Super Nobody (Alphas and Omegas Book 1) (28 page)

So when he bolted, he really bolted. The
books on top of the shelves didn't matter now, they were just
hurdles. He imagined himself jumping over bikes and dogs and
lawnmowers in peoples' yards. The front door came closer and closer
with every hop. And then the Actives hit him.

Somebody pushed him, just a nudge and he lost
his balance. He fell full on into the next bookshelf. Fire raced up
his back where he cracked his spine against a couple of dozen other
spines. He cried out in pain, this time he couldn't help it, before
finally smacking into that scrub-sponge carpeting. All the air
instantly left his body, and it was a miracle he got any back into
his lungs after that. It was torture just to take a breath. Now
both his knees were scraped up, along with his elbows.

They were getting closer now, and though
Michael knew it, he couldn't make his body get up and go. It could
have been worse, he knew that. Charlotte had all the time in the
world to get out. That was the important thing. He tried to focus
on Charlotte, but the pain kept bringing him back to the
present.

“Well there, the all-important little bag of
dirt, Mr. Michael Washington, in the flesh.”

Michael slumped over onto his back and got a
look at Mr. L's big fat smug smile. Yeah, those eyes were nuts. You
could see right away, and Michael wondered how he'd missed
that.

“I'm not even a telepath!” he tried to say.
Failed. The sound his tortured lungs made was more like 'nuh,
tuh'.

“I have to give you some credit though,” Mr.
L said. He was holding his arm. “At least you put up a fight. I
couldn’t just let you die at that assembly. And that Trent kid
couldn’t finish the job either. Too bad nobody's going to remember
you. And we've had our setbacks, young Mr. Washington, but let's
not let that stop us, shall we? Where was I?”

Mr. L had put all those kids up to the task
of killing Michael. It all made sense, in a twisted sort of way.
Whatever Mr. L thought Michael had, he didn’t. Whatever ability he
was supposed to get wasn’t there. Still, that didn’t stop Mr. L
from mistakenly believing it, and wanting him dead all the
same.

Mr. L turned, squinted, then smiled
again.

“You know why I love telepathy?” he
asked.

“You're...out of...your mind?” Michael
wheezed.

“Ha! Oh, aha, that was great. Out of my
mind...and in someone else's mind. I get it, I get jokes, I do.
Such spirit. My associates would like you, I'm sure of it. No, I
like telepathy because you can take all the fight out of people,
even after you give up the power. It’s no regeneration. Sure you
can’t die, but your enemies are still coming after you. With
telepathy though, you mess with somebody’s mind enough, they aren’t
coming out of it. They’re just like putty, Michael, you shape them
however you like. More bang for your buck.”

He spread his fingers and his entire hand
erupted into flame.

“I was just going to let this town bowl
itself over. Let everything fall apart while the people started
rioting. You can just imagine it...so and so doesn't bring back the
lawnmower after he borrows it, and the owner's had a bad day, so he
obliterates his neighbor. Then the tardy lawnmower borrower's
friends come over for poker night, find his smoking skeleton, and
war starts. Houses get smashed to bits. It's Tallahassee and
Memphis and Peoria all over again. It's Salem Oregon and Rio de
Jeneiro and Prague and Gwangzhou. Poof! Only this one, you know,
you've got so many Actives here, it would just about upset the
earth's revolution, and end up with us freezing to death before we
crashed into Mars.” He threw back his head and brayed laughter.
There was something definitely donkey-like about him, and it wasn’t
just the laugh.

“Why?” Michael wheezed.

“Why, yes, that’s always the question,” Mr. L
said. “Why? Because when you have these abilities, you don’t limit
yourself. You don’t tell an Olympic sprinter to slow down. You
don’t tell the scientists to hold back and call it a day.
Scientists keep pushing the boundaries of what we know, runners run
as hard as they can, and Actives need to be, well, active. We have
to use it, find out all it can do. Take this ability. You’d think
Mr. Terrence Jackson over there could make himself into a god. He
could transform the world. You set up the subconscious blocks, and
people are no longer a threat to you. They follow your directions,
and they tear apart their minds if they ever think of trying to
resist. Why, Michael, should we have to limit ourselves? Because we
could break their little buildings and upset the little
civilization out there? Because everybody else is afraid of us? Let
them be afraid. They should be terrified, they’re
obsolete
.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed
something. It was a flicker of movement…it was himself. There was a
boy standing near the library office who looked just like him. No,
exactly like him.

