7. Cole

The only times I felt calm were when I was climbing and when I was with Trish. My idea of the perfect day involved scaling a bridge or two and then biking across town to a rooftop cuddle with her at sunset, cooking dinner before settling into the couch. I didn't want complications. I didn't want to have to think long-term, to plan my career or whatever. I just wanted to go wherever I wanted and to be with my girl when I got home, consequences be damned.

I got halfway down the fire escape before I remembered what lay at the bottom, waiting. The thought of seeing the junkie kid's dead body turned my stomach, but if I went back up to face Zeke and tell him why I'd chickened out, he'd have second thoughts and would try to keep me up there. I wished I'd taken the other fire escape.

The streets were dark but there was enough moonlight to highlight another fire escape on the building next door. If I jumped from the railing of this fire escape, it was only an eight foot gap to the closest landing, slightly lower.

I was still feeling antsy, still jumpy, but I wasn't stupid. The lightning in me somehow made me stronger but it didn't mean I was invincible. I climbed down the fire escape until I was just above the last landing. I wasn't more than twenty-five feet above the ground now, an easy fall. I shook out my muscles once more, already feeling limber.

I climbed over the railing and swung my feet to the other side, bracing them on the lower rail. Visualizing the jump, I steadied my breathing and focused my eyes on my target. Then I pushed off.

Light flashed beneath my feet and I launched with greater speed than expected. Arms flailing, I cleared the alley easily but was too high when I reached the opposite fire escape. Instead of dropping onto the landing, I slammed face-first into the ladder a full eight feet higher than I'd intended. Stunned, I grabbed at the rungs of the ladder and missed. I tumbled through opening in the landing floor straight to the pavement a storey below.

I had just enough time to wince before my knees slammed into the cold, hard ground. There was no sickening crack as bones snapped. Sparks radiated from my legs but nothing hurt. The ground beneath my kneecaps was warm, almost smoldering.

After a stunned moment, I realized I was laughing. I wobbled as I stood, patting my knees and legs in disbelief. I squatted and stood again, bending my legs deeply. My kneecaps were intact. No blood, no broken bones, and no pain. I glanced up through the metal grate that formed the first landing of the fire escape. From the top of the ladder through the hole in the flooring was about a twenty-five foot drop.

Only twenty-five feet. I tried to tell myself it was a lucky fall. People fall from heights twice as tall and survive all the time. It all depends on the landing, I told myself. The key is to have the muscles loose, like how drunk drivers receive fewer injuries in car accidents because they're too boozed to clench their muscles.

But drunk drivers and lucky fall victims don't impact in a shower of electric energy. I already knew that electricity healed me and that I had somehow survived the enormous explosion at Ground Zero only to be stronger. Just now I had accidentally used electricity to jump farther than I had intended, propelling myself across the alleyway. The safe landing must have come from a similar expenditure of my stored charge.

I felt a bit drained, but mostly excited. There was only one thing to do: go higher. I spent the next hour climbing the fire escape and jumping to the ground, starting at the first storey landing and progressively moving higher, two or three feet at a time. After the third jump from the fourth storey, I was feeling winded but excited.

I climbed to the very top of the building, taking a moment to spy on Zeke across the alley and down a storey. He was already asleep on the couch, partially blocked from view, just as we'd planned when positioning the couch. I nodded to myself and turned south. The roofs of the commercial and industrial buildings in the area joined up nicely through a series of catwalks, so I wandered without a destination, thinking. I occasionally moved up or down a level as the structures demanded, generally making my way upward.

Climbing was a great way for me to get my thoughts in order. I could clear my mind of trivial matters, leaving them down below, and focus on the big problems that were bothering me. Like what Zeke had said just before I left. Amy was dead? That explained some of why Trish seemed so distracted, why she was quick to anger.

Amy and I had had a cool relationship at best. A protective older sibling, she never saw me as being cut from the right sort of cloth to be worthy of Trish. In some ways, I couldn't blame Amy; when Zeke introduced us, Trish was a smart girl, studying hard in school and on her way to becoming a successful doctor. I was a nobody then and didn't really care to change things. In the time it took Trish to get through med school and a series of internships, I hadn't amounted to much. The more serious our relationship got, the more wary Amy grew of me. She was polite to my face but made a point to keep our conversations brief. It was clear she felt that Trish deserved somebody better, somebody with a college degree and a full-time job, say. Somebody who had a career and a plan to go places with their life.

