Bolt, From Dubuque (Part 4)
By: Ann Nonymous
Flying above Metropolis once again, Clark was finding it very hard to catch his breath. It had nothing to do with the altitude, or his recent exertion. He told himself that it was adrenaline and the fact that his secret could’ve possibly been found out, but deep inside, he knew it was her. The most stunning creature on the face of the planet was back in that alley, probably still searching the street for him, and he would never be able to get her face out of her mind. Those eyes, that hair, the way she kept her poise even in the face of what she undoubtedly knew was a near death experience. All combined to give the picture of someone he wished with all his might he’d met under more normal circumstances. As it was, he hadn’t even gotten her name, which was just as well since he could never see her again.
It had started out innocently enough. His quest to find the new hero of Metropolis had brought him to the city, a place much larger than he remembered. The few times that he had traveled there before, it had always been by conventional means, being led by people much more familiar with the city. He’d always gone to predetermined places at predetermined times to see people who knew him. When looking for one stranger among several million in a location that he knew largely from reputation alone, however, the place took on a much less cozy character. The sky had been searched first, but then his eyes had turned downward, toward the throngs of people that made their way along the endless miles of sidewalks, undoubtedly bound for somewhere important. He scanned each of them at first, his mind processing the faces and clothing of each person individually before rapidly moving onto the next. As the minutes ticked by and the streets flashed underneath him, he stopped trying to take in everything, instead looking for anything seemingly out of place. Even then, the new hero was nowhere to be found. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed or how many streets he had seen before he finally decided to give up and head back, but as he was about to leave, something caught his eye, and suddenly home was the furthest thing from his mind.
Clark’s progress through the air had immediately come to a halt as he stared at the scene below him, mesmerized. A woman sat in a dark and lonely alleyway, her eyes closed, her demeanor relaxed. There was no doubt she was unaware of the man that was making his way silently toward her, the gun in his hand pointed at her head. It was an ambush of the worst sort, and Clark didn’t have to be an expert to know that there wouldn’t be a happy ending for that poor woman in the alley. Under normal circumstances he would’ve probably turned away, resigned to her fate and the fact that he couldn’t help her if he wanted to keep his secret. But for whatever reason, those well-coached warnings never came, and without even another thought, he was descending to Earth. In a flash he was on the ground, clutching the barrel of the gun even as it was shot into his hand.
The hot whisper of exploding gunpowder licked at his skin and the bullet deformed as it hit his hand. Clark knew that he was invulnerable to most things, but getting shot was a new experience. Normally he’d be too cautious to try and test his limits – he wouldn’t run into a fire just to see if he could get burned any more than he’d get shot just to make sure he was bulletproof. Fate seemed to want him to know that fact on this day, though, and for a moment Clark found himself pondering the implications of the new discovery, his gaze locked on the twisted piece of lead now crushed against his palm, the eyes of the criminal he now held by the shirt following his own. Out of the corner of his eye, Clark could see the other man’s eyes go wide with shock, then a shudder wracked the man’s body and he went limp. Clark dropped him to the ground and stepped back, not knowing what to feel. Years of holding back, of seeing the worst things happen while he stood silently by, were over. Deep down, he knew he had been meant to help, and now he had finally allowed himself to do so. He had expected to feel scared when that moment finally arrived, apprehensive at the very least, but he didn’t. There was only an overwhelming feeling of rightness, almost as if he had found his destiny. Far from being afraid, he almost felt giddy, excited at the idea that he had changed fate, righted what would’ve turned out to be a great wrong. In retrospect it might have been a really stupid thing to do, considering there were two potential eyewitnesses right there, but did it matter, really?
The sound of quick ragged breaths caught his attention, and he realized that while he’d been staring at the man, he’d been completely ignoring the woman whose life he’d saved. Turning to her, his eyes found hers and suddenly the rest of the world just fell away. The cacophony of thoughts and feelings that been swirling in his head seemed almost deafeningly silent as he drank in the depths of her eyes, replaced by a new and exciting surge of emotions that he couldn’t pinpoint at first. It was love, he realized with a start, the fabled love at first sight, the holy grail of all emotions. Whatever it was that he had felt toward Lana couldn’t compare to the almost paralyzing intensity of the feeling that ran through him. Never had he even dreamed that another woman would elicit such a response in him, although now that he had been allowed to experience it, he couldn’t fathom how he could’ve contemplating committing to a life that held no such feeling. The concept of love at first sight was something he really hadn’t believed in before that moment, something he thought only existed in the world of soap operas and romance novels, yet here it was, and he seemed helpless to stop it. All at once he felt hot and cold, completely safe, completely at home with who he was.
