett

  “Me!” he said with a wide grin. “They all wanna kill you, but I’m the last thing they’re expecting. No one knows I exist, so I can be your ace in the hole—or at least give you cover to do what you gotta do.”

  Cocking his head he rose to his full height, draping an arm across Carter’s shoulder. “These people are powerful, dangerous. Are you sure you want to get involved?”

  “I joined the service to help people, to be a kick-ass pilot. So far pretty much all I’ve done is chauffeur around bigwigs sipping expensive scotch,” he said with a wink. “And now, thanks to you, I’ve got power, real power. I can make a difference, so there's no way in hell I’m sitting this out.”

  Locking eyes with Carter he had a sense the man was being honest, he wasn’t doing this because of orders or obligation. He wanted to do the right thing. “Well, you’re either crazy or stupid, but either way I’m lucky to have you on board,” said Bobby, glancing up at the wide-open sky. “I guess now all we can do is wait for transport and pray we make it on time.”

  “About that,” he said, raising a finger. “I think we can beat them there without risking our asses on a transport.”

  “How? something tells me you’re not topping Mach III anytime soon,” said Bobby, a shadow of doubt creeping across his face.

  Not saying a word, Carter pushed away from him, flexing his shoulders. “It's weird. Things have been going on inside my head, and I keep getting these flashes of data outta nowhere. I can judge distance perfectly, like that toppled set of boulders over there are four hundred thirty-seven feet away. The air temperature is a balmy hundred seven degrees Fahrenheit. If you don’t believe me, check. I’ll wait.” Pursing his lips, Bobby pulled out his phone, checking the distance and air temperature against apps on screen, his eyebrows shooting up when he saw the results.

  “Okay, impressive, but what does that have to do with flying us to New York?” said Bobby narrowing his eyes, still skeptical.

  “Watch, this is the best part!” Stretching out his arms to the sides, he craned his neck looking up at the sky. Carter was infused by an orange glow, subtle at first, almost invisible, but darkening with each passing moment. “I noticed it a little on the way down into the crater, but it was so faint I thought it was a trick of the light. But on the way up it was pretty pronounced, and it protected us from movement and friction during that crazy escape. I know how fast I can go; we broke the sound barrier on the way out of the cave, and we didn’t even feel it. And I know I wasn’t even doing a third of what I can do. C’mon, take my hand. Let's go save the world—or at least New York.”

  Bobby stared at Carter’s hand like it was a viper, reams of doubt washing over him. He liked the pilot; he really did. “Listen, you’ve had these abilities for less than a day, and anything can happen that high up—at those speeds…”

  “Being a hero means taking risks,” said Carter, hand still outstretched. “You can play it safe and wait for the transport, or we can go for it and beat them to the punch for once.”

  “I must be losing my mind,” said Bobby, grasping his hand. “Let's take it—” Before he could finish he found himself high above, the vast desert looming beneath them. The whole thing looked like a giant canvas, beautiful and pristine except for the swath of devastation around the crater, looking like someone had spilled dark paint in the corner.

  They continued to climb until he saw the curvature of the Earth over the horizon, a blanket of inky-black sky sprinkled with thousands of stars above. The sane part of his mind knew they should be frozen or flattened, their guts strewn across the sky, but none of that happened. It was like they were out for a pleasant walk, a light breeze ruffling his hair. He gripped tightly to Carter’s hand giving his friend a thumbs-up when he looked back with a boyish grin plastered to his face. Watching the world pass by he allowed himself the possibility of stopping this insanity: he allowed himself to hope.

  Chapter 15: Strange Bedfellows

  2061

  “Well, it looks like we done popped our cherry!” said Lieutenant Young, his round face split into a wide grin. “Who da guessed a skinny beanpole like you to be the world's first superman—but as my granddaddy used to say, a win is a win, no matter how ugly it is! Not that you're gonna be jumpin’ tall buildings anytime soon.”

