Chapter One: Slow Motion

Chapter One: Slow Motion

            Johannesburg, South Africa

            2017

            Justin Tully was in his element. That is to say, he was playing soccer. Street soccer in South Africa often occupied the time of teenagers once they finished their schoolwork, and he was no exception. True, seeing African and European children mingling so freely was unusual, but then, Hillbrow, the neighborhood of Johannesburg where they played, defined the unusual. Most outsiders saw the town as an immoral place, full of crime and violence. The residents recognized these facts, and their recognition created three groups: those that abhorred such things, and those that accepted it, with young adolescents like these teenagers caught in the middle. Currently, the teams were grossly unbalanced; Justin and his friend Moses Cothoza played offense, while Laurens Jansen and Fenwick Martin played defense. His younger sister, Hannah, played goalie. Though they were siblings, the two of them were polar opposites; Hannah cut an absolutely stunning figure no matter what she was wearing; the girl had long black hair and large, deep eyes of similar hue. In addition, she flamboyantly and flippantly faced all problems in life, a trait that her brother found maddening, but everyone else seemed to think endearing. He, on the other hand, had short-cut red-brown hair, and green eyes that generally had a thoughtful gleam about them. Unlike his verbose sister, Justin said little, preferring to let others state their opinions before his own. And, while his sister dedicated herself to life’s social orbit, he preferred the company of few people, often working out problems alone. In short, his sister phenomenally performed in almost every way; and he was only good at two things: soccer and math.

            Those playing against them, in this case, had the advantage. Aartur van Dorne and Menzi Okoro served as their offensive players, with Ishume Tenthoto and Madelaine deVries on defense. Their goalie was a barrel-shaped Indian teen named Ismail Vindi, and he was quite good. Currently, the ball was in play on the first team’s half of the field, and Justin was not liking it one bit. In truth, Laurens was the holdup. Moses could easily take either Aartur or Menzi, but Laurens was simply slow. He also lacked the endurance necessary to contend with them for an extended time period, and Justin was far from pleased about the fact. Of course, he was by far the fastest player on the field, and thus his exasperation can be understood, though not perhaps justified. He had just managed a rather painful but gratifyingly effective slide tackle, and he followed up by moving down the field in a rush. Maddy tried to stop him; she was the obvious choice, as no one besides Hannah and herself even came close to equaling the boy, who had earned himself the moniker ‘Rush’ on the soccer field and the track. He dribbled, gave the ball a slight nudge into the air with his foot before he launched it past Maddy, between Ismail’s legs, and into the goal. He heard Hannah exulting as she watched the ball fly between the two metal posts that had been erected for the unfinished building they were playing in.

            “That’s five,” she called. “Done yet?” Maddy, the other team’s captain, shook her head.

            “We’re going to six,” the other girl called.
            “Only three more and you’re there,” Justin’s sister quipped, her face splitting into the crooked grin that so many boys found attractive. Her brother just thought she was annoying, especially when she was smiling. Because, of course, that usually meant she just did something very unkind, most likely to him. In this case, though, she was merely happy that everyone else was not. Maddy just rolled her eyes.

            “Oh, shut up,” she groaned. Ismail went to retrieve the ball, and he tossed it Menzi, who plunked it down in roughly the middle of the field. The African girl kicked it off to Aartur, who managed to slip past Moses and trundle down the field. He made it past Laurens without any trouble, and he shot on a diagonal vector at the goal. However, Hannah saw the shot coming and, sliding forward on her knees, caught the ball and sling-shotted it up the field to Justin. The boy met the flying orb with a header that sent it straight to Moses, who sent it flying at Ismail with enormous force. The Indian boy caught it and threw it to Menzi, who again moved it down the field toward the goal. She easily slipped around Laurens and sent another shot at the goal, which Hannah blocked again. She tossed the ball to her brother, but Aartur bolted in front of him and knocked it down. He sent the ball to Menzi, but Fenwick managed to intercept the pass and pass it to Moses. Ishume tried to slide-tackle him, but the other boy slipped past him and sent the ball toward Justin, who slammed it as hard as he could toward Ismail, who tried unsuccessfully to stop it. The ball smacked painfully against his pals, ricocheted off them, and landed several feet behind the goalposts. Maddy stared momentarily, and then she broke into a self-effacing grin.

