Cartoon Heroes: Book One of the Dark Skies Series

by Anthony Harwood

  Russell almost gagged, but avoided looking at the larger chunks. There were screams from some of the nurses and from early churchgoers who had started to make their way out of the cathedral to see what the commotion was about.

  Finally a hand emerged, thin, but covered in the black coverall and jacket. When the rest of the body appeared, Russell recognised him from the chase the day before. He was the smaller of the two men who had followed him into the building.

  The little man launched himself upward and managed a somersault before landing on the grass. Behind him a second man, also from yesterday, stood up, his massive shoulders barely managing to squeeze through the hole. He too launched himself up and over the side of the vehicle, not attempting any acrobatics, but threatening to tip the vehicle back to its correct position.

  “I know these guys.”

  “How?”

  “They followed me. They’re the ones who were tailing me yesterday.”

  “Great. You beat them then, we’ll do it again.”

  Russell wasn’t so sure. Something was up.

  The little guy muttered something to his companion and pointed toward the two “heroes”.

  The larger man laughed. Without warning the little guy’s hand pulsed with a deep green energy that seemed to grow in his hand before ejecting itself toward Russell. It was a literal pulse of energy.

  Russell ducked for cover, allowing the projectile to fly over his head. There was a small explosion behind him, but Russell knew he couldn’t afford to look away.

  “Oh, Bugger,” Stacey whispered.

  “How did they get powers?”

  “Same way as the rest of us. There could be any number of explanations.”

  The larger man began to charge; his physical stature enough to scare a fully-grown bull away.

  “Split up. I’ll handle Dufus here. You take Pipsqueak.”

  Good idea, Russell thought. Stacey handles the big guy while he handles the guy that spits bolts out of his hands.

  He hurried out of the way as Stacey swept his arm forward, spitting out a stream of flame from his palm, forcing Dufus to stumble to a halt, almost falling onto his backside with the sudden change of trajectory.

  There were more screams from the public as some made their way back inside.

  Russell focused on the wisps of air and coaxed them to life. He called them back to him hoping to gather a little momentum before sending them upward and straight back toward Pipsqueak. He wasn’t sure if anyone else could see the Silver strands, but it still looked impressive to him as they charged, like a spear head toward his target, threatening to skewer him where he stood.

  Pipsqueak was completely shocked when it struck. Obviously he couldn’t see the strands; he had no way of knowing Russell was attacking. Russell felt a smile touch his lips in pride. He had a very subtle, but very powerful ability. His enemies couldn’t see it coming.

  Pipsqueak was thrown backward against the van, jarring painfully before sliding to the ground, stunned.

  Stacey was fairing almost as well. Dufus wasn’t able to get close enough to make contact; his brute strength was useless. Or so Russell thought.

  Annoyed rather than tired, Dufus stopped moving. He clapped his hands together with the force of two trains colliding and lifted them above his head. In an instant, he brought them down again, the effort he placed behind the swing evident in the clenched muscles in his face.

  When his fists made contact with the ground, it was as if an earthquake had hit.

  Russell fell backward as he lost his footing, still slightly groggy from the drive. Stacey, however managed to keep his ground, at least until he saw what was happening.

  From the point where Dufus had made contact with the ground, the very earth was vibrating like a tuning fork along a straight line. In mere seconds, the tension on the rock below began to take its toll, tearing the stone apart like tearing paper. A rip began to form in the earth traversing so quickly along the tremor lines which led right between Stacey’s feet and beyond.

  It didn’t stop there. Stacey continued to struggle for his footing as the mini quake approached, unable to find enough ground to push off of to jump out of the way. The gap continued to grow, opening inches in mere seconds.

  Russell sat up, watching with amazement as it widened at points beyond a foot. There was no telling how this could affect the Earth's tectonic layout, if it would have effects somewhere else. Sort of like the chaos theory or whatever it was, that a butterfly flapping its wings in South America could create a tornado-

  Russell almost choked on the thought. What if his own powers were having the same effect? Could he, in fact, be the cause of a future disaster.

  When he spotted Stacey, however, that thought spun out of his mind. His colleague was in trouble.

  He focussed again, drawing all of the silver air together and around Stacey’s body, the effects noticeable with his clothes billowing out around him.

  He eased the air to form a cocoon of sorts around the man and tried to lift him up.

  Amazing himself, Russell watched as the wind he was controlling did just that. He levitated his colleague about a foot off the ground and shoved him gently away from the fault line Dufus was creating before bringing him back down again.

  The surprise was almost tangible as Stacey gulped at the air around him, trying to remain calm enough to deal with the problem at hand.

  Dufus looked up, expecting to see Stacey in his original position, but he almost baulked when he saw his prey had escaped.

  Russell was about to follow up with a gust of wind to knock the big fellow off his feet when a sharp pain stabbed through his right shoulder. The residual glow from the pulse blast was a telltale that Pipsqueak had just attacked.

  The smaller man was up again. It seemed he had to same constitution Russell had developed from his run in with the explosion.