  Despite his dislike for the lieutenant, Bobby couldn’t argue with him. He didn’t feel like much of anything right now, and a newborn kitten would give him a hard fight. After his brief surge of strength he’d become bedridden, barely able to move. “I don’t feel like I could walk, much less fly,” mumbled Bobby, not having the energy to raise his voice above a whisper.

  “Don’t you worry 'bout a thing, son, this shit is temporary, you’ll be hoppin' like a rabbit in springtime before you know it.” Peeking out from behind the lieutenant, a young boy of about seven or eight, with dark eyes like his father, stared at him wide eyed, his jaw hanging open.

  Ignoring the fat man, Bobby gave the boy a small smile, trying to show a brave face.

  “Don’t mind him; my boy is just curious,” said the lieutenant, dropping a protective hand over him. “His mama couldn’t keep him today, so he’s doin' the tour with me.”

  Bobby shifted to avoid the spring digging into his back, the movement forcing him to adjust the bundle of wires connected to sensors that ran over his entire body. The recovery room was a far cry cleaner than the first room he had been in on base. The subway tile on the wall had been scrubbed clean, with only faint traces of stubborn grime still showing. From what he could see he was the only patient despite dozens of beds lined up either side of him. Just above him floated a holographic representation of his body, displaying his vitals, heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, and a whole host of information he couldn’t understand. Lieutenant Young was just turning to leave when Bobby’s hand shot out, feebly pawing the fat man’s skintight pants. “Elizabeth?” he croaked, desperate for news.

  The lieutenant turned back to him, running a thick finger under his bulbous nose. “This shit again. You’d swear your pecker did all your thinkin', son,” he said. “Like I said before, you were the first one out, the girl's still in the tube cookin’. We won’t know till we know, so quit askin’.”

  Watching Young saunter away with his son he let out a shuddering breath, a sense of relief washing over him. Part of him was hopeful she would pull through, make a full recovery, and they could one day have the life he’d been dreaming of. But in the dark corners of his mind she was already gone. He saw a future he dreaded, that he would be alone in the world and succumb to his baser instincts, become the worst possible version of himself, and the very thought made him feel numb, a chill running through his entire body.

  Bobby was pulled back from his grim thoughts by the assistant resting a hand on his shoulder, holding up a small vial of reddish fluid for him to drink. Lacking the strength to fight back he swallowed the tasteless liquid, a warm sensation spreading through his chest and flowing into his extremities. The wild-haired man then reminded him to stay in bed, and that he would be monitoring him from his office. Finally, with an awkward pat on the shoulder and a yellow smile, he departed, leaving Bobby on his own. Looking around at the empty ward with its sterile cool-white walls and empty beds, a wave of loneliness washed over him. He could feel it at the edge of his mind, like a stalking predator waiting to pounce and send him down the rabbit hole of misery. He distracted himself by staring at the hologram of his vitals, floating above him, trying to discern what each of the data points represented. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the patterns at first, just a multilayered cascade of blue, red and gold all in the vague outline of a person. After he stared long enough an understanding blossomed, and he realized he was seeing his circulatory system. Fascinated, he watched as a stream of gold cascaded from around the base of his skull and spinal area, rapidly overcoming the blue and red patterns. From what he could tell he was being rebuilt from the inside out, his normal cells being replaced by som
ething else.

  He didn’t know how long he stared at the flickering hologram, but at some point he fell into a restless sleep filled with horrible dreams. He woke with a start several hours later to voices full of tension and urgency. Looking around wearily, Bobby squinted at the bright lights, finding a large group of medical personnel storming into the ward, a writhing body strapped to a gurney occupying their attention.

  Bobby caught the occasional glimpse of the hapless soul while the staff got to work, attaching an array of sensors to the patient’s waxen skin, then attaching an IV drip filled with a dark crimson fluid. One of the medical personnel plugged in the sensor bundle to the wall, and a hologram of the subject's vitals blossomed above the huddled group, flashing red and full of warning. They worked in hushed silence, heads bowed, the only sound coming from the occasional low hum of medical lasers or life-support equipment. The flickering hologram of the patient floating overhead told a story of desperation, of failure, a sad tale of a life fading before its time.