Regardless of what Amy thought, I liked the courier gig and Trish didn't mind. At least, she didn't complain. It meant that I was flexible to be home when she was home, even with her on-call hours always changing. In the end, I think Amy relented because she loved Trish and she saw how happy Trish was. I was more proud of being the source of Trish's happiness than I was about any other accomplishment in my life. I would have given up even climbing to ensure her happiness, but I think Trish knew that the climbing made me happy. She only pestered me about it, never full-on demanding that I stop. We had an understanding, and mutual understanding is the best foundation for a good relationship.

I resolved to sit down and talk with Trish soon. Apart from explaining my new lightning trick, I needed to give her my condolences regarding Amy's death. With our apartment a hole in the ground, we needed a plan for what to do when the quarantine lifted. I suddenly realized that disappearing from the hospital had been a dumb plan. She needed more stability in life, not less.

I stopped pacing and cast my eyes about for a familiar landmark. It was surprisingly difficult to orient myself without the glowing signs of the Neon casting their cold light on every building. Spotting a water tower on the roof next door, I set off at a trot, easily vaulting over the space between the buildings. As I climbed up the ladder on the side of the water tower, the rough metal rungs sapped my hands of warmth.

From atop the water tower, I noticed a warm glow coming from a rooftop directly below me. A fire in a steel barrel cast light on a few hunched shapes huddled around it. Apparently, Zeke wasn't the only one with ideas of camping on a roof. I was debating between dropping in to warm my hands and simply moving on when I realized that each of the figures on the roof was wearing red. Their deeply hooded jackets were all the same deep red as the kid in the alley. It was a gang, maybe that group the Voice of Survival guy on the TV had mentioned. He'd called them "Reapers."

But what were they doing up here? I crept forward on the conical roof of the water tower, crouched low. The thugs we almost directly below me. Their hoods hid their faces and I didn't hear talking, but I didn't hear snoring, either. It looked like at least one of the four was armed with a rifle. I decided to sit and wait a while watching what they were up to.

After an hour of sitting and waiting, none of the thugs had moved. The moon had long since set and the dying remains of the fire barely cast light beyond the rim of the trash barrel. It was a long hour. I had plenty of time to think and plenty of time to grow restless. The thought of Trish running into these guys, even in daylight, decided me.

I was going to try a little light show. With no help from the government outside, the city was spiraling into lawlessness. People were dying in the streets as gangs grappled to fill the power vacuum. Maybe I could provide a distraction, perhaps stir the pot, leaving this little Reaper encampment off-balance and scared. If they spread rumors that the other guys were using electric weapons, then maybe the Reapers would be a bit more cautious, giving the cops time to regroup and retaliate.

I summoned a bit of electricity to my hands. I cupped a compact bolt in my right hand so it wouldn't flash brightly in the darkness and give away my presence. I lay on my stomach and aimed over the edge of the tower, firing off two shots at each of the first two thugs. The bolts flew straight and silent. As they burst against the slumped figures, I heard shouts of pain. The figures curled into tight balls, whimpering.

The other two were waking up. Shifting slightly, I took aim and fired another two rounds at the one with the gun. Why hadn't I gone for him first? Stupid.

Both shots missed, spraying sparks against the roof and giving the two uninjured Reapers time to scatter. One ducked behind the fire barrel and the other scurried to the roof's low perimeter wall, directly beneath me. Their heads turned back and forth frantically. They didn't know where the shots had come from. I pulled my hand back, trying to hide the sparks. My heart was racing.

The injured men were moaning but awake. Had I really intended to kill them? My original idea of shock and awe seemed more infeasible by the moment. The were supposed to run away crying to their boss, not seek fortified positions.

The guy on the far side of the fire barrel was checking his firearm, raising it to his shoulder. I was a sitting duck up here. If I moved and he saw me, he'd have a clear shot. Surprise had been my best weapon but now all three were awake and quickly coming to their wits.

