Page 22 of Catching Camila

John

Wednesday 4:17 p.m.

John watched Camila walk back into the ice cream shop. Then he stared at the doorway for ten minutes hoping she’d reappear. A police siren down the street shook him out of his daze. He had to hide out until after sundown. Then he’d see her again. And food, hopefully. God, he was starving. He pushed the hunger aside (as much as he could) and slipped back down the alley and out of town.

Going to her was the right thing to do. He’d felt torn up, shaken to the core. The dead man's face, frozen in terror, floated after him wherever he went. Every so often his fingers would stray down to his stomach and probe the wound, or lack thereof. His world had flipped upside-down and there was no one to turn to. No one but the girl at the ice cream shop. Camila. Her name was Camila. As he tore through the brush, he pictured her again: her petite frame, the way the white tank top had contrasted so nicely with her brown skin, the way it clung to her curves.

What if she turns you in?He silenced that nagging voice as he thought of her face.

John found himself at the edge of the trees where a train track cut through. In the distance he could see the abandoned train cars. Rusty browns, maroons, navy blues, with the spray-painted tag marks running along the sides. He’d gotten here so quickly. It wasn’t … normal.

“I’m not normal,” he muttered to himself. He rubbed a hand over his abdomen again, feeling the smooth pink skin under the T-shirt Camila had given him. John looked around the train yard and felt goosebumps race up his arms. He had powers. There was no denying it any longer. He might need them to survive.

He stepped over to the track and eyed the stretch of railroad ties. John placed his feet on a wooden slat. He flexed his filthy toes, his eyes looking north. The worn gray boards and rusty rails tracked off to the right about a quarter mile up. He had a good couple miles before any civilization. He flexed his calves, inhaled, and took off.

He raced along the tracks, pumping his arms, feeling his legs coil, kick out and pump back. He felt like a machine. The grass on either side of him blurred to a green-brown smear. Trees clipped by so fast he couldn’t count them. The wind dashed tears from his eyes, rippled his clothes, his hair. When he finally stopped and saw just how far he’d run in less than a minute, he let a smile slink up his face.

Pretty damn fast.

He trotted back to the abandoned train cars, feeling great for the first time in days. There was no doubt that he was faster than an average human. That sure would help. What else could he do?

John walked over to the cars, looking for something to test out his next theory. He stepped next to one of the mammoth train car boxes, recalling the way the shovel had dented against his head. John picked a spot on the train car’s side, just left of rivets the size of silver dollars. Then he folded his hand into a fist, reached back, and threw a punch.

Dong!Pain radiated from his hand up his arm, but the sight of the train car rocking back and forth, shuddering, made him forget his throbbing knuckles. The car slammed to rest on the tracks.

He'd rocked a twenty ton train car and put a massive dent in the side.

Good God.

His hand. Puffy and red, his knuckles looked mangled, but as he watched, the redness subsided, as did the pain. Soon he could flex it without wincing. Feeling his bones stitch themselves back together was not something he'd get used to any time soon, but, damn, that could come in handy.

He smiled, feeling just crazy enough to try anything at this point. He squared up to the rectangular metal box. It had to weigh at least twenty tons. He slipped his hands under the metal lip at the bottom. He looked down at the massive wheels that rested on the track in front of him. The sheer size of the object him chuckle.

John took a deep breath and pulled.

His arms tensed and legs flexed. The veins on his neck pulsed with the strain. For a split second he thought, See, I knew it’d never work. Then the metal he was gripping lifted up. The car creaked and shifted.

He looked down and saw the back wheels on his side hovering two feet off the ground. Suddenly the weight was lifted from his hands as the train car toppled and fell. John threw his arms up over his eyes, jumping back into the dirt.

BOOM!The train car smashed into the earth, shaking the ground. Birds sprung up from the trees, cawing.

When the dust cleared, John stared in awe. On its side, the train car, rusty wheels and gears facing him, looked like a slaughtered animal. It didn't seem real. Yet, he'd seen it with his own eyes.

John took off, sprinting through the forest. He’d made one hell of a racket and needed to put some distance between himself and the train yard if anyone came investigating. Running, he couldn’t help but smile.

Super powers. Ha. Now if only he could find that silo and figure out why he was here.

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