After The Apocalypse

by Roseman, Josh

  I fall.

  I can't breathe. Icy agony rips through the right side of my chest where the bony hammer at the end of the tail crushed my ribs. Spots appear before my eyes as I tumble, and I close them to try and keep from succumbing to vertigo.

  I would've splattered on the ground if the King hadn't tried to hit me again. I don't think he realizes that, but he doesn't care. I barely get my left arm up to protect my head; my forearm bones snap on impact.

  But my other arm works enough for me to wrap around the tail, just behind the end, and with all the power I have, I hold on for dear life.

  The King makes a confused noise -- he can't figure out where I am. Maybe the creature, whatever it is that he's imitating, doesn't feel sensations from the skin's surface. If I can just hold on until my healing abilities--

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, I can breathe. My ribs ache and every jolt of the tail is a fresh blast of misery, but I can breathe, and I can hold on, and that's enough for the moment. I swing my legs up and clamp onto the tail with three limbs.

  That's when the King figures it out. He swings the tail back and forth, trying to dislodge me, but now that I can draw breath I'm not in danger of passing out. "Bring us down!" I shout, my voice weaker than I'd like. "Bring us down and I'll let go!"

  Instead, the King whips the tail once more, this time forward, presumably to grab me with one of his arms. I scramble down toward the body, out of reach, just as the King grabs hold of his own tail. At this angle, I can see the lighter gray underbelly of the creature, and while it seems to be just as plated as the rest of the thing, there's a strange curving slit in the skin near the base of the tail.

  A memory flits through my mind: a trip to Disney World when I was a kid, out by the hotel pool, a lizard scuttling along the border where the grass meets the pool deck. My hand darting out, catching it, picking it up. I squeeze it, not hard, just so that it can't get away, and a bead of liquid forms at the base of its tail. I laugh and drop it; it's only a foot off the ground, so it doesn't get hurt. It disappears into the grass. I tell my mom that a lizard peed on me and she makes me wash my hands, but I giggle about it for the rest of the day.

  The slit in the skin reminds me of the lizard I caught.

  My left arm is still healing, as are my ribs, but my legs are just fine. I kick upward, arcing from the tail to the body, and jam the toes of my boots against the slit. Still defying gravity, using my flight ability in a way it probably was never meant to be used, I reach down and grab the edge of the slit with my right hand.

  I pull with all my strength.

  The creature screams as a very sensitive area is exposed to the air.

  Before it can recover, I kick the grayish-pink flesh as hard as I can.

  The next scream is deafening and, without warning, the dinosaur-creature morphs back into the King, my foot between his legs, his red eyes wide and hateful.

  I punch him in his left eye and flit away, heading for the ground.

  He just falls, beating me there by a few seconds, hitting the pavement hard enough to crack it.

  I guess even creatures from other dimensions have things to kick down there. Good to know.

  I can't give the King time to recover, but I know I'm not moving as fast as I should be. My arm aches as my healing powers knit the bones, and I'm still awfully tender on my right side where the ribs are newly-repaired. Still, I get to the King before he can do more than push up on his hands, and I stomp on the back of his head. His face crunches against the broken asphalt.

  "This will be a lot easier," I say, "if you just let me kill you."

  My next kick misses; he's faded out of sight. I whirl around in time to catch his trident full-force in the shoulder. My arm goes numb again and I stumble backward. His face is ruined, but even as he advances I see the damage being healed. His eye is the worst of it, but his nose is almost straight. Even the tooth I smashed out up in the sky has re-grown itself.

  "You have more power," he says. "I have more power too." The trident jabs forward and I duck out of the way, grabbing it just behind the pointed end and trying to wrench it from his grip. But I'm still off-balance and he presses his advantage, pulling me closer and smashing his forehead -- and his horns -- into mine. Pins-and-needles bloom across my skin and I feel hot blood welling in the wounds, but he's holding onto me with his left hand now and I can't get away. I kick out at him, but he takes it on his thigh, barely grunting, and then throws me.

