Good Night, Lois – Tick Tock
Lois' gaze flickers toward me every so often as she steers the rental car along the road. The crystal rattles in the toolbox that is stored on the floor between my feet. We had a long discussion on where to put it, on who would drive to Wichita and on whether or not I still needed rest.
Neither of us is particularly happy with the compromise we came up with, but it's not like either of us has a better idea.
She looked so innocent this morning when the first rays of morning light painted her face in a golden glow. Now her lips are drawn into a thin line.
“You shouldn't be anywhere close to this stuff,” she grumbles. “I could have taken this to a safe place on my own.”
“And what if Trask starts searching cars? What if our visit to the farm last night didn't go as unnoticed as we thought? What if he's just biding his –”
My heart skips a beat as, from the corner of my eye, I see military jeeps parked on the driveway to the Irig farm.
“Oh no, they’ve found Wayne!” I feel a wave of nausea rise in my stomach, not unlike the feeling that washed over me the night before. “Pull over, I need to help him.”
She slows the car, but stares at me, her eyes wide, her lips white.
She shakes her head. “No! You must be crazy! You don't even have your powers back!”
“Lois!”
I wish I could tell her that she's wrong, that there's no need to worry. But the truth is that even if I did have my powers, there's no guarantee that Trask won’t harm me. Not anymore.
I swallow hard. “You know I have to go. If they hurt Wayne, it will be because of me.”
“You're not responsible for the delusions of this mad guy.”
No, I'm not. But still it feels that way. If it weren't for me… I open the door, ready to get out.
Lois grabs my wrist to hold me back. “We should call the police and let them handle the situation.”
I take a deep breath. The police – that’s basically Sherriff Rachel Harris and a few deputies. I still remember her from school. She was cute with her two braids, the smallest girl in our class, yet tough even then. But I don’t know if she’s a match for Trask and his guys.
I pull my hand from Lois’s grip.
“I’ll be careful,” I promise. “Get this crystal away from here.”
I close the door behind me. Her muffled cry pierces my heart. I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to scare her either. But this is more important than her feelings or mine. Trask needs to be stopped, even if right now, I’m probably not the best person to do that. But it’s my fault Wayne is in this precarious position.
Without looking back I run past the parked jeeps and over to Wayne’s farm, careful to stay out of sight. I hope Lois will listen to me and take the crystal out of town. Briefly I contemplate changing into Superman. Trask doesn’t know I lost my powers. I know he’s after me because he’s scared of what I could do.
Tick Tock. I’m his crocodile.
He’s terrified of me though I haven’t even bitten his hand off.
But it wouldn’t take much for him to realize that, currently, I’m toothless.
No, playing Superman won’t cut it. Not until I get my powers back. Not if he found more of that crystal and somehow guessed who I really am and uses Wayne…
No! He can’t know already.
I sneak closer to the farm and hear voices coming from the barn. Trask’s goons are searching the place, and probably not for the first time, while Trask holds Wayne at gunpoint. What am I even supposed to do here? Walk in there and tell Trask that it’s me he wants?
Perhaps calling the police would have been the wiser decision.
But I can’t drag anyone else into this. Not Lois, not Rachel. It’s bad enough that Wayne is already caught up in this mess because he looked under the wrong tree. For the first time in my life I'm glad my parents aren't here anymore. At least Trask can’t harm them.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wayne says, his voice trembling.
“Where did you hide the crystal you found?” Trask barks.
There’s a slapping sound and a cry that tears right through me. I ball my hands into tight fists and am hard pressed not to run straight inside and confront Trask. What am I going to do? Change into Superman and hope that the uniform alone will do the trick?
That - tick, tock - just seeing me will scare Trask witless?
If only it would. I never wanted for anyone to fear me. But I’d give anything for Trask to run away screaming right about now.
Because four men against one is not a battle I can win. I’m no longer weak as a kitten, but I’m still a far cry from my usual strength. What I’d need is a distraction, something that will draw the attention of these men away from Wayne.
I’m sure Wayne has a gun in his house. Not that I really know how to shoot. And it’d be still four people against one, four machine guns against an ancient rifle.
Looking around I search for something, anything that could help me out of this mess. There are several bags on the bed of Wayne's pick-up. Fertilizer. That's not going to be of much help either, unless… Suddenly I find myself staring at those bags, remembering bits and pieces about how dangerous fertilizers can be. An idea forms in my mind, brazen and far from anything I’d normally do. But desperate times…
The voices still come from inside the barn. I climb onto the bed of the truck and open a bag of fertilizer. There's rope too and a box of tools. I look back at the barn. Still no sign of any of them coming out. But they must be done searching the place any moment. I cut two pieces off the rope with a knife and even find a box of matches. Small mercies. Pulling up the hem of my shirt, I use it as a makeshift bag and quickly gather a few hands full of fertilizer. The voices inside are getting louder. More slapping sounds are testing my resolve, but I take deep breaths and continue.