But who was he, he wondered, slamming home the reality of the situation. As far as she knew, he was some normal guy off the street who came to her rescue, which was just as well, but it wasn’t true. If she knew who and what he really was, she certainly wouldn’t be looking at him the way she was. For her sake as well as his own, he couldn’t let this go any further. Might as well spare them both the heartache that would come when she found out his true nature, he thought, recalling the way Lana’s perception had changed when she was let in on the truth. Straightening up, he pulled his eyes away from her and started walking toward the street.
Her voice had called him back, and he stopped, the mental connection that lingered between them not allowing him to leave. She wanted to know what happened, she wanted to know his name. His heart was heavy as he turned away from her, knowing that he couldn’t reveal his identity to her. It was for the best, he had told himself over and over again, but even as he flew back across the country and toward his home, he longed for her. The beauty of the countryside, the vastness of the blue sky in front of him, things that usually calmed his thoughts and soothed away hard feelings seemed to hold no sway over him anymore. All he could see was her face in his vision, something that had an adverse affect on his ability to fly in a path resembling a straight line. In fact, he had been mere inches away from putting the local news affiliate off the air, the bright red and white stripes of the tower getting lost in the mental filters erected through his wallowing. That more than anything drove his mind back to the present, and he continued his flight in silent concentration, his mind forcibly turned away from the encounter in Metropolis.
He was almost back to campus when he saw something that caused him to do a double take. There, in front of him, was a man in the sky, flying rather slowly, his hands thrust awkwardly in front of him, his path a little less than steady. Clark hung back from the man, observing. This was undoubtedly the new hero that he had heard about, and from this angle, his outfit sure seemed to match what Clark had seen on TV. It was kind of odd that the hero would be in this part of the country, but as someone who’d been on a joy flight more than once, Clark could certainly understand that he might want to take an excursion across the fruited plains. Still, as Clark followed, the man headed toward Kansas, right to the town his college was located in, and landed on the roof of an apartment building. Clark hovered in the air for a moment, puzzled, suddenly curious as to why it was he had looked so familiar on TV. As the man walked into the stairwell and disappeared into the depths of the building, it finally hit Clark that this new hero, whoever he was, was a fellow student at Midwestern State. What were the odds that another superpowered being would just happen to be at this college at the same time as Clark? Maybe more spaceships had landed in Kansas, maybe there was a whole underground society of people like him, maybe....
Maybe he was just struck by lightning, his subconscious finished, and Clark instantly remembered the incident the day before. Of course! THAT was where they’d met before. But why would being struck by lightning suddenly mean that this man had the same powers that Clark did? The desire to fly down and follow the man through the apartment building was incredibly strong, but the shy side of Clark asserted itself, cautioning him against such a confrontation. Maybe someday they would talk, but he didn’t know what he could possibly say right now without giving away something he’d rather not give away. He supposed he hadn’t thought that through before leaving on his quest to begin with, but he honestly didn’t expect to run into someone from Midwestern. This could hit very close to home. It was much better to be smart about the whole thing. His mind made up, Clark slowly turned and made his way home, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything for the remainder of the day.
*~*~*
The sharp buzzing of the alarm clock rudely pulled Kevin away from his dreams and into the world of the living. Normally, the solace of dreams was a place he much preferred to real life, but he found himself smiling as his eyes popped open, the promise of a new day filling him with excitement. Every minute of every day held at least the possibility of excitement, and when the inevitable moment came, rest assured that Bolt would be there. He almost felt downright giddy at the prospect of getting out into the world this fine morning.
