Super World Two

by Lawrence Ambrose

  Kushner performed a quick rough calculation: that would place him around four hundred and fifty miles high. With that kind of leaping ability, he could come rather damn close to flying, though a bit uncontrolled for his tastes.

  He concentrated on rising. Flying was one his most desired superpowers, but as had happened so often in his life, his greatest desire was not to be. He even tried a tiny hop to get things started, and ended up using his head as a battering ram at the top of the sixty foot ceiling. But he dropped back to the floor without apparent injury.

  "You're okay?" Ken asked.

  "I seem to be fine."

  "Impressive. You hit the ceiling at...seven hundred miles per hour."

  Kushner let that number resonate for a moment. "Perhaps it knocked some sense into me."

  Polite laughter sounded from the control room.

  "If nothing else," Ken chuckled, "that was a good first step in determining your resistance to damage. But we have several more formal tests set up for you."

  "Thanks. Sounds like a fun time."

  THE APPROACHING semi-truck was drifting on the highway, and Jake's "asshole half-asleep truck driver sense" began beeping. He slowed his car, searching for a turnout escape, but then the semi steadied on its side of the road. The guy probably just blanked out for a second. Jake resumed cruising speed.

  The truck veered into his lane. No time for thought. Jake whipped the steering wheel and the GTO careened off the road, grounding to a quick halt in the sand while the truck corrected itself and continued down the highway. Jake waited for it to stop and double back, but it just kept on...truckin'. Fucking piece of shit.

  He gave the gas a cautious nudge, and the car shuddered forward. At least he didn't seem to be stuck. But one small problem: when he attempted to turn the steering wheel it made a sickening crunching sound and spun free in his hand.

  He visualized in an instant the snapped steering linkage. Not something that could ever normally happen just from attempting to turn a steering wheel, but he wasn't exactly normal any more. His seven or eight times his usual strength had been enough to do the job. Crap. This road trip had just taken a fucking nosedive.

  Jake called Triple A. It would be a good two hours before a tow truck could get out to him. Great. And after that at least another two days for the local incompetent mechanic to get the part. Luckily, he could do the repairs himself. Maybe there was even a parts store in one of these one-whore towns? But wait a minute. He stared at his hands – the hands that had performed the miracle fusion of exhaust pipes a hundred miles back on the highway. Why not give it a shot?

  To his dismay, the broken connection was in the steering column. Maybe he could pull it apart with his bare hands, but that didn't strike him as a good bet. Better to exercise a little patience and wait for the tow person and real tools in some local garage.

  Jake stretched out on the hood of the car, sunglasses screening his eyes, seeking out his inner mellow man, which was usually like finding a straight guy on Castro Street in Frisco, but today it wasn't so hard. How can things be too bad when you're a superman? The sun, which normally would be baking the shit out of him on a hot July day in the Nevada desert, actually felt good.

  A horn sounded from the highway. Some young guys in a pickup waved and hooted as they drove past. Jake sighed. Fortunately, the "loneliest highway" didn't have a lot of traffic. A few more cars zoomed by in the next hour without pausing or commenting. They might've wondered what the heck he – or she – was doing, but Jake guessed he didn't look much in need of help lounging on the hood of his car.

  The tow truck rumbled up about a half-hour early. A big burly guy with a handlebar mustache climbed out grinning as if he'd won the lottery.

  "You the one with the car trouble, Miss?"

  Jake sat up, shoving long blond locks from his eyes. "You win the prize."

  "Sure looks that way," the man laughed. "Why don't you stay put, little lady, and I'll just roll up to your front grill. And what a nice grill it is." Jake stared at him flatly. He winked. "I mean the car, of course. Big fan of the classic GTO. How did you end up out here anyways?"

  "A semi pulled into my lane and forced me off the road."

  "Oh. Right. Asleep at the wheel, sounds like. So it doesn't start?"

  "The steering linkage is broken – I'm guessing in the steering Intermediate Column Shaft."

  "Heh. Know something about cars?"

  "A few things."

  The driver navigated the tow truck through the sandy soil to the front of the Pontiac and winched it up onto the truck's tilting flat deck. Jake waited in the truck while the big guy secured the car. He thumped down on the front seat next to him, wiping a swath of sweat across his forehead with a greasy sleeve.