  The explosion. Could it be these two were even more closely linked to the car bomb than he thought? If he had acquired his ability of controlling the winds when hit by the bomb’s concussive blast, perhaps these were the two that had set it in the first place. That would explain everything. Well…almost everything.

  Russell collapsed to the floor both in pain and in a motion to dodge any further attacks and rolled away down a slight grass embankment, hopefully out of eyesight. He felt as well as heard the second bolt fly by his head as he landed on the ground, his shoulder aching every time it made contact with the earth. Thankfully it hadn’t been a powerful blast, then again, how powerful could they be?

  All these different powers left him with so many questions. But the one that came to mind most often was: What are the ramifications these powers have? This in turn led to other thoughts and questions such as: Are they environmentally safe? What does it mean for human kind? If there are genetic changes at birth, is this a step along the evolutionary ladder, or is it just a case that we’re using too many mobile phones? As far as he knew, there was no one to answer Russell’s questions.

  What he did know, however, was that getting further from Pipsqueak was not going to aid in the fight. Nor, really would getting any closer. But there was a definite need to do something.

  He had an idea. Copying what he had done to Stacey only moments before, he drew the air around his own body. He could almost feel it cushioning his body like a warm blanket. Even between himself and the grass, he could feel it pushing its way in.

  Then he focussed on lifting himself into the air. Not as slowly as he had done to Stacey, more of a jet stream, throwing him up. But to do this, Russell had to concentrate even more. He pictured where he wanted to land and urged the wind to form a second blanket, more like a cushion, to catch his fall.

  With that set in his mind, Russell let fly. He felt his body get thrown into the air, like being forced out of a water spout, where he felt the wind around him, steadying him, directing him like a tunnel, caressing him like he were part of it. He was almost lost in the thrill of it. Until he saw the van
about fifteen metres below. He had over shot the mark a little. Never mind. In an instant, he compensated, forming the pillow of silver directly in his trajectory.

  He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he twisted his body mid-air, similar to a somersault, but only to make sure his legs would make contact first and not his head.

  It was amazing. Time seemed to slow down for him as he began to float down toward his destination, gently comforted by the very air he was passing through and land easily on his feet, back on the grass, now standing within the cathedral’s yard. Between him and Pipsqueak there was a massive wrought iron fence, held together and in place by large rock pillars spotted around the perimeter.

  Pipsqueak was almost out of sight, excepting his head, which was staring straight into the sky as if hoping to catch a glimpse of a bird flying over head.

  Now was Russell’s chance. He heaved down on the currents above, bringing them to bear on Pipsqueak, hoping the effect would be like that of dropping a tonne of water over someone’s head.

  The result was rather similar as far as Russell could tell.

  When the attack made contact, it was almost a comical sight to see Pipsqueak’s short, though slightly boofy hair collapse under such tremendous force, followed by his whole body vanishing out of sight, giving way to the wall of air Russell had just let loose.

  What Russell didn’t see, however, as he silently cheered his own effort, was Stacey’s wildly aimed fireball Dufus had managed to dodge. It wasn’t until the ball struck the undercarriage of the van that Russell knew anything was wrong.

  It still took him a while to comprehend the implications of fire on Oil, petrol and other liquids within the vehicle. But it all clicked together when the fireball managed to superheat the petrol tank.

  The van went up like Hiroshima, though on a much smaller scale. Shards of metal and glass were sprayed upward and out over whoever had remained to watch the spectacle, not to mention at those involved in the debacle.

  He sensed the blast before he saw it. Something about the feel of the air tingled at his skin, warning him something more was coming. Russell turned on his heels and dove for cover, hoping to get as far from the explosion as possible.

  Flame licked out in every direction across the grass, reaching deep into the yard and indeed playing over Russell’s head as he pushed his body further into the ground, wrapping as much cool air as he could around him.

  “Holy smoke.”

  As the fire died down to only encompass the vehicle, Russell managed to stand up and try and survey the damage. It was quite extensive. Car fragments had landed on nearby parked cars, fortunately, as far as he could tell, Stacey’s Colt was unscathed, but the crowd was cowering under the hospital’s emergency entrance parking cover, on top of which burning items of van smouldered away, threatening to catch the building alight. Several windows had been smashed across the street and the pillar against which the van had leant was practically no more. There was a stump of rock with twisted strands of iron, curling away from the blast and its ferocity. The grass surrounding was black from the heat; some patches were sizzling away, glowing a faint red even in the sunlight; or what was visible of it. Smoke was billowing up from inside the van, the initial mushroom cloud having dispersed across the sky creating an eerie night feel.

  Then Russell turned to regard the cathedral.

  He found the remains of the stone pillar. The massive double doors had been crushed inward by a large rock. Another had punched a car size hole in the wall a few metres above. The stain glass windows on the front of the building had also been shattered, as to whether the blast was at fault or the shrapnel, Russell couldn’t tell. What he could see was a large black car seat hanging from one of the lower parapets, burning fiercely with several of the wooden beams nearby starting to smoke.

  What had Stacey done?

  Stacey.

  Russell turned again, calling out his colleague’s name, “Stace-”

  A second green bolt connected with his stomach, sending him flying backward and onto his back.