Michael sighed theatrically. “What’s the fire
for anyway?” he asked.

The smirk dropped off Mr. L’s face.
“What?”

“I’m starting to think you’re just going to
talk me to death.”

“Why you little-” and he stopped, staring up
at something. “What the…no! This one must be an imposter. Get
him!”

Michael didn’t know what happened exactly,
and stood up to get a better look as Mr. L started forward. Both of
them stopped short as Mr. Jackson shouted.

“Go on, run you idiot!”

Michael didn’t have to be told twice. He ran
for it. Fresh pain lanced up from his elbows and knees, and he
pushed past a confused zombie teacher before coming to the
automatic doors. They almost didn’t open at all, and he nearly
smashed face first into them. They parted just as a burst of fire
erupted near his shoulder. He couldn’t risk a glance back, not with
the other Michael Washington running up ahead of him.

He burst out of the library and away.
Charlotte went one way, and he dashed the other. At least if they
caught him, they wouldn’t get her. She could change into basically
anybody, so she’d be impossible to find. Then she could get back to
her mom and dad.

His mom and dad…

Mr. L was already turning the whole town into
a bunch of zombies, starting with the city’s teachers. It wasn’t
going to be long before he had control over everybody in town. He
could just use Mr. Jackson’s powers to take over the police, and
have them shoot anybody who resisted. And when the big boys, the
super super powers showed up to make sure the police couldn’t hurt
anybody else, boom, Mr. L would take them too.

He didn’t have much time.

There were maybe ten thousand people in town,
give or take. Michael had to figure out a way to warn as many of
them as he could as quickly as he could. Without help, Mr. L was
going to destroy everything. He had to know what Mr. L was
doing.

He found a place not far away from the
library where he could watch Mr. L go out and into the world. And
go he did. Ten teachers went out with Mr. Jackson held up between
them. Mr. L went too, somewhere in the procession of teachers. They
handed Mr. Jackson around in shifts before they tired themselves
out and dropped from exhaustion. As they walked, people walking or
driving by stopped what they were doing and joined the enormous
blobs of people. They just walked up through Van Buren Road without
stopping. It was like a bug zapper, that blob, with all the
inquisitive minds drawn in only to be swatted down to nothing. It
was a quiet riot calmly walking through the road in protest of the
way the town was made up. Whatever force had brought this town
together, it was crashing down around their heads. At one point
someone flew toward them, only to stop short and float up there for
a few seconds. Michael only heard Mr. L laughing in triumph. A few
minutes later the mob had grown to several hundred people. Some
were breaking off, walking up to homes and knocking on doors. When
someone answered, they were pulled from their house, brought before
Mr. L, and then joined up. It was the slowest moving surprise
attack in history. The flier came back, this time with Grandpa in
her arms. He was shouting and telling her to put him down
immediately, then there was painful cursing, and Grandpa’s
movements slowed, slowed, and then stopped. And then he wasn’t
shouting anymore. Mr. L had him. Mr. L had everybody. The town was
his.

They were moving, inching really, toward the
high school.

Michael rushed home through backyards,
outrunning dogs and getting shouted at a little, but he finally
made it up to his house. He peeked around the edge, down the
street, and saw the roaming groups carrying off someone, thrashing
and trying to scream out. He shuddered and pounded into his
house.

“Mom!” he shouted. “Mom!”

“What’s on fire?” she called.

“This is serious mom, they’re taking
everybody!”

“I’m in the kitchen dear!”

He headed for the kitchen and put his hands
on his knees to help him stay standing. His lungs were twin
fireballs, and each breath was a struggle.

“Listen, mom—” he started.