            “Well done,” she said. “I am thoroughly impressed.” Hannah flashed a satisfied smile.

            “What can I say? We’re good.” The other girl shook her head.

            “I was talking to your brother,” she answered. “But you did well, too.” Justin picked up the soccer ball and turned around. His lips assumed a curious expression that could not quite be described as a smile.

            “Thanks,” he said, bouncing it off the ground a few times. “You’re not bad yourself.” Looking off into the horizon, his eyes narrowed. “It’s late. We should be going.”

            “It’s barely five,” Moses pointed out.

            “On a Friday. In Hillbrow,” Hannah shot back. “That’s pretty good incentive to get home early.”

            “He’s right,” Ishume said. “Well, I guess this is where we part ways.”

            “For today, anyway,” Laurens said. “Maybe tomorrow?”

            “Maybe,” Aartur said. “I might have things to do. I mean, school just doesn’t stop.”

            “No,” Justin answered. “But let’s plan on tomorrow. I mean, none of us have enough work to take up a whole day.”

            “Agreed,” Aartur said. “Then tomorrow.”

            As they walked home, Justin was unusually quiet, Hannah noticed. Granted, he rarely said a good deal, but he at least spoke with her on occasion. For the past week, he had spoken less than five sentences to her. He had come out of his room only to eat, go to school, and thrash people at soccer games.

            “Soooo…” she began. “What’s eating you?” Justin looked at her.

            “What?”

            “Something has to be bothering you,” she told him. “Otherwise, you’d at least be talking. So, what is it?” He looked down at his feet.

            “Something stupid,” he replied. “I think it’s just me, though…”

            Hannah smiled coyly. “Did you meet some girl…?” He shook his head.

            “Nothing like that. It’s…” he paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “Did you ever get the feeling that the world was standing still?”

            She nodded. “All the time. I mean, why do we even have to wait in line?”

            “Not like that,” he said. “I mean, like people not moving or even talking. Like you’re the only one still alive. I…I felt that way on Monday. And it happened again on Wednesday and Thursday.”

            “So mean the world just stopped or something?” She asked.

            “Not stopped,” he said. “More like slowed to a crawl, then sped up again. It felt so…odd; I thought I was imagining it, but it happened again.”

            “When did it happen?” She asked.
            “During a grammar test,” he answered. “Then again whenever Andrew Talsma hit me over lunch on Wednesday. Then on Thursday, it occurred in geography during that pop quiz.”

            “Oh…” Stress-induced? She wondered. But stress-induced what, exactly? “Did you tell Mom and Dad?”

            “No. Again, I thought I was imagining things, so I didn’t say a word.” She smiled at that.

            “And you didn’t think they might actually believe you?” she queried. “They’re surprisingly understanding.”

            “Not really,” he answered. “I mean, this is insane, even for me. It’s illogical…it’s madness.”

            “It’s a mad world,” Hannah replied. “But I think you’re right. Don’t say anything yet, but let me know if it happens again.”

            “Will do,” he replied. “Now, come on. We should hurry up; Mom’s going to be angry if we’re not home for dinner.”

            Meghan Tully was not angry. Her mood would have had to improve a lot to make it up to angry, Hannah reflected glumly. Their father had yet to arrive home, and her children had been gone for a majority of the day to top it off. Arnold Tully worked for the local police force, and he found it both a thankless and a morally callous employment. As they walked through the door to the apartment, Meghan turned from where she was standing in front of the stove, her hands on her hips. Like Justin, she had sandy brown hair, although her eyes were mud-brown instead of her son’s fiery green. Though she was shorter than either of her children, both of them were quite aware that her height did not equate with her authority.

