The Ascension: A Super Human Clash

by Michael Carroll

  She reached out for the phone she’d left resting on the wall; it was gone. What? I’m sure I—

  Movement to her right caught her eye, and she turned to see—through the now-closed glass doors—a terrified-looking young couple staring out at her. The man was brandishing a large ornamental poker.

  The poker wavered in his grip. His voice muffled by the glass, he shouted, “Who are you? How did you get up here?”

  Roz shook her head. No, this can’t be happening. The apartment’s décor was all wrong, as though she’d somehow ended up on the wrong floor, but this was the only apartment in the building that had a balcony.

  With her hands raised in the hope that the people inside would understand she meant no harm, Roz stepped up to the door. “Please, don’t panic.” She very carefully slid open the door.

  “Who are you?” the man asked, almost shouting to make himself heard over a constant ringing noise. “What do you want from us?”

  “I don’t know…. What’s going on here?”

  The woman said, “She must have climbed up the outside! Henry, she climbed up the outside!”

  “I…I fell, I think.” Roz raised her right hand to her head. “The last thing I remember, I was with the construction crew and we were coming from the park.” She pointed in the direction of the new building in Central Park. “The hatch was open. We were joking about. I must have slipped.”

  “No,” the man said. “No way. You’re only a kid. They’d never let you on one of the flyers.”

  “My dad is the overseer. I must have hit my head. Is there any blood?” While the couple peered at her, Roz desperately tried to think of a way out. The ringing noise was still reverberating through the building, and she suddenly realized what it was: an alarm. “I should go. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  The woman said, “You can’t go. You know the rules. Once the alarm goes, everyone has to stay where they are until the Praetorians get here.” She frowned. “What’s wrong with you that you don’t know that?”

  “I told you. I must have fallen.” Who are the Praetorians? Roz wondered. She decided that she didn’t want to wait around to find out.

  She concentrated on the poker in the man’s hand, used her telekinesis to pluck it from his grip and pull it across the room toward her. She snatched it out of the air and tossed it to the floor behind her. To the woman, she said, “You. Cancel the alarm.”

  The woman was staring at her in complete shock. “It…It can’t be canceled. Only the Praetorians can do that.”

  “How long will it take for them to get here?”

  “Not long.”

  “How long?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

  “Good. OK, I want you to—”

  Then the apartment door was smashed open, and within seconds Roz was looking down the barrels of six high-powered assault weapons.

  Lance slowly walked into the kitchen. His mother was carefully pouring something from a saucepan into a dish. The air was heavy with the peppery tang of her homemade tomato soup—an odor that Lance had never expected to experience again.

  The TV was chatting to itself in the corner, and Lance’s father was sitting at a small desk in the corner wearing headphones and typing at a computer terminal Lance had never seen before. His father saw him, hit a few keys on the keyboard to clear the screen, then removed the headphones. “What happened now? How come you’re not in school?”

  His mother stopped what she was doing. “You didn’t get suspended again, did you?”

  “Mom?”

  “What was it this time? Stealing test papers? Selling forged hall passes? Honestly, Lance, you’re going to have to learn to toe the line. If you don’t, they will expel you. You know what that means—an automatic draft into the Youth Corps. I know they keep saying they won’t be sending the Youth Corps overseas, but I don’t believe that for a second. Is that what you want? To end up riddled with bullets and dying on a field somewhere in France or Spain? Why can’t you be more like your brother? You don’t see him getting into trouble every second day.”

  His father said, “You answer your mother, Lance.”

  Lance felt like he was going to faint. “I’m sorry….” How can they be alive? I saw their bodies! Then he shook himself. No, I didn’t. I saw three covered stretchers. The cops wouldn’t allow me to identify the bodies—they said there was no need.

  His whole body trembling, Lance stepped up to his mother and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re alive!” The tears came then, and he didn’t care. “I thought…They told me you were dead.” He turned to his father. “Both of you, and Cody. They said Slaughter smashed her way into the house and killed all of you!”

  Mr. McKendrick shook his head. “I knew it. It’s drugs, isn’t it? You’ve taken something. What was it, Lance?”

  “What? No!” He let go of his mother. “Dad, haven’t you wondered where I’ve been for the past three weeks?”

  “Why would I wonder that? You’ve been here or in school.” His eyes narrowed. “Why? Where have you really been?”

  They really don’t know what I’m talking about! But… He looked around the room. I was in here a few minutes ago—the place was wrecked. He looked back out into the hallway—the front door was intact, and there was no sign of any damage.

  “I’m just kidding,” Lance said. “No, there was a fire drill and we were all sent home. Something went wrong with the alarm and they couldn’t shut it off.”

  It’s not them. It’s me. Something happened to me…made me imagine that they were dead.

  Then he looked past his father, at a photograph on the front page of the newspaper resting on the desk. For a second, he could only stare at the photo of the large, well-dressed man. No…Please, no!

  The room seemed to sway, Lance’s knees weakened, and he had to put his hands on the desk to stop himself from toppling forward.

  The newspaper was only inches away from his face now, and he couldn’t help but read the article accompanying the photo.

