After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

I don't want him to get a chance to use that stuff again.

  Without warning, I blur into motion, planning to smash Pestilence into the ground. The thing is, though, that he's just as fast as Famine, and while Famine was willing to fight me hand-to-hand, Pestilence is perfectly comfortable throwing up yet another one of those shields. I bounce off, hit the pavement, and skid several feet on my back until I come to a stop. It hurts like a bitch, but I push down the pain and kip up -- I made sure to learn the right term this time around -- in time to see Pestilence's smile. It's not even an evil smile; it's self-deprecating, and it makes him look kind of cute.

  I shake my head slightly and reach back to check my cape. Definitely ripped in several places, and there are some holes in my outfit that expose my bodysuit as well. The worst of it is around my shoulders, and I spare a moment to thank whatever random chance that saved me from exposing my ass. The people around us have their cell phones up and are probably already sharing pictures of me getting my ass kicked on Instagram and Snapchat. I imagine Pestilence would find that amusing in his current form.

  I move more slowly toward him this time, just walking, not using my abilities. It's a bit of a stall, to allow me to heal the massive ache in my shoulders, but it also allows me to get a better look at what he's doing.

  The smile widens as he brings his hands together in a slow clap. As he spreads them, a ball of black goo forms, floating between his palms. In a couple of seconds, it's the size of a softball; Pestilence lets it fall into his left hand, then starts tossing it back and forth. The goo doesn't stick to him -- not that he'd mind anything bad happening to this body, but I get the feeling he's just goading me now. "Don't do it," I say.

  "Don't do what?" He's still tossing the ball, a little harder each time, until I can hear a wet, slurping slap each time it hits his hand.

  I wait for him to tell me the rest of his plan, but he doesn't. Smart move on his part. After a few seconds, I say, "whatever you have in mind. Just... don't."

  "Why not?"

  "The truth?"

  He shrugs. "Sure. The truth."

  I shrug back. "I don't want to fight you." I'm only a couple of yards away now. He has really nice eyes -- pale blue, with dark lashes. I wonder why he paid such attention to that particular detail. "I'd rather you just went away."

  "You know I can't do that."

  "I know." Another shrug. "It is what it is."

  "It is," he agrees.

  I hold out my right hand. "To the death, then?"

  Pestilence nods, transfers the ball to his left hand, and reaches out to shake mine with his right. "To the death."

  Once we're touching, I know that whatever shield kept me out is no longer active. In an instant, I clamp down on his hand, pivot, and whip him up, over, and down onto the pavement so hard that it cracks. He drops the ball of goo and grabs for me with his free hand, as if to throw me off, but now I'm inside his guard and there's no way I'm letting go. I drive my knee toward the ground and he turns his head just in time to avoid me smashing his face. "Go," I tell him, pressing down with all my strength -- and somehow not crushing his head like an over-ripe peach. "Go back voluntarily, or I'll just keep on hurting you."

  To my surprise, Pestilence starts to laugh.

  Before I can ask him why, I feel my hand start to burn where it holds his. I yank it away and stare at my palm, which is covered in more of his... his secretion? Is that what it should be called?

  My healing power activates and the burn quickly subsides to a tingle, as if I fell asleep on my hand, but this is worse than any case of pins-and-needles I've ever had. It's like my palm is pressed against a Van de Graaff generator, like the one my middle-school science teacher had, only on overdrive.

  I hate this stuff.

  I tighten my fingers and jab downward, striking Pestilence's chest. His ribs crack with the impact and his entire body convulses. A spray of goo flies out of his mouth and begins eating away at the pavement.

  He's not coming back from this. If he was, he'd be trying to fight harder than he is. I move my knee, still maintaining contact with my right hand, and grab his throat with my left. "I'm going to kill you," I say. His pale face is flushing red and there are black streaks around his mouth where whatever he has for blood is starting to trickle out. His glasses are broken too. "Leave while you can."

  Pestilence manages to shake his head.

  "Your funeral."

  "No," he forces out through lips that are turning bluish black. "Yours!"

