"I don't know how you cheated me, but I expected something like this."
Domino glanced at the cash, focused on where the other goons were scattered about the room, and started to grab for the money.
"It ain't gonna happen, bitch. You know why? 'Cause it's Hammer time!"
As his fist came arcing down onto the cash, Domino's power reported that his hand had somehow gained the mass of a couple hundred pounds. He smashed through the Tequila bottle and down through two inches of solid oak, sending splinters flying.
"Shit!” she thought, "A mini-mute. I've heard there were a lot of those on the West coast. That probably explains Snitch too."
As pharmaceuticals turned to retrovirus delivery systems as the cheapest way to deliver drugs, a small percentage of the population, like Domino, reacted with powerful DNA mutations that edged them further along the evolutionary scale. Those affected could always sense each other within close distances. Fewer yet developed something akin to allergies and their genes expressed minor, and in most cases useless, powers. These minimum mutations were too weak to be felt by those fully afflicted, but they could be a pain in the butt.
Hammer’s three partners slowly surrounded Domino and awaited their boss's orders.
"Grab the kid. I don't care if he can't talk; I don't want any witnesses to what I'm going to do to this cheatin' little..."
Domino Focused. She jumped and rolled behind the bar then grabbed and threw an empty Scotch bottle with carefully considered speed and angle into the overhead ceiling fan. Before the bottle exploded, she leaped to the top of the cigarette machine to reach a moth-eaten moose head and threw it in an arc towards the rear exit. Last of all she grabbed Snitch by the back of his shirt and pushed him towards the back door and shouted, "Open it!"
In the meantime, the bottle hit the fan's spinning blade and shatter into shards. The sharp pieces flew into the eyes of the goon closest to her while the thick bottom of the bottle slammed into the base of Hammer's neck. The noise of the breaking glass and the screams of pain and rage gave her time to dash through the steel security door held open by Snitch. She closed it behind them just as the moose head fell in such a way that one antler wedged firmly against the doorframe while the other dug firmly into a gap between the bar and the wall.
Seconds later a huge dent bulged in the middle of the door as a highly irate Hammer took out his frustration. Snitch tugged on Domino's sleeve and led her running through back alleys and between pre-cut holes in chain-link fences. They finally squeezed beneath a raised railroad span and ended their flight in an abandoned storage closet below ground.
Snitch closed the door and clicked on a small battery-powered camp light. The entire space was only about ten feet by four, and the concrete ceiling less than six feet high. A discordant pile of clothes made a bed against the far wall. Row after row of newspaper articles, attached to the walls by old chewing gum, was the only décor. Each faded clipping featured pictures of both past and current super-heroes, set in a circle that surrounded two treasured trading cards.
"Nice hidey hole. Is it okay if I crash here a while? I'm tired, broke, and not nearly drunk enough."
Snitch’s nods were quick and short as he plumped up his cloth bed.
"Thanks, but this won't be the first time I've made do."
Domino removed her thick leather jacket and expertly folded and rolled it into a servable pillow.
"And do you have anything to eat? Breakfast was a long time ago, and it wasn't much."
Snitch dropped his head with a pout but popped it up as he remembered the twenty she had given him. He brought it out of his tattered jeans with a flourish. He pointed to her, tilted his head to the side onto his folded hands, and scissored two fingers to show running out and back.
"Ok, just watch for Hammer and his guys."
He rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and blew a raspberry.
~o0o~
She awoke to the smell of a greasy fast food cheeseburger and fries, which she gratefully reached for. Snitch sat in the far corner of his bedding and stared at her with wide eyes and a strange look. She ate slowly so as not to startle him, wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and asked, "What's up, kid. You look like a snake snuck up on you."
He glanced up at the wall at his left, haltingly stood up, and took down a news-clipping. He stayed just out of her reach but extended the yellowing piece of paper to her. It was a side-by-side picture of Domino standing upon the fateful bridge, and a funeral snapshot where they were lowering her husband and her baby in adjoining plots.
