Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone (4 page)

The sad part is that not more people have been following Vortex’s example. Some people have, and that’s cool. There’s a woman in New York City and she can put people to sleep with her voice. She calls herself The Siren, and she helps the police with Rogues. She doesn’t wear a costume, but she wears a mask. There’s also a brother and sister somewhere in Canada who can smell when people are lying, and they have been helping the courts up there and the police when they can. I don’t think they have super-hero names, but Canada doesn’t have their own P.C.A. yet so I think that makes them sort of like super-heroes.

There was also a guy in San Francisco who called himself The Magnet, but the sad part is that he didn’t last very long. He had a white costume, and he could move metal like that villain in the “X-Men” movies, but he wasn’t very fast at it. The second Rogue he tried to fight also had a gun with him and The Magnet wasn’t fast enough to stop the bullet and he got shot in the chest. And then he used his metal-moving power to pull the bullet out, but it turned out that was the wrong thing to do and he bled to death. I think the fact that he died so fast might have scared other Paranormals into not trying to be super-heroes, and that is sad, too.

But I still think that things are better now than they were a year ago. We have Vortex now, and even though the P.C.A. headquarters got blown up last year, the P.C.A. has stuck with it. And there are two guys who help the P.C.A. who are kind of like super-heroes, too: There’s a guy they call Powerhouse who is
really
strong (he wears a ski mask and gloves, but no other costume parts), and another guy they call Shockwave. There are some other Paranormal helpers, but Powerhouse and Shockwave are the ones they talk most about on the news.

Some other stuff has gotten better, too. They have started passing some laws that make it illegal to fire people who turn Paranormal unless they are Class One (that’s for Paranormals whose powers can be very dangerous). Class Two Paranormals (that’s for Paranormals whose powers are harder to make dangerous) would be just as protected as people of different races or religions. But sometimes people find it hard to agree on how to decide what is a Class One or Class Two, and some people even want them to make up a Class Three for Paranormals whose powers are
really
hard to make dangerous.

But like I said: I think that things are a lot better now than they were last year. More and more Rogues have been put in jail in places like Alcatraz Island and the Nevada Desert and a real close prison called “The Rogue Pit.” People are finally not being so scared just because someone turns Paranormal. And it seems like there might not be quite as many people turning Rogue as there used to be.

And I think a lot of that is thanks to
Vortex
! If I ever turn Paranormal, I’m going to follow his example. And I hope that I am half as tough as he is!

TODAY

VORTEX

Kimberly Bryce screamed when the rogue burst forth from the storm drain ahead of her. The terrifying paranormal moved so fast!

If only she had followed her father’s advice never to talk to strangers, if only she had followed her mother’s example of treating every man as a potential threat, she might not be fleeing for her life right now. But she could play the “if only” game all day, it wouldn’t get her away from the snake-man.

Throwing an arm around the street sign as she passed it, she spun into a nearly perfect ninety-degree turn and kept running. The snake-man thrashed his tail at her, coming so close to her legs she felt the air whip past her left calf. Hissing in frustration, he dove back into the storm drain, no doubt seeking to cut her off once more. So she stopped, caught her breath for two seconds, then doubled-back the way she had come.

“Help!” she called for the fiftieth time, her voice barely carrying by this point. “Help, someone!”

This close to the college campus, she was surrounded by low-income apartments, crammed with students who had made it past their freshman years. Even midday like this,
someone
had to be home, had to hear her pleas for help. But with the exception of one middle-aged woman who shouted from her cracked front door that she had called the police, no one had responded. Kimberly had, in fact, heard a police siren twirp a few streets over a minute ago, but when she had turned in that direction, the snake-man had almost gotten her. And every time she tried to work her way back toward the campus, where she
knew
she would find people, he kept cutting her off, using the storm drains over and over again to outpace her as he could not do on foot. So she kept going, kept calling for help, and kept praying ...