  Then he spits a gobbet of black stuff right into my eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND

  +++++

  I'm not invulnerable. I feel pain. I can be hurt. If someone hurts me enough, it can overcome my healing abilities, which will lead to my death.

  I'm not going to die right now.

  But right this second I almost wish I could.

  Someone's screaming. It takes a moment to realize that it's me.

  The black stuff hit me before I could close my eyes and it's like a thousand paper cuts ripping across my vision. The mask is no protection -- it doesn't cover my eyes, just the area around them -- and I swipe at it, clawing at my face. Pestilence easily pushes me away and I fall flat on my back, my head thumping the asphalt.

  The pain of that is negligible compared to what's happening to my eyes.

  I roll over and try to push up to my feet, but the slicing and burning is too much to bear and I lose my balance, landing on my side. With one hand I rip off my cape and try to wipe my face, but the goo has already sunk in; I don't feel anything coming off.

  And I don't feel the pain going away either, which means that whatever power bump Pestilence got to bring him up to my new level is enough to override my body's attempt to fix itself.

  For a moment I want to cry -- the thought of losing my vision is almost more frightening than anything I've faced since the powers came back -- but the goo has jammed up my tear ducts and I feel nothing but pressure in the corners of my eyes. At least I've adjusted somewhat to how much this hurts, because I'm not screaming anymore.

  Or maybe I don't have enough voice left to scream.

  I draw a deep breath and force myself to stand. It takes a while, and I'm wobbly when I do manage it, but the moment I'm on my feet I hear cheers from the end of the dam. Cheers... and other noises. Footsteps.

  I turn toward the sound, just in time to feel a massive blast of force smash into my chest.

  And I'm flying. Backward, downward, barely able to breathe, sure that at least one of my ribs is broken, and then my back slaps hard against the lake and I feel the water close over my body.

  That spurs me into action, and even though I can't breathe, can barely move, self-preservation instincts take over and I rocket up, out of the water, squeezing out every bit of power I have left in me until it's completely gone. I'm still flying, even though I have no idea what direction I'm going in or where I'm going to end up.

  All I know is that, wherever I land, it's going to hurt like hell.

  Voices.

  Familiar voices?

  "It came from over here!" A woman. Then feet running through grass and the slight thud of someone dropping to her knees. "Holy shit!" Her voice gets louder. "Guys! Guys, over here!"

  More people. More voices. The sun being blocked out by bodies -- I feel the shadows over me. "Oh my God," a man says. "It's her, isn't it."

  Another man speaks, this one sounding snappish. "No, dumbass, it's some other superhero!" I recognize that voice.

  Randy's voice.

  Which means the first one, the woman, is Shanna, and the one who said "it's her" is Jon.

  I cough, my throat ripped and raspy from all the screaming. At least I can breathe; my body knows better than I do and must have gone to work on my ribs first. "Help me up," I say, trying to keep my voice down. "Please?"

  Two pairs of hands do as I ask. I hear Randy a few steps away, so this must be... what was the other guy's
name? Kyle, that's it. The one who kept staring at me while we were playing yesterday. At least the costume keeps him polite, although honestly right now I probably wouldn't have the energy to slap him, let alone kick a simple human's ass. "Thanks," I say.

  "Of course." That's Jon. I find myself taking a small step toward him. "Are you okay?"

  I give him a half-shrug. "I'm not dead."

  "What happened?" Shanna asks.

  "You didn't see?"

  "No." That's Kyle's sister, whose name comes to me after a second: Christie. "We didn't even see you land. Shanna heard something and came to check it out."

  "Where am I?"

  "Lake Lanier," Jon says. He's still holding onto my arm, but gently, as if afraid I'm going to fall. And maybe I will; my body hasn't decided just yet. "We came up here to take the boat out." Then he names one of the parks along the shore, one of the ones almost all the way on the other side of the lake from Buford Dam. I didn't realize I'd flown that far. "We were just about to light the grill."

  My head snaps around so that, if my eyes were working, I'd be looking straight at him. "Light. As in... fire?"

  "Yes. Why?"

