Chapter Seven
Ralph's dive off the train hadn't hurt anything but his pride. Standing up after hitting the ground at forty miles an hour he had seen Bill's wide-eyed, concerned gaping at him. He had also seen Bill turn around and get clobbered in the side of the head with a crowbar by a man who had swung his whole body into the strike. Before Ralph could do anything, to his horror Bill had simply lurched off the top of the box car, landing on the rocky hillside on the other side of the train, out of Ralph's sight and thus out of his capacity to use any of his powers to curtail Bill's landing.
Ralph leapt over the locomotive, forgetting the criminals, their upcoming crime, the fires, forgetting it all as he landed sprightly on the ground by the tracks just as Bill was coming to the end of his rapid descent down the jagged, boulder strewn landscape, his limbs flailing out to the sides like a puppet dancing in a street show. Finally, at the bottom of the slope, Bill was lying on his side on the flat ground, unmoving, his suit torn in numerous places.
Ralph raced down the hill to reach his best friend.
"Bill! Bill! Bill!" he cried, terror stricken.
There was no response. Ralph sank down beside his partner, his dismay preventing him from acting for a second or two as his eyes traveled all over Bill's body. Gathering his courage, he pushed Bill lightly and Bill flopped ungainly onto his back. Ralph grew light-headed and fought back vomiting, swallowing hard. "Oh, my god," he whispered.
A thick sliver of thigh bone was visible through a rent in Bill's trousers, jutting up like a newly formed prehistoric mountain thrust out of a roiling Earth. His right forearm was bent in an unnatural way and his left elbow seemed out of alignment, too. His face was drenched with blood, as if a faucet had been turned on over his forehead to pour out his vital fluid in a sickeningly sticky stream. Ralph had no idea if Bill had any internal injuries but he feared he had to. It was a miracle he was still even alive. No one should survive a fall from the roof of a box car going forty miles an hour after being struck in the head by a crowbar. Ralph said a prayer of thanks for Maxwell's toughness, but they were in the middle of nowhere outside Bakersfield. How long would his friend hold on? Where was the nearest hospital and anyway, would Bill ever recover from these types of fractures? Would he be a cripple because Ralph couldn't fly in windy weather? Because Bill had cared more for Ralph's well-being than for his own?
No, dammit. Ralph wouldn't let it happen. The green guys had given him and Bill the suit and in some way they were therefore responsible for what happened to them as a result of their using it. Especially since Ralph had lost the instruction book twice, and they hadn't given him and Bill another.
Damn the holographs. Damn the wind.
Ralph wouldn't let the suit beat him again.
Ralph dragged his cape around to the front and then slid his arms under Bill's knees and shoulders, the movement causing mumbled moans to usher out of Bill's mouth. Although Bill was too long to be fully covered, he draped the cape over Bill, at least covering his face and his torso. He nestled Bill's limp head against his shoulder, and closing his eyes gathered up his determination. He stood, took three solid steps and jumped upwards, shooting like an arrow high into the sky. From Bakersfield it was one hundred miles to Palmdale by car over the Tehachapi Highway; a one and a half to two hour ride. Ralph had every intention of getting there in no more than half an hour, or even less. Unwilling to allow the wind to affect him, his mind wholly on his goal, Ralph accelerated until he was a red bullet streaking straight and unswerving through the gathering clouds, gaining on 200 mph then surpassing that, his cape protecting Bill from the force of the air against his broken body.