I end up on a team with Jon, Kyle's sister Christie, and a guy named Wil -- "one L, not two" -- who seems to be spending a little too much time looking at me instead of paying attention to the game. Kyle's team, in addition to him, has Hugh, Randy, and Meredith -- the girl who caught the deflection. All of them look to be pretty close to my age, which is weird for me, because I don't hang out with my peers. Not really. Also, I feel kind of bad that I edged out another girl, Shanna, but she said she needed to get into the shade for a bit and cool off.
The game isn't complex, just two-hand touch, and the defense has to stay five yards off the line, but it's fun. Really fun. Plus I get a couple of chances to hand off to Wil, and the satisfying grunt as I put the ball just a little too hard into his stomach is worth a leer or two from him.
But playing touch-football only ever starts out as a friendly game. By the end, I'm out there covering Kyle while his team tries to tie up the score. "Come on," I say, sticking with him. "Come on!"
"Where we goin'?" he asks. "End zone?" I catch the flash in his eyes and his arms go up. He's been kind of a dick the past fifteen minutes or so, and I feel less bad about jumping with him. I don't want to show off, so I don't even try to catch the ball, but we bump into each other and, well, I have superpowers. He takes the worst of the hit, thumping to the grass, and the ball bounces well past both of us.
I go to one knee and hold out a hand. "You okay?"
I see him grind his teeth. "Fine." He doesn't take my hand, though; just gets up on hands and knees and pushes to his feet.
When I look back at Jon, he shrugs again. I lope off to get the ball and toss it -- gently -- in Jon's direction. He catches it and I follow the group over to where Shanna's sitting under a tree, a big cooler by her side and her phone in one of those music speaker cradle things. As she passes me a bottle of water, she flashes me a grin and a nod, and I get the feeling Kyle needed to be brought down a couple of pegs anyway.
Happy to help.
Everyone -- even Kyle, to some extent -- is friendly and willing to let me hang out with them, although an hour later it's just Jon, Randy, and Shanna -- she's Randy's girlfriend, I've learned. "So if you're this good," Randy says, "why haven't we seen you out here before?"
I shrug. "I didn't used to get out much, I guess. I went through some stuff." That's about all the details they need for having just met me this morning. "Just coming back into the world."
Shanna nods. She's rolling a bottle of water along her cheeks, which are still flushed -- she's a redhead, the kind who gets heated up and takes forever to cool down. I'm not even sweating, and I hope no one noticed that I didn't seem to be during the game, either. "Well, it's good to meet you," she says.
"Yeah." Randy's behind her, and she's sitting between his legs. It's cute. I can't think of ever doing that myself -- at least, not in a romantic way -- and I wonder what it would be like. "You should come out next Saturday."
"I might. I have to work a lot, though, so I don't know if I'll be around. Didn't know I'd be around today." I feel myself smile, just slightly. "I blew off work. Needed a day away."
"Must be nice," Jon says. "You don't escape the cubicle farm that easily."
"Maybe you don't." I poke his shoe with mine. His eyebrows go up, and I find that I like his surprised-face. He's nice-looking, I guess -- I'd still rather have Jake, but it's a sweet little ego boost to have someone look at me like that. "So, what? You guys just come out here and play ball every Saturday?"
"Pretty much," Jon says. "Christie's worried about the stuff going on -- you know, with Alexandra and everything?" I nod -- I certainly know what Christie's worried about; in fact, I know it more intimately than anyone in this park ever will. "I dunno, it's kind of like, I expected more."
"How so?"
"Pope holding emergency Mass," he suggests.
"The National Guard being mobilized down here." That's Randy.
"Or it being on the news all the time." Shanna shrugs. "I think that's the biggest thing."
"Yeah, no shit." I fiddle with the cap of my water bottle. "Did you guys live here last time?"
"I did," Jon says. "Me, Kyle, and Christie." Randy and Shanna shake their heads. "I feel like it's worse now."
I nod. "It is." I say it reflectively, and realize too late that the others didn't give me any strange looks. Lucky. "Fiddling while Rome burns? Is that what we're all doing?"
