“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” the man shouted, sweeping a hand across the table. His food went flying everywhere, along with plates and glasses that crashed to the floor and shattered.
The server jumped back, horrified.
The entire restaurant went silent.
You could have heard a pin drop.
“Hey,” Clark said, shifting in front of Margie. “What’s the problem over here?”
The man looked Clark up and down. “Go sit down,” he said. “This is none of your business.”
The owner, David Baez, hurried toward the table. “Sheldon, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
He reached for the man’s arm, but Sheldon knocked his hand away, growling, “Don’t you touch me!”
Clark couldn’t stand witnessing one person mistreat another. But this was even worse. This was clearly racially motivated. The man had now cursed out both the Mexican server and the Mexican owner. And all he’d said to Clark was that it wasn’t his business. It gave Clark a rare glimpse into a dark ideological minority here in his hometown. One that rarely bubbled to the surface, at least not in public.
Just as Clark was about to speak up again, the longtime restaurant manager, Mike Caulkins, who was white, came over and said something that seemed to temporarily calm the man. He took his jacket off the back of his chair and began putting it on, and his two friends did the same.
Clark pushed up his glasses and retreated to his booth, trying to slow his mind down. But he was having a hard time. It could have been Gloria taking that barrage of bigotry. He peered over at her now. She was sitting at her table with her brother, staring down at her plate of food. She didn’t look up. And it broke Clark’s heart.
He sat down at his booth, where the others were talking about the man’s outburst.
Bryan looked around the restaurant. “Please tell me someone got that on their phone,” he said. “Post it tonight and I guarantee it’ll go viral by morning.”
Lana was patting Clark’s shoulder. “You know who that was, right? Sheldon Ealing.”
Now Clark remembered. Sheldon was a mean old cattle herder who lived in a trailer just outside town. He’d lost his farm a few years back and blamed his predicament on everything from the growing Mexican population to the US government to China. According to Clark’s dad, the real reason had been terrible farm management.
Clark took a deep breath and let out a slow exhale, hoping it would relax him, but instead something shocking happened. His breath turned to frost and instantly froze his entire glass of water. He stared in horror at the now-solid block of ice.
Lex, Lana, and Bryan were still rubbernecking the overcooked-steak drama. They watched as Mike led Sheldon and his friends outside, muttering under their breath. A busboy was now cleaning up the overturned steak and potatoes. Another swept up the shards of glass.
Before his friends turned their attention back to their own table, Clark quickly grabbed the frozen glass and put it on the floor, under the table.
So, he was breathing ice now? Great. He couldn’t even have dinner with friends without some random new power messing everything up.
“Fun fact,” Lana said. “Guess who’s one of the most vocal advocates of that proposed stop-and-search law?”
“You see how he treated the owner of this place,” Bryan said.
Lex shook his head.
“Be right back,” Clark said as nonchalantly as possible. He pointed to Lana. “Hold off on the Dr. Wesley stuff until I get back.”
Lana shot him a confused look. “Okay.”
Clark ducked into the small bathroom, locked the door, and looked at himself in the mirror. Without warning, a cacophony of overlapping voices and revving car engines and barking dogs and buzzing insects slammed into his consciousness. The ear-piercing sounds were utterly debilitating. And there seemed to be no way to stop the onslaught. No way to escape the deafening roar that threatened to overtake him.
Clark’s knees buckled. He collapsed onto the cold tile, cupping his hands over his ears and rocking back and forth.
When would it end?
What if it didn’t?
A flash of fear tore through Clark. What if he was actually losing his mind?
Then, just as quickly as the sounds had come on, they were gone, and all he could hear was his own frenetic breathing. And the faucet water he’d left running.
Clark hesitantly climbed back to his feet and gazed at his reflection in the mirror, wondering how long he would be able to go on this way. Hiding from all of Smallville. Hiding from himself.
Fire didn’t burn him.
Bullets couldn’t pierce him.
But standing here, Clark didn’t feel powerful at all. If anything, he was at the mercy of his gifts.
And he’d never felt so desperately alone.
The only way forward, he decided, was to go back into the old barn, lift up the tarp, and confront his truth. No matter what it was.
The time had come for him to know.
On his way out of the bathroom, he passed the table where Gloria and her brother were eating dinner. “I gotta say,” he told them, trying to pull himself together, “that the guy who went off on Margie…he was totally out of line. He should never be allowed in this place again.”
Gloria glanced at her brother. “Things like that seem to be happening more and more,” she said. “I don’t understand it.”
“I do,” Marco said. “We’ve let people push us around long enough. It’s time to fight back.”
Gloria slapped him on his arm. “That’s what guys like him want. You’re better than that.”
“I’m not, Glo.” He shook his head. “And I don’t want to be.”
“You remember what Uncle Rene told us,” Gloria said. “We have to fight it peacefully. It’s the only way.”
Marco seethed.
Clark tried to think of something else to say, but the tension between Gloria and her brother was palpable. And the longer the silence went on, the more uncomfortable it felt. “Anyway,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you how angry it made me.”
