by Adam Knight
There were people around my van. Slight. Male. Looking closely it was hard to be certain anything more than that from fifty yards away.
The only thing I knew for sure was that they’d broken into my ride.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
I started forward at a jog, my blood rushing as my heart rate began to surge. “Hey!” I shouted deeply. The Neanderthal in my belly stoked his campfire and roared to the heavens in possessive rage.
Three sets of eyes turned to me.
One guy stood up from where he was working on the driver’s side wheel, my tire iron held in his fist. His buddy swore loudly in a high-pitched voice and started backing away with a skateboard tucked under one arm. A third guy came out from behind the van, took one look at me and started to run up the street past his friends. Skateboard joined him. Tire Iron stood firm, looking for a fight.
I was happy to oblige.
I had started off at a jog but was at full stride in three steps. The ground seemed to speed under me and I lurched forward, my lips peeled back in a snarl.
How dare these punks touch my van.
Tire Iron’s face went from one of anger to surprise as I barreled down on him. He reared back with his weapon, preparing to defend himself. But near three hundred pounds of man lowering a shoulder and delivering a Blue Bomber style tackle will knock almost anyone off his feet.
Or in this case, blast him hard enough to drive him down to the concrete and bounce fifteen feet away. My tire iron clanged noisily as it joined him on the ground.
I paused in my motion, checking on the status of my other two carjackers. The back of my neck tingled like fury, my hair all standing on edge despite the rain.
Both of them were hot footing it like crazy, yelling at each other and trying to make the intersection ahead. If they rounded that corner they’d be out of sight and I’d likely never find them.
On any other night, I would’ve been satisfied with my efforts and let them go. Let the lesson learned by my tackling dummy be enough to hopefully scare these fools away from future criminal actions.
But not this night.
This night I was angry at myself and angry at the world. And these young fools had picked the wrong van on the wrong night.
Once again, I’ve never been a runner. I’m big and clumsy and traditionally best suited for heavy lifting and not much else. Plus, my van was right there. You’d think I would’ve just hopped in, fired it up and given pursuit. Though now that I think about it, there’s no way my baby would ever have been able to keep up with sprinting thugs on tight city streets.
Anyways, that’s not the point.
The point is, these guys had a half block head start on me. They were leaner, likely fitter and faster than I had ever been. And yet my first instinct was to chase after them on foot like I was T.J. Hooker or something.
So no one was more surprised than I was when I beat them to the intersection.
Something happened. I don’t know how to explain it. But the moment I started running the tingle at the back of my neck flared into a rage. Like a molten fire it flowed down my spine until it reached my fingertips. My toes.
I felt lighter than air.
My feet raced. My stride lengthened. My heart pounded.
Whatever happened I blew past the fleeing thugs and nearly plowed headlong into a bus passing through the intersection at that very moment. I literally had to lean back and dig in the heels of my worn out boots, kicking up slush and water as I skidded to a halt right in front of the bright red STOP sign.
I blinked in astonishment. My heart pounding. My whole body tingling.
“What the fuck?” I mumbled under my shuddering breath.
“What the fuck?” someone shouted from behind me.
The two punks were slowing down, suddenly realizing the scenario had changed dramatically. The expression on their faces were identical mixtures of fear and surprise.
I just stared at them.
They never stopped moving, already committed in their desire to flee.
Skateboard took action first, his board in both hands as he took a home run sized cut at my head.
With my whole body buzzing it was as if I had all the time in the world to see the steel wheels swinging towards my unprotected face. I can’t even call what I did “ducking” as I tucked my chin and crouched slightly with plenty of time to watch the board whiff by harmlessly over my head. Skateboard’s momentum lurched him so far off balance that I was able to shove him tumbling away with only one arm on his shoulder. Heaving him across the side street to the base of another abandoned building.
No Nickname was right behind him. Maybe he fancied himself a UFC guy. He had the buzzed head and knuckle tattoos for it. He rushed in with his hands up high and attempted a jumping knee strike.
Seriously. A jumping knee strike.
I had to outweigh him by a hundred pounds.
This guy watched too many action movies.