Figuring that one good turn of recklessness deserved another, I checked the position of the Reaper below me a second time and jumped. The thirty foot fall gave me just enough air time to turn the sparks up to eleven. I released energy while landing beside him, tucking into a roll. Though executed perfectly, the drop and shock had drained me more than I expected. Coming out of the roll, I sprang for the fire barrel. I pressed my back against the drum and marshaled my energy, panting.

Automatic gunfire sounded just over my shoulder, accompanied by staccato flashes of light. A broken line of shrapnel sprayed from the brick wall surrounding the edge of the roof. The Reaper I'd landed next to was slumped against the wall, panting. The bullets met his body and he moved in a jerky dance. His spasming hands beat the roof like a drum, dying screams fading to a gurgling, blood-filled cough before being swallowed in another burst of gunfire.

Three feet from the muzzle was not the best place to hide from a gun. I tucked in my arms and arched my back against the barrel. At least my shadow wouldn't give me away. Fingers balled tight, I concentrated on keeping them dim. It was difficult to focus the unruly power with bullet shells bouncing against the hot metal of the fire barrel and ringing in my ear. This had been a bad plan.

The spurt of gunfire stopped, replaced by a series of rapid clicks. The Reaper with the gun snarled. There was a metallic click as the spent magazine was ejected, followed by the sound of rustling cloth. I glanced around frantically, spending precious seconds as the Reaper searched for more ammo.

His wounded companion seemed to stare at me from the shadowy depths of his hood. I watched in horror as he raised a shaky, bloody arm and pointed directly at me, wheezing.

I heard a new magazine slide into place. The skeletal finger shivered. The dying Reaper was giggling. In the pale glow of the embers, the mist of blood that sprayed from his chest with each hysterical gasp was black and glistening.

The Reaper with the gun stood up. "Oho," he whispered, "have we found a little piggie? Here piggie-piggie-pig." There was a hollow click as he chambered the first round.

I took a deep breath and summoned charge to my hands, willing it to come quickly. Spinning on my heels I stood, grabbed the edge of the trash can and pushed forward, rocking it off the wooden pallet. The Reaper doubled over as the opposite edge of the barrel slammed into his ribs. Electricity surged out of me, running across the steel of the drum and flowing into the Reaper. His body shuddered, muscles seizing. The gun clattered to the ground, unfired, followed by the thump of the Reaper's unconscious (dead?) body, still sparking. The gunshot Reaper in the corner giggled, then coughed one great, wracking cough and slid to the roof, still. The air smelled of roasted flesh, sickly sweet.

A long, muscular arm wrapped around my body, pinning my forearms. A hand grabbed the short tufts of my hair, pulling my head back. The two Reapers I'd stunned were awake, one holding me as the other advanced, a long knife glinting in his hand. His black boots crunched the scattered coals, embers hissing as they skittered into pools of blood.

I pulled more charge, channeling it across my skin. The hands of the Reaper behind me convulsed before he let go, screaming and hobbling away.

The Reaper with the knife cackled as he leaped at me. I flung my hands out, directing the electricity that was playing over my body forward. A net of percussive energy hit the Reaper, reversing his direction mid-jump and sending him sailing over the wall and off the roof. I leaned on the edge, panting, and watched him fall until he was swallowed in shadow. His scream lasted five storeys before it was cut short by the pavement, along with his life.

The remaining Reaper, twice electrocuted, shuffled in the darkness. He was laughing between chants of "Kill him, kill him, kill him." His voice was high-pitched and distorted, the words warped mutterings of a violent obsessive. From nearby, I heard the distinct crackle of radio static. A cold voiced announced that reinforcements were on the way. Time to move and I was exhausted. But a radio would have a battery! The thought of the radio battery made me feel empty, something like hungry. Remembering back to the parking lot, I put my hands at my sides, palms out and focused on that drained, hungry feeling. Then, I pulled.

Energy struck me, but it was not the raw white energy of a battery. This energy felt warm, almost living, but also slick and tainted. My chest exploded in pain and I fell to my knees, screaming. My head swam with vertigo as my vision blurred. I was seeing two sets of images through a pale green mist. I saw two fire barrels in front of me, one from nearby and another from a different angle, farther away. I heard the sounded of gurgling breath coming from my mouth but somehow not from my mouth at the same time.