Only Shanna seems to get the reference. I think Randy thinks I'm making a dirty joke; I haven't known him long enough to read his face very well. Jon just shrugs. "We can't go around being worried all the time."
"Well, we could," I offer. "Not that it would help."
"No. It wouldn't." He checks his watch. "Hey, guys?"
Randy nods. "We have to head out," he says, "but maybe you want to come by the lake tomorrow? Kyle's got a boat." I see Jon's cheeks shade a little pink -- clearly Randy's doing some matchmaking. "I don't think he'd mind."
"After I decked him earlier?" I help the others clean up, putting the empty bottles back into the cooler, and we start walking toward where I guess they parked. "He seemed kind of pissed."
"He'll get over it. I'll talk to him." Randy takes hold of the cooler handle -- it's on wheels, so it's not very hard for him to drag it along -- and he and Jon move a little ahead.
"You should give me your number," Shanna says, taking out her phone. "I'll text you where the boat is, so you can meet us."
I feel a little leery about that, but I do as she asks, and then I put hers and Jon's into my phone. I have a lot of missed calls and texts from Dr. Colibri, and a couple from the Professor, but I don't mind it so much. Today is mine, and so far, it's been a pretty good one.
I hear a loud laugh from up ahead and see Randy pointing at something. My eyes follow his finger and my blood pressure rises: a few yards away, moving the same direction as we are, are a couple of women about as big as I used to be. They're being led along by frou-frou dogs on long leashes, and Randy is most definitely saying something nasty about them. I quicken my pace just enough and tap him. "What?" he asks.
"Just wondering what's so funny, is all."
His face goes red -- I've got him and he knows it. "Just, you know, people wearing things they shouldn't be." His voice is smaller than it's been all day. "Sorry; I didn't know you'd mind."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"I don't know," he says, and then recovers. His next words are sharper. "Why would you? What's it to you, what they look like?"
It takes everything I have not to slap him -- and if I slapped him, he might be going to the hospital with a broken jaw. We've all stopped walking, and Shanna's looking at me like she's afraid of what I might do. Jon puts his hand on my shoulder. "You're right," he says. "We shouldn't have laughed."
I appreciate that admission -- really, I do -- but I have to put my hands behind my back just to keep from losing control. Especially when Randy repeats his question: "What's it to you?"
I step into him and he gives ground; Shanna takes hold of his arm. I look up into his dark eyes. "Because I used to be one of them."
"But..." He looks truly confused. "But you're not. Not now, I mean. So what does it matter?"
"Hey!" That's Shanna, and now she's pissed too. Even Jon is tense.
"It's true," Randy says. "I'm not saying anything that's not true, am I?"
I close my eyes slowly, take two deep breaths, and then open them again, feeling just a hint of the blue flash to leak out before I can stop it. "You," I say, my voice very soft, "are an ass." I touch Jon's hand, squeezing his fingers gently before slipping away. "Nice meeting you," I tell him. "And you," to Shanna. She nods. Jon looks a bit stricken.
The moment they've turned to continue walking back to the car, I blur into full speed and am out of the park. I'd like to think they had a TV show moment -- they look back, I'm gone, they stare at each other in confusion -- but I'm already out of sight by then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BENEATH YOU<
br />
+++++
After I get out of the park, I walk through the city for an hour or so. I guess nothing major is happening because the buzzing of my phone dies down and I haven't felt any nausea or acid reflux. When I was younger, as I got accustomed to fighting evil, those symptoms only manifested for the really bad stuff. Or maybe the Professor is taking care of the small hot-spots before they become big ones.
The thing is, that leaves me at odds for the day. I have no desire to go in and face Dr. Colibri, and I really don't want to train. I can't call Carolyn because that would lead to all sorts of uncomfortable questions about why I'm suddenly almost 100 pounds lighter than when I met her, and going to the gym would be pointless at best. I don't have a pressing desire to be alone, but it looks like that's what the rest of the day holds.
