Chapter Four: Nightmares in the City of Dreams

'Careful now. 'We're dealing here with a myth. 'This city is a point upon a map of fog; 'Lemuria in a city unknown. 'Like us, 'It doesn't quite exist.' " Ambrose Bierce,

Going five hundred miles per hour, it takes less than six minutes to reach San Francisco. I have to stop myself from going any faster, careful to conserve my energy. Not like last time, with the unnecessary Mach two speeds. I only go that fast if I absolutely need to. If they have their hands on a hypersonic missile, I’ll need to go Mach five.

Alcatraz, an apt place for criminals to be, is off of Fisherman’s Wharf, one of the biggest tourist traps since Hollywood. Small and only accessible by ferry or, for those crazy San Franciscans, a long swim.

That’s for the general public. I get the VIP option: I get to fly from Richmond Inner Harbor across the Bay to the little island. I see the lights from San Francisco before the lighthouse’s light and dock lights point out the little island. If I remember correctly, Alcatraz closes fairly early.

Nonetheless, Alcatraz is a very popular tourist location.  I’ll be interested in how they hid from the public in a rather open environment; perhaps they have a man on the inside?

I’m going to need to be cautious. The island is twelve acres, there are multiple buildings, walkways and the uneven surface will give one side the height advantage. I should use all I can to give me the upper hand. I could take out the lights and expose humans’ weakness in darkness, destroy the dock to keep them on the island. On the south side of the island, there’re rocky cliffs and some thick greenery. There’s also a water tower, I’m not sure if it’s in use. I think I can ignore it; after all, I’ll be on an island. I can’t get rid of the water.

They chose a rather convenient place. Alcatraz is a mile and a half from shore, keeping the civilians out of gun’s harm. Coming at night is helpful, as well. There are less people on the streets. However, I have a slight tendency to glow in the dark. Stealth, if possible, could greatly benefit this mission and myself. There are other ways I could use the island to my advantage. This is an ex-federal prison; it was made to hold criminals. I can break the bars, melt them or simply go through them. Can they?  

A nickname for Alcatraz: the Rock. I’ve called Andrew that before. I don’t think he would enjoy an island that belonged to pelicans, then the Spanish, then the military, then as the government as a prison, then the Native Americans and finally a museum.

I land on the south side of the island, on the rocks that stray away from the paths. In my condensed form, I use less energy and appear as less of a monster. Am I going to come across to the terrorists as a helpless girl, who missed the ferry back and has no idea what to do? Or am I going to cut to the chase and crash through the roof?

Yeah, not doing the whole helpless girl thing. I’d hate it the whole time, and I’d never forgive myself. Besides, these people won’t try to help me home. They’ll just shoot me. I’m going to sneak around and try to figure out where their main computer is that allows them to fire missiles. Cody could probably reprogram the computer to fire all the missiles at their home territory. If I get caught, I’ll say the ferry left without me.

Yes, that’ll help, I think. You’ll be burning someone alive with your bare hands, but don’t worry; you’re just a tourist who lost your way. I need to make sure I don’t get caught.

In

the actual prison, there are three stories with a space in the middle like the compound’s catwalks. You could walk along there and stay mostly out of sight. Also, there’re marks on the ground from when some prisoners escaped and grenades had to be thrown. They aren’t very big, so explosions won’t do much. There are skylights with bars on the top. You can get in that way. Three people successfully escaped by digging a tunnel in one of the cells, you could try pumping smoke into the building from the exit. The building is earthquake and fireproof, built to be sturdy.

I climb up the rocks, taking large bounds up to reach the tracks in three steps. Up ahead, there’s a broad concrete courtyard that stretches to another sharp cliff, the same cliff that hosts the prison.

To get to said prison, I have to clear a courtyard’s worth of armed guards. There are at least ten, and I’m nowhere near where the control center should be. If I try to sneak around the right side, I’ll have to go through greenery. Not an option. If I go to the left, there’s a decent sized gap between a large bush and a rock I would have to go behind. Besides, there are probably guards on those paths. Also not an option. I can’t fly over, or I’ll be spotted. I can’t sprint through, because that’ll raise suspicion and waste energy.

They’re human. They have flaws. They have a few lights set up, without them the guards are blind. Humans can’t see when it’s too bright or dark; they also can’t tolerate a wide range of temperature. And in California, that range is even narrower. The water is freezing; I seriously doubt any of us plan on swimming. Perhaps I could find some way to disable the lights. I can’t slip through in plain sight. I’m not Kelli; I can’t manipulate them into escorting me to the computer. I’m not Andrew; I can’t win them over with unbelievable charisma. I’m not Cody; I’m not worthless in fighting situations and only good for swimming, which would really come in handy when you’re on an island. Finally, I’m not Ty. I can’t turn invisible, and he probably wouldn’t even try that approach. He’d probably tie his shirt up to look like a bra and attempt to seduce the guards.