            “Late again,” she remarked. “More street fighting?” Justin colored slightly at that. He did participate with Moses in dancelike fights with locals, and they both enjoyed it. Just was getting better, too; the people on the streets called Moses the Sweet Stinger, after his practice of mixing elegant combinations with massive power blows. Her son, by contrast, had the nickname Berger Blitzer, due to his barrage of merciless attacks, most coming from his feet. He knew his mother did not approve of the practice, but he got some money from the betting pool by it, and he did not intend to end it now.

            “Soccer, actually,” Hannah answered. “We’re getting pretty good.” Meghan snorted.

            “Well, once you two can get jobs as professional players, let me know,” she responded. Justin shrugged.

            “Maybe one day,” he murmured. Walking over to a kitchen cabinet, he reached inside and took out four bowls, which he placed on the small card table at the center of the kitchen. Hannah grabbed a set of spoons, which she put out next to them. Meghan went back to stirring their dinner. Canned soup would not have been her first choice, but since she worked during the day and had one of the only two keys to their apartment, she had little time to prepare nor anyone else who could do so.

            “Right,” she said. “No Hillbrowan kid is going to make the national team. No offense to your skills, but they wouldn’t want you.” Justin’s lips quirked up in a sardonic grin.

            “And they’d be different from ninety percent of South Africa’s population why, again? I mean, look around; who wants to live in Hillbrow or hire someone from here?” He asked. It was true; many people even in Johannesburg, or Jo’burg, as it was locally known, characterized Hillbrow as a capitol of vice and unemployment. They were not entirely wrong; like much of South Africa, Hillbrow had its criminals and corruption. Even so, the residents of this section of town got strange looks from people, even in the rest of Johannesburg.

            Meghan shook her head. “You father was born here, Jus. He’s made a good life for himself and us despite that. What’s wrong with Hillbrow, anyway?”

            “Maybe you ought to ask the people who have a problem with it,” Hannah snapped as she dropped her books on a chair in their small living room space. “The rest of Jo’burg thinks all we do is sleep around and steal.”

            Her mother reached over to a drawer and extracted a tea-towel, which she placed under the soup pot as she lifted it from the stove. “That’d make us the Sodom to their Gomorrah,” she murmured, her eyes far away. While she had grown up in Hillbrow, she had been born in Johannesburg to a single African mother. The rumors in the town had not been abundantly clear, but she knew that her father had been wealthy, probably an official in the government. Ever since, Meghan developed a cynical, caustic way of looking at the world that made her seem pessimistic to the rest of the world. Her husband was similarly jaded; Arne had moved to Hillbrow from Australia, and he had a very snarky outlook on the world. The trio was interrupted from their momentarily silent reverie by the sound of a door opening as Arne stepped into the apartment.

            “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Traffic was really bad.”

            “It’s fine,” Meg replied. “Dinner’s not quite ready, so you’re not late yet.”

            They ate in relative silence, though Arne did take the care to ask his children how their day had been. They explained that they had spent some time playing soccer after school, which he found acceptable. Justin told his father that he had also tried to get a job at a South African construction company and was waiting for a response. For her part, Hannah tried not to say anything, as she was still hesitant to talk with her father about anything. Recently, she had begun to make overtures to a male friend at school, and thus they had begun an unofficial relationship. Justin had agreed not to share this with their parents, although he was far from comfortable with her choice to keep it hidden. Arne seemed to suspect something, but he never quite seemed to be able to bring himself to say it. After they finished the meal, Arne told his children to go to bed, which they did. Or at least, in pretense.