The smile faded from his face as he heard a rhythmic thumping from his ceiling. Almost unconsciously, his eyes focused through the floor and into the bedroom of the apartment above him, giving him a good look at something he had absolutely no interest in seeing. Slapping his hand over his eyes, he groaned, trying desperately to shove the mental image away.
“I knew it, but yet I didn’t WANT to know it,” he muttered, silently cursing his carelessness. Through the course of many long nights, he had laid awake in bed, unable to slip into dreamland thanks to a sound very much like that one. During those nights he had found himself wondering just what it was they were doing up there, then imagining not so subtle ways to convey his displeasure at the situation. Now of all times, after a perfectly happy night of sleep, he finally got his wish, and it was everything that he had subconsciously known it would be. That was definitely not the way to start a Monday, he thought as he rolled out of bed.
After throwing on some clothes, he trudged to the bathroom. His teeth may be invulnerable, but mouth fuzzies apparently didn’t care. As he stood in front of the mirror, his toothbrush sticking awkwardly out of his mouth, he noticed a bit of a shadow across his face. Normally he wasn’t the type who had to shave every day if he didn’t want to, but this was a little more stubble than he wanted to deal with, he thought, running his free hand across his chin. After brushing his teeth, he pulled out his razor and shaving cream, lathering up well. As the blade met his skin and was gently pulled along his jaw line, he could hear the usual rough scratching sound, but there was something else, something grittier that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The first patch of skin began to be cleared away, revealing the rough looking stubble that was supposed to have been shaved off.
Kevin pulled the blade away and looked down at it, noticing with horror that rough grooves roughly the depth of his facial hair had been worn into the metal. Cursing under his breath, he stared into the mirror, lost in though. This was a disaster of the worst sort. It had never occurred to him that being invulnerable meant that he was destined to grow a beard and never cut his hair again. Just the thought of him being transformed into a creature straight out of the 60’s counter culture was enough to seriously offend his more conservative values. He LIKED being clean-shaven, darn it. There had to be some way to do it. But for now there was no time. He cleaned the shaving cream off his face and dried himself off, shuffling dejectedly into the kitchen. So much for the happy promise of a new day. At least he could still take solace in the joys of eating cherry pop tarts for breakfast.
As he settled down on the couch with his bounty of sugary breakfast, he turned on the TV, tuning into all the morning shows. In every one of them, he was the top story, something that raised his spirits significantly. He’d never even come close to being on TV before, except maybe as a faceless member of a large sporting crowd. All the conventional wisdom said that the camera put on pounds, but he thought that he looked pretty good. At the very least, he looked to be free of facial hair, something that wouldn’t be true for a long, long time to come, given his current predicament. He even managed to look like he knew what he was doing, which had probably been the toughest thing that he could ever remember doing. The press seemed suitably impressed, which was good. Deep down he had been scared that somehow people would see through his disguise, that going public would do nothing more than feed the tabloids and conspiracy theorists and earning the fear of the average citizen. Good thing for him that he tended to be more of an optimist, though, and his nagging, doubtful voices had been ignored.
Satisfied, full, and relatively happy again, Kevin grabbed his backpack and left the apartment, bound for his first morning class. Leaving the building, he began to have the funny feeling like he was being watched. It was absurd, he told himself. He was just paranoid after yesterday. There was no way that anyone could possibly know who he was; HE wouldn’t have been able to know that the person he saw on TV was him if he hadn’t actually been there. Still, the creepy feeling persisted, much to annoyance. After his first class, he decided to use his free time to take a look around the country by air. As he left the ground, the creepy feeling just went away. Maybe it was some inner struggle with dual identities manifesting himself and he just felt safer in the air. Or maybe he’d just taken too many psychology classes. Whatever it was, it definitely was weird, but gone for now, thankfully.
*~*~*
Cigar smoke hung low from the ceiling of the dank room, clouding the smell of mildew and paper, creating a fog that diffused the low wattage light coming from the single fixture above. Amidst the haze sat five men who, from outward appearances, were ordinary enough. Indeed, each of them held an ordinary job, each was a respected member of the community. But when the night came and their ordinary families huddled around the television sets, they came here, to be among people who shared like-minded interests. They were the first to admit that their beliefs were far from politically correct. In fact, most were pretty sure that their families would have them locked away of they knew what exactly did go on in this room night after night. But just because the outside world would laugh at them for their beliefs didn’t make them wrong. Events of the world day in and day out made it plain, at least to them, that the opposite was true. Their group was right, and sooner or later the rest of the world would see that, too.