  "Woo-ee! You been sitting out there all this time? You look as cool as the Bud Lite in my cooler." He nodded to the ice chest in the backseat. "Speaking of which, honey, you want something cold to drink?"

  "I'll take a Bud Lite."

  "A lady after my own heart!" His thick arm brushed against Jake's as he twisted his bulk to reach for the ice chest. "I'd have one myself if I weren't driving."

  Jake pulled away from the man's corpulent, sweating body.

  "Name's Jensen," he said, holding out a dripping can of Budweiser. "Billy Jensen."

  "Thanks. Jake."

  Puzzlement crimped his grin. "Short for Jacqueline?"

  "Sorry. Just a nickname. I'm...Jenna."

  "Well, I'm real pleased to metcha, Jenna. Must say, you're the prettiest damn sight I've had in a long time. Hell, probably forever, if I'm being honest."

  He guided his rig back onto the highway. Jake guzzled his beer gratefully. He didn't feel especially dehydrated, but it sure tasted good. And it helped distract him from the driver's rank body odor. Dude needed to run his air conditioning lower or take a shower before driving out for a pick-up.

  "Where are you taking the car?" Jake asked.

  "Eureka Precision Auto. Owner's a friend. Rick Dantley. Knows what he's doing."

  Jake thought with a half-scowl he might change his shop's name from Precision Automotive to Miracle Automotive. Too damn many "precision" repair shops. With his new abilities, he might just be able to live up to the name.

  "Anywho, he should be able to get you back on the road in not too long a time," Billy Jensen added. "He tries to give priority to people passing through." He winked. "Especially a single girl as good-looking as you."

  "Great," Jake grunted.

  The truck driver nodded to him, his smiling glance lingering. "By 'single,' I meant driving alone. Didn't mean to assume nothing."

  Jake finished his beer with a scowl. "Mind if I have another?"

  "Help yourself, sweetheart."

  As Jake swiveled to reach over the seat, Billy Jensen reached a thick, hairy, and sweaty arm up against his to assist in opening the cooler.

  "Tends to get kinda stuck," he muttered.

  "Right."

  "Got someone special waiting for you in Colorado Springs?"

  Jake hesitated. As unnatural as answering affirmatively struck him, he could see some advantages to it. Might discourage more accidental flesh-on-flesh contact, for one.

  "Yeah," Jake answered. "My boyfriend. He's an ex-Marine."

  "Oh. Heh." Billy shifted subtly away from her in his seat. "Well, hopefully we can get you on your way to your man soon enough." He cleared his throat. "Want to listen to some music?"

  The remainder of the trip was mercifully free of incidental contact and comment from Billy Jensen. Jake drifted in his own space, trying to imagine his future, what it would be like to see his former best friend after nearly four years, and meeting up again with Jamie Shepherd. He didn't think about aliens. Far too unreal. He didn't think about once again fighting for this loathsome government. He kept his thoughts lowbrow and optimistic, like the country music that was blaring on Billy Jensen's radio.

  They drove through a small town off the highway into Eureka Precision Auto.
A Subway/KFC restaurant/quikie mart/gas station swarmed with cars and people across the street. A slim fifty-something guy with a sparse thatch of grey-black hair and a tanned, leathery face that made Jake think of aged burl wood strolled out to greet them. Jensen introduced him as the owner, Rick Dantley. He smiled at Jake, giving him the once over. Three times. Jensen rolled the Pontiac off the flatbed and together the two men pushed it into an open garage stall.

  "Why don't you go and get yourself something to eat while I take a look at your car, Miss Wells."

  Jake felt his eyes on his him as he walked away, trying his damnedest to keep his hips from swaying and his walk straightforward and businesslike. Not as easy as it sounded. His hips seemed designed to sway. He caught a glimpse of himself in the window of the gas station – a super-hot nymph strutting her stuff – and had to remind himself not to drool.