  CHANCELLOR CONDEMNS LATEST UNITY EXPANSION

  A further fourteen nations yesterday signed trade and defense treaties with Unity, bringing the number of countries falling under the Unity umbrella to one hundred and twenty.

  Unity President Lianne Chojnowski hailed the expansion as “a major step forward in uniting the nations of Earth against possible hostile actions by the United States. The American people did not ask for martial law and they certainly did not ask to have their freedom so completely eroded. Almost a quarter of the U.S. adult population works for the state, the vast majority employed to spy on their neighbors; every piece of mail is opened and read, every phone call is monitored and logged.”

  President Chojnowski’s statement concluded with “We stand firm against the actions of the U.S. Chancellor and warn him that any act of aggression against a Unity member state will be met with the appropriate response.” It is estimated that almost two million Unity military personnel are currently stationed in the Pacific and North Atlantic. Chojnowski continued: “We again urge the people of the United States to resist the brutal and unconscionable martial law illegally imposed on them by the Chancellor.”

  Reacting to this, the Chancellor yesterday said, “Unity underestimates the strength of will of the American people. We have never bowed under pressure, and we never will. If they believe that they can threaten us into submission, then they are very much mistaken.”

  However, on the subject of when he might see an end to the current emergency situation, now in its third year, Chancellor Krodin declined to comment.

  CHAPTER 4

  THREE WEEKS earlier…

  From Krodin’s perspective the hairless blue giant was moving so slowly that he might as well be wading through a lake of honey. Krodin stepped to the side, easily avoiding the giant’s clumsy attack, then lashed out with his right fist, a blow that would have crushed an ordinary man’s skull.

  The giant staggered, briskly shook his head, an
d resumed his attack. Curious to see what he would do next, Krodin allowed the monster to grab hold of his arm.

  The giant pulled Krodin toward him, at the same time striking at Krodin’s chest with his other hand.

  Krodin weathered the punch, allowed the giant to strike again. The monster’s clenched fist was as big as Krodin’s head, the muscles in his arm as powerful as a rampaging elephant’s legs. Krodin felt the force of the blows, but no pain.

  Then Krodin twisted free of the giant’s grip, slammed his own fist into the blue giant’s jaw, immediately kicked upward with his bare right foot, and hit the giant in the throat.

  The giant reeled backward, stumbled, landed facedown, and Krodin pressed home his attack. He balled his fists together over his head and brought them crashing down onto the giant’s back, over and over.

  The giant collapsed, his pain-filled, breathless groans attracting the attention of his terrified companions.

  Krodin stepped back, looked toward the giant’s friends. The pale-skinned young woman—the witch who appeared to be able to move objects without touching them—was crouched over the boy called Pyrokine.

  Not long ago Pyrokine had been fighting alongside Krodin, but he had foolishly chosen to join the enemy. The boy’s chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.

  Impressive, Krodin thought. In the strange language of this new land—this America—he called out, “The flame-boy still lives? He is stronger than I thought. Step aside, girl. I will finish him. He was a powerful opponent and deserves a quick death.”

  The girl got to her feet, stood over Pyrokine. “No.”

  The dark-skinned girl shouted, “Roz! Get back!”

  Then Krodin was hit by something powerful, something invisible, like a sudden, ferocious gust of wind. The girl’s power, he realized. “Still you resist me? You are a fool, girl. You will die next.”

  As he forced himself to remain upright against the onslaught, Krodin saw two of the girl’s companions try to pull her away.

  Then he felt his body—his very being—shift, adapt to the invisible force, and he was free. He leaped at the trio, knocked the others aside, and locked his left fist over the girl’s face. He lifted her off the ground, pulled back his right fist, ready to strike. “Little witch…You. Are. Next!”

  Then something crackled and sparked on the ground at his feet: The boy called Pyrokine screamed, “No!” He floated up from the ground, multicolored fire crackling over his broken body. “Let her go!”

  Krodin forced his eyes shut against the glare, but he could sense that Pyrokine was approaching.

  He started to back away—but he was too late. The burning boy crashed into his arm—a searing, impossible agony stronger than anything the Fifth King had experienced in his long life—forcing him to let go of the girl.

  The boy somehow wrapped himself around Krodin’s arm, and the fire began to spread. Krodin could feel his skin scorching, melting. Resist this! I can resist anything! He opened his eyes and saw the unearthly fire consuming his flesh faster than it could heal. The stench of his own burning tissue reached his nostrils and Krodin screamed, “No! Enough!”

  Then, with the last of his strength, Pyrokine said, “No. You don’t get to decide when you’ve had enough. We have had enough!”

  The flame raced along Krodin’s arms, enveloped his chest, his neck.

  But it was more than just fire. The Fifth King felt something pulling at him from all directions. He had experienced this before, a few hours ago—and several thousand years ago—when he had been dragged through time.

  For a brief moment, despite the pain of the fire, Krodin felt relief. The boy’s power brought me here. Now it is sending me back!

  Then he heard the metal-clad man yelling, “Shield your eyes! Everyone get back!”