Oh, Ty. You stupid idiot, I could really use you right now.

It seems that to take advantage of their human flaws, I have to exploit the one element they’ve never been able to withstand. That, of course, is where I come in. I could set a tree on fire― sorry Andrew― and while they flock to put it out, sneak across the courtyard and terminate the lights.

It could work. I doubt all of the men will go to put it out, but most of them will look. I can probably jump over the courtyard, or at least make it most of the way. I might rumble the ground, which they should expect from California.

I sneak to my right and locate a tree that’s isolated from the others. I touch one of the branches in full knowledge that the leaves create more smoke. Their lungs give out in the smoke. They pass out, and that makes my job easier.

I hurry to the left, backing up and letting my legs gain the power I need to clear a large distance. Now, I wait.

I hear some of the men yell, followed by footsteps and panicked orders. Heartbeats increase, and now is my chance. I run forward and jump, hurdling over the men. Their eyes are trained on the fire; they don’t think to look twenty feet up.

I land next to the pole holding the light, crushing the cement underneath my bare feet and sending a jolt through the earth. The force is enough to have me crouched down, one hand on the cement to catch my balance. I look over my shoulder. Most of the men are reacting to the shockwave, all except one on my left. The man seems more shocked than anything, slowing his reaction time and grip on his gun. I snap my left leg to the side, my foot connecting with his sternum. He flies back, I put more strength in the kick than I intended to, bring both legs off the ground and forcing me into a temporary handstand.

I dig my hand into the ground to stop from flying forward with him, let my feet hit the ground and pivot to face the light. Now in a runner’s starting position, I launch myself at the light, right hand curled into a fist and pulled back. I punch the pole with the force to break bones and follow through. The pole, with metal already liquefying, gives way easily and leaves me with force to spare. I can’t do that; I need to conserve every bit of energy within me. I can’t make these kinds of mistakes, and I shouldn’t be making them this early on!

The pole snaps in two, the now dead light at the top’s weight pulls it down, slamming it into the cement. The glass shatters and all hope of repair is lost. There are two other streetlights, one on my right and one where I was standing earlier. Those are too distant to help those near me. They can’t see in the dark, they are robbed of one of their most used senses.

I’m in the dark, which would be more helpful if I wasn’t wearing bright orange and oh yeah, I’d be practically invisible without the whole glowing thing. I have to move quickly. I whip around and allow a single second for power to build in my legs before I jump straight up the side of the cliff. I make it more than three fourths of the way when I have to stick my feet in the rocks and boost myself the final few yards. The second I hit the ground, I’m greeted with a road that rests in front of another higher platform. I jump across the road and on top of the platform, finally standing before the search tower and the main prison.

The search tower’s light exceeds my glow; I should use that to my advantage. I start sprinting for the tower and jump, using the ground as a Launchpad. I shatter the concrete underneath my feet in a clap of thunder, catapulting me into the air. I grab onto the metal railing around the light, for a second dangling five stories. Using my left hand only, I pull myself into the ledge around the light. If I take it out, the island will be significantly darker, and people will be harder to trace. It’ll also draw attention. However, light bulbs don’t last forever. They give out, there are power outages, the light bulb can burst. It might also draw attention to the searchlight when I won’t be there anymore.

I punch through the glass, an action that requires little effort. I reach towards the bright light and feel the materials melting around my fingers as electric pulses tickle my skin. I push my hand in deeper, waiting for the time to come when the light finally goes out. I withdraw my hand, in full knowledge that they’ll waste no time getting to the tower. I walk around the ledge to face the prison roof, two stories and approximately twenty yards from where I am right now. That’s an easy jump. If I roll the second I touch the ground, there might not be a large impact. I stand on the railing, already melting from the radiating heat. I break the top bar propelling myself forward, a mix of falling and jumping.