  The only constraints on that "strut" was that his shoes, strung as tight as he could make them, were flopping half off his feet with every step, and his now-baggy jeans rolled down over his shoes, dragging on the pavement. He eyed a line of "tourist trap" stores just past the gas station complex. One of them featured clothing in its front windows. The smell of chicken made Jake's stomach growl, but he forced himself to walk past the restaurant-gas station. He had no way of knowing how long he'd be in his current form, but he was tired of shuffling around looking like a fool. Jenna deserved better.

  He entered the Desert Boutique, and the plump lady behind the counter beamed at him.

  "Back for another look?"

  Jake paused a few steps in. "Another look?"

  "Sure. You were just in here not more than ten minutes ago."

  "I was?" Jake looked around. It wasn't that unlikely that Jenna and her chode boyfriend had stopped here. There weren't a lot of places to stop for gas on this highway. "Okay, uh, so...I was looking for some clothes. Maybe some jeans? Shirts? Shoes?"

  The plump proprietor looked her over. "Funny. You were wearing something a bit more, um, form-fitting before, you might say. But sure, I think we can find something in your size."

  She waddled out and led Jake to one side of the store. Shelves of shoes – mostly sandals, but a couple pairs of athletic shoes – wedged in between hanging shirts and pants with a cowboy theme. She helped Jake pick out some jeans and shoes and a t-shirt she pronounced "super-cute," and directed him to the changing room.

  "Uh...bras?" Jake coughed into his hand. "Panties...?" He might as well do Jenna right.

  "Yup. We got some sports bras. Panties a bit on the risqué side, but I'm sure your boyfriend would appreciate it."

  She located a pair of no-nonsense bras and frilly pink panties that made Jake swallow. One of his girlfriends had been fond of undergarments like this, and he had indeed appreciated it.

  Ten minutes later, Jake strode out of the boutique with a more confident if slightly wobbly step – adjusting to the higher than usual heels on the tennis shoes – eighty dollars lighter in the wallet but, judging from his reflection in the front windows, looking like a million dollars with his hip-hugging blue jeans and a I Survived Highway Fifty (Sort of) t-shirt that was tight in all the right places, but the perky nipples eliminated by the sports bra, complemented by a pair of cool shades and a sky-blue Nevada Wolfpack cap to match her eyes.

  Wow. He ogled his reflection... If only. A hoarse chuckle from behind him made Jake jerk his hands back to his sides. An elderly couple moved past him to the door, the eighty or ninety year old dude giving him a crusty smile and shaking his head with wonder or perhaps self-admonition. A sharp elbow from his mate compelled his smile to crumble and his gaze to dip to the sidewalk.

  Jake returned to the gas station/restaurant/grocery store with the fuzzy notion of looking for Jenna and the very specific notion of stuffing his stomach and using the restrooms. He hadn't pissed in hours but had only a vague ache in his bladder. He wondered if Jamie Shepherd and her merry band of superheroes had to relieve themselves. She'd never gotten around to talking about the gritty details.

  Jake entered the bathroom absentmindedly, taking up a urinal next to an older, longhaired biker-type. He unzipped his pants.

  Nothing but fur.

  Jake delivered a giant mental Homer Simpson-sized slap upside his noggin.

  "Uh, lady," the biker beside him rumbled. "Sure you didn't take a wrong turn somewhere?"

  Jake zipped up hastily. "Sorry. It's been a long day."

  "Musta been." He cleared his throat. "Unless you're transgender. Then everything's cool. I'm real open-minded about that kind of thing."

  "I'm not."

  Jake stumbled out of the bathroom. Shit. He noted the women's door a few feet down the wall. A dull ache reminded him that he still had to take care of business. It didn't feel copacetic, but no one would challenge him in there.

  He took a breath and entered the "little girl's" room. Some woman was bent over the sink, washing her face. One of the stall doors was open. Christ, he was going to have to piss sitting down. That sucked. He'd just have to man-up and piss like a girl.

  The woman washing her face straightened up, brushing blond hairs from her eyes. Jake stopped in his tracks and stared. Jenna. She stared back at him in the mirror. Or was it his reflection staring?

  "Yes?" Jenna asked with a tentative smile. "Did I miss a spot?"

  "Ahh...." Jake longed for a witty remark, but his brain had gone blank. "No."

  "Okay, then."