After he was certain his parents were asleep, Justin first changed his clothes, dressing in a more informal manner, taking a jacket and sweatpants in preparation for what he planned to do this evening. That done, he opened the apartment window and stepped out onto the sill. Although a second-story drop should have been an insurmountable challenge, Justin was more than capable of handling it. Yet another thing that he had learned from Moses, whom he was going to see. Tonight was a big fight, one between Moses and a highly praised champion, Robert Nvoko. After that, Justin would be up against Anders van Dorne, a sturdy Afrikaner brawler famous for his brutal use of his hands. Ironically, Justin fought quite adeptly with his feet, and his wiry build accentuated a fighting style based on speed, making him van Dorne’s polar opposite. He carefully scaled the building, his hands moving one over the other as he found holds in the bricks. Suddenly, he was on the ground, a development that shocked him. He had never done the climb that quickly before, and he wondered at that momentarily before he slipped down the street into the night.

            The fight took place in an abandoned building on Hillbrow’s outskirts, a seven-story office space left vacant long ago. Though the building was marked for demolition, the spectators gathered there anyway, many of them dressed in colors that clearly denoted their status as gang members. Ordinarily, Justin would not have considered associating with them; however, the crimes of which these men were guilty, like illegal gambling, bribery, and racketeering, could not compare with those of more dangerous organizations. The deadlier gangs of Hillbrow engaged in everything from drug running to prostitution, though these seemed content to run street brawls and arbitrate dice games. Justin arrived five minutes before the fight began, and he watched with anticipation as he waited for the fight to begin. Moses was already there, his hand-wraps done and his jacket thrown onto the ground. The stained muscle-shirt that he wore had been through more fights than either of the friends could remember. The marks of these battles were evident; a bloodstain here, caked dirt there, and sweat all over. Suddenly, he heard a commotion on the other side of the building, and he watched in surprise as several men ascended the second-story stairs. Among them, he saw a strangely tall African man, his jewelry and designer hat indicating his elevated position. It was Robert Nvoko, from all the descriptions he had heard. He was tall and thick, and the dome of his head was cleanly shaven. As he drew closer, Justin found himself almost choking on the smell of low-quality cologne, and he smiled inwardly. Seems fumigation is an unfair advantage, he thought. Hope Moses brought a towel to put over his face. Nvoko stepped into the marked area, taking off his jacket and shirt to reveal a sculpted torso covered in tattoos. He looked Moses up and down and snorted disdainfully. The casual grin never left his face as he spoke.

            “You lose your way, preschooler?” He asked. Moses grinned and balled his fists.

            “Wondering the same about you,” he replied coolly. “I thought you’d be taller.” Robert’s nostrils flared briefly, but he readily reassumed the same carefree grin.

            “Oh?” Robert said. “Then shall we dispense with the niceties?” Moses nodded. A man near the arena, the local gang boss, turned to face the crowd.

            “Attention, everyone,” he called, “step back if you’re not going into the ring. Tonight’s opening act is a special performance. We have Moses Cothoza, the Sweet Stinger, versus Robert Nvoko, the Bakkie Beast. If you’ll speak with my associate here…” he gestured to a man near the ring. “…you may place your bets. Our odds are two to one, Nvoko’s favor. It’s not obligatory, but we highly encourage it.” Justin was the first to put money down; twenty rand on Moses. Not that he disliked Nvoko, but Moses would win. He always survived, and he almost always came out on top. The gang leader took everyone else’s bets, and then he raised his voice once more.

