Cosmic Girl: Looking For Trouble: superhero series for young adults - Book Two

by R S J Gregory

  Cosmic Girl

  Looking For Trouble

  R S J Gregory

  Copyright © R S J Gregory, 2014

  The right of R S J Gregory to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him.

  Cover illustration by Dawn Austin.

  http://www.austinillustration.net.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of R S J Gregory.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapters

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  About the author

  In loving memory of my mother.

  I hope I make you proud.

  One

  “Oh my god! It’s worse than I thought.” I gasp as I fly toward the cracked buildings.

  ‘Land somewhere, quick.’ Beth’s panicked voice says inside my head.

  I tighten my grip on the cargo container, then swoop down toward some ambulances.

  I place the container down on the debris-littered street and fly toward a large group of men, as the container doors open and my friends race out and follow me.

  I hover above the group of dust-covered men and survey the scene.

  It’s like a nightmare.

  The fronts of some buildings are completely gone, revealing floor after floor of terrified men and women. There’s a huge sports stadium up ahead, the sides have collapsed. All I hear is screaming, shouting, and the occasional sound of glass breaking. Dogs are barking nearby as I look around, wide-eyed.

  “Guys, help out. I’m going to the stadium.” I call out to my friends below me.

  “Be careful.” Mitchell shouts from below through his motorcycle helmet.

  I shoot forward and aim for the collapsed stadium. The city is grey, dusty, and paper is flying around all over the place. The only structures untouched by the quake seem to be the trees.

  I fly over a park where the trees now show as much white as green, as the papers are caught in their branches.

  My heart sinks as I see a man weeping over the body of a young woman. A huge slab of masonry covers most of her body. A part of me wants to go and comfort him, but more people need me right now.

  Their screams get louder as I reach the velodrome.

  As soon as I see the collapsed seating, that’s where I go first.

  I race down and hover near one section. The broken section is around eighty feet wide, and at least thirty feet long. As my fingers grip the solid slab of concrete, I take a deep breath.

  Okay, time to see how strong I am.

  “Hold on. I’m gonna get you out of here.” I shout out above the screams.

  I will myself up, and the seating section moves slowly. As more of the concrete comes up with me, the rear begins to swing down away from me.

  Oh, crap.

  As the section begins to swing down, I raise my legs so that the slab is resting on them, then I adjust my grip and fly backwards. Thirty terrified faces peer at me from the section as I fly toward the track.

  “Look out below!” I call out as I descend. A small group of soccer players quickly make space.

  I turn around and place the seating section on to the soccer pitch in the middle of the velodrome.

  I immediately take off and fly to another collapsed section. This section has fallen over completely, throwing spectators down on to the track and trapping many beneath it. I fly to the track and grab hold of the huge slab of concrete. I will myself up and pull the concrete stand with me. This one has no spectators on, so I soar to the pitch and set it down next to the last section.

  Soccer players and spectators rush to the now exposed stands to help the wounded. I fly after them and hover near one of the soccer players.

  His yellow shirt is now covered with small flecks of blood as he checks on a young girl who’s crying.

  “Are there any that need immediate help?” I ask the man.

  He stares blankly at me for a while, so I change tact.

  “Alguien necesita ayuda, ahora mismo?” I say to the man, trying hard to pronounce each word carefully.

  My Spanish is a bit hit and miss, I hope I got it right.

  He nods in understanding and stands up. I follow him up the concrete steps as he checks on the victims. He calls out occasionally in Spanish. To our left, a woman stands up and waves us over. I fly quickly over and land near her. She points to an unconscious young man. He looks no more twenty. His face and chest are covered in blood. His left leg is twisted at an odd angle, obviously broken. I’m almost scared to touch him. What if his neck’s broken?

  I slide my left hand carefully under his back and hold his neck gently, then place my right arm under his thighs and hold them against my chest. Holding him as steady as I can, I rise from the concrete steps, still maintaining my crouched position.

  Once I’ve gained the rim of the velodrome, I turn and fly back the way I came.

  Our container and the row of ambulances are parked near the collapsed freeway. It’s from up here that I see the jagged cracks for the first time. They run south-west to north-east for at least two miles. Smaller cracks splinter off here and there, demolishing houses and schools in their path.

  I head to the nearest ambulance and hover above the ground with the injured man in my arms.

  “I need help, here.” I call out, as I touch down and lay the man carefully upon the soft grass.

