HERO

16 / Scanning

The big wide world felt immeasurably larger when Thomas stepped out of the school entrance. He was one small boy trying to survive in something that felt like a desert. He'd seen pictures of the Sahara during a geography lesson, and he couldn't shake the feeling he was standing in the middle of it. Even though buildings and houses and people and cars surrounded him, he had no idea which direction would leave him to safety, if there were such a thing anymore.

The ability to fly, run or teleport had reduced the Earth to the extent that a person with the right power could travel anywhere they liked. Passports and immigration laws were meaningless and, though they hadn't been abandoned, they weren't enforced.

So, to some, the world was big no longer. To Thomas, it was growing at the same rate the universe was expanding. The sensation left him feeling exposed.

Bren could be anywhere and he had no way of tracing her. They didn't move in the same circles, not that Thomas had any circles to travel in, so he wasn't aware of anyone who might know her. If she were to help him, he had only one place to look. If she wasn't in the alley, he was on his own. If she was, he may still be. Bren seemed to be supportive of him, but may not be so when she discovered the truth. She was clearly perceptive, as was shown by her figuring out he was hiding something.

He could procrastinate another time. He had to go. He realised he'd been standing on the steps for a good five minutes. That was too long. It meant he was open to be seen and to be taken. He ran down the steps and set off for the alley.

Thomas's habit of taking multiple routes to school meant he knew the streets very well. He was also adept at losing himself without getting lost. Aware that he could be being followed – though he doubted it, as they would just abduct him as soon as they saw him rather than follow him first – his path was more meandering than usual. He went along streets he wouldn't normally venture along, going through parks that were off limits to him, as far as his father was concerned, and climbing over and through the ruins of once grand buildings.

Iain had driven the message of safety into his son from a very young age. He knew where he should and shouldn't go, and kept within those limits. Now, his father's rules seemed to be nothing more than excuses to ensure he could keep a close eye on his son until the time was right to hand him over.

Thomas shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about his father like that. It wasn't his fault. He'd be driven by the situation his son had left him in. There was nothing to be done. If Iain had resisted or failed to report Thomas's failings, they could both have been punished. The Spot wasn't a choice, it was mandatory. The afflicted had to be terminated. If they weren't and, instead were allowed to roam free, the chaos that reigned would be as nothing. The clock was ticking on Thomas's sanity. It was a monolith obstructing his way, yet still he dragged his heels in scaling it.

Bren. He had to focus on her. As brief as their encounter was, there'd been a connection he was sure couldn't just be in his mind. There had to be. He had no other options. Realistically, he couldn't take shelter out in the city. He was a child. A powerless child who would be the easiest of targets for anyone who wanted a piece of him or whose territory he trespassed upon.

Thomas was scanning the streets in a well practised sweep. Up the opposite side, back down, across the road, then up and down his side. Back and forth repeatedly, always aware of who was where. He didn't have to think about it anymore, and hadn't needed to for some years. Such things became automatic at an early age and Thomas kept his eyes moving almost of their own accord.

He saw the smashed windows. The shadowy figure standing just inside one, its eyes glowing faintly. The long vertical crack up the full height of the apartment building on the corner, threatening to split the structure in two. The girl exiting from an apartment on his side of the road, from seven stories up, floating to the ground as if fairy wings were attached to her back, rather than a genetic ability to defy gravity. Just before her feet touched the ground, she began to move them as if walking. It was a surreal sight, making her look as if she could feel a real surface that only she could see. Once she did touch down, she moved from flight to steps with barely a break between.

A blur passed down the centre of the road, unsettling the dust that coated everything nowadays. Even without a part demolished building nearby, the dust managed to find its way on every surface. To Thomas, it was a symptom of something he couldn't quite put into words, at least not until he'd met Bren. Then he had just the words. It was the ash of a world on fire.

A woman screamed. A hooded figure with clothing that would have been loose on most but was tight fitting to the point it might burst on him had his hand on her bag. A bag she was holding tightly onto.

"Let go bitch."

"Give me my bag!"

The mugger puled harder, snapping the handle that was still looped over the woman's shoulder. The woman's face, first filled with shock, darkened. She released her hand on her bag suddenly, causing the man to stumble. He righted himself quickly and turned to run. As soon as his back was to the woman, she leapt and Thomas knew what she was.

Her aim was, of course, impeccable. She landed high on his back, his bulk giving her more area to gain purchase, though she would have found as much on a slighter figure. She was crouched and there would be no shifting her unless she wanted it. It was the man's turn to scream. His arms were up, waving wildly to try and dislodge her. Thomas knew he was wasting his time. Her toes would have elongated, their nails sharpening as they embedded themselves into his back. They'd break the skin easily, digging in deep.

She raised her hands and her fingers had morphed in the same way. They were talons and she brought them down around the front of his head, allowing them to continue to grow as she pressed them to his cheeks. His screams were shrieks. He had grabbed her wrists and was pulling at them frantically. She allowed him to, bringing her hands away and, with them, great chunks of his flesh. She jumped backwards, flipping over in a graceful arc only marred by the torn pieces of thief hanging from her claws.

By the time she hit the ground, her hands and feet were back to normal. She shook away the pieces of gore, leant and wiped herself on his coat. He didn't protest. He only lay there where he'd fallen, moaning.

She picked up her bag and set off walking.

No one stopped. No one took any notice. Only Thomas watched what was happening, and only then because it emphasised to him why he wished he didn't have to drink the vials. He was afraid of turning out like that. Or turning into that. With a heavy sigh, he continued on towards, he hoped, Bren.