Kimberly had been walking to her first afternoon class after lunch. Normally her roommate would’ve been with her, but not today. On any prior day this semester her boyfriend might’ve tagged along, but they’d had a huge fight over the weekend and he was still giving her the silent treatment. And as luck would have it, even her cell phone was back in her apartment on the charger. So she had been truly alone as she walked from her apartment toward the college, but when the homeless man first approached her, she didn’t think much of it.

As she waited for a lone car to pass before crossing the next residential street, the vagrant had drifted toward her and mumbled something she did not understand. The first thought that went through her mind was her mother’s advice, which would’ve been to run screaming for the hills from any male who approached her without three forms of photo identification. Rolling her eyes at her phantom mother, she instead replied with a courteous, “I’m sorry?”

“... etty,” was all she heard this time. The man’s voice had been very whispery, like he suffered from extreme laryngitis.

Assuming that he was probably asking her for money, she had replied, “I’m sorry, I don’t carry any cash on me.” She indicated her two textbooks and notebook, displaying her lack of a purse.

The homeless man drew nearer, and for the first time, she had caught a whiff of his terrible smell. It wasn’t just body odor, either; he smelled very musty, very dank. It wasn’t at all pleasant, and she had taken a step back.

“... retty,” he tried again.

Easing further away, she had replied, “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t understand you.”

The man had cleared his throat and repeated, “You’re pretty.”

That was too much. Maybe she should’ve thanked him for the compliment, but instead she had said, “I have to go now. I have to get to class.” She looked away and started crossing the street.

“Don’t turn your back
on me
!”

Shocked by his audacity, Kimberly had whirled around to give him a piece of her mind—

In a matter of seconds, the man changed. He threw his head back, revealing that his matted hair was just a wig. No, that wasn’t right, because the hair had fallen away in separate clumps — he had not lost a wig, but had shed his actual hair. And as his face elongated, his features flattening, he shrugged his shrinking shoulders and slithered right out of his dirty clothes. And just like that, a man-sized reptile stood before her, his arms and legs shriveling as his torso extended.

Dear God,
drifted through her mind.
A real paranormal.

The snake-man opened his mouth to speak, but where his voice had been hoarse before, now it was so hissy all she understood was, “... inside you ...”

She dropped her books and ran. And now, God only knew how much later, she was still running. In broad daylight down freakishly empty residential streets, she was running for her life from the first paranormal she had ever met.

Kimberly had run track her whole life, but even she could not keep up this pace forever. If she didn’t pull a muscle and fall flat on her face, she might simply slow down to the point where the snake-man would finally get her. She could only be grateful that it hadn’t already occurred to him to revert to his original, human form and try catching her on foot instead of slithering through the waterways below. Maybe he’d been using his paranormal form for so long, he no longer thought in norm terms? She didn’t care, she just wanted someone to please, please help her!

At the intersection ahead of her, a plain, grey sedan with tinted windows sped through the crossroad, moving too fast for her to flag it down ... except, much to her exultation, the driver slammed on his brakes, skidding to a stop with only his trunk still in view.

Kimberly waved her limp arms in the air, an impaired effort by now but it was the best she could do. “Help!” she gasped. “Over here!”

Dear God
, she prayed,
please don’t let the monster get between us. Please ...

But that was exactly what happened.

Before she could call out again, the snake-man flowed out of the storm drain ahead of her, blocking her path to salvation. His head bent to the right, away from her and toward the car, and her first impulse was to call out a warning — not her smartest instinct, but that’s the kind of person she was. Then the monster’s head swivelled back toward her, that long neck writhing around atop the remnants of his humanoid shoulders, and his reptilian eyes widened in pleasure upon sighting her. His withered legs relaxed back onto his tail, which coiled like a spring, preparing to launch at her again with that lightning speed she had been fortunate to evade until now. She stumbled to a stop, tensed to dodge him once more, but her legs were trembling and she couldn’t catch her breath. Like it or not, she realized that her amazing luck had come to an end.