“Go wash up for dinner dear.”

“Mom, stop!”

“Michael Edward, what has gotten into
you?”

“Okay look, Mr. L is a bad guy and he’s
taking everybody in town, I know I thought it was Terrence
Jackson—” He didn’t get any further than that.

“I don’t want to hear anymore about it.
Whatever strange fantasies you’ve got going on…your grandfather
told me Charlotte’s been released and she’s probably been to see
you, so I understand if—”

“They’re coming!” he shouted.

“Don’t you take that tone with me young man!”
When he started to protest, she snapped again. “To your room, right
now. And don’t even think about coming out until one, you’ve got
your homework done, or two, you’re ready to use an indoor voice
with me. Go on, off to your room. We will talk about this
later.”

No they wouldn’t. There was a knock at the
door, and Michael’s guts froze.

“Whoever would that be at this time of
night?” Susanna wondered aloud.

“Don’t go out there mom!” But she was already
going. Michael rushed to the door and flattened himself against it.
She stared at him as if she’d never met him in her entire life.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of
yours, but you are grounded young man. Now get to your room right
now. Don’t think you’re too big or too old for me to paddle your
butt.”

“Susanna Washington?” someone said from
outside. That was it. They knew she was in here. There was no way
he could get her out now. They’d just bust the door down and find
her. Like all parents, she was just clueless about her own safety.
Even if she realized the danger, she’d never move fast enough to
get herself out in time.

He hated the thought, but he had to save
himself. Mr. L was going to take his mom, and had already taken his
grandfather. Grandpa was already one of those things. That left
only one thing for him to do: leave, hide, and find somebody who
could help him.

Sprinting through the house, Michael slammed
his bedroom door, slid open the window, and was out in the garage
before he wondered if they’d come to look for him. He hadn’t closed
the window. He didn’t know how closely they’d look.

A shiver of ice went up Michael’s back as he
heard his mother scream in confusion and pain.

“Sherrie? Ross? You let go of me this
instant, Leomund! Don’t touch me!” After that it was just
screaming, until somebody clamped a hand over her mouth.

They didn’t look for him. There wasn’t
anywhere for him to go in the garage, but still, nobody came to
look. Michael wasn’t thinking clearly enough to know that Mr. L’s
instructions had been pretty simple: look in peoples’ houses. He
couldn’t focus through the terror: they had all the adults who
mattered to him, or were in the same hemisphere. Even if his super
dad came home, what was he about to do against Mr. L and the drone
army?

He finally fell asleep out there, propped up
in a painful position that woke him sometime in the dead of night
with a crick in his neck. He had no way of knowing how much of the
town was already under Mr. L’s possession, but he did know one
thing: the high school was the right place to take them all. If
Michael was a monster, he would make the high school his Mordor. It
was big, had an enormous gymnasium or auditorium to hold over a
thousand people without any problem. Mr. L could influence
everybody he saw, and the gym would be the best place to set up a
throne. Outside the gym was an enormous stretch of parking lot for
students and teachers. Nobody could get close easily, except
through the rest of the school, and his zombies could patrol a few
exits easily. Very easily. The high school was definitely Mr. L’s
base of operations, and not just because he knew the school like
the back of his hand.

“It makes sense,” Michael told himself.
Talking to himself didn’t help kill the feeling of emptiness, but
he had to hear
something
.

Now his house was pitch black. Only it was
worse than that. It was
empty
. There was something spooky
about his house when there wasn’t anybody in it. Even when he was
upstairs, or in his room with the door closed, there was a presence
about the house, those random sounds you heard someone make in your
house. And even if his mother was sitting down doing some quiet
knitting or basket weaving or something stupid, he still felt her
there.

Not so now. His house felt like a tomb. His
neighborhood felt that way. There were no cars rolling by, casting
funky moving shadows on the living room. Nobody jogging by and
disturbing the neighborhood bad dogs. Nobody watering their grass,
and definitely nobody watching the news.

Knowing why and where everybody was didn’t
help. It still felt really wrong. Really spooky.