I start my downward arch, the roof of the already aging building rushing closer faster than I had hoped. I make the last second decision to roll to the left moments before I hit. I tuck my left arm underneath my chest, curling my head so my skull doesn’t smack against the roof. I hit the ground with a fury, quickly rolling and unfolding to skid to a stop once I’m the right way up. I pick my head up and face the panels on the roof, bars over them still beckoning me. I stand up and approach said panels, chuckling at the weak bars. I bend over and rip the bars from the panels, seemingly attached to nothing, trying to keep it from melting by restraining my heat. I toss the bars to the side and peer in through the panel. In the prison, I can make out a few armed guards. On both my left and right, there are rafters with long rows of prison cells. If I go on my right, I can easily use my left hand to attack. Roughly ninety percent of the population is right handed. If I go on the right, their left, I can take advantage of their sloppiness. It makes more sense to protect the left side of the body, because the heart is slightly to the left.

I press my hands against the glass until it melts, allowing me to slip in. I enter the building feet first, dumping my whole body though the panel until I’m hanging by ten fingers. I swing to the left and let go as the momentum carries me to the right. I curl my body into the shape of a parabola to avoid breaking the railing and land on the rafters as quietly as manageable. I duck down to both keep my head from bursting the roof and increase my stealth. My first target is on my left, a tall and slender man with a gun the size of my legs held across his chest. He’s pacing back and forth, eyes straight forward. That’s kind of dumb, considering there are shadows all over the place and people could be lurking anywhere. If I keep a low profile, I can sulk right by him.

Well, look at that. He’s even got the safety on! They aren’t expecting me. They aren’t expecting anyone. They’re trying to scare people off by looking intimidating. I wonder if the gun’s even loaded. I wonder if that scrawny guy can even lift it!

I slowly make my way to the other side, my eyes trained on the guards that walk around the halls on ground level. I have more confidence, but I still need to be careful. Arrogance kills like guns do. Quickly, and after others have warned you about its danger.

I’m almost at the end of the rafter, no signs of the computer or a map or anything dangerous other than the thugs who’re about as threatening as Ty and Andrew. A few men run in the entrance, screaming in their language, "Security breach! There’s a dangerous trespasser!" One then hammers a blow horn, and chaos erupts.

I mumble nearly every swear word I know under my breath. If I get caught, I don’t get excuses.

I now have two options: either I continue to attempt stealth or forget it and go off like a bomb. While I’d love to go into my natural form, I have to think logically. They don’t know who I am, where I am or what I look like. Stealth is still possible. It’s the smarter option, so I’m practically obligated to take it. Stupid Cody and his stupid philosophies. I owe him a good kick for corrupting my mind with his beliefs.

The computer’s got to be around here somewhere, what with all the guards. If I continue into the rooms that await in front of me on the ground level, I’ll enter the dining area and kitchen. You don’t set up in there, you find some sort of office. There’s got to be some sort of warden’s office.

I know there’s one. And it’s in the south end of the beginning, near the main entrance. Just behind where I started.

I hate making mistakes. I really do. I mean, not that anyone could notice. I’m very good at hiding my emotions.

I jump to the nearest barred panel and pull myself through, altering into my natural form to avoid breaking glass or the bars. I storm down the roof, clenched fists at my sides, grinding teeth, aggressive, broad stomps and energy flowing through my arms and legs. I could tackle someone and throw them to the center of the earth and bathe in lava and scream so the whole world could hear how good I am at hiding the emotions I’m not feeling.

I do know that there was a fire several decades ago, and they haven’t rebuilt it. I do know that there’s a business office to my right, behind the end of the C block. I’m currently between the C and B block; I’ll need to jump down and to my right to reach the roof. This time, my landing has to be absolutely silent and undetectable. I have to catch myself before I make a single sound.

I kind of just walk off the roof, which is probably a terrifying sight. One second you’re just doing your job, the next you see a kid walk off a building to drop at least two stories onto the harsh roof of another building.

Hopefully, anyone witnessing such an act wasn’t looking to see fire blast from the soles of my feet like rockets, slowing my plummet to a halt. I lower myself onto the roof in complete silence, dropping mere inches once I’m on.

I lie down on the roof and press my ear to the building. I can hear four heartbeats, and four different voices.

The first man says something about Sacramento relating to an embarrassing failure. The next voice belongs to a woman who tells him that the tip of the iceberg always gets seen and struck. The third voice is male, stating that the Sacramento force lost to a mystical being. The woman speaks again, pointing out the lack of sense in that. The fourth voice is another woman’s, strong and clear. She tells the three what I want to hear. She says that precautions are being taken; the San Jose squad is moving to the hockey pavilion and plans on striking during a game. She also says that the team in Bakersfield is moving to Santa Cruz, and that the L.A. force is splitting up in several locations.

Clever. That definitely makes me have to rethink my routes and plans. I don’t know if I can deal with several buildings with lethal terrorists in each on my own.  This group is more intellectual and technologically advanced than we had predicted. I guess it serves us right for underestimating our enemy and for overestimating me.