I flash home for a few minutes, just long enough to use the bathroom, make one of my giant power-shakes, and throw some water and snacks into a backpack. And my costume, just in case. I also send an e-mail to the Professor, letting him know that I'm okay, that I'm just taking a day off, and that I'll be back tomorrow. I don't wait for the reply; I'm already back in the woods of northern Georgia, looking for the quiet place I found when my powers first came back. It doesn't take long -- I flash my way up the highway and then turn eastward, checking my phone's GPS every now and then, until I'm standing at the edge of the clearing.
It's exactly as serene as I remember it.
I take several long, deep breaths of the clear, quiet air. The sun is mostly shaded by the tall trees, and without its direct effect, it's almost cool here. I shrug off the backpack and carry it to the flat rock by the stream, setting it down and then taking off my shoes and socks. The old lessons about upstream and downstream come back to me without thinking, and I unconsciously make sure I'm not dipping my feet in a place where I'm going to drink from. The spring water is surprisingly cold, but after running as far as I did, I don't mind it so much. In fact, if the water was deeper, I might have taken off the rest of my clothes and lain in it for a while, but it's not even as deep as my bathtub. I'd just feel silly.
After a few minutes, I check the time on my phone: just about halfway between lunch and dinner -- the game in the park was a little after noon. I figure I can stay for a few hours and then head home. It's peaceful up here right now, but even though I have enough strength and speed to take on anything up to and including a bear, I don't want to disturb the wildlife any more than I have to. It never did anything to me.
I take a few more minutes to sit with my feet in the water, the gentle current a soft pressure against my skin, before pulling my legs up and tucking them under me in a lotus position.
It's been too long since I've meditated. Now seems like a good time.
I get home around six and, for some reason, feel like doing something familiar. I order Chinese and take a quick shower while I wait for it to be delivered; once everything's in place on the coffee table, I put in one of the DVDs I burned a few years ago -- my personal "Best of Buffy" collection.
Buffy -- the cat -- gives me a dirty look as she walks into the room. "You know I still haven't forgiven you for naming me after her, don't you?"
"Why should you be upset? She's a hot chick with superpowers."
"I'm a cat." She puts her front paws on the coffee table and sniffs the food, then turns up her nose and walks toward the cat-tree by the balcony door. Her claws dig into the carpeted surface as she climbs to the perch at the top and arranges herself in a position where she can see the entire living room. "Besides, Willow's more powerful."
"I am?" Willow, curled up on the couch, opens one bright eye.
"Well, she is," I say, pointing with chopsticks at the television. "You're more affectionate."
"Look at the bright side," Buffy says. "At least she didn't name you after Willow's cat."
"Hey! What's wrong with Miss Kitty Fantastico?"
Neither Buffy nor Willow has any rejoinder to that. I sit back on the couch with my sesame chicken, put my feet on the coffee table -- not too close to the food, though -- and just relax.
And it's... nice.
The last episode of the night, the musical "Once More With Feeling", leaves me with a light heart, even though for most of the characters it leads to all sorts of season-six struggles. Still, I've always liked it. I find myself humming one of the songs as I get ready for bed, and it's easy for me to fall asleep. I guess actually having a relaxing day instead of being told where to go and what ass to kick has done wonders for my equilibrium.
Or maybe it's that I spent almost six hours on the couch watching television. Haven't done that in a while.
If only it could last.
I jolt awake around ten the next morning, acid crawling up my throat, and rush for the bathroom. The Chinese food was a lot better going down than it is coming up, but if I fight it off I'll just feel worse. Nothing to do but suffer through it and brush my teeth afterward, forcing myself not to do it at high-speed because that hurts -- I learned that the hard way -- and making sure to take care to put my costume on without tearing it.
Willow is sitting on top of the cat tree when I get to the balcony door. I reach up to give her a quick rub along the spine. "Be careful," she says in her sleepy little voice.
"I will." I smooth her fur in place, then stroke her right ear. "Thank you."
"I love you." She opens one eye, just a crack. "So does Buffy."
I smile. "I know she does."