  "Light it," I tell him, and my voice is already stronger. Still nothing in the eye department, but I know one way to fix that.

  "Okay," Jon says. I hear one of them heading off, and soon the rest of us are following. "Alexandra, what happened?"

  "I was fighting Pestilence--"

  "Like, the one from the Bible?" Christie interrupts.

  I shake my head. "My enemies aren't Biblical. They just borrowed the forms to make us fear them."

  "I saw the aftermath of your fight with Famine," she says. "On TV. It worked."

  I nod. "It did the last time, too."

  Jon guides me along. "What did he do to you?"

  I gesture at my face. "The corruption inside him -- he spat it right into my eyes."

  "Are you hurt?"

  Strangely, no. I'm just numb. I reach up and touch my face, gently brushing one fingertip over my right eye to make sure it's actually open -- which it is. "I guess you figured out that I can't see."

  He must have nodded because there's an awkward silence. Then he says, "yes. Your eyes are pitch-black, covered with whatever that stuff is."

  "Awesome." I smell the fire before we get to it. "Bring me to the grill, and make sure it's hot."

  "What are you going to do?" Shanna asks. She's with me and Jon now; I don't hear anyone else nearby. Jon does something -- I don't know much about grills and cookouts -- and the crackling flames get louder and hotter. We must be standing pretty close.

  I sniff. "Charcoal?"

  "Yes," she says. "Why?"

  I find Jon's hand and squeeze it once. "You have tongs?"

  "We do, but..." Jon's voice falters. "Oh, God, Alexandra... oh my God..."

  I nod. "It's exactly what you think. I have to burn away the corruption so that my body can heal the damage."

  "Thank goodness you're... well, you," Shanna says.

  "Why?" I hear her doing something over by the grill; she must be getting the piece of coal for me.

  "Because it won't hurt you."

  I pause for a long moment, and then decide not to tell her the truth. She'll find out soon enough. "All the same," I say, "maybe you guys should stand back."

  Shanna takes my right hand in hers; Jon lets go so she can press the tongs into my hand. I can feel the heat of the charcoal as I adjust my grip -- I don't want to miss. "Good luck," Jon says.

  "Thanks."

  I hear them step back a bit even as I bring the charcoal close to my face. With my left hand I slowly peel back my mask, feeling it tug against my skin. Once it's off, I drop it and fumble around with my left eye, making sure it's open.

  Then, as if I was putting in a large, fiery-hot contact lens, I jam the charcoal against my eye.

  I don't know how much time has passed. I don't know if I can see yet. All I know is that my tear ducts are working, at least on the left side, because I'm sobbing in between little mewling sounds of pain. The scent of charred flesh is sharp and sickly-sweet in my nose, like holding freshly-cooked pork in front of my face. I had held the charcoal to my eye as long as I could -- it felt like hours, but was probably only a few seconds -- and I guess enough of the corruption has burned away.

  I still can't believe I did it, either. The idea only came to me because I'd burned Pestilence alive in an impromptu bonfire the last time we'd fought. If it worked then, it should work now.

  I hear the others speaking in low voices behind me, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. After a minute or so, by which time my crying is finally under control even if the burning pain hasn't subsided yet, I hear someone coming closer. "Are..." A cough and a swallow, and then Jon continues. "Are you okay?"

  Without my mask, I know I'm going to have to be careful. I rip a chunk of tattered fabric from what's left of my cape and use it to cover the right side of my face before I turn to him, blinking. "How does it look?" He swallows again, harder this time, really more of a gulp, and I wave at him with my left hand. "Just tell me."

  It takes him a few seconds to speak, and when he does, his voice is thin. "Burned," he says. "You look burned."

  "Well," I tell him, "that's an improvement. I just hope it heals fast."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have to finish the fight, and I have to do it soon. Before he does something that I can't stop." I blink, feeling myself tear up, and I suddenly realize that things are getting a little lighter. Not much, but a little. "Come on," I say. "Get me another."

  Jon shuffles, moving slowly, and as soon as he's close enough I give him a gentle shove toward the grill. "Hey!"

  "Get your ass in gear," I say. "It's not your eye, is it?"

