by Baron Sord
Stupid Brock.
Eff him.
What if it had to be a real emergency if you wanted to eat the heat?
This wasn’t that.
She heaved a sigh and blew the candles out.
Part of her wanted to ask Doug for a hint.
Part of her didn’t want to because she could figure it out for herself.
Part of her just wanted to talk to Doug because, super powers.
Part of her didn’t want anything to do with a musclehead like Doug who started fights in alleys for no reason.
Whatever.
She’d worry about it some other time.
Now she had to get ready for work and get to Flashbacks. It was Friday, the best tip night next to Saturday. She couldn’t miss out on free money. It wasn’t actually free, she had to dance her buns off to get it, but there was tons more tips on the weekend nights than any other time. You got the idea.
…SCROOOOOOOCH!
Kristy gasped.
In her mind, she saw a huge 18-wheel rig come flying at her on a narrow road. The image flickered to a different point of view.
Someone driving up high saw a yellow Nissan XTerra cut out in front of them from a side road. The viewer thought:
…Oh My Gooooooooo!
The view switched again.
In a rearview mirror, the rig jackknifed and rolled onto its side—
…BASH!
—kicking up dirt, rocks, and sparks as it scraped its way along the road.
…SCREEEEEEEE!
The view switched a third time and a new viewer thought:
…Oh no oh no oh no!
At eye level, the rig skidded past crazy fast. Not just any rig. A big gasoline tanker rig.
…KROOM!
The rig hit a rock wall on the side of the road and stopped, the front end sliding slightly forward before coming to rest.
The breathless viewer climbed out of their car and ran toward the gas truck, causing their view to bounce.
The gas rig was lying on its side half on the road, half in the dirt behind the rock wall.
Other people were running toward the truck to help.
The viewer was in the center of the disaster with everyone else as it unfolded. For nearly a minute straight, the viewer was panicking and thinking:
…Oh no, oh no, oh no!
Other people were shouting around the viewer and running around like headless chickens:
…Someone get the driver out!
…The gas is gonna hit the power lines!
…It’s gonna blow! Get back!
…Help the driver!
…It’s too la—
Kra-BOOM!
The gas truck ruptured and exploded like a volcano.
Kristy’s eyes popped open and she grimaced.
Not again.
Since saving Matt Harper last week, she’d learned she got not just flickers of disaster images, but full-on high-def Disaster Vision movies any time of day or night. Not just in her dreams. And at the worst possible times, like now when she had to go to work.
This was so annoying! She needed to earn a living!
No, she had to go help.
People would be in big trouble if she didn’t stop the disaster before it happened. They might even die.
But this was a fire thing.
That was Doug’s thing.
Kristy wouldn’t let her pride get in the way of saving someone’s life. She totally needed to call Doug.
But she didn’t have his number!
Crap!
Wait. What if she was right?
What if she could do the fire thing in an emergency?
She had to go try.
—: o o o :—
Kristy raced her dad’s Ninja along the winding desert highway through the carved out hills on Highway 74, the Ortega Highway. To her left lay the wide and dry sunken riverbed of San Juan Creek, which was filled with lush green trees. The sun had just set and twilight was slowly darkening the canyons.
Per usual, Kristy wore her Lady Liberty bodysuit and Stars & Stripes helmet over her cat-eye masquerade mask.
The 74 was a two-lane double-yellow road marked with DO NOT PASS signs along much of it. The rumble strip between the widely spaced double-yellows was a reminder they were serious about not passing. Too many blind curves cutting through blasted-out hills with sheer rock walls on either side that completely blocked the view ahead and left no room for an emergency shoulder if cars going in either direction had to suddenly swerve off the road. The only place to swerve was into oncoming traffic.
Or, on the stretches with no rock walls, too many trees screening off numerous upcoming S-turns.
Or too many high hills hiding the cars on the other side.
In short, NO EFFING PASSING. FOR REAL.
That was why you never wanted to get stuck behind a slow big rig on the 74. You’d be staring at the back of the rig’s trailer for a long time, and you’d grow bored of looking at the logos or the HOW IS MY DRIVING? signs long before you got to where you were going.
At the moment, Kristy was following behind a rig that actually had a funny sign on the back. It said:
DON’T LIKE TRUCKS?
STOP BUYING SHIT.
PROBLEM SOLVED!
As funny as it was, Kristy didn’t have time for laughs.
She had to stop that gas rig from crashing.
First she had to find it.
Traffic was terrible tonight.
She wasn’t sure how many cars and pickup trucks and big rigs were lined up in front of her, but it was tons. Every time she went around another bend, she saw more and more clogging the road ahead.
Wherever she could, she ignored the double-yellows, crossed into the oncoming lane, and blasted forward on her Ninja, only to cut back in between cars when an oncoming vehicle blared its horn or flashed its high beams angrily at her.
Kristy worried she might cause an accident if she wasn’t careful.
Flip side, if she didn’t get to wherever the gas rig was gonna crash, someone would die anyway.
This really sucked.
Another gap in oncoming traffic.