The fourth one goes on to talk about "beginning early".

Wait, what?

Early?

I burst through the roof, a fireball the size of a watermelon in my hand ready to be thrown at the second woman to speak. I haven’t even hit the ground and she’s already on fire. I turn to face the other three, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Spontaneous combustion. Happens all the time." I tell them. I throw one into the wall because he stands in the way of the computer. I don’t hesitate to kick the computer into oblivion. Unfortunately, while I do so, one of the remaining members hits a button or pulls a lever that activates an alarm system. Red lights are flashing and horns are blaring. There are probably jets and helicopters being readied to destroy me. I can’t let these people get off the island, and I can’t destroy the building.

Before they can catch me unprepared, I’m roundhouse kicking the other girl and getting shot in the back by the final man. It’s not even a strong gun, just a pistol. On anyone else, it’s a deadly shot. I try not to laugh as I whip around. He fires another bullet quickly, and I have to hit the deck immediately to avoid it. He shoots again, nailing me in the knee. I’m not letting myself get pumped full of lead so I can save some energy. Flames engulf my forearms and I sprint at him faster than mosquitos beat their wings. He tries to hit me with his gun, which is a cute effort. I throw my right forearm up to block, feeling the gun break on contact. I bring my left arm forward, aiming for his nose to send a chip up and into the brain, which is more often than not, fatal.

As the guards approach, they begin their rapid and reckless gunfire. I duck down and keep my head low. I’m saving my natural form for jets or whatever they have waiting for me. I’m going to try and not get shot.

The only reason I’m on this quest alone is because bullets can’t kill me. Well, I have to act like they can. The bullets weigh me down until I go into my natural form. Fire weighs nothing, lead isn’t aerodynamic.

I’ll be all right. The other four got through training being vulnerable to bullets. Then again, while they were shooting me in the head to make sure bullets were beneath me, the others were learning how to avoid bullets. Their natural reaction is to run from the bullets, mine is to run into them.

Ideas, ideas. The gunfire isn’t slowing down. I can’t try to get the height advantage, but I don’t need that. I could break out the side of the building, flames ready. I could hold my palms out at shoot fire the way I do when I fly. That should at least get them to run and allow me to stand.

A little hole in the side in the building is better than it being destroyed by firearms. I dive to my left, bursting through the wall as I curl into a roll. When I emerge from the building and stop rolling, I’m on my feet and crouched down low. I only have seconds for heat to form in the palms of my hands before it’s time to react. There are guards coming in from the prison on my left and guards entering from the main entrance on my right. I prop my back against the wall, dig my feet into the ground and hold my right hand up. My left hand grabs just above my right elbow to sturdy and guide the blast.

I start on my left and release the energy stored in my right arm. A beam of flames shoots from my palm, pressing me deep into the wall. I let go of my right arm and use my left arm to keep me from going through the wall. The beam is bright and strong, causing mass panic amongst the guards. It annihilates everything I can see behind the long laser beam of fire. I move my right hand across my body, worrisome about how much power I’m using, and all the bullet wounds I’ve gained for crossing my chest and exposing my back.

I move in a one hundred and eighty degree angle, obliterating all in my wake. I struggle not to rocket through the wall, fighting against the force pressing into me, into the wall, and back into me.

I finish the ray, which effectively drained most of the power I have for fighting humans. I stand up, look to my left. No one is conscious. I look to my right. One guard is awake, sitting against the wall with half his right leg burnt off. I walk over, eyeing his melting gun resting upright on his lap. He I kneel down beside him, feeling the warmth of the flames on the building. "What do you have in store for me? Tanks? Jets?" I ask. He stares at me in blank silence. "I know you speak English. You’re not dumb enough to invade a country without knowing the language."

"What are you?" He asks with a low voice in a thick accent.

I stand up, finding this man no help. I practically throw my hand onto the wall where the flames burn. I haven’t yet mastered this trait, nor do I know if it helps me. I take a deep breath in and close my eyes to concentrate. I try to retract the fire, pull it back into my system. At first, nothing happens. Then, after I get frustrated, the flames start to crawl up my arms and to my head and chest, igniting my hair into strands of fire. I open my eyes and pull the fire on my arms underneath my skin. I leave my hair ablaze, mostly for dramatic effect. I lean down a little bit, bending my knees to keep stable. I look this little man in the eyes. "I’m not human, that’s for sure." I say. I keep my voice low, strong and emotionless.

"Your powers are godless." He mumbles.

