The pain was incredible. Unlike anything Clark had every experienced
before. He could no longer see, no longer hear. Nothing was real except
the searing agony, as if every molecule in his body had absorbed the meteor
rock and was now trying to destroy itself.
He tried hard to cling to consciousness, knowing he had to fight, had to do something. But his brain couldn't formulate any coherent commands to get his limbs moving.
Dimly he could feel himself being half-lifted, half-dragged up and over a hard surface and then onto rough carpeting. His head struck the edge of something, and he could feel a warm trickle of blood start flowing down the side of his face. The meteor rocks had made him vulnerable to injury again, as vulnerable as any human would be.
The flashing in his head subsided for a moment, and he could hear his abductors complaining, one criticizing the other for "damaging the merchandise."
But then it was gone again, washed away in the red haze of his suffering. *************************************
"Jonesy, will you quit complaining and get us out of here, please? I don't wanna be here if anyone called the cops."
Jonesy pulled off his black overcoat and tossed it on the floor of the car, next to the boy's body. "In this neighborhood people know better than to look out their windows at night," he scoffed. So far the plan had gone more smoothly than he'd imagined possible: the dumb kid had walked right into it.
His partner Paulie staring down at the kid, an expression of distaste on his snub-nosed face.
"He don't look too good, Jonesy. Remember-we don't get paid if he ain't still alive."
The boy was breathing in deep ragged gasps, and sweat had broken out against clammy skin. Distended greenish streaks disfigured his face and hands. Jonesy curled his lip in disgust, but shrugged.
"We don't know what was in that needle," he told Paulie. "If they've poisoned him it ain't our problem."
But he slammed the passenger door shut and hurried around to the driver's side. The rain was still coming down, and he had to flip on the windshield wipers. The kid's truck would stay where it was until they'd reached their destination. Then he would return and dump it someplace. In the river, maybe. Let them think the kid had drowned, maybe.
He started the car and pulled away from the curb, the driving rain drumming steadily on the roof.
"You hang on to that kid and make sure he don't hit his head again, Paulie," he warned as he swerved slightly on the wet road.
"Would have been easier if we'd gotten an ambulance like I said we should," Paulie complained from the backseat.
"People'd notice that. I'm tellin' ya, it's all going smooth as silk."
In the rear view mirror Jonesy could see the other man trying to maximize the distance between himself and the kid.
"Doc said to keep a close eye on this one," Jonesy reminded his partner. "He could be real dangerous if he wakes up."
"I'm kinda wondering if he will wake up," Paulie told him. "He's a funny color, and he still ain't breathing right. And what if what he's got is contagious or something?"
Still looking in the rearview mirror, Jonesy had opened his mouth to chew his partner out when something landed with a thump on the hood of the sedan.
Jonesy swiveled his head quickly back around to see what it was, and his mouth fell open.
A pair of eyes was staring back at him through the darkness.
Before he could hit the brakes a fist-a human fist-slammed through the windshield. It grabbed his collar and pulled, and for a split second Jonesy was sure he was going to be pulled through the shattered glass.
He screamed in terror and grasped at the hand, momentarily letting go of the steering wheel.
Paulie swore loudly as the car swerved, first to the left, then to the right. The figure on the hood didn't release it's grip, and Jonesy screamed again and hit the accelerator, thinking he could throw the horrible crouching thing off and run it down.
He forgot he no longer had control of the sedan.
With a shrieking scrape the car went up over the curb and clipped the corner of a brick building before rolling to a stop. Jonesy's head hit the steering wheel, and Paulie was thrown violently against the back of the seats.
Smoke rose from the crushed front end as Jonesy stared blankly at the hole in the windshield. His heart still thudded with fear, but in the light from the streetlamps he didn't see anything or anyone else on the deserted street. With shaking hands he wiped blood from his face.
"Jonesy, man, what the hell." He heard Paulie moan.
Jonesy carefully opened the dented side door and half-slid to the ground. Whatever he had seen was gone now. He laughed shakily as he opened the back door to the car.
The kid still lay on the floor-he didn't look any worse for the accident, but Paulie had a gusher of a nosebleed. He stared up at Jonesy balefully.
"Next time you ask if I want to make a quick 25 Gs I'm gonna say 'no'," he threatened.
Jonesy let the rain wash the blood off his face before reaching back inside and trying to restart the car. The engine sputtered, but wouldn't turn over.
"Great. Just great," he heard Paulie moaning. "What are we s'posed to do, call Triple A?"
