The Permutation

Apex (Part 13) Paul

Saturday, November 5th, 1:43 a.m.

Paul watched the proceedings with a mixture of envy and awe. A twelve-year-old and a homeless man accomplished the impossible, a selfless act without any benefit to themselves. They sacrificed themselves so that a worthless piece of shit like himself could live. Without them, Paul would have been a meal for a hungry group of predators, becoming a living piece of irony. The embodiment of gluttony being eaten by those he despised.

He'd lost sight of the millionaire when the man had reached the top of the structure. He didn't see the man until he was a violet blur streaking through the air and colliding with the ground. The shape had been none other than Vergil Wilson. Paul didn't care if the man was bulletproof, no one could survive that fall.

The ground reverberated with the force of the impact. The earth shivered like a pebble rippled across the glassy surface of a placid lake. Cavitations in the earth spread from the center of the drive-in. Instead of the soothing ripples of water, each ripple made the ground more unstable underneath the truck. Paul closed his eyes at each pass, fearing that the weight of the truck would send them tumbling into the freshly dug network of underground tunnels. It wasn't a matter of if, but when.

A crackling sound permeated the air around Paul as if the all of the atmosphere had become charged with electricity. He felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. Goosebumps prickled the flesh of his arm, the little hairs standing on end. If Paul looked close enough, he could see little motes of purple flitting around in the air, like mischievous fireflies. Every second, the crackling grew louder, and the movements of the particles became increasingly frenetic. A sweet smell wafted through the air, the smell of a fresh roast marinating in the oven. It gave the crackling sound a whole new meaning, the smell of fat sizzling in intense heat.

Nothing but a good ol' fashioned human barbecue. Do you want an arm or a leg?

Paul shook his head to dispel the manic thought, and at his own hunger. It felt like an eternity since his mother had brought him bacon that morning.

"Get your ass moving Poindexter!" Paul shouted at the driver's seat of the truck where Vyth was sitting.

The gawking bystanders were jarred out of their reverie and crammed into the truck. None of them decided to sit with Paul, be he couldn't say he blamed them, his shirt was still stained with vomit.

When they were all safe and snug, The Being behind the wheel of the truck looked at the chaos, his eyes were devoid of hope. The truck lurched into motion almost spilling Paul out of the bed and Paul had to clutch at the sides to keep himself from tumbling out. He wouldn't be among the casualties tonight, not after all he'd been through.

Or all that's been sacrificed.

The ground still shook underneath the truck like a vibrating hotel mattress, but as the truck put distance between them and the crater, the rumbling ceased. In the night sky, Paul could discern the faintest dark shape, and he realized it was the flying kid.

Paul would've thought he would follow them like a lost puppy, but instead he hovered over the crater, like a sentinel as if he needed to watch the devastation himself.

Maybe he is waiting for her. He wants to be the hero swoop her off into safety, but life isn't a comic book kid.

Even if she had been able to kill all of them, the earth would have engulfed her, leaving her to suffocate to death. Paul hoped the monsters got to her first, she didn't deserve a slow painful death. Jordan Bryant deserved a rest.

Paul wished he was close enough to smack some sense into the boy. No one should have to watch their friend die, not even an annoying twerp like that kid. It was the least Paul could do for Jordan.