  That one had hurt. It wasn’t so much the energy contained, but the physical force behind each blast, Russell deduced. All the same, that hit knocked the wind out of his guts. He gasped for air, trying to use his new abilities to coax a small breeze in to fill his lungs, but most of it turned out to be smoke, which sent him into a fit of coughing.

  Rolling onto his side and into the foetal position he fought to regain his breath.

  It seemed the air around him had become smoke. The wind had changed, drawing the black clouds toward the chapel, thus enshrouding Russell in its acrid odour that stung his eyes. Through the tears, however, he could see a shadow. It had to be Pipsqueak. Somehow, even with such close proximity to the explosion, he had survived and was back with a vengeance.

  Even now, Russell could see his hand start to glow with that same green energy, ready to send forth another bolt, perhaps to finish him off.

  That was when Russell heard the music. It was only faint, almost like listening to the Mr Whippy van’s “Green Sleeves” a couple of roads away. That was a blast from the past, Russell thought before his mind started to flay in several different directions.

  Where was the music coming from? What had happened to Stacey? And in general, what the devil was going on?

  Beside him, he heard something fall. Only softly, almost imperceptibly. If he hadn’t been lying so close, he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

  But the smoke took on a strange bluish hue, as if reacting to a nearby neon light. But this was no light.

  Managing to focus enough to draw in some clean, fresh air, Russell rolled onto his back to stare up at a not so tall, though he was from this angle, man completely dressed in black. He couldn’t make out much of the detail, but he could tell something around the man’s head was glowing an icy blue colour, like a halo.

  Russell almost choked again. Was this an angel of God, come down to protect his haven? Or was he here to claim my soul, he thought.

  The answer came shortly.

  Without moving anything, a stream of electricity shot forth from this newcomer’s eyes and disappeared into the smoke.

  Then came Pipsqueak’s scream of pain as whatever it was struck home. Russell tried to lift his head to have a look, but saw little in the dark cloud. He did hear, however, a slight ‘whoosh’ as the smoke flared blue again and the man beside him disappeared.

  Sirens flared in the distance, the smoke, once more changing direction, began to ease as Russell finally managed to stand again, to see what devastation had occurred. Surprisingly, Pipsqueak and Dufus had made their get away, Stacey having faired better in his own battle.

  “Russell! This way!” Who was he to argue? He lumbered over the wreckage, avoiding the van as best he could for fear it may explode again, but Stacey helped him over and back to his car, “We have to get out of here before the police arrive.”

  “No kidding.”

  Once inside the Colt, Stacey moved back onto the street and casually drove away.

  It had been a practical waste of time. The whole fight. Violence for violence’s sake. No information gathered. No bad guys stopped, excepting whoever else may have been in that van and Russell didn’t really want to think about that too much right now. He still felt a little queasy from the smoke.

  “So, what do you think?”

  Russell looked over at the driver, “About what?”

  “Our little confrontation.”

  “How can you be so blasé about it all?”

  Stacey smiled, but it wasn’t full of humour or mirth. In fact, Russell swore he spotted a little regret in there, “You have to be. You realise, with all that you’ve become, you’re hot property. This may not have been your first real encounter, but I can almost guarantee it won’t be your last.”

  “But what if this isn’t for me. What if I don’t want to do this kind of thing?”

  “You might not have a choice. They know who you are. Now, so do the p
eople at the hospital, at the church. They may not know your name, where you live. But they know you exist. And that’s all they need. There will be rumours and news stories. Not just in our little tabloid, but in the real news. Of course, they’ll all try and deny it, pass it off as the effects of a faulty canister of laughing gas making people at the hospital hallucinate, but there will still be that underlying truth. Not to mention the doubt and fear.”

  “Fear? About what?”

  “You read the comics?”

  Russell nodded, knowing what Stacey was talking about. He hadn’t been much of a comic collector lately, but as a kid, he’d spent most of his pocket money on the light-hearted stories involving the wonderful world of Superheroes. He had picked up a couple every so often since, just to see how they were progressing. What had struck him as odd was how the context had changed. In the past, there was humour in it all. Way back in the Uncanny X-men comics when Jubilee first appeared, there were issues when the X-women went shopping or the X-men were attacked by a massive alien force which was wiped out in the time it took to play a game of cards. Jokey things. But lately, the colours were darker, more sinister. Like the first Star Trek the Next Generation movie in comparison to the series. A darker mood with much better and scarier lighting. Not that Generations was scary or anything. The X-men faced harder challenges that were almost realistic. The emotion behind it all, too. It was no more that light-humoured banter between Henry McCoy and Bobby Drake, but the difference between life and death between Scott Summers and Nate Grey.

  Could any of that resemble what happens in real life? Was Art imitating life or vice versa? Had the geniuses that came up with the concept of mutants prophesised an event that was only now starting to manifest itself?

  But in it all, there is that underlying fear and hate from humanity, which is to say those that don’t have super powers. As said by Yoda in Star Wars Episode One: “fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate” except it keeps going. Hate leads to violence, which leads to people getting hurt, regardless of genetic make up.

  People getting killed in the name of self-righteousness.