  With a curse, one of the doctors pushed away from the table, his voice filled with disgust. “There’s nothing we can do here,” he said, removing his surgical gloves and mask. “Take the body to section C-12 and prepare it for autopsy.” Without another word the medical staff and technicians abandoned the person on the table like it was a rotting piece of meat, leaving a single assistant to clean up the mess of death and dying.

  Gasping at the spectacle Bobby covered his mouth to prevent himself from yelling at them for the coldness, the body on the table was still moving, its choking breath’s echoing throughout the ward. It could have been him if circumstances were different. In a fit of anger he tore off his sensory devices and IV, rolling off the bed onto his feet. Taking a deep breath to steady himself he walked toward the stretcher, his strength growing with each step. The assistant cleaning up was a young Filipina he had never seen before, with dark hair and eyes who hummed a happy song while she went through the motions of her work of euthanization.

  She noticed him with a start, dropping a tray of surgical tools that fell to the floor in a horrible racket. “You should not be out of bed,” she said, falling to her knees to clean up the mess. “You can’t—”

  Bobby silenced her with a look, and his hands balled into fists at his side. Leaning over the gurney he pulled back the bloodstained sheet, a wave of relief hitting him when he found it wasn’t Elizabeth, so he could still hope. The waiting would go on. What he did find made his stomach turn. He couldn’t tell if the waxen form on the table was a man or a woman, it was just horribly wrinkled flesh and strands of thin gray hair, looking like a person decades old, the stench of it all making him gag. The killing would be a mercy. He quickly crossed himself, covering the poor soul once again with the sheet before returning to his bed.

  The nightmare continued like this for days: without warning medical personnel rushing in with a writhing body on a gurney, followed by a desperate attempt to save the person and then ultimately failure. In each instance Bobby would make his way over to examine the body, each step filled with worry and dread. The bodies were so damaged, often little more than husks of paper-thin skin and bone, that he wondered if he would even recognize Elizabeth if she was the one on the table. As more bodies came and went he began to lose hope. None of them survived beyond a few minutes, and no one would explain much to him. To make matters worse, the assistants assigned to care for him were a close-mouthed bunch, terrified of their superiors to the point of hysteria.

  Bobby was astounded one afternoon when another survivor came in, walking on his own two feet, no less. Towering almost a full head and shoulders over the entourage of medical personnel that surrounded him, he wore the same rough itchy jumper as Bobby, small beads of the blue liquid from the tube clinging to his dark skin and tightly curled black hair. Despite being encircled and the center of attention, he stopped when he saw Bobby staring at him. Raising a hand for silence he pushed his way past the doctors and nurses prodding at him, taking long confident strides to Bobby’s bed.

  The tall man cocked his head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey, I’m Michael,” he said, offering him his hand. “It looks like we made it; we’re the exceptions: Ascended.”

  Chapter 16: The Killing Place

  2063

  They landed under the cover of darkness in a wooded area just off the green in Central Park, overlooking one of the many lakes dotting the historic landmark. The city that never sleeps was caught in the grips of a late winter cold snap, and the lake stretching out before them was still frozen solid, reflecting the bright silver crescent of the moon. Trees which should have been budding with green were bare and gray. True to his word, Carter had flown them halfway across the continent in less than thirty minutes, and for Bobby the harrowing trip felt like a lifetime. Touching down, he had to fight the urge to fall to his knees and kiss the ground.

  From the moment they entered the city he could feel Elizabeth once again. It was like she was a part of him, a phantom limb that constantly itched but wasn't there. Since he had drained a portion of her energy that day in Boston, he had been able to pinpoint her location, but the feeling lessened after he had fallen unconscious and the distance had grown too far, but now that she was close, the feeling returned.