  I arc through the air and bounce off one of the buildings in the center of the track, tumbling to a heap in the grass. I blink blood out of my eyes as I raise my head; the King is coming my way, but he's not moving at super-speed, just like I'm not. That fight we had up there must've really taken a lot out of him.

  Good thing, too, because it took even more out of me. I can feel my healing abilities using all the power I've stored up from Dr. Colibri's IV -- she hooked me back up for another jolt before I left, and I thanked her for the top-up service. That got a laugh out of her, and I had the feeling it was a pretty rare sound.

  Of course, we had all pasted a thin veneer of "everything's going to be all right" over the whole "this fight is probably going to leave me dead" thing. It's what humans do.

  But I'm not dead yet.

  I play possum a little, waiting for the King. He has his trident now, drawn back, and as he brings it down, trying to snap my spine by the simple method of hitting it as hard as he can, I roll in his direction, knocking him off-balance. He falls on his ass and I lunge at him, pushing him back, marshaling what power isn't being used to fix my body to slam my fist into his throat, all my strength behind the blow. His face goes gray and his mouth opens, presumably to gasp for air.

  My other fist comes down. His teeth cut my knuckles, but that's about all the damage he can do. He flails a moment in shock and I take that opportunity to kneel on his left arm. As he tries to dislodge me, I capture his right.

  Then I grab his throat and start to squeeze -- not to choke him, but because I'm planning to rip his head off. And I think he knows it, too, because he starts bucking, fighting back, flopping like a dying fish. One of his arms comes free and he goes for my left arm -- the one with the elbow locked as I dig my fingers into his flesh. Instead of hitting it, like a person would do, he slides his hand up, his longer reach finding my shoulder before I can stop him, and a thick spike of pain drives into the space under my arm. I scream and pull back -- his fingers have changed; they're sharp and bony, like knives on the end of his hand, and they've got me bleeding again.

  "Let's call it a stalemate," he offers, his voice hoarse and dry, "and I'll kill you quickly."

  "Fuck you," I growl, getting to my feet, holding my arm against my body. I don't think I'm going to die of blood loss, but holy shit it hurts. There's a pressure point under the arm, and those bone-knives shredded it all to hell.

  "Your decision." The King is on his feet now as well, and he already sounds better. "You can keep trying, but I'm going to win. I'm just too strong for you, Alexandra." He smiles. "You're good, but I'm better."

  I shake my head and repeat myself. "Fuck you."

  "As you wish. But you're going to hate yourself when I'm done -- at least, until I kill you."

  My eyes widen as I realize just what he's saying and then, unexpectedly, I chuckle. The chuckle becomes a laugh, which hurts the wound under my arm as well as my ribs. "Seriously? That's your next threat?"

  He raises an eyebrow. His mouth is swollen from where I punched him, but I know he's healing it. At least my healing powers are working as well -- the wounds on my head have already closed up, though they still ache. "What do you mean? Aren't you human women afraid of men forcing themselves on you?"

  "You're not a man," I say. "And I'm not afraid of anyone."

  "Liar." He holds out his hand and the trident spins through the air to slap against his palm. "You're afraid of dying. You're afraid of me killing you."

  "Wrong again." I can tell my underarm has stopped bleed
ing. "I'm just afraid that this won't work."

  "'This'?"

  "This." I reach back, into the pocket where I usually keep my phone, and take out a flat metallic box.

  "What is it? Your new weapon? Something your minders have cooked up to kill me, or trap me, or whatever it is you think is going to stop me?"

  I shake my head and flip the box open. There's a simple switch inside. "Not just you," I say.

  His eyes narrow and he tenses up. "What's it supposed to do?"

  I rest my thumb on the little slider. "Remind you of your heart."

  It takes all of a half-second for the Dark King to realize what I mean and then he's moving, full-speed, a blur that I barely avoid with my own abilities, even as I push the slider all the way forward.