"Shut up, Paulie." Jonesy glanced one more time around the deserted street. Even though neighbors must have heard the crash there were no sirens, no flashing lights. There was a neat hole in his windshield where the hand had come through, though, and he shuddered at the sight. "Give me your cell phone."
His partner didn't respond. Jonesy glanced back over his shoulder in irritation.
"Do what I."
Paulie was gone. The far side passenger door was open. And the kid was trying to drag himself out of it.
Jonesy swore loudly. He should have known better than to enlist the help of a half-wit like Paulie. Best job in months and at the first sign of trouble the idiot runs off.
He got out of the car again and went around to the back: the kid lay in the rain-soaked gutter, unable to move any further.
"Sorry, kid, but I can't let you get away." He reached down to grab him by the arms and haul him back into the car, but he didn't get a chance.
Something struck Jonesy from behind, and he fell headfirst against the car, splitting open his chin on the edge of the roof. He slumped slowly to the ground, dazedly noting that his victim was still lying motionless on the ground. But someone was now bending over him, someone who wasn't Paulie.
He blinked up as best he could as the person who must have hit him stood over the kid. It looked like a woman, her reddish hair soaking wet from the rain, her strong, pale hands searching for a pulse on the boy's throat.
Jonesy stared up at her, and finally she looked back at him with brown eyes that seemed to pin him in place like a butterfly. He wanted to scream, but his throat no longer worked.
"Don't worry about what to tell your boss," she told him. "You won't remember enough to be able to tell him anything."
Jonesy looked at the woman's eyes, and they looked back. And Jonesy forgot.
****************************************
Clark lay gasping for breath against the crushing pain in his lungs. He could feel his head being lifted slightly, opening his larynx, forcing in more air, but it still wasn't enough.
"Clark?" A voice asked. It sounded hollow, as if it came from a great distance away.
Gentle hands were holding him. He struggled to get his vision to focus, wondering if somehow he was home safe in his own bed and his mom was waking him up from a nightmare like she had when he was little. He tried to get his tongue to form the word "mom," or even the letter "m," so she would know how glad he was that she was here, but no sound came out.
He stared up, and he saw the bright light of a lamp. The one on his bedside table, maybe? But then a shape formed in front of it, and he saw an unfamiliar face looking down at him. Clark tried to struggle, to get away, but he couldn't. Water was in his eyes and his nose and his ears and he was drowning.
But then his eyes focused. And he realized who was with him. The face was attached to the gentle hands, and was speaking to him, but it wasn't his mother.
Silhouetted against the light he could see Jenna Iverson looking down at him.
"You're going to be all right, Clark," she told him. "I have you now, and you're going to be just fine."
Then the rushing in his ears took over again, and Clark passed out again.
*******************************
Balancing the phone receiver under her chin, Jenna carefully left the door half-open so she could hear the kid if he cried out again. Right now he appeared to be asleep, but his breathing was too shallow for it to be a natural sleep.
"So what should I do now? Are you sure I can't give him anything?" She asked the person on the other end of the line. She listened for a long moment, chewing her lip thoughtfully. As she did so she help the vial she'd recovered from the floor of the car up to the light. The needle tip was broken off, but the liquid residue inside still glowed faintly green. She'd never seen anything like it.
"Whatever you say. No, I'll send it to you first thing in the morning. I've got somebody I can trust with it. Let me know what you find out. Yes, I'll be careful. Bye."
Jenna hung up the phone and carefully wrapped the vial up in tissue paper, which she then hid inside a bottle of over-the-counter vitamin capsules. That bottle would be packed into a small box, and within a day it would be at its destination. And then maybe she'd have some answers.
But by then it might be too late for the kid.
*********************************
Jonathan pulled his dad's old Ford into the driveway of the house. Martha was waiting for him on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself. As soon as he flipped off the headlights she ran down the stairs.
"Honey, it's cold out here; you shouldn't be."
But his wife interrupted him.
"Jonathan, Clark didn't home tonight. Chloe and Pete say they haven't seen him all day. I think he may have gone into Metropolis."
Jonathan swore under his breath but put his arms around his shivering wife.
"Are you sure, Martha?"
"Pete says he wasn't in school, either. It isn't like him to not tell us where he's going, Jonathan. What if something's happened to him?"
"Hang on there, honey. Clark shouldn't have gone off without telling us, but you know how he's been these last few days. We both know he can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll be back by the morning."
Martha nodded mutely, letting her husband comfort her. "I hope you're right. But what if you're not? What would we do?"