As soon as I have what I need I jump from the truck and bite back a grunt as I hurt my ankle. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my foot, I hobble down the road back toward the jeeps, always looking over my shoulders. Barely in time I manage to duck behind Wayne’s tractor as Trask’s guys come out of the barn and head over to the house.
That gives me a few more minutes.
Anyway, I should hurry before Trask has the chance to hurt Wayne any more than he already did.
I'm almost glad I’m not forced to listen to his cries of pain.
***
Tick Tock.
I’m counting down the seconds, waiting with bated breath as I crouch on the roof of the chicken coop. Trask is still trying to get Wayne to talk, who stubbornly refuses. It’s painful to just lie there and listen, hoping that my Dad’s old friend won’t break under the pressure, praying that my little contraption will work, feeling guilty because Superman should be able to do so much more.
But I can’t.
The cape is flapping slightly with a strong gust of wind.
Tick Tock.
If Trask walks out of the barn and finds me here, waiting outside like a coward, he will know.
Tick Tock.
One slight squeeze of his trigger and I’m dead.
Tick Tock.
Who is whose crocodile? I’m not so sure anymore.
Tick To – Kaboom!
A massive explosion rocks the farm, courtesy of fertilizer, heat and gasoline. Only moments later the door of Wayne’s house flies open, Trask’s men storm out towards their jeeps to find out what’s happening. Trask steps out of the barn, looking around himself and just in time I jump from the roof, landing next to him with a heavy thud. I try not to wince as my ankle protests.
“Get back here,” Trask cries, but his voice is drowned out by a second explosion resounding from the driveway.
“Stop harassing people, Trask!” I fold my arms in front of my chest, giving him the sternest look Superman is capable of. “Your problem is with me.”
“Superman!” His gaze drifts over toward the jeeps, where black smoke is billowing. A smug expression crosses his face. “Showing the world your true face, are you?”
I grit my teeth, trying hard not to let him get to me. I did what I had to do, even if it meant wreacking destruction. Better these two cars than another blow to Wayne’s face. Or so I’m trying to tell myself. If I had my powers, I could have done so much worse.
“You're wrong about me,” I say between clenched teeth. “I mean no harm and I’m not the first line of an invasion. I’m the last of my kind, you have to believe me.”
“Believe you?” His laugh is more like a bark, short and without any humor.
Eyes wide, he raises his shaking hands and aims his pistol directly at my chest.
So much for scaring him witless.
I feel beads of sweat pool on my forehead. Just how long will it take him to realize that it would make more sense if I just grabbed Wayne and flew him to safety? I have to act before he realizes that something is seriously off.
Looking at the pistol, I force a smile on my face. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re only going to hurt yourself.”
I dash forward and try to slap the pistol from his hand right when a shot rings out. A sharp pain tears through my arm, but I stagger forward and knock Trask to the ground with the sheer force of my weight.
“Stop this madness,” I ground out.
Locked in a tight grip, were both trying to win the upper hand. Trask’s fingers close around the wound in my arm. I see stars and through the haze of pain hear his laughter.
“I was right. Whatever this substance is, its radiation is toxic to you.”
He rolls us around until he's the one pressing me down. His fist connects with my jaw and my ears ring. More stars taint my vision. But I can't let him win. I'm not going to go down like that.
He prepares for another knock to my face, but this time I catch his fist and struggle to regain the upper hand.
I promised Lois to fly her to Ireland.
I vowed to spare her from any more pain.
I'm not going to leave her.
Even if all I'll ever do is saying ‘Good Night, Lois.’
I pull my hand free and aim for his jaw, but the blow falls short. And a moment later Trask's hands close around my neck.
“I'm not going to let you and your kind invade Earth. This stops right now.”
Gasping for breath, I'm trying to fend him off. But my strength is failing. My vision grays on the edges.
Desperately I struggle against his tightening grip. Then, suddenly, he just goes limp.
Wayne stands behind him, a huge wrench in his hands. His nose is bloody, his eyes swollen and his jaw ticks.
“You alright, Clark?”
I stare at him, dazed.
“You know?” I rasp.
His battered face splits into a smile. “Who do you think helped Jonathan bury your ship?”
Last edited by bakasi; 02/22/25 03:21 AM.