Tears began sliding down her cheeks. Snitch’s lower lip started to quiver as he lowered to her side and give her a tentative hug. She finally broke down completely and engulfed the slight boy in her need. She sobbed uncontrollably then after a while fell into a deep, peaceful sleep for the first time since the incident. Snitch stayed in her arms and silently wept, both for Dominos grief and his own.
~o0o~
Domino spent the next ten days in Snitch’s hideaway and detoxed. She met the challenges of going cold turkey head on and tried to pull together a semblance of reality from the fog in which she had been living. When the worst of the alternating chills and fevers, the hallucinations and tremors had passed, she sat in the lotus position and contemplated a sample-size spray bottle of Stetson for Men.
This bottle was the sole purpose for the countless one-night stands where she forgot herself after her nightly rounds of tequila. Each hook-up was with the same type of stranger, tall, dark-haired, and thin, just like her husband. After enduring what she must, when her partner de jour was asleep, she would spray a little on her fingertip and smear it under her nose.
She had started out quietly applying it to the men, but each of their body chemistries was just different enough it didn't fool her. Dominos only solace was to snuggle against the warm body next to her and drift off to a fitful heaven/hell of her own memories. It was time, somehow, to turn the corner and take on life again.
~o0o~
Snitch suddenly burst through the door and excitedly pantomimed for her to grab her jacket and follow.
"What's up Squirt?"
He pulled an exasperated face and ran over to point to clippings of two local super-heroes, members of the White Hats. At first, Domino pretended not to understand, unsure whether she had the strength to go back into the fray after wallowing in her emotional quagmire so long.
Snitch got down on one knee to look her in the eyes and folded his hands in supplication. His face suddenly turned stern and he got up with a sweep of his arms that took in his wall of heroes. Domino could not resist as he held out a hand palm up in invitation and command. Something she thought dead within her twitched, wounded but still alive.
~o0o~
Two of the White Hats were in a tough spot. The police had cordoned off a two-block area around the headquarters of the Diamond Exchange, where a small crowd of anti-mutant demonstrators jeered and hassled the authorities. A larger crowd of bystanders gathered for the expected entertainment.
The first was Gorgeous Georgie, a blonde, blue-eyed muscled mutant who styled himself after the famous grandfather of wrestling. He struggled in what looked like a twisted pile of oversize metal bedsprings that dangled him several inches off the ground. Every time his not insignificant muscles strained out of one coil, the spring unwound and retightened in the opposite direction. Gorgeous G just could not gain leverage no matter how mightily his muscles flexed. An old nemesis, Whodini, stood nearby in a truck-mounted vertical tube of bulletproof glass and worked a dial on a small remote control.
"You might as well relax Georgie, the aluminum-austenite memory metal will hold you for hours, and we only need a few more minutes before we're done here!"
With the soundtrack from Quadrophenia blaring in the background, Whodini flourished his long black cape and bellowed his most sinister laugh. Gorgeous G was not known for his relaxation techniques. He roared in anger and struggled all that much harder. Whod
ini just cackled in response.
Half a block away, VegiMight had his own problems. He was surrounded by a three-foot-high wall of mobile greenery that blocked his every move. The Australian immigrant was used to vicious man-killing animals, but plant life normally fell under his super-power and hardly ever attacked on their own in any event. These plants, however, were genetically crossed with shark genes and snapped their razor-sharp suitcase-size Venus flytrap mouths whenever he left the exact center of the open space. They seemed to draw on his plant powers whenever he moved near and grew in size and aggressiveness.
Domino Focused on the activity before her. There was a lot to work with in the chaotic environment. She and Snitch had explored his abilities and determined that if he concentrated really hard he could "push" small objects with about the same force as he could lift with one hand. His influence interfered with Domino's ability to determine a chain of events while he applied his abilities, but she could take that into account beforehand now that she was familiar with his mini-power.
From beyond the police barricade, Domino whispered her plan to Snitch, who nodded his understanding at each step. She stooped to pick up an empty soda can and a fist-sized piece of broken concrete from the gutter and nodded towards the top of the hill. An abandoned cable car's handbrake mysteriously un-ratcheted and caused the carriage to slowly move and then pick up momentum towards the traffic jam below.