Without even bothering to dodge I let No Nickname leap at me, his kneecap aiming for my sternum. I absorbed his momentum with ease and caught his body with both arms, holding his entire center of gravity even with my shoulders. The look of crazed fear in No Nickname’s eyes seemed to fuel my rage, the buzzing at my neck flaring and racing through my entire nervous system.
It was like he weighed nothing in my arms.
His body slammed into the rolling warehouse door to my left with a tremendous hollow booming sound after I threw him. At the moment of his body’s impact the entire block of streetlights flared up. Half of them burning out at once, others sputtering like candles in the darkness. No Nickname slid to the ground with a loud groan, barely conscious.
My entire body buzzed anew, like a haze skimming over my entire epidermis as I stared at his crumpled body. A thrum in the air, just like at the TV studio. Only more intense. Localized. The streetlights still flickered on and off along the block.
I turned to Skateboard, he was back on his feet and charging. His board reared back like a sword as he bellowed wordlessly, lurching towards me.
My brain watched everything detachedly. Emotionless. It was someone else’s world. Someone else’s body.
I watched my left arm swing up to block the skateboard. I felt more than saw the blast of light as the streetlamps flared all around me on impact, lighting the rain-darkened street impossibly bright. Like a dozen high intensity flash bulbs.
I watched the board shatter against my forearm, the impact barely registering on my body as shards and pieces scattered wildly.
I watched Skateboard’s eyes widen incredulously. I felt the buzzing and energy swelling down from the back of my neck. Surging and pulsing in sync with the frantic beat of my heart. I watched my right fist burst forward from where it was cocked at my side, punching heavily in the center of Skateboard’s chest.
Streetlamps flared again, brighter than before. Three of them exploded in a loud shower of glass. A power junction box at the top of the hydro pole forty feet away thrummed wildly, sparks blasting out in long streaming arcs. Power cables burst away from their moorings and thrashed down to the street, illuminating the dark spasmodically.
Skateboard was hurled from his feet, his body smashing into the wall of the warehouse ten feet behind him before collapsing to the sidewalk. His breathing labored and pained.
I came back to myself. Stunned.
The air still thrummed with electricity. My hair all on edge. The tingling receded from my fingertips and began to fade away, replaced by the more familiar sensation of being on pins and needles.
My hands started to shake. Steam rose from them in the cool night air as if I had just run a mile.
I looked at both of my attackers quickly. Confirmed that they were both moving and breathing. Then I spun in a frantic circle, checking for witnesses.
I couldn’t see anyone. Though it was impossible to be sure given the lack of proper lighting.
Broken power cables whipped and jumped randomly as t
hey dangled just above the pavement. The dampness in the air creating imperfect circuits and keeping them from being properly grounded.
My heart was still racing, but the strange buzzing energy was quickly being replaced by bone weary fatigue.
My footsteps were loud in my ears, echoing between the empty buildings as I ran back to my van. It took the normal amount of time and I was winded when I got there. I scooped up my tire iron along the way and confirmed that the third guy was still breathing as well.
I gave the van a quick once over, checking the one tire was secure and ignoring the broken rear window as I tossed in my tool and slammed the door. I fumbled my keys out and leaped into the driver’s seat. My whole body trembled with post traumatic shock.
Sirens were in the air as I drove away up Waterfront Drive. My eyes on the rear view mirror the whole way home.
I took a quick stock of myself as I drove. The tingling had stopped. My heart rate had returned to normal. I was soaked to the skin and my forearm was starting to ache from the impact with the skateboard. My too tight shirt was suitable for dishrag status now that I had completed my Lou Ferrigno prophecy.
And I was starving.
My hands trembled in time to the rumbling of my van’s labored engine.
“What the fuck is the matter with me?” I whispered.
Chapter 22
Tamara’s eyes were wide as saucers behind her naughty librarian glasses.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, her pert little mouth curving slowly into a smile.
“Uhm …” You fucking numbskull.
She crossed her arms primly underneath her not unimpressive breasts and took a demanding pose. “Would you care to repeat that?”
My face and neck were aflame with embarrassment. “Not particularly,” I muttered.
“Oh, I think you need to repeat that.”
I ran my hand over my weary, stubbled face with a heavy sigh. I was so damned tired and my left forearm ached.
“Really, Tamara?”