Jonathan rested his chin against her soft hair, but didn't answer her.
He didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't know.
He tried hard to cling to consciousness, knowing he had to fight, had to do something. But his brain couldn't formulate any coherent commands to get his limbs moving.
Dimly he could feel himself being half-lifted, half-dragged up and over a hard surface and then onto rough carpeting. His head struck the edge of something, and he could feel a warm trickle of blood start flowing down the side of his face. The meteor rocks had made him vulnerable to injury again, as vulnerable as any human would be.
The flashing in his head subsided for a moment, and he could hear his abductors complaining, one criticizing the other for "damaging the merchandise."
But then it was gone again, washed away in the red haze of his suffering. *************************************
"Jonesy, will you quit complaining and get us out of here, please? I don't wanna be here if anyone called the cops."
Jonesy pulled off his black overcoat and tossed it on the floor of the car, next to the boy's body. "In this neighborhood people know better than to look out their windows at night," he scoffed. So far the plan had gone more smoothly than he'd imagined possible: the dumb kid had walked right into it.
His partner Paulie staring down at the kid, an expression of distaste on his snub-nosed face.
"He don't look too good, Jonesy. Remember-we don't get paid if he ain't still alive."
The boy was breathing in deep ragged gasps, and sweat had broken out against clammy skin. Distended greenish streaks disfigured his face and hands. Jonesy curled his lip in disgust, but shrugged.
"We don't know what was in that needle," he told Paulie. "If they've poisoned him it ain't our problem."
But he slammed the passenger door shut and hurried around to the driver's side. The rain was still coming down, and he had to flip on the windshield wipers. The kid's truck would stay where it was until they'd reached their destination. Then he would return and dump it someplace. In the river, maybe. Let them think the kid had drowned, maybe.
He started the car and pulled away from the curb, the driving rain drumming steadily on the roof.
"You hang on to that kid and make sure he don't hit his head again, Paulie," he warned as he swerved slightly on the wet road.
"Would have been easier if we'd gotten an ambulance like I said we should," Paulie complained from the backseat.
"People'd notice that. I'm tellin' ya, it's all going smooth as silk."
In the rear view mirror Jonesy could see the other man trying to maximize the distance between himself and the kid.
"Doc said to keep a close eye on this one," Jonesy reminded his partner. "He could be real dangerous if he wakes up."
"I'm kinda wondering if he will wake up," Paulie told him. "He's a funny color, and he still ain't breathing right. And what if what he's got is contagious or something?"
Still looking in the rearview mirror, Jonesy had opened his mouth to chew his partner out when something landed with a thump on the hood of the sedan.
Jonesy swiveled his head quickly back around to see what it was, and his mouth fell open.
A pair of eyes was staring back at him through the darkness.
Before he could hit the brakes a fist-a human fist-slammed through the windshield. It grabbed his collar and pulled, and for a split second Jonesy was sure he was going to be pulled through the shattered glass.
He screamed in terror and grasped at the hand, momentarily letting go of the steering wheel.
Paulie swore loudly as the car swerved, first to the left, then to the right. The figure on the hood didn't release it's grip, and Jonesy screamed again and hit the accelerator, thinking he could throw the horrible crouching thing off and run it down.
He forgot he no longer had control of the sedan.
With a shrieking scrape the car went up over the curb and clipped the corner of a brick building before rolling to a stop. Jonesy's head hit the steering wheel, and Paulie was thrown violently against the back of the seats.
Smoke rose from the crushed front end as Jonesy stared blankly at the hole in the windshield. His heart still thudded with fear, but in the light from the streetlamps he didn't see anything or anyone else on the deserted street. With shaking hands he wiped blood from his face.
"Jonesy, man, what the hell." He heard Paulie moan.
Jonesy carefully opened the dented side door and half-slid to the ground. Whatever he had seen was gone now. He laughed shakily as he opened the back door to the car.
The kid still lay on the floor-he didn't look any worse for the accident, but Paulie had a gusher of a nosebleed. He stared up at Jonesy balefully.
"Next time you ask if I want to make a quick 25 Gs I'm gonna say 'no'," he threatened.
Jonesy let the rain wash the blood off his face before reaching back inside and trying to restart the car. The engine sputtered, but wouldn't turn over.
"Great. Just great," he heard Paulie moaning. "What are we s'posed to do, call Triple A?"
"Shut up, Paulie." Jonesy glanced one more time around the deserted street. Even though neighbors must have heard the crash there were no sirens, no flashing lights. There was a neat hole in his windshield where the hand had come through, though, and he shuddered at the sight. "Give me your cell phone."