  A paramedic heads over. He spends a minute checking him over, before looking at me with soulful eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” He says and then rushes off.

  No.

  “Volt!” I call out.

  Stuart materializes next to me in a second.

  “Yes?” Stuart asks calmly.

  “Zap him. Try and save him.” I plead and point to the man on the grass near the sidewalk.

  “I’ll try.” Stuart says and kneels next to the man.

  His hands glow blue as tongues of lightning crackle around his fingers and arms. The glow intensifies, then he brings his hands down on to the man’s chest, twice. Stuart leans down and presses his ear to the man’s chest, then feels his wrist. He repeats the process three times. Then he slowly rises, looks back at me, then turns and walks away.

  Damn it!

  I turn and fly towards a huge mass of rubble, where Mitchell and Paul are moving huge chunks of concrete.
I see Beth standing nearby, head bent to one side, as if listening. I land near her.

  “Hey, I-Spy. Anyone alive under there?” I ask her and brush a tear from my eye.

  “Six, so far.” Beth says and looks at me briefly.

  Paul raises his white-gloved hands, a chunk of masonry rises from the rubble. Mitchell crouches down and lifts a block of concrete as big as a bus. He carries it over to an empty parking lot and sets it down.

  I fly over and grab a chunk of building that looks like it must have been a washroom. The burst water pipes are soaking me and my friends now.

  Steel rods protrude from the broken concrete like rusty metal fingers. I grab a couple and begin to lift.

  I get a sharp pain in my head and I hear loud ringing in my ears. Just for a second, then it’s over.

  Uh, oh. That’s never a good sign.

  “Heads up, guys!” I call out and carry on moving the chunk of washroom.

  I hear it first. A deep rumbling, like a huge heavy truck driving by. Then I start to see the rubble start to move and tremble.

  “It’s not over yet.” I hear Paul shout below me.

  I carry the chunk of masonry over and lay it down near Mitchell’s piece. A tall apartment building to my right is already damaged. The front is completely gone. As the tremors grow in intensity, more of the building begins to crumble.

  ‘Britney, watch out. Behind you.’ I hear Beth’s voice inside my head.

  I turn around and see a high rise begin to lean dangerously.

  There’s another deeper rumble. Beth and Mitchell stagger and fall on to their butts.

  I hear a thunderous crack, and watch as the high rise crumbles in the middle, tipping the top four floors of the building towards a smaller dwelling.

  Oh, no.

  I rocket towards the building as it collapses. I press my face against the masonry and push with all my might.

  Damn, this is heavy. I’m pushing with everything I’ve got, and the building is still pushing me backwards.

  Help! A little help, please. I call out with my mind.

  I align myself horizontally and thrust the building back as hard as I can. A child is screaming from a floor above me.

  “Oh, god. Help me.” I groan through gritted teeth.

  “Need a little help, sweet-cheeks?” I hear Paul’s voice behind me.

  “When you’re ready.” I groan as sweat trickles down my face.

  I feel the weight lift from me as the building moves slowly back. I turn and stare in astonishment as Paul, hovering behind me with his white-gloved hands outstretched before him, coolly moves the top half of the building effortlessly through the air.

  “Wow.” I blurt out.

  “Where to, boss?” Paul asks, chewing some gum.

  It’s another hour before the after tremors subside. We help move the rubble and search for survivors, but even after three hours, we find ourselves still moving rubble. There’s just so much destruction, it’s mind boggling.

  By the end of the day, we’re exhausted, for the first time in months.

  The chief of police for Mexico City shakes our hands and waves goodbye, as my friends climb back into the container. I close the door and fly to the top and grab the hand-grips that Mitchell made for me. I take off slowly, turn and head north.

  I make sure I only stay one hundred and fifty feet above the ground, all the way back to Chicago.

  If I hadn’t looked in the window at the time they were showing the quake footage, I hate to think how many people would be resting at the morgue and not in a hospital right now.

  It’s strange how looking in a store window can totally change your day.

  Two

  “Wake up, sleepy head.” I hear a familiar voice call to me.

  “Ughhh....” I groan.

  Then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

  “Come on, wake up. It’s after eleven.”

  “Mmm.....leave me alone.” I turn over and snuggle into my pillow more.

  “Mitchell’s downstairs.”

  “Huh? What?” My eyes snap open and I look at Jessica, my sister.

  “He’s been waiting downstairs for an hour.” Jessica says.

  I yawn and rub my eyes, then sit up in bed.