“Gentlemen,” one of the men said, slapping a newspaper down onto the table. The world’s finest daily newspapers covered the surface, a tablecloth with 40 point headlines. ‘Hero,’ one paper screamed. ‘The Hope of the World,’ said another. All carried pretty much the same message, and all gave the smiling face that none of them would ever forget anytime soon.
The rest of the men around the table lowered their papers, drawing their eyes toward the speaker. Taking a long drag on his cigar then gently letting it out, he fixed a grave expression on his face and continued. “I don’t think I need to tell you that we have a problem on our hands. What do you make of this man – is he one of ours?”
The rustle of newspaper filled the room as the men folded their papers and discarded them in the pile on the table. “He’s not anyone I’m familiar with,” a second man said, bringing a chorus of grunts.
“If we were familiar with him, I wouldn’t be asking the question,” the first man answered, throwing a disappointed look toward his colleague. “Most of the ones we track don’t have discernable faces, anyway, aside from the obvious.”
“And obviously,” a third man continued, a smile on his face, “this guy’s eyes are a little small and his skin lacks the greenish tint of our usuals.”
“Thanks, Ted,” the first man said, shaking his head ever so slightly. “Have anything else to add?”
“Actually, I do,” Ted replied as he stood. Silence once again overtook the room as he made his way to what they liked to call the archives. One whole wall was lined with metal filing cabinets and vertical files. On top of the cabinets, tarps hid items that they had collected throughout the years, items that they knew full well the government would like nothing better than to get their hands on. Opening one of the drawers, it only took a moment for Ted locate the file he was looking for.
“Stories of flying men are not exactly common, but they aren’t as unusual as you might think,” he said. “Especially over the last five or so years, sporadic reports have come in from across the country and the world about a man who flies.” He opened the file and rifled through it until he reached the page he was looking for. “This one, here, in Kansas City, Missouri. A lady was out for a walk when she thought she saw what looked like a man lifting off into the sky from a nearby alley.” He flipped the clipping over, moving on to the next story. “Metropolis, New Troy. A kid says he was saved from falling off a bridge by a strange man.”
Ted circled back to his seat, closing the file and placing in onto the table. “Of course, nobody saw the man’s face well enough to be able to identify him. About the only thing everyone agreed on was the fact that he was male and had a dark complexion.”
“Sounds fairly harmless,” a fourth man chipped in, bringing nods from most of the other members.
“They all seem harmless at first,” the second man said, his voice steely. “But what happens when it all starts to go wrong? What happens when the press isn’t quite so sweet on this guy? What happens when the crime bosses in that stinking town get a hold of him and demand his cooperation?”
“You act as if this happens every day,” Ted answered, the smile on his face morphing into a mocking one. “Last time I checked, our guys don’t usually go public.”
“Nobody’s even saying he’s one of ours,” the first man said, giving a sharp glance to the second man. “Not that I hear aliens talk every day, but from the way he talks, the words he uses, and the way he carries himself, he seems every bit as terrestrial as you or me.”
“Not many Americans can fly under their own power,” the final man chipped in, again drawing nods from the rest of the assembled.
“So what do we do about this one?” the fourth man asked as he picked a new newspaper out of the pile to read. The first man seemed lost in thought for a moment, but only a moment.
“We watch him carefully, just to make sure. And,” he said, looking at the second man, “we prepare for the worst. Who’s to say there aren’t more out there? And who’s to say what kind of damage this man could cause of he got the wrong ideas into his head. Yes, we’ll be ready for anything.”
A chorus of grunts again erupted, signaling the end of the discussions. The men leaned back and settled in to read their papers once more. None of them had any doubt that they would be prepared when they had to be. And none doubted that in the end the world would be oblivious to the alien dangers they had been saved from. They had their secret weapons, that was for sure, and when the time came, the aliens would wish they’d found a different planet to pick on.