She goosed the throttle and the Ninja growled hungrily as it ate up the empty lane. Kristy leaned over hard into a left-turning section of road, doing 65mph past the cars and trucks and rigs doing 40mph. Had her left knee out. Her kneepad skimmed inches off the asphalt.
On this turn, the cars going her direction were packed together tightly.
No place to re-enter her lane during the turn.
She’d have to race ahead of the pack and drop in a gap on the next straight or curve or whatever lay around the blind bend.
Only problem was, her face was right there hanging out in the left lane waiting to get run over by an oncoming car or truck or rig.
Too late to do anything about it now except accelerate.
Kristy did.
The Ninja’s traction control was happy to oblige.
Her speed climbed.
70mph.
75mph.
80mph.
Her left knee skipped off the asphalt, she was so low.
BRAAAAAAH!
An oncoming rig blared its horn.
Kristy saw a big front tire ready to meat-grind her head into the road, the eight tires behind it ready to add insult to injury.
Being super-tough was one thing. Having your head run over by a big rig? Not even K-Cray wanted to try that on for size.
The rig hurtled at her…
…in slow motion.
Kristy never let off the throttle. At the last possible micro-second, she straightened the front forks and shifted her weight back to center, standing the bike up in the straightaway, her helmet passing inches from the corner of the rig’s front bumper as she came up and whipped past.
After that, her adrenaline was pumping overtime.
BRA-A-A-AAAAAH!
She didn’t need to read people’s minds to know that rig driver was PISSED!
She tried to be more careful after that. But not too careful.
She had to find that gas rig before it crashed!
As she passed one pack of cars or trucks or rigs after another, she watched for it. After six straight minutes, she hadn’t seen a single stupid gas rig!
Was it even out here?
When she came around the next bend, she saw something in the distance she remembered from Disaster Vision.
A bright yellow XTerra.
Rolling along a side road, heading toward the 74.
Then she saw the gas rig.
She was right next to it!
There was no time to waste!
Kristy toed the quickshifter, pinned the throttle, and shot past the gas rig on the long straight.
Rode the rumble strip doing 100mph between cars and trucks on the left and right. She was boxed in. But she had to get to that XTerra and stop it! Before it pulled out in front of the gas rig and caused the accident!
Thank goodness the Ninja was so damn fast.
She arrived ahead of the gas rig.
Barely.
Now that she was turning onto the side road, it was only seconds behind her.
Approaching the XTerra, she waved one arm wildly and braked, aiming for just in front of the yellow SUV to block its path.
Shouted inside her helmet, “STOP! DON’T GO!”
Horror hit her between the eyes.
She saw the eyes of the XTerra driver see her.
The driver thought in a panic, It’s gonna hit me!
It being Kristy and her Ninja.
The XTerra suddenly hit the gas and went, cutting onto the 74 and kicking up gritty gravel.
Oh no!
It was right in front of the rig!
SCROOOOOOOCH!
The gas tanker slammed on its brakes behind Kristy and the tires skidded across the asphalt.
Kristy downshifted and cranked the throttle. The Ninja lifted up in front and rocketed forward, nearly ramming the XTerra from behind before Kristy let off the throttle slightly to bring her front wheel down. When it touched down, she leaned left and cut around the XTerra.
BASH!
SCREEEEEEE!
That sounded like the rig rolling onto its side and sliding. Kristy barely heard it over the roaring growl of the Ninja, but she did. She would’ve glanced over her shoulder, because no side mirrors, but she was too busy squeezing down the middle of the road between the traffic in her lane and an oncoming car.
KROOM!
That was the rig hitting whatever it hit.
SCREECH!
That must’ve been the car she’d just passed!
Seeing the oncoming lane was suddenly empty ahead for quite a ways, Kristy stole a glance over her shoulder.
The little car stopped just short of hitting the gas truck.
Thank goodness.
Kristy pulled into the empty oncoming land and braked hard. Her rear wheel lifted up slightly, but the anti-lock brakes arrested the rise. Even with her enhanced reflexes, the ABS was somewhat faster than she was to adjust her braking, but only slightly. She found herself letting off the brake only milliseconds after the ABS started pulsing. Sensing that, she let it do its job.
The moment she was stopped, she planted a boot on the road, leaned the bike left, clamped down on the front brake, and cranked the throttle. The rear tire spun free as the engine screamed, billowing out a big cloud of burning rubber. Traction control could handle only so much. Kristy swung the Ninja’s tail sliding around behind her.
Once she was straight, she released the front brake and shot forward.
The Ninja’s launch control kicked in, allowing every foot-pound of torque to move the bike forward without wasting a single ounce on slippage.
Seconds later, Kristy was back at the scene and braking.
Nothing was on fire.
Yet.
Kristy stopped fast, and well behind the little car. She parked her Ninja on the shoulder and kicked the side stand down. Here, the shoulder led down to trees and the dry riverbed. She ran to the overturned truck without bothering to take her helmet off, but she did flip the visor up.
From this direction, she saw the cab and the top half of the tanker lying on its right side, but not the rear half of the tanker. It was hidden behind a low but steep rocky hill. The hill must’ve stopped the rig from sliding any farther than it had, and accounted for the rig’s angle on the road — the cab and front end had slid slightly farther forward than the back end. It also explained the KROOM! sound.