            “All right, are the fighters ready?” Nods from Moses and Robert. “All right, then. Ready…steady…begin!” The words hung in the air, and the two African fighters circled one another warily. After several minutes, Robert probed Moses’ defense with a series of punches, which Moses diverted. After the last of these, Moses snapped his knee upward into the larger man’s gut. Robert grunted but immediately followed up with an elbow to Moses’ jaw, which sent the younger man staggering. Still, he recovered quickly, and the smaller man immediately returned with a reverse heel kick. Robert tried to sidestep, but the heel still clipped his side, causing him to wince in pain. The next blow that came was a sharp chop aimed at Moses’ leg, but he pulled back quicker than Robert’s parry and followed up immediately with a kick to the bigger man’s jaw. He staggered, and Moses began throwing kicks and punches rapidly. The barrage drove Nvoko back, but he stopped the offensive by catching a punch aimed at his head and twisting Moses’ arm. A series of boos came from the crowd; while jaws and ribs might crack in these brawls, fighters almost never tried to break one another’s bones. Despite his popularity, Nvoko was infamous for his lack of adherence to these conventions; he had broken several arms and two legs, and he seemed bent on doing it again. However, the attempt was unsuccessful, and Moses broke the hold by jabbing a nerve point in Robert’s gut. He doubled over, and Moses followed up with a knee to his jaw. There was a spurt of blood, and Robert fell backward. He struggled to rise, but Moses snapped his leg out in a savage kick that put the other fighter down for good. The gang leader stood over Robert’s fallen body for several seconds, and, after at least ten of them, he called, “We have a winner! Moses Cothoza defeats Robert Nvoko.” Grumblings from the crowd; after all, many of them, despite their distaste for Robert, had favored him as a clear winner. Justin grinned and stepped forward and took forty rand from the gang’s financial officer, smiling as he slipped it into his jacket. The gang leader turned and looked at him, a wide grin spreading across his face. On the other side of the crowd, Justin saw Anders, who held up a fistful of rand and grinned. Let’s see if you’re as good as your friend, he mouthed. Justin raised his hands and cracked his knuckles.

            Almost, he replied. The gang leader saw this byplay and made an announcement.

            “Apparently,” he said, “our next fighters are here. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome tonight’s second attraction. Anders van Dorne, the Dutch Destroyer, versus Justin Tully, the Berger Blitzer. In tonight’s fight, Tully is the underdog, odds of three to one, van Dorne’s favor.” The audience placed their bets; it seemed fewer of them wanted to wager on him than had wagered on Moses. Ah well, he reflected. Guess it’s the underdogs’ night after all. He stripped off his jacket and dropped it by the edge of the ring. The barrel-like Dutchman followed suit, shaking his arms out as he eyed the other man disdainfully.

            “They call you the Blitzer?” He asked. “Why? You must be faster than you look.” Justin grinned.

            “I am,” he answered.

            “Speed like I’ve heard you got isn’t easy to maintain,” the Dutch boxer said. “You sure you don’t use the candle at both ends?”

            “Maybe I do,” the other man replied. “Still, it’s best to be careful with a double-ended candle. They burn people.” Anders smiled.

            “Let’s see if your hands are as fast as your mouth,” he said.

            “Guess we’ll see,” Justin muttered. The gang boss turned away from the counted money, a satisfied expression on his face.

            “Any more bets?” he queried. No one else from the crowd volunteered their rand, and so he called, “Fighters ready? Steady…begin.” Justin did not wait as Moses had, beginning the fight with a high roundhouse, followed by a low one with the same leg. Anders blocked the first, but the second struck him in the side, which caused him to flinch. That was the opportunity that Justin wanted; he threw a right-handed palm strike aimed at Anders’ face. However, the Dutchman blocked the punch and returned with one of his own. Justin winced and felt blood dripping down his face. His lip was throbbing, but he shook off the pain and used the spinning motion of the punch to swing a heeled roundhouse into Anders’ side.  Again, that explosive release of air, but Anders seemed to shrug it off, beginning to punch and swing his elbows with hurricane-like force. Justin dodged many of these, but enough got through his guard that Justin’s ribs started aching. His jaw was pulsating with agony too, but the raw anger he was feeling proved sufficient to dull it. Justin wrapped his leg around Ander’s left arm as he swung with a low uppercut, stopping the blow cold. The next attack was a sideways knee to the head, which sent Anders down. The Dutchman’s head smacked against the hard floor, and he lay there, stunned. The gang leader stepped forward and quietly counted on his fingers. After ten seconds, he called, “And, in tonight’s second upset, The Berger Blitzer trumps The Dutch Destroyer. Come and collect your money.” The few who had bet on Justin came and claimed their prizes, and then the gang leader began going through a list of the night’s next fighters. A few dirty looks were thrown his way by members of the crowd, but Justin had absolutely no compunction about his victory. Justin and Moses, however, were not focused on these. No, they wanted to go to their respective homes; after all, they had obtained their prize. As they walked away, Moses noticed, although Justin was unaware, that several men detached from the group and followed them. They did not leave off their slow pursuit even after a half hour of walking, something that disturbed Moses to no end. He leaned over to Justin and whispered as loudly as he dared.