Domino counted to five and a half and threw the can towards a nearby flock of strutting pigeons. The can sailed further than she could throw, thanks to a little help from Snitch, and landed on the far side of the birds. Startled, they jumped in a panic, circled twice, and rode the stiff coastal breeze towards Whodini.
Meanwhile, the cable car reached maximum coasting speed and clattered down the tracks. It slammed into a parked VW bug and jumped the tracks. The carriage skid along its side into a gasoline tanker truck that waited to dump its load at a corner gas station. The impact ripped the pipes from the truck's undercarriage and released three hundred gallons of fuel. The fuel flowed along the curves of the gutter to pool beneath the intertwined vines of the mutant plant.
As soon as the gasoline reached the intended target, Domino threw the concrete in her hand as high as she could in an arc towards VegiMight. Snitch helped it along until it reached two hundred feet, then released his grip. By this time, the pigeons were flying above the action. With a sly grin, Snitch squeezed a dozen birds in their mid-section caused them to squawk and drop their guano en masse into the eyes of the gloating Whodini.
Just before the fly-by, the previously thrown piece of concrete reached terminal velocity on its way down and slammed into a transformer on top of an electric power pole. The explosion jerked Whodini's head towards the sound just as he received a face full of pigeon poop. In his surprise, the remote control jolted out of his hand to crash onto the floor of the truck and exploded into dozens of pieces.
The giant metal springs the remote controlled immediately straightened into their neutral position and released a none-too-happy Gorgeous Georgie. At the same moment, a spark from the exploding transformer fell into the pool of gasoline and erupted into whooshing flames that burned the predatory plant to ash.
~o0o~
The White Hats only needed about two minutes to wrap up the operation. Domino and Snitch made their way to the police barrier where the heroes gathered. Snitch tugged on Gorgeous Georgie’s left earlobe a couple of times with his power. The massive hero turned in aggressive surprise, still in combat mode and ready to punch whoever had tweaked him.
There was no one within reach, but since he was facing the right way, Snitch tugged a forelock of G’s hair towards the barricade. Puzzled, he followed the prompting but pulled VegiMight along with him, just in case of further trouble.
When they reached the barrier, Domino tried to look innocent and said, "Hey, I'd like you both to meet a huge fan."
Gorgeous G looked down his massive bare chest at the waif-like street urchin who shyly looked out from under his ever-present logo cap, too excited to move. Gorgeous G, still puzzled, lowered his huge paw to offer a handshake. In a deep rumbling voice used for children, which he was convinced was a gentle whisper, he said, "How do you do, son. My name's Gorgeous Georgie, what's yours?"
Snitch’s grin almost stretched to his ears as he vigorously nodded his head, as if to say he, of course, knew who G was. The boy grabbed the tremendous thumb and shook, which was as much of the hand as he could handle. Domino's grin was not as big as Snitch's, but there was almost as much joy in it.
"He doesn't speak much, and I don't know his real name, but at least in my eyes, I'd say he's earned a Junior White Hat patch.”
VegiMight's eyes narrowed as he scowled and said, "Hey, don't I know you? Wait a minute... "
He studied the gasoline truck, backtracked up the hill with his eyes, looked at the transformer, glanced at the guano-speckled face of Whodini in the paddy wagon, and made the connection.
"I never did believe in coincidence. But how did you manage all this at the same time?"
Domino presented Snitch with her open hand. “I had a little help.”
“Gorgeous G," VegiMight addressed his still confused partner, "meet Domino, one very impressive super-hero who dropped off the radar a while back. And... Junior. And not just a patch! I'd say we have a new White Hat auxiliary member."
Gorgeous Georgie finally caught on and said, "Welcome, Domino. And you too Junior, welcome aboard! Thanks for the assist. Domino, you are one of the original good guys and can hang with the White Hats anytime! Anyone who says different can deal with me.” He flexed his mighty biceps but know one was about to argue anyway.