All things considered, the top of the rig looked okay on this side. The side on the ground was surely scraped up from the slide, but things could be worse.
Oh that’s right.
They were about to get worse.
Knowing the fire and explosion would happen any minute, Kristy jumped high, flying forward and landing on top of the upward-facing left side of the tanker with a hollow metallic bang.
That’s when she saw it.
Gasoline was flooding onto the asphalt from underneath the tanker. One of the unload valves must’ve broken open when the rig overturned, or the tank had split when it hit the rocky hill.
Speaking of hills, the slope of this one caused the river of gasoline to flow downhill in the direction she’d been coming before the rig’d overturned.
Kristy already knew something would ignite the gas and the tanker would explode in a volcanic fire. But what? A hot engine in an idling car or truck? Someone flicking a cigarette out their window? Whatever it was, Kristy prayed nothing exploded before she got the driver out of the cab.
No smoking, everybody! Seriously!
Jogging atop the curved edge of the sideways-lying tank, Kristy headed toward the front end near the cab. With the driver-side of it facing up, the driver would be easiest to reach from on top, assuming they were belted in their seat. Getting them out without hurting them might get complicated, especially if they had a broken neck or back.
Maybe she should wait for the experts to arrive.
Down on the road, people were running around and shouting.
“Someone get the driver out!”
“This gas is gonna hit the power lines!”
“It’s gonna blow! Get back!”
That’s when Kristy saw it.
The rig had broken down a wooden power pole. Snapped it in two like a twig. The piece still stuck in the ground poked up like a deadly wooden spear. That wasn’t the real problem. The top piece was.
It had three power lines attached to it.
The snapped lines lay in the road, coiled into electric snakes lying in the path of the rushing river of gasoline. Wherever the uninsulated lines crossed each other, they sparked and snapped spectacularly.
Everybody knew what sparks did to gasoline.
Kristy jumped high off the tank. Landed on the asphalt ahead of the river. Ran toward the sparking power lines, aiming for the closest one.
“Don’t touch those!” shouted a man wearing jeans. “They’ll kill you!”
“Somebody has to move them!” Kristy shouted through her helmet.
“Let the fire department do it!” Jeans Man shouted. “Get away from the truck before it explodes!”
“There isn’t time for the fire department!” Kristy shouted.
If only Doug were here to eat the fire!
He wasn’t.
She had to do something.
You know what she could do now? Before the fire started?
Move those effing power lines!
Kristy knew from her dad that smart electricians always kept one hand in their pocket around live wires. “Always use one hand. Don’t use two,” he’d said.
“Why?” she’d asked when she was a teenager.
“Two hands completes a circuit through your heart. That’ll kill ya. One hand completes a circuit only through your hand.”
“What’ll that do?”
“Kill your hand. If
you’re lucky, just your fingers.”
“Kill your fingers?” she’d gasped.
He’d nodded, “If there’s enough juice, fry them right off. Pop! Vaporize them into nothing quicker than a blink.”
“Ew,” she’d grimaced.
Now, Kristy considered her leather Lady Liberty gloves. They were thin red leather. Lineman’s gloves for working on power poles were very thick leather, and most importantly, lined with rubber. Hers weren’t.
Grabbing one of these live power lines, even with one hand, was insane.
Unless you had super-powers.
Kristy lunged forward and grabbed the first coiled line with one gloved hand.
“Don’t—!” Jeans Man shouted.
Kristy winced, expecting her fingers to get blown off.
They did not.
Instead, she felt an intense rushing sensation through her fist, up her arm, down her side into her leg, and down into the ground. Not all of it went out. Some circled in her stomach, a rushing vortex of energy. There was also some tingling on her skin, but it was nothing, really.
She could work with rushing and tingling.
Tossed a smile to Jeans Man.
“How are you not…?” he frowned in confusion.
Kristy shouted at him, “Get everybody back! I gotta move these!”
The gasoline pool was surging toward the crossed wires.
“Tell everyone to move!” Kristy shouted again.
Jeans Man nodded, turned to the crowd, and started waving his arms, shouting, “Everybody back! Get away from the wires! Back, back, back!”
Power line in hand, Kristy whipped the big wire in a circle that spiraled down the line like a giant sideways Slinky. She maneuvered it away from the moving pool of gasoline, pulling it onto the side road.
Jeans Man was still herding back the bystanders.
“Coming through!” Kristy shouted, just in case.
She managed to get the line looped all the way onto the side road, which went ever-so-slightly uphill. That meant the gasoline river wouldn’t get to it.
Kristy ran back for the second line. Grabbed it with one hand. Felt another cold rush into her hand, up her arm, and down her leg. Actually, both legs. The skin tingling intensified. Whatever. She ran the aluminum cable onto the side road. Had a moment to notice cars and trucks and rigs were backed up in both directions, stopped and blocking the road.
More and more people were getting out of their cars to watch the action unfold. Fortunately, Jeans Man and a few other sharper tacks were keeping most everyone away from the danger.
