After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  Still, even though I'd gotten some hits in, the King was still faster and his healing abilities were working better than mine. The cuts on his face were mostly gone, and his breathing was getting easier by the moment.

  I was running out of time, and the Dark King knew it.

  I had no choice but to run.

  Well, fly, really.

  The King caught me somewhere over the interstate, up near where it split, one fork heading toward Lake Lanier and the other toward South Carolina. I hadn't been expecting him to recover so quickly, and the trident hit me in the spine as I flew at my best speed.

  I stopped flying. I started falling. And I would've broken my body beyond all repair had the King not slowed my fall and let me drop gently to the grass by the side of the highway. I couldn't feel my legs -- couldn't feel anything below my ribs, come to think of it -- and as he stood over me, grinning, I knew this was it.

  I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  He made the trident go back to wherever it had come from and leaned down, holding out one hand. "I can make it all go away, Alexandra," he said. "The pain you're feeling must be unbelievable."

  It was, but I wasn't going to admit it. "I'm all right. Wish I could move, though."

  "I imagine you do." He placed one scuffed black shoe on my chest and my ribs protested. I couldn't hold back a whimper of pain. "You're quite impressive, Alexandra. You really should accept my offer. Together we can do wonderful things."

  "Like what? Kill everyone on the planet?"

  "Why would I do that?" He pushed down with his foot, probably just to hear me bite back a cry, and then stepped back. "Why rule if I don't have subjects to rule over?"

  "I don't know." I wasn't really paying attention to him. He was talking again, which meant he wasn't killing me. That was a plus. I, meanwhile, held as still as I could, hoping that my healing abilities would eventually kick in. Hoping that my spine was just shocked, not shattered.

  And, if it was, hoping that he'd kill me quickly.

  He turned back and waved his hand; I felt myself come up to my feet and, amazingly, not fall down. "Feel better?"

  "Little bit."

  The King nodded. "I'm sharing my power with you. Not a lot, but enough to get you on your feet. Show you what you could have." He moved closer to me, held out his hand. "Accept, Alexandra. Don't make me kill another hero. I've had enough of that for one lifetime, and my lifetime is rather long as it is."

  I glanced to one side, looking away from him, watching the cars and trucks barreling northward. Then I swallowed hard and took a few tentative steps, until I was between him and the highway. When I faced him again, he looked smug. "What do I have to do?"

  "Take my hand, tell me you submit, and it will all be over. I promise." The smile was back. "And you know I've never lied to you."

  "Y'know, you really haven't." I reached out and slid my right hand into his. His skin was warm, almost feverish, but I'd learned by fighting him that that was just how he felt. "I just have to tell you that I submit? Those exact words?"

  "Those exact words." I could feel the confidence coming off of him, as if he was shining a bright light on me. "'I submit.'"

  I looked up at him, smiling shyly, hoping I wasn't laying it on too thick. "You do?"

  He grinned. "Of course not. But you do, don't you."

  I reached my left hand up to cup his cheek, then moved it down to caress his throat.

  The caress became a squeeze.

  "Nope."

  If there was a rulebook about how to be an evil overlord, I'd like to think the supernatural section would say something about not sharing your power. Because whatever power the Dark King had been giving me, it had jump-started my healing abilities and recharged everything else I had. Before he could react, I ripped out the front of his throat and threw the chunk of flesh aside.

  He had no larynx with which to scream, but I heard the pain thundering through my head even as I heard cars screech and crash into each other on the highway behind me. When the Dark King was hurt, everyone got to feel it.

  Even as the King fell, my plan was already in motion: I caught the King by the front of his suit, lifted him above my head -- ignoring the thick black blood pouring down my arm and dripping in my hair -- and, at the right moment, threw him in front of a bus. The driver tried frantically to avoid the King's body, but it was too late; the wheels crushed his mid-section and legs, and narrowly missed his head.

  I heard his voice in my subconscious. You can still submit, Alexandra. You can still end this. You can still be mine, and we can be happy together. Forever. I won't make this offer again.

  I had power to spare; I floated over to where the Dark King lay on the pavement. And even though I knew I had the destination wrong, I couldn't resist.

  "Go to hell."

  My foot came up.

  My boot came down.

  And that was the end of the Dark King.

  I jerk awake, spine aching, head pounding. I can barely move at first, and it takes several minutes for me to pull myself into a sitting position.

  I highly doubt the Dark King is going to let me throw him under a bus this time. And if he was so much more powerful than me back then, how am I going to keep up now? Especially since he's learned his lesson, and there's no way I'm getting any of his power. He said it himself: he won't make the offer again -- the offer to surrender, to live as his consort.

  I think it's time to start working on another way to beat him.

  My phone rings and I check the screen. I've only been asleep for four hours and already Dr. Colibri needs me to put down some more of the King's minions.

  Guess I'll have to start working on my plan later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SPIRAL

  +++++

  It's always been interesting to me how people manage to just ignore crazy shit that goes on around them. Take, for example... oh, I don't know... the fact that I'm fighting weird demon-like entities that possess people, cause wanton destruction, and generally make people's lives miserable. Back when I was in high school, people just ignored anything that didn't affect them, and now it's even worse -- they're actively finding ways not to think about it. Oh, sure, I read news reports about people who are trying to contact Alexandra, or churches who are praying for her, or others who denounce her because she hasn't immediately affiliated herself with one of them.