"That’s because I’m not God." I tell him. "And I’m not His counterpart."

"You’re a monster."

It takes me a moment to think of how to respond. "You’re getting warmer." I hold out my left palm, fire growing. "In fact, you’ll be over one thousand degrees if you don’t tell me what’s coming."

"We were told to expect fire. The fight’s in the water."

"Oh, battleships?" I speak as if a child is talking to me about stupid things and I have to feign interest to avoid a temper tantrum. "Speaking of battle, what hockey game are they attacking?"

"I don’t know."

"Excuse me?" I get down closer, my hand practically on his nose. He tries to back up, which is foolish, he’s already propped against the wall. I can see the sweat on his face and pull back a bit. I keep the distance small so he doesn’t notice. If they think I’m invulnerable, they won’t think to bother with water.

"I don’t know!"

"Then guess. Compile what you know and estimate. Hypothesize. What’s their mojo?"

He thinks for a bit and answers, "When a lot of people are there, and a lot of people are watching."

Now it’s my turn. There aren’t any playoff games coming up, what would make even minor hockey fans go to a game?

Discounts. Why not go to a game if it’s cheap? If you don’t really like the sport, go for experience. Go for the sake of going. Now, what would make people watch? What’s the best kind of game that fans of both teams would be invested in and need to watch? Easy. Rivalries. The fans are more intense than ever, and winning becomes a thousand times more than crucial.

I pull my hand away. "See? Cooperation is easy. Unfortunately for you, you broke several laws." The fire in my left hand sinks into my skin and I press the barrel of his gun to the wall behind him. I do the same to the butt of the gun, wielding the gun into a ring that pins his arms at his side. With him trapped, I back away. "You had the intention of destroying the best part of San Francisco." Not the history, not the actual city itself. The people. They make the city what it really is. "I can’t let you just walk away."

Okay, time for natural form. Time to destroy these battleships.

I walk out the main entrance, ready to shed the bullets in my body. If my theories are correct, this group enjoys being iconic, dramatic and theatrical. They’ll probably strike the Golden Gate Bridge. I can’t imagine they’d come from Angel Island or the San Francisco International Airport. I can’t imagine they’d get away with having active battleships in the Bay.

The Bridge is about a hundred thousand feet from Alcatraz. The battleships are already coming; I don’t have time to waste. I start sprinting to the northwest side of the island and burst into flight. I don’t care if it looks like an asteroid is heading for the Bridge, there might be missiles headed for it.

Not that many people are on the Bridge. A few cars here and there, over a mile of historic landmark that all needs protecting.

Okay, my shoulders are my widest point. They’re about two feet wide for my current height. The Bridge is eight thousand, nine hundred and eighty feet wide. I’m going to need about four thousand, four hundred eighty-nine clones to block it. And that’s if I ignore the height.

I see them roughly the same time they see me. A fleet of ships in the distance, armed to the teeth. I’m not letting them get closer. I’m bringing the fight to them. The city is a house of cards, and I’ve got to stop them from recklessly destroying what took time and effort.

I land on the Bridge for a brief amount of time to give myself a moment’s break before blasting off again, waiting for that moment when I get to let go of the restraints itching to be dropped.

Plan time, time for a plan. Do I need one? Now’s the time when I get to become the mutant freak I was created to be. I get to destroy recklessly, my only goal to protect the city. I get to test what I can do and be the destructive monster they told me I couldn’t be, at least not in the compound. I’m out of the cage, I’m flying at the closest ship, and I get to decide to rip a hole in the ship or burn one. Let’s rip, the flames would be close to the water and would go out prematurely. Here’s a plan: rip the ship, then as it sinks, drop the restraints, dump some lead on it and unleash the beast on the remainders.

I hold my two hands out in front of me, braced knuckles and locked elbows prepared for impact. I fly closer to the water to hit below the deck and aim more to the right to avoid hitting the mast straight on. The metal gives way, breaking as I burst through. I’ve trained to destroy ships. I’ve trained to destroy almost everything. With each compartment, the walls break with a pop, continuing with two second breaks between until I’m out of the ship. Once I’m in the open air, I look at the fleet of ships. There are four more, no aircraft carriers; thank God. All of them have an impressive arsenal, and I’d be shocked if they weren’t armed with missiles to destroy the entire bridge.