~end~
Chapter 8: Emergency Evacuation
Now that the excitement of Mark's first intergalactic launch was over, he was in dire need of a toilet. He was one of ten thousand passengers, but the only human among a dozen physiologically diverse races. He consulted his handy-dandy all-in-one Traveler’s Assistant with some trepidation. The Human to Galactic translator database was in its infancy and had already caused him numerous embarrassments.
"Toilet" was not on the list, of course; nor were the dozen alternatives he could think up. In desperation, he left his cubbyhole cabin and wandered the halls until he came to a queue. Several aliens stood before a door and moved in conjunction with a blue light that turned off when unoccupied. He pointed his T.A. at the door plaque and pressed the translate button. It came back "Evacuation." Since there were neither sirens nor general panic, Mark assumed he had found his destination.
He noticed a pattern that clothed aliens generally entered individually while those unclothed often entered in groups. He assumed this behavior demarked along nudity taboos, so entered alone when the time came. He bypassed a large open sand-litter pit, a bowl that contained worms with sharp gnashing teeth, and various mechanical extrusions. Nothing resembling the standard porcelain facility of his people. There was one container of liquid, but it was blue and sparked and fizzed, which made him fear an explosive chemical reaction.
He finally came across a maze of tubing, and experimentally placed a finger in an appropriate sized hose. "Good enough!” He thought as he felt a slight suction. He gently matched need to opportunity and sighed in relief.
Unfortunately, those facilities were also diagnostic and assumed from the chemical analysis that a Gylix was in severe medical distress. The system increased the suction, pulsed the hose to stimulate the Gylix respiratory nerve, and injected an appropriate psychotropic alkaloid. Mark died, but with a smile on his face, which is why it is now considered a social faux pas for a human to smile in mixed alien company.
~end~
Chapter 9: Keeping To The Shadows
They hired me on the spot. The manager, a Jim Carrey wanna-be, took one look at my, to be fair, scarce resume and thrust his hand over the tiny counter in welcome. He said my timing was perfect as we waited for the top of the hour for the other
four new hires to show up for training. They were all attractive young ladies, like me. I’m not being vain, just staying real. I could tell from Mister Carrey’s dirty-little-boy charming grin that I would have to watch this one. He’s too old to be serious with a nineteen-year-old, and I am old enough to know that.
A gas-station attendant is not the most glamorous job in the world, but it is an honest living. There wasn’t much to the training, mainly a quick introduction to the pump controls, and the phone number to the credit card companies in case of problems. And, of course, where they stored the cigarettes. Other than that, the register told you how much change to give, and that was pretty much that.
Most of the day, customers showed up by ones and twos, with a slight rush starting at four-thirty, but overall the shift went by quickly. It feels good to be working, and I hope soon to save enough for the deposit on a place of my own. I don’t expect anything fancy; just someplace quiet where I can get on with my life. After an uneventful shift, I walk to the corner of the street and wait for the bus. The wind is coming up, and I turn to look at the loose roofing panel banging on the shelter over the pumps.
Something is wrong. My vision waivers and I feel a bit nauseous from vertigo. My eyes clear and I’m looking at a long-abandoned derelict business. The corrugated panel slapping in the wind is the last piece of roofing, hanging onto the bare, skeletal frame. Most of the gas pumps are missing or lying on their sides, broken, rusted, and covered in graffiti. Trash piles up against the center-island work shack; glass busted out onto the ground and sparkly in the late-afternoon sun.
The desert sky shows ribbons of oranges and reds and yellows, slowly changing hue into shades of gray as the sun gives up the day’s endeavors. I shiver as the temperature suddenly drops ten degrees. Two knee-high tumbleweeds catch my attention as they lope along the ground in search of a resting spot after scattering their seeds. One escapes into the high desert backdrop while the other tangles in the rest-stop canopy across the street. This reminds me why I came out to Wolf Creek Junction to begin with before I slipped into one of my alternative lives for the afternoon.