  A small clanking noise -- he must be opening the grill to get the other piece of charcoal. "I just... I mean, I can't believe--"

  "Believe," I say. "If you really want to help, give me the charcoal, get back, and believe."

  "Believe in what?" he asks, taking my left hand and giving me the tongs. "Believe in God?"

  "If you want." I turn away from him so I can shift the tongs to my other hand. "Or believe in me."

  "I will," he says. "I believe in you, Alexandra."

  I take three slow, deep breaths, spread apart the lids on my right eye, and burn away the rest of the corruption.

  When I can think again, I find myself on the ground on my knees, bent over, my face in my hands. Both eyes are watering, and they won't stop -- and that's a good sign. I slowly get to my feet and, still looking down so that my hair hides my face, open both eyes.

  My right eye is a blur of light, but the left one isn't so bad -- it's like I need a pair of glasses.

  The fire worked. It was possibly the worst pain I've ever felt, but it worked.

  Once I can see where the others are, I face away from them and reach into my costume pocket for my phone. I have to hold it up close to my face to see that it's not working -- must've been ruined when I hit the water.

  Great. Can't even call in with an update. I slide it back into my pocket with a sigh.

  "Alexandra?"

  I put my hands over my face, covering my eyes and cheekbones, and turn to Jon and the others. "I have to go," I say. "But thank you."

  "Will you be all right?" he asks. Through a tiny opening between my fingers, I see him coming closer. "Do you need our help?"

  I walk in his direction. I must look weird like this, costume all messed up, covering my face like a child playing peek-a-boo. "I'd love it," I tell him, "but Pestilence would kill you before you could even throw a punch." Then, quicker than he can see, I zip behind him and turn him in my direction. He doesn't see anything -- I've moved my hands to his face, blocking his eyesight. "Thanks, though."

  "Alexandra, why--"

  Then he can't speak because I'm kissing him. Not a romantic kiss or anything, but because I'm about to face an enemy that very nearly killed me just a little wh
ile ago and I want to go into it with a good memory. And it is a good memory -- Jon's kiss is sweet and tentative, and he lets me lead.

  A second after we separate, I'm in the air and heading back toward the dam.

  I have a job to do.

  My left eye is almost completely fixed by the time I get to the dam, and I can tell the right one isn't far behind. Pestilence is on his knees, his back to the lake, hands sunk into the asphalt of Buford Dam Road. Bodies are strewn around him, black corruption splattered on them -- I guess whatever he's doing has forced him to take down his shield.

  At least now there's no one here to see me. Good thing, too, because I left my mask back with Jon and the others. I smile slightly as I land -- now he has two souvenirs.

  Pestilence looks up at me and I see the strain on his face. Whatever he's doing, it's going to be big, and it's going to be ugly. "You're too late," he says. "You can't stop it now."

  "Stop what?" I start walking in his direction.

  "This lake feeds the drinking water for the entire area. My power's already in the dam, and it's going to burst in less than a minute." He spits at me, but I avoid it this time, moving faster than a normal human could see. Pestilence adjusts and spits again; another miss. "Oh, what's the point?" His skin is flushed and he's sweating. All the other damage I did to him has healed, but then, so has most of what he's done to me. "Like I said, you can't stop me."

  "Let me ask you something."

  He gives me an odd look.

  "What happens if you pull your hands out of the dam?"

  "Can't be done," he says. "Once I've started, I can't be stopped."

  "Okay, but, let's theorize. What if you were stopped?"

  "I've put too much of myself into the dam; I'll..." His voice trails off and I see the understanding on his face. "Oh."

  "That's what I thought."

  Pestilence's eyes drift shut.

  Before he can reconsider, I tear him out of the dam and snap his neck.

  Pestilence's body deliquesces into a puddle of black goo that begins to harden before my eyes -- well, eye-and-a-half, anyway. I straighten up and step quickly away, and that's when the exhaustion hits me. I guess that part makes sense: I just fought one of the Horsemen, and he not only broke my ribs but also forced me to sear my eyes with burning-hot coals just so I could jump-start the healing process.