Before they can get a good look at me, my restraints are down. No limits on temperature, no way to touch me, bullets now go through me. I feel the weight of the lead fall from my body to the water, and the discomfort is gone. As my human form fades into that of a fire demon, I bolt to the nearest ship at neck breaking speeds. I see a cannon turn towards me and in an instant, fire. The missile is fast as lightning, and I barely throw my upper body back at an arch in time for it to pass over me. I condense in a heartbeat and grab onto the missile. I continue my flip backwards, changing the missile’s course from to the land into the water. I feel and hear my heart pound loudly and out of rhythm to accomplish the task smoothly. I release the missile the second it points to the water and finish my flip to face the ship. I return to my natural form to throw myself into the cockpit. I melt the glass and roll in, landing on my back. The people inside don’t have a second to look at me. A fireball bigger than the room immediately erupts from nowhere, the equivalent of an explosion. It blasts the roof off and carries into the surrounding compartments, not enough to destroy the other large compartment. I can only do so many of those explosions; they take a large percentage of my powers.

I get up and look behind me to the deck, where weapons and guns are ready to be fired. I sprint to the edge of the cockpit’s remains and jump, preparing fire in my arms and legs. I land and keep sprinting, arms out. I start on my right, forcing my arm through the weapons. I turn around when I reach the end and use the stored power in my legs to launch myself forward until I’m flying through the metal. I continue into the room where the ship is being controlled and break through the wall. I land for a moment, only to shoot fire in long beams from my palms and spin one hundred and eighty degrees, destroying all their equipment, technology and personnel. I don’t waste time to burst out the building to my left, breaking free of the melting ship. I turn to the other three, quickly approaching the coast.

I need to get the one closest to the Bridge, and I’ll continue on that until they’re all gone. The ships are ahead of me, gaining speed by the minute. I blast off towards the back of the boat closest to the Bridge, taking in the ship’s design to decide how to destroy it. This ship is thin, fairly long and in the middle, there’s the cockpit that takes up all the space horizontally. Smaller than the others, it’s easily the fastest. There are turrets on the sides facing the Bridge and in front of the cockpit.

I hear it first. The releasing of the missile towards the Bridge. It feels like slow motion, because the missile and I are moving at the same speeds, and I can go faster. I force all my power into a blast of flames that rocket me to the missile, on a collision course for the Bridge.

Desperation numbs all my thoughts; panic drives me to put it all on the line. I have to catch up to this missile, and I struggle to use the remaining power to go Mach two or three or however fast I was before.

I didn’t realize how much I had used earlier. I didn’t realize how unhealed I was. I should have spent hours in the fire. It’s more important than remaining hidden. Because I’m behind the missile, terrifyingly close to the Bridge. I struggle to fly next to it without flying in its coattails. With both hands behind me to boost all the power and speed I have, I whip out my left hand to grab onto the edge of the missile. I lock my fingers around the back and tilt my body in a standing position to stop the missile.

And I rip a piece off. The piece locked in my hands breaks off, and the missile keeps going. I can’t process a thing as this stupid little chunk of metal melts in my hands. Wake up, Amber! Stop the missile! I snap into reality, the harsh reality of a missile headed straight for the Bridge. I try to flip onto my stomach and catch up to the missile, but it’s too late. I’ve already completely stopped my momentum.

I still reach for the missile like I can grab it, and I watch the missile hit the Golden Gate Bridge and explode.

I watch California’s most iconic monument

Explode

And

Collapse,

Falling

Two hundred and twenty feet

Down

Into

The

Water.

I’m paralyzed. My mind is screaming, my soul is crying, my heart is dying and my body hovers over the water, unmoving and dead. My eyes are locked on the sight of California’s most beautiful and spectacular bridge falling into the water. The missile struck almost right in the middle, where the wires arcing in an upward parabola meet. There’s a gap in the middle, easily two hundred feet wide. It’s small in comparison to the Bridge, enough to tear it down. I’m just witnessing the wires break and the concrete fall, dragging the two tall stands that hold it all together with it.

The lights go out as the wires are stressed and held accountable for the weight of the entire bridge. They don’t last at all, they each snap simultaneously. I watch the two towers fall inward, slow yet fast at the same time. My hearing is numb as they get pulled into the water. I’m sure the splash is loud, because the towers drive deep into the water, forcing tall waves around the sides. The bridge provided so much light, more than I realized. Now, with the few remainders of the Bridge on the hillside, shattered and broken bits sink underneath the water. Let’s be poetic instead of gory, no, let’s be poetic and biological instead of gory: each broken wire were snaps to my tricuspid and mitral valve. Each crumbling piece of concrete were like my deltoids, then serratus anterior, tensor fasciae latae, and finally quadriceps were dripping out of my body. The two towers collapsing was like if my ischium bones collapsed on each other. I should laugh at that like I normally do, but I can’t. Not now, not as near sacred Californian land has been blown up, violently, might I add, and Californian souls are trapped in the water.