I clutched my chest, panting. The oily energy was still coming into me and with its grease came intense pain and a haze of mental confusion. I tried to close myself off from the flow, shutting my eyes. In the blackness there was a flash, the image of faint sparks outlining the ghostly silhouette of a man hunched over his knees.

It was me. I was seeing myself through another pair of eyes. My thoughts were warped, experienced through the static of a poorly-tuned television. Was I kneeling or standing?

Very distinctly, I heard a female voice, ethereal and echoing. "Kill him!" the voice urged. I wanted to obey. I needed to obey. I reached to my side for my handgun, fingers groping.

Handgun? I didn't have a handgun.

I heard the slide of metal across concrete from my right. I snapped my head to the side seeing at once a skeletal grin in the depths of a red hood and my own panicked face. He was raising his gun in one unsteady hand, aiming for my chest. I felt every muscle movement that raised the weapon. I was in another body, aiming a handgun at myself. I was in my own body, preparing to die.

The cold voice came again, "Kill him now!" The woman urged, so seductive. I struggled to obey.

The gun was heavy. My chest hurt. I tried to draw more energy to clear the pain. By some miracle, I found the radio.

A gunshot echoed in my head, heard in two sets of ears.

I had sucked the small spark from the radio battery in an instant. But it was enough.

Feeling the pulse of electricity brought me back to myself. I released all the energy I had stored. Hearing the gun fire, I didn't direct the energy or contain it, I simply let go.

I saw a half-sphere of crackling white electricity rush forward from my outstretched hands. In ghostly green overlay, I saw a vision of the lightning wall coming toward me. The instant it overwhelmed my sight, the connection severed and I watched the thug's dead body sail over the edge of the roof. The gun clattered to the ground uselessly, followed by a distant, hollow thud.

A rubbed the back of my hand across my upper lip. It came away tinged in red – my nose was bleeding. I stumbled to the edge of the roof, looking down. It was too dark to see the ground. A cold wind rushed into my face from below. I staggered and fell. The wind rushed by more fiercely.

When I woke up, the sky was the clear blue of midday. I was face-down beside a mound of trash, face nestled in a pizza box. There was a corpse beside me, dressed in red with blood-red stains and black streaks. How had it gotten there? Why was I remembering spending the night on a roof in front of a fire barrel, oiling a handgun and bickering with friends about the wind?

I experimented with moving each of my limbs in turn. Everything was sore, but it was all in working order. I was no longer seeing double but the world was abnormally colorless and grey. My mind was crowded with confused thoughts.

Weak and disoriented, I blundered past another body and out of the alley into a parking lot full of cars, their batteries waiting to be drained. I stumbled up to the first row and, placing my hands on the hood of a coupe, drained. Color returned to my vision immediately, the pain in my joints quickly receding. My mind felt sharper. I drained another car, and then another. Each surge drove the foreign thoughts and strange memories further from my conscious mind. Working methodically, I moved from car to car, draining batteries as I went. By the fourth car I was bouncing on my toes, jittery with pent-up energy. The pain was entirely gone. Borrowed power was coursing in me and I felt full to the brim, but I was curious. Forcing myself to focus, I drained another two cars. It was more difficult to draw the power this time. Instead of the energy flowing downhill into me, I felt like I was pulling against a current. I had too much charge stored up to be tired out by the struggle, but the energy was fickle, slippery. I gave up trying to drain a seventh vehicle; there was no way I could hold that much charge.

Though by this point the energy leaked from me before I could absorb it, I noticed an odd feeling as I experimented with overcharging. My reserves swelled as I channeled energy into them from outside, but afterward there was a little more space. Perhaps I'd gradually be able to handle larger and larger amounts of energy as my body became accustomed to it all. My capacity might be enhanced.

I wondered what would happen if I'd had a live feed, direct from a power line. Such thoughts were useless with the city power grid down, of course, but still... It was the first few bolts of lightning on the bridge that had activated the power I had now. If I could somehow get another huge shock like that, maybe I could really ramp up my body's capacity to hold electric charge in reserve.

Or maybe I'd burnt out entirely. With no way to know, I decided to head back to Zeke's pad, the closest thing I had to call home.