Then a male voice shouted, “
Hit the dirt!
”

Kimberly had no idea who had shouted or what good that might do, but she was past the point of asking such questions. She dropped to the ground.

The same instant the snake-man leaped at her, his tail launching him faster than any norm could dream of, the air behind him rippled, twisting and spiraling like a miniature cyclone. The rogue gasped in shock as he was knocked forward, no longer propelled by his tail but now as helpless as his prey had been a moment before. He passed over her, not touching the ground again until he had sailed almost all the way to the next intersection. When he landed, he rolled head over tail until he finally slithered back into the nearest storm drain, leaving a fair amount of slimy blood on the pavement along the way. She heard him hissing loudly in pain and anger as he vanished.

Was that it? Was he gone?

“Miss?”

Kimberly yelped and cringed away. Running on her last dregs of adrenaline, she kicked out behind her before the owner of the voice could grab her, squeeze her, drag her down below—

“Whoa! Whoa! It’s okay! It’s just ... uh, me.”

Kimberly finally looked around to see who had spoken, an apology forming on her lips as it dawned on her that she had just tried to kick her savior. The
sight
of her savior, however, brought her up short.

“You, uh, you might’ve seen me in the news,” he said. “My name is Vortex.”

Still crouched on the ground, Kimberly looked him up and down, taking in the black-and-gold costume with its almost-metallic sheen, the cape, the funky spiral on his chest, the mask. “You gotta be kidding me ...” she whispered.

“I just picked up the call on the police scanner,” the costumed man explained, “and I was right nearby, so I knew I’d get here before the PCA.” He knelt beside her. “Are you okay? Do you need medical help?”

She shook her head.
Who is this freak?
“No ... no, I’m just ... worn out ...”

“I’ll bet,” Vortex said, offering her his hand. “It sounds like you’ve been giving this guy a merry chase for, what, fifteen minutes now?”

Reluctant to take his gloved hand just yet, she shook her head again as she rubbed her aching thighs. “I don’t know ... how long ...”

The police siren chirped again, just one street away now. Vortex glanced that way, gesturing again with his offered hand. “You’re safe now. The police will—”

The snake-man exploded from the storm drain across from them. Before Kimberly could scream, the monster hit Vortex, tackling him to the ground, his long tail encircling the costumed man.

Vortex bucked and rolled, scrambling around with his legs, trying to keep the rogue’s tail from sliding into place across his chest. He managed to work his right arm through the coils, but that was it. He kicked backward, reaching over his shoulder with his free hand, kept turning his head left and right as if desperate to see his attacker, but the snake-man’s torso pressed against his back, adding more pressure to his abdomen.

“Leave ... leave him alone!” Kimberly called. She tried to stand up, but after all that running, her legs weren’t anxious to work again so soon. Her left thigh was threatening her with a Charley Horse, and both calves were trembling. If only she hadn’t been so distracted by her rescuer’s silly Halloween costume, she would’ve warned him about the storm drains!

The rogue twisted his neck around until he was facing her, a corkscrewing endeavor that nauseated as much as terrified her. His mouth opened, and it took her a moment to realize he was trying to smile. “Hiiim ... then yooou ...” he hissed.

Kimberly redoubled her effort to stand.

The snake-man laughed at her, extended a pair of dripping fangs, then whirled and sunk those horrible teeth into Vortex’s neck.

Except they
didn’t
sink into his neck. They dug in only a fraction of an inch before stopping, and one of them snapped under the pressure.

The rogue roared and spat in pain, shook his head, then flexed his tail muscles with such force, Kimberly heard an audible
pop!
as Vortex’s right shoulder wrenched from its socket. Unlike his opponent, Vortex swallowed most of his strangled anguish, but not all of it.

The shock of these violent exchanges finally drove Kimberly to her feet. But what should she do next? She could not imagine how to help her would-be savior, yet the idea of leaving him to his fate sickened her. Could she run for the police? They were nearby. But how fast could she move on her wobbly legs?