  But I've spent two weeks now doing nothing but fighting, and it's getting silly. Even when I call that lady at CNN and let her watch me fight a battle, it still gets relegated to a sound-bite -- the kind they show at the end of the hour along with the dogs that do funny things. I suppose it's all right; with all the other horrible stuff going on in the world, I guess a little fight for the fate of the planet isn't such a big deal.

  Whatever. I can't let it bother me. I'm too busy.

  Though I do have to say that it's nice to be back into the swing of things. Brushing up on my fighting skills is a lot more fun than staring at financial reports for eight hours a day. But what's better is getting back to the working relationship I had with the Professor. I've come to realize that all my anger toward him for the past eleven years hasn't been so much at the man but at what he represented. He was the living embodiment of my past, even more than seeing myself in the mirror. When I wasn't around him, I could ignore the fact that, for three years, I'd been a superhero. But every time I had to meet him, to let him use the Device on me, it reminded me exactly what I'd lost.

  Now I have it back, and I'm starting to realize just how important the Professor was in my life. He's even more important now, because I've discovered that he's not the be-all-end-all -- there's someone above him, and she's a bitch. She mellowed a little about ten days ago, but ever since I've been fighting evil full-bore she's been hardening up again.

  I'm pretty sure the Professor doesn't like her either.

  "Andrea," he says as he watches me run through an advanced t'ai chi form, "
Diane thinks -- and I agree -- that you're a little too media-friendly."

  "What do you mean?" I keep my voice very level, breathing slowly through the exercises. They're meant to both strengthen and relax me, and they do the job. "Haven't you seen Iron Man?"

  "You're not Tony Stark," he says. I have to fight down a smile -- is the Professor a closet comic book geek? Or did he just stumble across the film late night on cable? "People are much smarter these days, reality television notwithstanding. Eventually someone's going to be able to follow you, or figure out where you live, or figure out where this place is."

  "I'd be fine training at your house," I say. "I don't need all of this secret-lair stuff."

  "Do you think I want people knowing that I know Alexandra?"

  I lower my foot and open my eyes. "What exactly does that mean?" My voice is still soft and level, but I can hear the dark undertone.

  "I care about you, Andrea," he says. "Alexandra is only one part of the whole person." He steps closer, puts his hand on my shoulder. I look up into his face, which is wearing its serious expression. It looks an awful lot like his not-serious expression -- the man has one of the least mobile faces I've ever seen. "I don't want Andrea to get hurt because someone is out to expose Alexandra. When this is all over, I want you to be able to go back to your life."

  I put my hand over his and remove it from my shoulder. "This is my life," I say. I stare at him for a long moment before turning and heading for the shower.

  I really thought he understood. I really thought that, at the end of all of this, when I'd defeated the Dark King, I'd stay Alexandra. That I'd keep the powers.

  Clearly the Professor doesn't agree, and until he does, we'll never see eye-to-eye.

  By Friday night, I've had enough. I need a break. Even Superman takes time off, right? Okay, maybe his version of "time off" is "work at the Daily Planet", but I need a few hours to not fight evil. It's not much to ask.

  Dr. Colibri disagrees. But I just hang up on her and go to bed, phone turned completely off.

  It's amazing what eight hours of uninterrupted sleep can do for a girl. I have a nice, quiet, calm breakfast; I do a little yoga on my living room floor; I close the cats out of the bedroom and open the bottom drawer of my nightstand, something I haven't done in quite a while. I even manage a leisurely twenty-minute shower without worrying about what I have to fight next.

  The only black mark on an otherwise wonderful morning is that Jake still hasn't gotten back to me. I've called, I've texted, I've e-mailed; he hasn't responded. I just want to talk to him, to make sure everything is okay. Over the past few days, Dr. Colibri has gotten a few e-mailed tips from him, and they've panned out, so clearly he's on my side. I could go to his house, or even to the office, but what would be the point? If he's not replying to me, then there's got to be a reason he doesn't want to see me.

  Every time my brain makes that connection, I mentally kick myself. The only way I'm going to find out if Jake really doesn't want to see me is to confront him, and it's not like there's anything he can do to me. But I did kiss him, and I shouldn't have -- I crossed a line and, even though I wish things were different, I can't have him. He's married, and he's not going to cheat on his wife. Not with me, and not with anyone else.

  Too bad. This morning's activities notwithstanding, it's been far too long since I've had sex, and even longer since I've been in a relationship. I bet Jake could scratch at least one of those itches for me.

  I have to put the thought out of my head, though. It's never going to happen.

  I sigh and walk over to the dresser, staring at myself in the mirror. When no one's around, I allow myself to relax, but as I look at my reflection, I unconsciously tamp down the glow in my eyes until they're their normal color again. Then I shrug off my bathrobe and toss it onto the bed.

  I know it's shallow, but I haven't looked this good in years. I kind of want to show off a little. Not as Alexandra, but as Andrea. Just plain old Andrea.