  The pain is unbelievable, like a nuclear explosion in the back of my head, but one that's made of ice instead of heat. My body stiffens and I land hard on the grass, convulsing, the switch falling out of my hand. I don't know how long it lasts, but it's got to be a really, really long time, because when it finally stops, all I can do is lie there, my muscles twitching, my blood thundering in my ears, all my aches and pains and bruises and breaks ganging up on me and begging for attention.

  I don't have time for them.

  I don't have time for anything except finding the Dark King and ending this, once and for all.

  It takes all of the willpower I have left, but I manage to roll onto my front side and get up to my hands and knees. From there it's a massive effort to get to my feet, and an even larger one to stay there.

  When I see the Dark King standing in front of me, leaning on his trident like it's a walking-stick, my heart sinks. How did he get up already? How did he beat me to it?

  "You little bitch," he hisses. "How did you--"

  I reach up and tap the back of my neck. "The power of technology."

  "But now your powers are gone as well!"

  "A small price to pay, if it puts on equal footing."

  "I'm the King!" he shouts, spittle flying from his lips. "We'll never be on equal anything!"

  Oh, he is pissed off now, and that more than anything tells me that the Device -- the one Dr. Colibri implanted in my head only an hour ago -- is working perfectly. The very thought gives me enough strength to shift into a fighting position. I reach out one arm, make a come-hither gesture, and say only one thing.

  "Prove it."

  I read in a book somewhere that if you can bench-press a Volkswagen and the other guy can bench-press a Volkswagen, then superior training will win out. And as much as I hated it as a teenager, I was really, really well-trained. The Professor taught me how to fight without using my abilities.

  The Dark King, however, has had no such training, and it shows. He's still stronger than me, and a little bit faster, and he has better reach, but the Professor had those things too -- at least, he did when I promised not to use my powers in our sparring matches. The King throws punches, he kicks, he feints and withdraws, but he can't land a single blow anywhere I don't want him to. I can duck, or sidestep, or take his attacks on my arms. The left one still hurts, but I didn't have time to let my body heal completely before I used the Device.

  Doesn't matter, though. One minute in and I've already got the upper hand: the Dark King is getting tired, his moves coming more slowly. He's telegraphing his attacks.

  Like this next one. I know without a doubt that he's going to throw a punch at my left side after feinting to my right. And, like clockwork, the fist comes toward me.

  I duck under the punch, grab his arm as I spin around, and snap it downward. His elbow hits my left shoulder, and when I wrench down on his wrist, the joint gives way with a wet, rubbery pop.

  The Dark King roars in agony as I shove myself back against him and hip-toss him to the grass. He lands with a thump and rolls onto his left side, trying to stand.

  "Give up now," I offer, using one foot to push him onto his back again. "I'll make your death quick."

  "Never!" he spits, pushing my foot away.

  I let him get to his knees, supporting himself on his good arm, and then I push him again. He lands on the broken elbow and cries out, clutching the limb to his body. This time he rolls in the opposite direction and I let him work his way to his feet, only to kick him hard across the pelvis. He wobbles, but doesn't fall. That's impressive in and of itself, but I don't take too long to appreciate it -- I catch him by the front of his black suit, ripped and torn, and hold him up. "Submit."

  "Die!" He reaches up with his right hand and rips my mask off, and without the powers to mitigate it, it's like... well, like having something that was glued to my skin torn away in one quick motion. I let go and take a step back, the cool morning air like icy knives scraping my skin. Blood wells up in a few places and begins to drip down my cheek. "Stupid mortal girl, hiding behind your mask! You'll never stop me!"

  I blink hard, trying to stop my eyes from tearing up, and when I can see again the King is limping toward me, arms outstretched, not even trying anymore. He's just going to do his best to choke the life out of me.

  It's sad, really, how easy it is to catch both his arms and swing him around. He stumbles across the grass and hits the building, turning around in time to see me right in front of him. "You'll never win, Alexandra," he says, panting from the pain.

  I shake my head. "That's not my name."

  "Liar."

  "Not a liar." He swipes at me and I bat his hand away, then backhand him across the face. It would've staggered him if he wasn't being held up by the wall. "Without my powers, I'm not Alexandra."