They said their awkward goodbyes, and Clark made his way back to his table. The food had been delivered, and everyone was already eating.
“You okay?” Lana asked discreetly after Clark had sat down.
He nodded and pulled his plate closer.
When Lex began quizzing Bryan about his new workout routine, Lana leaned toward Clark and said, “I didn’t know you were talking to Gloria Alvarez.”
Clark was caught off guard.
She motioned toward Bryan and Lex. “That’s what I hear.”
He shook his head. “It’s not like that. I mean, she’s definitely nice and everything. And smart. But…”
Lana was grinning. “Apparently you didn’t want to share this with your so-called best friend?”
“There’s nothing to share,” Clark argued.
Lana shrugged and turned to Bryan. “Before we get to Dr. Wesley, I want to ask a question about your dad’s business. Does he ever work with any…military groups?”
Bryan shook his head. “Never. He actually thinks we spend way too much on defense in this country.” He looked to Lex. “His dad’s business, on the other hand…”
Lex wiped his hands on his napkin. “You name an industry in Metropolis, my dad’s got some kind of vested interest. So?”
“Did he ever work with Dr. Wesley?” Lana asked.
Lex shook his head. “We have our own team of scientists.”
Clark tried to shake off everything that had happened in the past ten minutes and focus on the reason they were here. “We were surprised when we found out it was Wesley’s company that had bought the Jones farm. We assumed it was your dad, Bryan.”
Bryan set down his burger. “I’m not en
tirely sure what Wesley’s company is up to and how my brother fits in. But I do know this: there are precious minerals in some of the craters around Smallville. And these minerals factor into the way we genetically engineer our seeds—which has always been highly secretive. My theory is that Wesley has uncovered our process and wants a piece of the pie. But I can also tell you that my dad will crush him before he gets very far. Whether my brother is involved or not.”
The craters. Now it made sense that Wesley had those photos pinned to his wall.
Bryan glanced at Lana, who was writing all this down in a small notebook. “If you guys really want to know what Wesley’s up to,” he said, “you’ll have to visit the secret lab he runs on the outskirts of town.”
“ ‘Secret lab’?” Lana repeated. She looked at Clark.
He nodded. They were on the same page. This was the best lead they’d found so far.
“Wait a minute,” Lex said, his usual grin suddenly gone. “What secret lab? I never knew anything about a secret lab.”
“I didn’t either, until a couple days ago.” Bryan tossed his napkin onto his mostly empty plate. “Corey took me. I can show you where it is, if you want.”
“Interesting,” Clark said.
“Very,” Lana agreed.
Lex was just staring at Bryan like a hungry wolf.
* * *
—
After they said their goodbyes outside the restaurant, Clark and Lana broke off and headed in the direction of her car. “A secret lab,” Lana said. “Obviously, we have to get inside.”
Clark agreed. “This could be big.”
They walked together in silence for a few seconds before Lana cleared her throat. “Hey, Clark. Sorry if I weirded you out about Gloria or whatever. I…You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
Clark opened his mouth to answer, but just then his super-hearing picked up on a desperate crying sound in the distance. This time the sound came to him without any interference, as though his ears were hearing only what they were supposed to hear.
When Clark didn’t respond right away, Lana stopped walking. “Clark?”
He heard voices around the cries now. Men laughing and encouraging each other. He heard the muted sound of ribs getting kicked. A fist smashing into a fleshy cheek. It took Clark a few seconds to understand what he was listening to.
A brutal, one-sided fight.
“Clark!” Lana demanded.
He turned to her, distracted. “I know this is kind of sudden, but…I gotta go.”
“What? Why?”
“I just…I need to be by myself for a minute. To think.” He knew he wasn’t making any sense, but his mind was stuck on the scary sounds he was hearing.
“But I’m your ride home,” Lana said.
Clark waved. “See you tomorrow, okay?” He didn’t wait around for her response. He started jogging away. From the sound of things, someone was in serious trouble. And if he didn’t hurry, he might be too late.
As soon as he’d turned the corner and was beyond Lana’s line of vision, a flash of energy shot through his entire body, and the world opened itself to him. He had that feeling again, the one he’d had when he saw Bryan’s helicopter plummeting toward his farm. He felt like he could fly. He hesitated briefly, remembering what had just happened to him in the diner restroom. But that hardly mattered now. Someone needed his help.
He ran at a dizzying speed and reached out his right arm and leapt into the air. At first it was exhilarating. He was slicing up into the sky. But just as he made it to a safe height above the buildings below, he began tipping forward. Within seconds, he was turning over in the air and falling out of the sky.
He crashed through the roof of an auto-body repair shop and slammed against the concrete floor.
He sat up, still hearing the fight in the distance.
Flying wasn’t going to work, but he had to get there. He climbed out a window and took off running instead. And almost immediately, he was at full speed.
His full speed.
The sounds were coming from the south end of town, at least a few miles away. Clark cut down a dark, deserted alleyway. He ran so fast, his jacket began ripping at the seams, the friction of his movements tearing the light fabric, the useless material trailing behind him like some kind of makeshift cape.
