You’ll Never Believe A Man Can Fly, Part 24

Posted: 7 February 2013 in fiction, writing, You'll Never Believe A Man Can Fly
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Chapter Twelve (continued…)

Docherty disconnected and swore, the two happening almost simultaneously. He didn’t have a problem with the assignment in theory, but had absolutely no idea how to go about it. Strangely, for someone who regarded himself as a total cynic about altruism, what troubled him was not how to kill each of them. Davies he’d take out with a head shot – despite what he’d seen about his healing abilities, he didn’t think that even Davies could survive a shot to the head from a sniper rifle with the right ammunition, like the weaponry, say, that he had brought with him. At least he hoped not. Though if he turned out to be wrong, he’d yet to see anything that could put up a decent struggle after being doused in napalm.

And he didn’t have the slightest qualm about killing the monster. He’d seen enough to know that he’d just be putting it out of its misery. At least that’s what he knew he’d be telling himself afterwards. He just hoped he’d be able to accomplish it without anyone else losing their life.

No, what concerned him was killing Davies; from what he could see, the man had voluntarily put himself in danger’s way. Nonetheless, Docherty wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t see the reasoning for unfiling both of them.

At that moment, he heard the scream of pain from Davies and his first instinct was to go to see what had happened. Instead he went to the van in which he’d arrived and climbed inside; darkened windows ensured no one could see his actions from the outside.

He placed his thumb against the storage area at the back and pulled five items from it: a rifle which he twisted and collapsed, a set of dum dum shells, strictly illegal but incredibly useful and effective; and three small containers of a particularly vicious form of napalm. He loaded the rifle with four of the shells and then placed it onto a tripod designed for the task. He took off his jacket and shrugged his way into a large coat with pockets designed to carry the rifle, which he then slid the weapon into. The three canisters were smaller than he remembered and he slipped them into the outside pocket.

Then he left the truck and headed for the source of the screaming.

– o –

It was the first time he’d felt prolonged pain since he’d gained powers, and on balance, Davies believed that he would rather not have had to experience it now. Something slithered over his face and from sheer panic, he lashed out with his mind. A hole, no more than two inches across, was blown straight through the creature, allowing air through the perforation. He inhaled sharply and then grasping exactly what he’d just done, he pictured himself surrounded by tiny bulldozers. And then he started their engines.

The creature was pushed away, slowly, the tentacles disconnecting from Davies with a horrible sucking sound as they was torn away from him. Davies rolled away, gasping for air, then stood in a hurry.

Gordon, who’d been watching, concerned, shouted to Davies, but Davies, who hadn’t heard him properly ignored him. He turned to face the creature, by now standing up and ready to charge again. Davies looked around to see if there was anything he could use, and saw the metal pole. It had been crushed flat by the creature’s weight and now, Davies realised, was completely useless.

Well, maybe not completely, he thought and held his hand out. The almost completely useless poll flew into the air, and Davies sent it spinning towards the creature. It had only made three revolutions when it hit the creature… side on. The creature didn’t even notice it as it started a run at Davies.

An amplified voice came over the area. “Davies, this is Gordon. Brain and Brawn, man. Brain and Brawn!”

What the hell is he going on about? thought Davies and then as he moved backwards, it clicked into his mind. You defeat brains with brawn and brawn with brains, he realised. And my powers come from my mind! What powers can I use to defeat this bastard?

He stopped and faced the creature as it ran towards him… and the concrete on the ground in front of it rose up with a tearing sound. It formed a wall that the creature smashed into, bouncing back. It tried again and the six feet wide, ten feet tall wall moved to frustrate it. A large probing limb started growing out of its head testing the wall to see how far up it extended.

Davies let it get to two meters before he pictured in his mind what he wanted; the effect was instantaneous and the crushed flat metal pole leaped into the air, neatly slicing off the limb before twirling around as if it was being handled by a cheerleader. As it did so, the pole seemed to grow in thickness as Davies concentrated on unflattening it. One end formed a barbed spear head and once completed, the pole shot away from the creature behind it. As Gordon, onlookers and millions of television viewers watched, the pole seemed to snap into ten separate objects, each with a barbed spearhead. Once that was completed, there was a shriek of metal as eight lampposts and the remaining sign posts all left the concrete, each one splitting into foot long weapons. Then each formed an identical spearhead and in ten seconds, there were a little over two hundred lethal looking spearheads, hovering in the air in a metallic cloud.

At eleven seconds, they started moving at the speed of bullets. At eleven point two seconds, they hit the creature.

Forty might have been enough had they hit the right spots. Seventy would pretty much have done the job even if placed randomly. Two hundred and eight?

The monster that had once been Samuel James Withers didn’t stand a chance as the impact of the weapons literally tore it apart. However, Davies wasn’t taking any chances. Seconds later, the weapons all withdrew to a distance of ten feet, each of the small spears covered in creature and liberally dripping gore. He lifted into the air and hovered over the remains of the creature. He mentally shoved the remains together… and then slammed the metal flights into it again. And again. And again.

After the fifth repetition, Davies could feel all energy leave him, replaced by an overwhelming weariness.

He lowered himself to the ground and fell to his knees, exhausted. His forehead was cold with sweat and he wiped it off, grinning at Gordon who was walking towards him, smiling now, shaking his head in astonishment.

“Bugger me, you don’t fuck around, do you?”

– o –

Docherty was pleased that Davies had wiped the sweat away – it had been interfering with his sighting. Upon witnessing the astonishing end of the fight, he’d returned to the truck and raised the tripod in seconds, carefully attaching the rifle. He’d then screwed on the huge silencer and had slid the infra red sight into place.

Now he leaned into the rifle, aiming carefully, sighting along the length of the weapon. He had a perfect shot, a set of crosshairs superimposed over Davies’ forehead.

He pulled the trigger.

– o –

© Lee Barnett, 2013

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