  "Fuck it. I'm going out."

  My phone is on vibrate, and as I get dressed, I hear the occasional buzzing sound. Dr. Colibri, probably, no doubt ready to rip me a new one for shutting her out like this. But I don't really care. I need a day off. I put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, then shrug a light button-down over it. I kind of feel like wearing sandals -- it's a nice day outside -- but running in those at my top speed is no fun at all. So, sneakers it is. Hair in a simple ponytail, a tiny bit of makeup around my eyes and on my lips, and then it's time to go. I don't see Buffy and Willow anywhere -- they tend to disappear when they hear the bottom drawer open, and I don't see them for hours afterward -- but I call out a quick goodbye as I lock the apartment and jog, at normal speed, down to street level.

  Muscle memory has me halfway to the bus stop before I remember that I have a better way to get where I'm going. Flying would be faster, but the Professor suggested -- and I agreed -- that I stop flying unless I'm in costume. I didn't bring a costume with me, or even a mask, and I'm not wearing any blue at all.

  So, no flight. Flashing instead. Which, I have to admit, is still pretty damn cool. I remember when I first figured out how to do it -- after several weeks of slamming face-first into things because my brain couldn't process my surroundings fast enough. I realized that going a short distance, looking around, and running again was, if not quite as fast, at least faster than most other forms of travel.

  Including cars.

  It only takes me a couple of minutes to flash my way to Piedmont Park. I don't get out there much -- the park backs up to the botanical garden, and I've been there a few times over the years, but after college I didn't much feel like getting outside. It sucks, too, because I could've gone to t'ai chi and yoga classes, and even if I was bigger than I'd been in high school, my body would've adapted. Or maybe I wouldn't have put on so much weight. It was like I just forgot everything when the powers went away, including all the stuff I used to like to do outdoors.

  Not anymore, though. Now I have my old body back, and no one will say anything if I go jogging or swimming. Of course, my version of jogging is a sprint for most people, and I swim faster than most speedboats.

  For now, though, I just take a slow, leisurely walk through the park. Tamping down the glow in my eyes also makes me feel like I'm wearing sunglasses, which would've been a good idea given how bright it is outside today. It's nice to do this, and it's something I should've done more of over the years -- parks, hiking, biking down the Silver Comet Trail; it was all there, and I robbed myself of years of enjoyment thanks to my own self-indulgence.

  I'm not making that mistake again.

  Anyway, the point is that I enjoy the walk immensely, and my ego gets a little charge out of seeing a couple of guys' heads turn in my direction as I go past them. I eventually end up sitting under a tree, watching an older guy playing frisbee with his dog. I love Buffy and Willow, but the odds of them ever retrieving anything for me are slim and none. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and again I ignore it; I don't want to spoil my day. If I'm lucky, the Professor will cover for me, and if I'm not, it's not like Dr. Colibri can do anything about it.

  I close my eyes, lean my head back against the rough bark, and take a deep, slow breath.

  Which is interrupted when something lands in my lap.

  My eyes snap open and, reflexively, I grab the object. Hopefully no one saw how fast I moved to do that, because if I hadn't, the football -- that's what it is -- would've bounced up and knocked me in the face.

  I see a few people -- mostly guys, but a couple of girls -- staring in my direction and my face flushes. I get up and sling the ball in their direction, not as hard as I could, but hard enough that I hear a thick slap as one of the guys catches it.

  To my surprise, he throws it back, a wobbly spiral that I have to move forward to grab. Footballs are far easier to catch than bullets are to avoid, though, and I scoop the ball up, shifting it to my right hand. My spiral is actually tighter than that guy's, but what
he doesn't know is that the Professor had me use different types of sporting equipment to work on controlling my strength. After all, if I carelessly tossed a book in the direction of my desk and didn't moderate how much power I used, I might have sent said book through a window.

  The guy's eyebrows lift and he grins. "Hey, not bad."

  "'Not bad,'" I say, smiling. I hold out a hand as I come closer. "Hi. I'm Andrea."

  "Jon," he says. "You play?"

  "Not lately, but a little bit in high school." Accurate enough. "Why do you ask?"

  "Just wondering." He hands me the ball. "Here. Hit Kyle over there."

  I chuckle. "You sure about that?"

  "Dude's always saying how great he is."

  "If you say so."

  Jon signals one of the guys about twenty yards away. That must be Kyle. He points to me, and then Kyle points to me and shrugs. I shrug back and turn my body, moving into a throwing stance. "Just like you got me," he says, rubbing his hands together. I caught a glimpse of them when we shook, and they're still kind of pink.

  "All right, but if he misses and I hit him in the face or something, I'm blaming you."

  "Fair enough."

  The ball flies out of my hand and Kyle makes a minor adjustment, leaping for the ball. Honestly, he didn't have to move at all; had he just stood there, I'd have hit him right in the chest -- and hopefully his hands would've been there to catch the ball -- but this, I guess, is supposed to look more athletic.

  I hear him swear as the ball bounces off his fingers; one of the girls grabs it on the deflection and sticks out her tongue.

  "So," Jon says, "you wanna join us?"