She nodded her head once, giving me the go ahead motion with one hand.
I sighed again.
“Fine.” I muttered sourly, squaring my shoulders and grimacing. “Tamara, can you help me out with something?”
She waved her finger at me admonishingly. “That’s not what you said.” Her voice a cutesy little sing-song.
I ground my teeth with frustration.
Damn you, Freud!
We were standing at the Fitness desk in the barren downtown YMCA. I had been waiting for her to come on shift for over an hour, peddling on a powerless stationary bike and trying to settle my nerves. The events from the night before were burned into my mind, repeating itself over and over in vivid Technicolor.
The rush. The surge. My body buzzing. Sprinting. Power. Fear.
I had a copy of the morning paper with me and I scoured it front to back for any mention whatsoever about the incident. All I could find was a tiny mention of a power outage off Waterfront Drive buried in a sidebar beneath the ongoing story chronicling the missing women report tied to the drug and prostitution issues in Winnipeg.
No mention of an assault. Nothing about street thugs flattened like pizzas. No description of a rusty piece of shit Windstar limping away from the scene.
Nothing.
Sadly that didn’t make me feel the slightest bit relieved.
When Tamara had finally come bouncing into the gym in her red YMCA staff shirt and dark yoga slacks I had almost made up my mind about what I wanted from her. I let her make a round of the entire practically empty facility before approaching, my mind debating over and over how to bring up what I needed. And what I could trust myself to say.
Which of course meant I was going to bungle it all horribly and come across like a complete pervert.
“Tamara, can I get you to check me out?” I repeated myself sourly, my face hot enough to roast marshmallows.
She giggled loudly.
Tamara’s smile was infectious. Despite my embarrassment I could feel the corners of my mouth starting to pull upwards.
“Oh to be given straight lines like that more often,” she said still laughing.
“Figure you’ve heard worse than that,” I said, chuckling ruefully.
“Oh, for sure!” Tamara exclaimed rolling her eyes melodramatically. “You wouldn’t believe the sort of things I hear from the beefed up, sweaty self-important types around here.”
“Anything worth repeating?”
“The best stuff is always from the older patrons. They’re at least classy in their attempts to invite me over for a private workout.”
“Nasty.”
“Not always,” Tamara shrugged, my eyes following the motion of her body unconsciously. “Sometimes it’s very sweet.”
“Huh,” I grunted.
The overly made up cougar ladies from the other day – the one where a treadmill exploded and I pretended nothing was wrong like a complete nitwit - sashayed past the fitness desk at that point. Both of them gave me a faintly nervous smile as they walked by in their fresh off the rack fitness gear. Once a safe distance past they began nattering amongst themselves conspiratorially, casting the odd glance back towards me.
Tamara shook her head wryly as she watched them go.
“What?”
“Seriously, how do people get that dressed up to go to the gym?”
“Oh?”
“If I wasn’t actually working right now I’d be in a pair of ratty tights and an old tee shirt.”
I glanced down at my ragged sweat pants and old Thundercats logoed tee shirt.
“So, I’m not dressed in the height of fashion?”
“You’re a goof.”
“True enough. You gonna help me or what?”
Tamara shrugged again, making parts of her move enticingly. I kept my eyes focused on her face, afraid I was being tested.
“I don’t know, I’m so swamped right now.” She smiled as she said it, her eyes twinkling as I did another count of people down on the main floor of the gym. Including myself and Tamara, I found seven heads total.
“What do you need?” she asked brightly as I pulled a pre-loaded shaker cup out of my gym bag.
“Grab a pencil, some paper, one of your stopwatches and follow me upstairs.” I stopped at the water fountain to fill my cup while Tamara got the items I’d requested.
I had to be careful filling it up today. I usually only used one scoop at a time per shake but since the previous night’s incident, my stomach had been demanding even more refueling than ever before. Every hour the rumbling began. And since it wasn’t realistic to stop and have a meal every hour, I loaded up every shaker cup I owned into my gym bag before I left Mom’s house.
But if I kept going through supplements at this rate I was going to need a WBBF style sponsorship deal just to keep up with my stomach.
Tamara paused as she came back to me, watching as I screwed the lid back onto my cup.