  “I haven’t seen you this tired in ages. What happened?”

  “Earthquake in Mexico.” I grumble as I yawn again and begin to get dressed.

  “I saw. Paul’s quite the little show off, isn’t he?”

  “Hmm?” I mumble as I slip into a powder blue tank top.

  “Impressive, though. Looked heavy.” Jessica says as I struggle into some blue jeans.

  I peer up at her, and give her my, really? expression. I slip on an old pink blouse and some ankle socks and head downstairs.

  “Hi.” I say from the living room doorway.

  “How are you?” Mitchell asks as he gets up from an armchair.

  Dad quickly gets up and leaves the room when I enter.

  I try to say, “Hi.” but he just breezes past me and heads into the kitchen.

  “Hmm.” Mitchell murmurs and walks towards me.

  I stand and stare after my dad for a few seconds, then turn to Mitchell as he takes my hand.

  “He needs time.” Mitchell says and pulls me to him.

  “It’s been two weeks. How much time does he need?” I ask and press my face into Mitchell’s warm chest.

  He lifts my face with his fingertips, and plants a delicate kiss on my downturned lips.

  “As long as it takes. You can’t rush this.” Mitchell replies, and rubs a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb.

  “Yeah. I know.” I grumble.

  He steps back and then marches past me.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Mitchell says and heads for the door.

  He picks up his large black Chicago Bulls backpack from the hall, and I scoop up my Chinese lucky cat backpack.

  Within seconds we’re outside strolling along the paved sidewalk. I look up wistfully at the grey sky.

  A lot of cloud cover. Dull looking from down here, but I know that above those clouds, the sky will be a perfect blue, sunny, clean. It’s a place where you can go and forget about all of your problems.

  “Any news about Devlin’s whereabouts?” Mitchell asks as we walk.

  Well, where you can almost forget about your problems.

  “Nothing for days. He was last seen heading towards Canada, I think.” I reply, as my thoughts hit the ground.

  “How are they going to catch him?”

  “Ha. How are we gonna catch him, you mean?” I correct him.

  “He’s a lot more mobile now, that’s for sure.” Mitchell says and sighs. “Do you think he did all of this to us, so he could give himself those powers?”

  I shrug. “I’ll ask him when I see him next.”

  “How are we going to catch this guy? He can fly now, and we have no idea how strong he is. He could kill us.”

  “He’s just one man.” I point out.

  “A man with nothing to lose...” Mitchell says and stops. He looks at me gravely. “...is more dangerous than someone who has something to fight for.”

  “We find him together. Two’s better than one, right?” I reply.

  “We’ll need everyone.” Mitchell says and begins walking again.

  We walk quicker, then scan the area before stepping on the gas.

  The streets become a blur as we hurtle along the sidewalk like a couple of phantoms.

  In a second we skid to a stop outside Stuart’s house.

  Stuart’s dad, Mr. Leung, is in the front yard cutting his grass with a tripped-out lawn mower. The lawn mower has some weird metal contraption bolted on to the top, just above the motor. Grass is being collected in a clear plastic container attached to the back at an impressive rate, yet the machine emits hardly any noise.

  “Hello, Mr. Leung.” Mitchell says and waves.

  Mr. Leung smiles, then nods behind him.

  “He’s in
the back.” Mr. Leung says in a mild-mannered voice.

  We head to the front gate, then head up the stone paved path that leads up to the front door and wraps around the property. As we head along the side of the house, I hear Mr. Leung whistling as he continues to mow the front lawn.

  I hear some pops and crackles before we see Stuart. He’s dressed in grey sweats, and is shooting lightning bolts from both hands at some soda cans that hang from a tree thirty feet away.

  I’m about to say “Hi.” when I notice his mom sitting on a bench nearby clapping.

  His mom? Uh, and she’s clapping?

  Holy guacamole!

  I look up at Mitchell, but he’s looking at me as if this is perfectly natural.

  “You okay?” He asks. “Hi Stuart. Good morning, Mrs. Leung.” Mitchell adds.

  “Oh, hi guys.” Stuart says and grins back at us.

  Mrs. Leung waves vaguely without taking her eyes off the soda cans.

  “Hit them harder, son.” Mrs. Leung says in earnest.

  Stuart grins before turning around, and like a cowboy from the Old West, his hands shoot out towards the tree, and several forks of white lightning slams into the cans with a loud clang, making them swing back violently.