  In an instant, Pyrokine’s body was gone, consumed by its own fire, and Krodin knew that he would be next. In moments, he would be dead.

  Krodin collapsed to the ground, his muscles spasming and twitching. He was certain that he was screaming, but he could hear nothing. Then a final, searing flash…

  And the pain was fading. In moments he could feel cool, damp grass on his back.

  Krodin opened his eyes, put his scorched hand up in front of his face, and watched as his wounds began to heal, the charred skin flaking away like fragments of sun-dried clay.

  And he knew—in the same way that he always knew such things—that his attackers were no longer present. He was in the same place as before, but it was somehow different.

  Krodin pushed himself to his feet and looked around. The large building from which he had come—the “power plant,” as the woman Slaughter had called it—was gone, and there was no indication that it had ever been there.

  The Fifth King arched his back, stretched his newly healed muscles, and smiled.

  He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened. All he knew was that, for the first time, he had come within a hairbreadth of death. And he had survived.

  CHAPTER 5

  “WE HAVE TO LOOK as though we belong here,” Solomon Cord told Abby as they walked along West Franklin Street back toward Abby’s apartment building. “So stop staring at everything like you’re a tourist.”

  Abby had collapsed the bow and was now carrying it and the arrow-filled quiver under her arm, wrapped in her jacket. “Sorry, can’t help it.” Everything around was familiar, but just a little different, as though the street had been built from the same plans but by a different designer. The buildings were cleaner, and there was less litter. At this time of the day there would normally be more people about, but now, there was almost no one, not even the usual gang of young men hanging around the corner of West Franklin and Jarvis. “What do you think is going on?”

  “I wish I knew,” Cord replied. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  “Those cameras look high-tech, so why do they have cables? Why aren’t they wireless?”

  “Wireless communications are much easier to block or scramble.”

  “Yeah, but someone could just cut the cables.”

  “Then whoever’s watching would know exactly where the saboteurs are.”

  They stopped outside Abby’s apartment building.

  “If everything’s changed out here…,” Cord began.

  “I was thinking the same thing. But we have to check, don’t we?” Abby walked up the steps and examined the faded list next to the line of buzzers. “There are some names here I don’t recognize, but there’s de Luyando. At least it means I still live here.”

  With Cord following, Abby pushed open the outside door and stepped into the lobby. Contrary to the appearance of the street, the lobby was less clean than it should have been. Two weeks ago—after an encounter between Cord and the daughter of the building’s owner—a team of decorators had spruced up the public areas. Now, although the building didn’t look anywhere near as bad as it had been before that, it clearly hadn’t been renovated in several years. “Oh man, this is freaky. Could we have gone back in time or something?”

  “That wouldn’t explain the surveillance cameras.”

  “The future, then?”

  “Maybe. We need to find a newspaper or something that’ll tell us the date.”

  Abby considered that for a moment, then went over to the rack of mailboxes, fished her keys out of her pocket, and opened the one marked “de Luyando.” There were three envelopes inside. “All postmarked yesterday or the day before. So we’re not in the future.” She stuffed the envelopes into her back pocket, then looked over at the stairs. “I guess we should…”

  Cord nodded. “Stay behind me.”

  She followed Cord up the three flights of stairs, but the closer they came to Abby’s apartment, the more nervous she felt. How could everything have just changed like that? And what else has changed? Did it just happen here in Midway, or is it everywhere?

  “Prepare yourself,” Cord said. “There could be a lot of differences. Whatever you see, try to t
ake it in your stride, OK?” He stopped outside the apartment. “Ready?”

  “No. But we don’t have any other choice, do we?” Abby turned her key in the lock and pushed the door open.

  Mrs. de Luyando’s voice called out, “Who’s there?” and Abby let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  “That’s my mom,” Abby said quietly. She stepped into the short hallway with Cord close behind her.

  As they entered the sitting room, Alison de Luyando wheeled her chair over to them. “Abby! Why aren’t you in school? What were you thinking, leaving school before five? You know better than to be out on your own. You’re lucky you weren’t stopped and arrested.” Then she saw Cord. “Oh. I see. What has she done now?”

  Abby did her best to remain calm. “Mom, I’m not in trouble.”

  Cord said, “Everything is fine, Mrs. de Luyando. I just have a few questions to ask you.”

  Mrs. de Luyando rolled back from the door. “Better come in, then.”

  They followed Abby’s mother into the sitting room. When her back was turned, Abby allowed the bow and quiver to drop to the floor, then nudged them behind the sofa.

  When she looked up, Cord was staring at a photo on the mantelpiece.

  “Oh, that’s my eldest, Vienna,” Abby’s mother said, beaming with pride. “She’s the one on the left.”

  Softly, Cord said, “Yes, I, uh, I see the resemblance.” He glanced at Abby, then stepped aside so that she could see the picture.

  “He’d turned up to inspect the troops and one of the girls asked him if they could get a picture with him,” Mrs. de Luyando said. She laughed. “They honestly didn’t expect him to say yes!”

  It was a recent color photo of Vienna standing with another woman and smiling for the camera, both wearing combat fatigues and helmets.