  “She’s coming,” he said, sucking in a deep breath, his nose hairs freezing from the bitter cold.

  “They couldn’t have picked a warmer place,” said Carter beside him, shivering. “Why the hell can’t they destroy the world from Florida or California, so at least we can all die warm.”

  Bobby shook his head, giving his friend a half smile. “This is where we finish this; it's as good a place as any. We just have to figure out how we take advantage of being here first. I want this over quick.”

  “I know it's none of my business, but what's the deal with you guys? I mean, all of you were in the same superhero 'save the world' kinda unit, weren't you?”

  Even knowing the truth of it all, Bobby wondered the same thing; how could his world spiral out of control so quickly. “The deal is they're deserters. They were given the choice to return to duty. When they didn’t, they signed their death warrants,” said Bobby, only telling half the truth, wishing he had made better choices, knowing he was partially to blame.

  Beside him Carter rolled his eyes, the look on his face telling him he wasn’t buying the story he was being told. “Well, like I said, it's none of my business, so let's figure out how to stop this and not end up in a coffin with a flag draped over it.”

  Staring into the pilot's pale blue eyes he had to agree, it would do them no good to be mired in what could have been. They withdrew to the trees and spent their remaining time planning how to best take advantage of their initiative. Bobby was impressed by Carter’s tactical abilities. The man had a gift for battle planning despite never wanting to be serious. He had a knack for reading terrain, anticipating enemy movements, now amplified by his Ascension. Bobby still had no clue how he could develop powers from a simple transfer of energy, but his strength grew at an alarming rate, and they would make the most of his abilities.

  Once they were done and assumed positions, they didn’t have to wait long. Elizabeth arrived like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, her landing sudden, sending up a plume of frozen earth. She stood to her full height, looking skyward, her leather duster billowing in the wind. She still wore the scars from Boston, cuts from his mono-whip just under her eye, emaciated gray flesh crawling up the right side of her face from where he touched her with his power. Watching her from the trees, Bobby fought the urge to run out to her and pull her close: beg her to stop, and beg her to be with him.

  “Stop that!” whispered Carter beside him, hitting him on the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Staring at her like an excited puppy,” said Carter, raising an eyebrow. Bobby was about to deny it, tell him he was seeing things, when Andrew landed next to her, his golden cornea glowing brightly in the dark.

  “
Ready?” said Carter.

  Bobby nodded as Andrew shifted to flesh and bone, draping an arm around her shoulders, whispering something in her ear that made her smile. She responded by brushing a hand lightly against his chest, leaning in close. Bobby had an easy time finding the burning rage in him, wanting nothing more than to drain the life out of them.

  Without a word Carter took to the air, near invisible under the cover of darkness. Bobby raised a clawed hand, the field he generated drawing life from everything around him, the soil and trees turning to ash in an ever-growing circle, then he struck, tendrils of red and black energy streaming from his hand, promising a painful death to his former friends, and an end to this destructive conflict.

  Chapter 17: Senator’s Son

  2061

  Michael was one of those people with the uncanny ability to draw you in, something about the tall dark-skinned man made people open up to him. He had this odd way of leaning in when he spoke or asked a question, making you feel like you were the only two people in the world, sharing some grand secret.

  In the two days he spent alone with him, Bobby had revealed more about himself than he ever had to anyone, even to Elizabeth. It never felt one sided either. Michael spoke about himself just as often, revealing that his own father had volunteered him for the program, and that his family had a long history of public service, and his own father was a sitting senator. His grandfather had been governor of New York State, narrowly losing in a run for president decades ago.

  Bobby told him about how he ended up on the street after his mother had died, how he came to be working at Trinity Church, and of course about Elizabeth. Michael told him about the life of a senator's son, trapped in the public eye, never allowed to stray from the carefully curated image his father’s advisers wanted for him. By their third day together they had become fast friends with Bobby wishing he could be more like Michael. Just being around him made Bobby feel better about himself.