I snap back to life when my eyes lock a final car falling for the water. I hurl myself into hyper drive, overloading my system with desperation as I shoot downward and towards the cars. I hold my arms out, I’ll grab onto the roof and fly them to safety, or I’ll hold my hands under the bottom of the car, then I could do two at once.

The car coming at me has three heartbeats in it, a small, old, rounded thing. I can hear the people inside screaming. I reach the roof and lock my fingers around it, bending the material to my heat and strength. I yank up, flipping my body one hundred eighty degrees to face the sky. The car starts to lift, only giving me a slight challenge. The weight of the"

Before I can complete my maneuver, the roof of the car’s ripping off from the rest of the frame! The roof rests in my hands, the body of the car and its passengers continue to plummet to the water!

"No!" I shriek. I throw the roof out of my hands as I turn to face the water. I launch towards the car, and oh my gosh, I can see the family inside. I can see them reaching for me, their arms straightened, and I can hear their screams. My stomach lurches as I pass by the car. I flip around and press my hands into the bottom.

I whip around in time to catch it sink beneath the waves. No more heartbeats. No more heartbeats. Oh my gosh.

I can’t breathe. The Golden Gate Bridge is gone. At least three people lost their lives. They died because of me… because I couldn’t save them. They needed a superhero, and I was right here.

But I couldn’t save them. I was too strong or too hot or some other horrible reason. They died, and my being here did nothing to help or prevent this from happening. They died because of me.

I didn’t save anyone. I’m not a superhero today.

They won today. They ended the bridge, lives and they made my stomach knot, twist and jump. I can barely breathe, I can barely think. I can barely put words together. It’s their fault. It’s all their fault.

If they went to a random state and blew up a random bridge with little significance, they’d still get a strong reaction from me. I would be furious because I failed, and an important part of someone’s home was ruined for no reason at all. I would be angered because they’re winning, they beat me, they’re stronger. And it was enough to make someone care about a man made bridge, a structure without a soul and with a poetic name.

For the first time in my life, I’m not sad that I’m not winning. I don’t care if I lost, it seems stupid ever have cared! I only care about a few facts.

They destroyed my home that I failed to protect.

I failed to protect people I should have been easily able to save.

I think I’m crying. My face is at least scrunching up to cry, and I’m at least sobbing. No tears fall as my body convulses in sadness. The sound that comes out is similar to the hiccupping sound K.B. makes to laugh; only I’m choking and couldn’t smile to save my life.

Turn around.

Orders pierce through the walls in my mind. In my head, my voice is low, dark and with clenched teeth. It’s almost like there’s a demon inside me threatening to rip out my chest and explode. I listen, putting the graveyard to my back and the culprits in front of me.

Make them pay. The words are slow, dramatic and deliberate. Each syllable is sharp, emphasis on the K and P. If the words personified into a sight, it would be a musket with poison dripping down the blade as the gun is loaded to shoot a guy in the nuts. My sobbing fades into panting, the despair turns to anger and the emotions become fuel. My heart is pounding with a new purpose, a new goal, a new desire I’ve never felt before.

Revenge.

The trembling in my bones ceases, and I’m shouting some sort of war cry or shriek of vengeance or eulogy to the Bridge. I’m rocketing to the ship in front, the ship that did this to with a burning passion that threatens to envelop my soul. They launch another missile, this time right at me.

I don’t duck. I don’t so much as flinch. I pull back my right fist and slam it into the nose of the missile, exploding in triumphant flames around me. The missile scratched my knuckles and got another battle scream out of me, more than that stupid waste of time and space deserved. I continue to launch forward, fire shooting out from each and every pore in my body. The flames grow until they’re doubling, tripling the size of me. This is for the Bridge. This is for the drivers that could have been killed. This is for the innocence that was lost, for the men in the ship in front of me that became monsters.

I don’t hesitate to crash into the cockpit, enough power and intensity to send the whole part of the ship to hell. It bursts apart in an explosion that launches the pieces and fragments of the ship either into the sky, out to sea, towards the Bridge or down into the jaws of the tiger or bull sharks I hope swim below.