Buffy disagrees, rather loudly and with several expletives, but it doesn't wipe my smile away. Sure, I'm going off to fight something enormous and evil, but my cats still care. The thought sustains me as I step out onto the balcony, a blanket wrapped around me to hide the costume -- it's not exactly a secluded location, and the last thing I need is people finding out where Alexandra lives -- and lock the door.
Then, in an instant, the blanket's on the floor and I'm in the sky.
Once I reach cruising altitude, I pull out my phone, calling in to Dr. Colibri. She starts to shout, but I tell her to shut up.
Surprisingly, she does.
"I took yesterday off," I tell her. "Sometimes I have to." I hope she can hear me okay, what with the air rushing past me at something like ninety miles per hour -- I can go faster, but what they say about texting and driving goes double for being on the phone in-flight. The last thing I need is to lose track of where I am and hit a bird or a small plane. "I'm heading northeast. What's up there?"
"We think it's one of the Horsemen," she says. She sounds miffed. Good. "Probably not Death, though. The readings are different."
"Someday soon you're going to have to explain to me how you know all this stuff."
"All you need to know is that we do." She's quiet a moment. "The Professor stopped a couple of minor incursions yesterday, but he could've used a little support."
I refuse to feel guilty. "I needed to recharge. To be myself. When this is over, I'll come back to the office, okay?"
"Better than nothing," she says. I swear there's no pleasing that woman. "We're about to head up there, but you'll probably be either finished or somewhere else by the time we arrive."
"Where is 'there', anyway?" I ask. I'm following the tingle in my neck and the burn in my stomach and throat, but it hasn't resolved into anything resembling what I felt when I fought Famine -- or any of the others. It's a diffuse evil; diffuse, but powerful. "I can't pinpoint exactly where to go."
"Highest readings are at Lake Lanier," she tells me. "Try there first."
I nod, knowing she can't see it -- but the habit is too hard to break. "I will." I wait for her to say something, until the silence gets uncomfortable. By now I can see PDK Airport passing below me; I'm following 85 for now. "Anything else?"
"Just don't get killed," she says. Then, a moment later, and to my ears somewhat grudgingly, she adds, "we need you."
I grin to myself. "I'll do my best." Then I end the call and slide the phone into the secure pocket built into the bodysuit.
And now that I can concentrate fully, I put on a burst of speed. Time to get my ass in gear.
I actually overshoot the lake a little bit -- I've lived in Atlanta all my life but I've only been to Lake Lanier a couple of times -- and have to make a quick u-turn. I fly over the lake at about thirty miles per hour, heading in a southwesterly direction, and that's when I feel the tingle become more of a hum.
Because there's Pestilence, standing on top of Buford Dam -- the structure that takes water from the lake and, among other things, generates power and feeds the Chattahoochee River. Now, I've seen the Hoover Dam on television and, while Buford Dam isn't nearly as gigantic, or as much of a tourist attraction, it's still pretty damn important to the area. And whatever he's planning to do with the dam, it can't be a good thing.
I zip across the intervening space, landing on top of the dam a few yards away from Pestilence. He's taken the form of a hipster, complete with skinny jeans, a flannel shirt, and dark-rimmed glasses. He's even slouching like they sometimes do. "I was wondering how long it would take you to get here," he says in a pleasant tenor voice. He sounds unconcerned about my presence, but he can't not have heard what I did to Famine. "I suppose you'll want to fight me now."
"Well, I'd rather just send you back to wherever it is you came from, but if we have to fight, I'm ready." A light breeze makes my cape and hair flutter, and I like to think it makes me look extra-heroic to the people standing at either end of the dam, watching us. My guess is that Pestilence has put up some sort of mystical barrier, because a road actually goes over the top of the dam and it's not exactly devoid of traffic even on slow days. "What are you planning?"
"What I do best," he says. "You remember, don't you?"
I nod. I do. The last time we fought, it was in the middle of a peanut farm in south Georgia, and as far as I know nothing will ever grow there again. I also remember the disgusting black goo that I practically had to sandblast off my skin after I destroyed his earthly body.
After The Apocalypse Page 25