His partner didn't respond. Jonesy glanced back over his shoulder in irritation.
"Do what I."
Paulie was gone. The far side passenger door was open. And the kid was trying to drag himself out of it.
Jonesy swore loudly. He should have known better than to enlist the help of a half-wit like Paulie. Best job in months and at the first sign of trouble the idiot runs off.
He got out of the car again and went around to the back: the kid lay in the rain-soaked gutter, unable to move any further.
"Sorry, kid, but I can't let you get away." He reached down to grab him by the arms and haul him back into the car, but he didn't get a chance.
Something struck Jonesy from behind, and he fell headfirst against the car, splitting open his chin on the edge of the roof. He slumped slowly to the ground, dazedly noting that his victim was still lying motionless on the ground. But someone was now bending over him, someone who wasn't Paulie.
He blinked up as best he could as the person who must have hit him stood over the kid. It looked like a woman, her reddish hair soaking wet from the rain, her strong, pale hands searching for a pulse on the boy's throat.
Jonesy stared up at her, and finally she looked back at him with brown eyes that seemed to pin him in place like a butterfly. He wanted to scream, but his throat no longer worked.
"Don't worry about what to tell your boss," she told him. "You won't remember enough to be able to tell him anything."
Jonesy looked at the woman's eyes, and they looked back. And Jonesy forgot.
****************************************
Clark lay gasping for breath against the crushing pain in his lungs. He could feel his head being lifted slightly, opening his larynx, forcing in more air, but it still wasn't enough.
"Clark?" A voice asked. It sounded hollow, as if it came from a great distance away.
Gentle hands were holding him. He struggled to get his vision to focus, wondering if somehow he was home safe in his own bed and his mom was waking him up from a nightmare like she had when he was little. He tried to get his tongue to form the word "mom," or even the letter "m," so she would know how glad he was that she was here, but no sound came out.
He stared up, and he saw the bright light of a lamp. The one on his bedside table, maybe? But then a shape formed in front of it, and he saw an unfamiliar face looking down at him. Clark tried to struggle, to get away, but he couldn't. Water was in his eyes and his nose and his ears and he was drowning.
But then his eyes focused. And he realized who was with him. The face was attached to the gentle hands, and was speaking to him, but it wasn't his mother.
Silhouetted against the light he could see Jenna Iverson looking down at him.
"You're going to be all right, Clark," she told him. "I have you now, and you're going to be just fine."
Then the rushing in his ears took over again, and Clark passed out again.
*******************************
Balancing the phone receiver under her chin, Jenna carefully left the door half-open so she could hear the kid if he cried out again. Right now he appeared to be asleep, but his breathing was too shallow for it to be a natural sleep.
"So what should I do now? Are you sure I can't give him anything?" She asked the person on the other end of the line. She listened for a long moment, chewing her lip thoughtfully. As she did so she help the vial she'd recovered from the floor of the car up to the light. The needle tip was broken off, but the liquid residue inside still glowed faintly green. She'd never seen anything like it.
"Whatever you say. No, I'll send it to you first thing in the morning. I've got somebody I can trust with it. Let me know what you find out. Yes, I'll be careful. Bye."
Jenna hung up the phone and carefully wrapped the vial up in tissue paper, which she then hid inside a bottle of over-the-counter vitamin capsules. That bottle would be packed into a small box, and within a day it would be at its destination. And then maybe she'd have some answers.
But by then it might be too late for the kid.
*********************************
Jonathan pulled his dad's old Ford into the driveway of the house. Martha was waiting for him on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself. As soon as he flipped off the headlights she ran down the stairs.
"Honey, it's cold out here; you shouldn't be."
But his wife interrupted him.
"Jonathan, Clark didn't home tonight. Chloe and Pete say they haven't seen him all day. I think he may have gone into Metropolis."
Jonathan swore under his breath but put his arms around his shivering wife.
"Are you sure, Martha?"
"Pete says he wasn't in school, either. It isn't like him to not tell us where he's going, Jonathan. What if something's happened to him?"
"Hang on there, honey. Clark shouldn't have gone off without telling us, but you know how he's been these last few days. We both know he can take care of himself. I'm sure he'll be back by the morning."
Martha nodded mutely, letting her husband comfort her. "I hope you're right. But what if you're not? What would we do?"
Jonathan rested his chin against her soft hair, but didn't answer her.
He didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't know.