            “We’re being followed,” he murmured. Justin looked over his shoulder furtively and nodded.

            “Those four?” He asked. Moses nodded. “What do we do?”

            “What can we?” Moses asked. “From their look, they’re gang members. Probably armed. Let’s try a diplomatic solution.” He turned around and faced the men. “Excuse me, can I help you gentlemen?” The closest of them nodded, and they kept on walking until they were standing almost two feet away from the duo.

            “You can,” the man replied. “We saw your fights, both of you. Very impressive.”

            “Thank…” the words were barely out of Moses’ mouth before the man slammed him against the wall.

            “And very infuriating,” he continued. “See, my friends and I don’t bet on underdogs. You two cost me a lot of money tonight.”

            “So?” Justin asked. Another man whirled around and grabbed him by the throat.

            “So we’re going to get our money back,” the man answered. “And we’re going to take it out of your hides.” And, with that, the man’s second and third partner stepped forward and started punching Moses while the first two men held him. The man holding Justin began to tighten his fingers, and the young man grimaced as his oxygen supply began to rapidly deplete. Suddenly, he felt it happening again; his world seemed to decelerate and then rapidly speed up again. Only this time, Justin was still moving, though the world seemed frozen in place. He pulled up his legs and snapped them up, striking the man in the ribcage. To his shock, he heard a sickening crack, and the man collapsed, the depressed nature of his chest indicating broken ribs. The gangsters beating Moses were similarly frozen in time, and Justin availed himself of that chance, delivering as light punches as he could. Still, it seemed that the punches were far more powerful than he was used to, as each of the men went flying several feet backwards. Or they would have in normal time. They seemed to be inching back in slow motion, their faces either twisting in pain or changing into stunned anger. Justin grabbed the leader by the jacket and flung him onto his back on the pavement for good measure, his heart almost stopping when he heard the man’s back snap. Just like that, his concentration broke, and the world came back into normal speed. Or normal time, if that made more sense. The two men still standing finished sprawling, and they got to their feet slowly, their eyes wide with surprised terror. Moses himself, although his face was bloody, still managed an expression of stunned bewilderment.

            “Jus…” he began. “What…” but before he even finished, the rush of fear and shame that Justin felt sent his world spinning a second time, and he turned to run into the night. How long and hard he ran, he did not know. All he knew was that the one thing he wanted to outrun, he never could. As hard as he ran, he could never escape himself. As his feet pounded against the ground, words echoed in his head.

            What’s happening to me? He asked himself. What have I done? He had been running for what seemed like an eternity when it happened. The burst of speed had taken him far from home, through areas he had barely time to see before he rushed through them, and now he was running through the desert, almost flying over the dunes. Strangely enough, his footfalls felt strangely light, as though the world could not hold him down. Of a sudden, Justin saw something up ahead, something large. He tried to maneuver his way around it, and it looked like he had been successful. Then, something long and spindly slid out of the strange pyramidal object and struck him. The pain, to say the least, was agonizing, and he went spinning head over heels into a dune. Before he could get up, the appendage reached out and encased him in some kind of metal sphere. He heard a gaseous hiss, and his eyes had just enough time to sting before everything went black.