  "Whoever you are," he snarls, "I'm going to kill you!"

  "No. You're not."

  Before he can say anything else, I punch him hard in the stomach. He drops to his knees and begins coughing. I slip behind him, catch his neck in the crook of my elbow, and squeeze as hard as I can.

  It only takes a few seconds for the Dark King to lose consciousness, going limp under me, but I don't let go. Not yet. I've seen these movies, and I know that the moment I let up, he'll come back and try to kick my ass again.

  It turns out that I don't have to let go at all. The moment the King's body dies, it begins to crumble. I release the hold and get out of the way of the dust cloud before I get any of him in my lungs.

  At least I don't have to worry about a last-ditch sneak attack now.

  The cinematic thing to do would be to walk back to town, a melancholy theme playing as the camera shows a long shot, but I'm exhausted, and I'm in costume, and there's still one more thing to do.

  I shuffle back across the track to the wall and use everything I have left to climb over it. The doors to the concourse aren't locked and I stumble along until I find a pay phone -- which isn't easy these days.

  The toll-free number I dial rings through once and then starts beeping.

  That's when I drop the phone, fall to my knees, and let myself cry.

  Because it's over.

  It's finally over.

  And, strangely, despite my tears, despite the fact that my powers are gone, I think...

  I think I'm going to be all right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  REAL ME

  +++++

  I have a vague memory of being placed on a couch and covered with a blanket. My best guess is that the Professor picked me up from the Speedway and drove me back to the lab, because this isn't my living room and it certainly isn't his. Could this be where Dr. Colibri lives?

  I blink a couple of times and turn my head to one side. The Professor is sitting in a wing chair, reading. He sees that I'm awake and smiles. "Welcome back. And let me be the first to say: good work."

  "Thanks." I lick my lips. "Is there anything to drink around here?"

  He nods and takes a glass off the side table. I sit up on the couch, the blanket falling down, and I take the water from him. It's lukewarm, but I don't mind; it feels good going down. "Better?"

  "Much." I return the glass, now empty. That's whe
n I realize I'm still in my costume. "I guess that's it, huh."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The Dark King is gone. My powers are gone. Alexandra..." I feel my nose start to tickle, like I'm about to cry, and I don't understand why. "She's gone too."

  The Professor leans forward and takes my hand. "She was never really gone, Andrea. She was always a part of you."

  I feel myself grin at him. "Still, I think it's about time to retire this outfit."

  "At least for now."

  "'For now'?" I ask, putting my head on one side. "Dr. Colibri was very clear: my body was going to heal around the Device, make it a part of me, and once I hit the trigger, that was it." My hands come together and then separate in a sort of 'poof' motion. "No more powers."

  "That doesn't mean you're not the woman you were this morning."

  "I know." I wipe my eyes with the edge of the blanket. "It's funny, isn't it?"

  "What is?"

  "A month ago, all I wanted was my powers back. But today I gave them up to save the world. Again."

  "Maybe that's how it should've been in the first place."

  "What do you mean?"

  He squeezes my hand. "I mean that I'm sorry -- for the Device, for eleven years of making you think your powers went away, and for trying to steal them again when you finally got what you wanted."

  I'm amazed that he's admitting it out loud, and it takes me a second to come up with a response. "I... I don't think I can forgive you yet. Not fully." Now it's my turn to squeeze his hand. "But I will. You didn't do it maliciously, and that counts for a lot."

  "I'm glad you're not going to hold a grudge. I care about you, Andrea."

  "I know." I sigh softly. "Maybe, now that this is all over, we can... you know..."

  When I don't continue, he gives me a slight, warm smile. "We can be friends."

  I nod. "I think..." I take a long breath. "I think that would be good." I let go of his hand and push aside the blanket, getting to my feet. I'm achy and sore, and I think I might have the tiniest crack in one of my ribs, and I'm absolutely covered in bruises, but there's something important I have to ask. "Can you find me a change of clothes? I really need to get out of this thing."