Without a middle to the ship and a huge hole separating the two, the front and back of the ship sink. There are two more ships left, and both are bigger and more intimidating than the last. I don’t think, I bolt to the ship on my left, screaming as I hurdle headfirst into the center of the ship, both horizontally and vertically. They had tried to shoot me down with a missile, which went up the coastline instead of into it. I continue to fly through, ripping a hole in both sides. As the ship begins altering and shifting from the difference in buoyancy and shape, I fly overhead. I condense myself, keeping the flames inside me to grow and gain power. I turn my back to the ship and face my heels and palms towards the sky. Fire bursts from my hands and feet, blasting me onto the battleship, right where the tear is. With the power I used, I’m unfazed to hear and see the boat crack in half. The outward tips of the two halves rise in the air, and I rocket into the air before I get splashed. I whip around to face―

A missile hits me right in the stomach, on a downward angle going towards the water. The tip pierced my stomach, practically impaling me onto this ride. I need to get out, I need to escape this is water I don’t survive in water! My first instinct is to turn to my natural form, and I try to drop the restraints. I fail. What? Why? Am I out of power already? I feel like I just started! I don’t even feel the pain! Or maybe I do and I’m just ignoring it, I don’t know. I thrash around in a thoughtless panic, tugging on the wound and doing more harm than good. It takes longer than I hoped to push away from the tip. I put my legs and hands on the missile to pull myself from the pointed murder stick. In my blur of desperation, I practically rip off and I’m ready to pass under the missile and scarcely avoid the water when I have a change of mind.

I move over the missile, wrap my arms around it and steer up. I’m stronger than them, stronger than their weapons, stronger than they could ever be. They are cowards hiding behind machines, trying to use fear against us. They should try to use someone’s fear against them on someone who’s afraid of being shot.

Images of the Bridge flash in my hand, and I feel the rage pumping fire into my arms. Instead of fire going towards mending my wounds, I push it into this missile crisis. I pull the missile up and backflip, whipping the missile over my body and towards the ship. I continue to hang with my back to the water and head hanging back as the missile whizzes at the stupid battleship. I watch the ship explode upside down, and I would probably chuckle if I wasn’t so mad, upset, depressed, let down, horrified, disturbed, scarred, hurt―

Error four zero four: brain function not found. Rebooting… I try to steer my mind off of these dark and depressing times to a more jovial mood. I’m hanging over water, the worst place to be if I burnt out in frustration.

What time is it, anyways? I need to get back to the group before they wake up, which could be at any time. Hopefully, they love sleep as much as Ty does. They don’t seem like the kind of people who like waking up at the crack of dawn, and they went to bed fairly late. Then again, they’re behind schedule and probably want to catch up. My goal is to be there by seven, relentless of all other circumstances.

They turned off the truck at twelve oh-seven, and it took everyone forever to go to sleep. It probably took eternity to do everything that just happened, and the second the strength from my emotion fades, which should be any second now, I’ll get to walk back to the truck. It would be suicide to try and fly over the Bay. It’s probably in the second hour, and it’s supposed to take ten hours to get from where we are to Vallejo by walking.

I start flying for the southern hillside when the power plummets. The energy stops pulsating through my whole body and the pain in my heart starts coming back. It’s not as horrible and murderous as it was in Sacramento; however, it’s still crippling and painful. I land on the south side of where the Bridge once stood, and the disbelief smacks me in the face. I can’t believe the Bridge is gone, that it disappeared into the stupid water. I turn my back on it to avoid puking up whatever’s where my stomach should be. I look down at my clothes, already torn from Sacramento, revealing the cut in my stomach. Cut? Did I say cut? More like a gaping hole that has a part time job as a portal to hell. My body looks normal, no longer glowing and no longer seven feet tall, and my hair is probably as short as K.B.’s, if I still have any. I’m your average kid, except for the large hole in my stomach with fire swirling around inside. I don’t have enough power to set everything around me on fire, so no easy recharge. I’m going to have to walk home, and the first thing the flames will do is heal my stomach, easily a good thing.

I begin my long walk around the Bay, trudging and slow. I haven’t gone too far when an enormous troop of large, black cars drive past me, the headlights lingering on me. Tinted windshield? Why? I’m able to see through at the drivers and passengers, whose heads all turn to keep their eyes on me. Are they with the government? No, unlikely. They’d recognize me. Are they going to stop for an eighteen-year-old girl in the middle of the night?

They don’t. They zoom by, racing towards the bridge. I’m tempted to follow the cars until they’re out of vision.

I tell myself I won’t look back. I yell it at myself thousands of times, pounding it in until it’s all of my thoughts, my only thought, and for some reason, that makes me want to rebel. I stop walking and look over my shoulder.

The only thought that comes from my silence and blank mind is simple.

Thank God this didn’t happen during daytime.

Author's Note

Some technical difficulties with this one -_-
Needs more editing