When Clark arrived at an alley behind a bar called Bootleggers and saw the brutal scene, his whole body went cold.
Five men were gathered around a bloody heap on the pavement. They took turns kicking the victim in his ribs. His legs. The side of his head. The man on the ground shielded his dark face with his hands, trying to protect himself, but the attempt was futile. He was getting pummeled.
Clark could somehow feel the impact of each fresh blow.
He could smell the man’s fear.
At first he just stood there, stunned by the sight of such a beating, the men shouting obscenities as they kicked and stomped and cheered each other on.
Three of the five men did not appear to be locals. They wore black leather jackets. Militant-looking eagles were embroidered all over their clothes. Several distinct tattoos on their arms confirmed their racist beliefs. Clark assumed they owned the massive choppers parked out front.
The other two attackers wore plaid shirts and cowboy hats. Worn boots covered in spit and blood. Wrangler jeans with pucks of chewing tobacco in the back pockets.
But they weren’t the men he’d caught trespassing on his farm.
Clark recognized both of the locals. One was a man named Justin Walker, a long-distance trucker who used to be married to one of the cafeteria workers at school. The other was Sheldon Ealing, the man who’d caused the scene at the All-American Diner only an hour or so before.
“Go back to Mexico!” the tallest of the attackers shouted.
“You and your kind are ruining this town,” another added, after smashing a bottle against the ground. “You’re ruining the whole country!”
Clearly, they were all drunk. Even the victim’s desperate pleas for the men to stop were slurred. The smell of booze hovered above the entire scene like a gas.
Booze mixed with testosterone.
And desperation.
Confusion.
Clark’s jacket and shirt were in pieces around his bare, heaving chest. He’d shown up so suddenly that it took the men a few seconds to notice his presence.
“Who are you?” the heaviest one finally asked.
“Get lost, kid!” another shouted. “This ain’t your business.”
“We said, get out of here!” Sheldon barked. “Unless you want some of this yourself.” He was squinting from a distance of twenty feet and didn’t seem to recognize Clark.
The man on the ground rolled over and groaned. A tooth tumbled from his mouth into a pool of blood.
“Go home,” Clark heard himself say in a calm, stern voice. “All of you.”
One of the bikers took note of Clark’s ripped shirt. The cuffs were still intact, and shreds of cotton hung from his wrists.
“What are you doing back here anyway, kid?” the man asked suspiciously. “And why are you dressed like that?”
“You’re just as bad as him in my book,” the tallest of them said, motioning toward the Mexican man on the ground. “Making a mockery of this whole proud nation.”
Clark’s eyes burned with anger. How could these men have so much hate for people they didn’t even know?
He moved toward them, pulling in measured breaths now, letting them out slowly. He closed his eyes briefly. He didn’t want his fury to shoot out of his pupils in the form of incinerating lasers. These men deserved some kind of punishment for what they were doing, but Clark knew it wasn’t his place to do the punishing. He was here for one reason only: to protect someone who could no longer protect himself.
> Once he had his anger in check, he opened his eyes and stared the men down. “Go home,” he repeated, louder this time. “You’re done here.”
“What’d you just say to me?” Sheldon shouted.
Clark motioned toward the man on the ground. “You will not touch him again, understand?”
Sheldon grinned and stepped away from the man on the asphalt. “Are you telling me what to do, boy? ’Cause I’ll put you down right next to him.”
One of the bikers threw an empty beer bottle, which shattered against the wall, and shouted, “We’re the only ones out here protecting this town anymore!”
All five began moving away from the beaten man.
They circled Clark instead.
Clark took a few more breaths, trying to think. Trying to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He considered taking off his glasses but didn’t. He’d never been in a legitimate fight. The closest was what had happened at the party. He didn’t know what to expect next. Or how to carry himself. He had superhuman strength that he knew they weren’t prepared for. And superhuman speed. But there were five of them.
And his powers were out of control. He’d just tried to fly, and he’d crashed through the roof of a building.
Would he really be able to impose his will against five grown men?
One of the men lunged at Clark from the side.
Clark saw the whole thing as if in slow motion. The man leaning forward, eyes narrowing, fists clenching, then hurling a right hook toward Clark’s face.
Yet he wasn’t able to stop it.
He stood there paralyzed as the man’s fist slammed into his jaw with a sickening crunch, but then a curious thing happened. The spell of uncertainty was broken.
The man retreated, howling in pain and staring at his shattered hand.
Clark moved forward. Unfazed now. Committed.
Sheldon grabbed a broken pool cue out of a nearby dumpster and swung it at Clark’s face, but Clark calmly blocked it with his forearm, snapping the thing like a twig.
He continued forward.
Two more of the men charged him, one from behind, the other from his right side. They both threw wild haymakers, which Clark ducked easily. But it was impossible to keep track of them all at once. A third man slammed a brick into the back of Clark’s skull. The brick exploded in a cloud of red dust and pebbles, leaving a loud ringing sound in Clark’s ears.
Superman Page 12