  Jenna finger-brushed her hair and reached for a paper towel. Jake remained rooted to the tile. Jenna wiped her face, her motions growing slower as she noted his gaze. She dropped the towel in the garbage and turned to him.

  "Is there a problem?" she asked.

  Jake removed his sunglasses. Jenna did a double-take. A dimple of disbelief formed between her eyes. A pair of teenage girls entered, one noisily chewing bubblegum.

  "Hey!" one of them cried. "Identical twins!"

  The other whipped up her smart phone. "Mind if I take your picture? You're both so super-cute!"

  Jenna murmured something under her breath.

  "Could we talk?" Jake asked her. "Outside?"

  "Um...."

  She followed Jake past the girls out into the store, stopping between two junk food racks. Jenna faced her.

  "I've read about this happening," she said in a whispery voice. "Everyone's supposed to have at least one doppelganger. But...but I never thought I'd meet mine." She waved a hand in front of her face. "Whew...sorry. I'm wondering if my dad didn't tell me something? Could we be sisters?"

  "Ah, no. Something a lot stranger than that, Jenna."

  "You know my name?"

  "Yeah. We met awhile back. On the road. Your RV was broken down."

  "No." Jenna was shaking her head. "No, we didn't."

  "I fixed your pipe problem." He lowered his voice. "I'm Jake Culler, Jenna. The mechanic dude. You met me in my real form."

  "Real form?"

  "Turns out I'm a shapeshifter. Funny, huh?"

  "Ummm..." Jenna glanced around as if seeking out the exits. "So this is a practical joke, right? Jake put you up to this?"

  "Put someone who is your twin up to it?" Jake smiled. The extreme disbelief in her face made her even sexier, weirdly enough. "How would that work?"

  "I don't know. But I know you're lying. You're not that guy, and there's no such thing as a 'shapeshifter' obviously."

  Jake's smile drifted downward. In that moment, he had a deep empathy with Jamie Shepherd and her efforts to convince him and others of the impossible.

  "I didn't know I could change my shape. I was sitting at the side of the road – I pulled over after I fixed your RV – and was...thinking about you. Thinking really hard, if you get my drift."

  "I really don't."

  "I was, you know imagining you...every detail of you. And suddenly" – he clapped his hands, louder than he'd intended since everyone around them glanced in their direction –"I was you. That is, I had your body."

  Jenn
a stared at him, then around the store. Jake followed her eyes, guessing she was looking for her soft and squishy boyfriend.

  "And then you shape-shifted into me."

  "Right. I didn't believe it at first, either. I mean, don't know if you noticed, but I'm a pretty fucking masculine kind of guy."

  "Jake is, yes." She was now looking more intrigued than frightened.

  "I freaked out a little, but as an ex-Marine – a veteran of the so-called 'Holy War' in Iran – I've learned to handle my shit. There's a lot worse things than waking up as a hotter than fuck lady, believe me."

  Jenna shook her head and let out a choking laugh. "This is just too weird. You're actually starting to sound like an ex-Marine. I know, because one of my best friends is married to one. Though nowhere near as handsome as your friend, Jake." She rubbed her mouth as though regretting that last.

  "You think I'm handsome?"

  "No. You are 'hotter than fuck,' as you put it." She covered her mouth with the hand that had been rubbing it, a muted giggle coming out. "I must be dreaming. Or Alfie spiked that coke I was drinking."

  "Alfie?"

  "Alfonso. My boyfriend."

  Jake snickered. "Damn, could you get any more faggoty than 'Alfonso'?"

  Jenna's smile crimped but didn't entirely disappear. She regarded him with sudden intensity. "So who are you really?"

  "Already told you. Look, let's go somewhere more private and I'll prove it."

  "How?" She glanced at his groin. "You're not going to whip out..."

  "No. Hell, no. I'm not that kind of guy...or lady...or whatever. But I can show you something that I bet will convince you."

  "What?"

  "Well, let's just say I wasn't kidding about having superpowers."

  Jenna released a soft snort. "Okay. Might as well play out this game. Maybe there's somewhere outside where it could be more private."

  "That could work." Jake held out the crook of his arm. "Girlfriend."

  "This is insane." But she hooked her arm in his and they walked out to the approving and lascivious looks of the men and women watching them.