The car flipped up into the air.
The man reaching for the rifle was thrown to one side. The man with the pistol said, “Oh, shit.” He dove aside but the car came down roof first, mostly on him. He screamed like a cockroach meeting an inescapable size twelve shoe bottom.
The Angel whirled and tossed John Fortune into the van’s passenger side seat as gently as she could, leaped into the van herself, ground a bit more of the transmission to dust, whirled out of the parking lot, and sped off down the county road, across a bridge over a little river and out into open rolling country bordered by lettuce fields and occasional farm houses, going in the direction opposite the camp, away from the useless Creighton, from the useless Billy Ray, and from the blasphemous and scary, if generous, snake handlers. She hoped they wouldn’t think too unkindly of her. She took a deep breath and for the first time took a second to turn off the Canned Heat tape. Enough of that, she thought.
She glanced at John Fortune, who was staring at her like she was some kind of figment from an awful dream. She calmed her breathing, ran a hand through her wild hair.
“Hello, John,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “How are you?”
“I-I’m all right,” he said in a small voice. “Who are you?”
She smiled kindly. “I am your friend. You can call me the Midnight Angel.”
He looked her over carefully. “Are you taking me to my mother?”
Here, she thought, it gets difficult. She could not lie to him.
“No, John.” She looked back out through the windshield. It was best that he learned the full truth as soon as possible. “Have you ever been to Branson, Missouri?”
“No.”
“There’s a theme park there,” she said, trying to put the best possible face on it. “With rides.”
There was a momentary silence, and she glanced back at the boy, afraid of what she might see.
John Fortune nodded. “Cool,” he said.
Fortunato watched as the wild-eyed woman with long black hair roared into the parking lot and proceeded to kick major ass. There was no other way to put it. He would have gladly joined her, but his insubstantiality prevented him from being anything more than an invisible cheering section as she rescued the boy from his abductors.
He watched her rattle off down the road with his son safely in the seat next to her while the still-standing kidnappers tried to roll the flipped Lincoln off their screaming compatriot. Once they succeeded the man didn’t stop screaming. He was in bad shape, with crushed legs and probable internal damage. He needed a hospital, fast.
That reminded Fortunato. Even though his body was safe in a hospital bed, he was actually not in great shape. His spirit had been away from it for quite awhile. While he had achieved much, his success wouldn’t be quite as dramatic if his body perished because he’d left it alone for too long. It was time to go back.
The transition wasn’t instantaneous, but it seemed faster than the trip out. For one thing, he knew where he was going. He didn’t hesitate. He just aimed himself south and flew on the unseen, unfelt etheric winds. For another thing, he had far more energy than he’d had in years. The vigor he’d absorbed from the rich black earth was still singing through his system like high-octane fuel. He didn’t know how much was in his tank, but he was determined to utilize it as best he could. He pushed himself hard, and it was a good thing that he did because he arrived at the clinic just in time.
He opened his eyes to see a frantic Dr. Finn standing over him. His hospital gown was torn open, exposing his chest, which had been smeared with some messy goo. Finn was holding two shiny metal paddles that were hooked up by thickly insulated wires to a machine that had been newly wheeled to his bedside.
“Clear!” Finn yelled, and the nurses jammed around Fortunato’s bed stepped backward.
Fortunato opened his eyes and grabbed Finn’s hands before he could slap the defibrillating paddles onto his chest. He was pretty sure that he didn’t need an electric jolt his heart.
“Fortunato!”
Fortunato couldn’t tell if Finn had shouted in fear or relief, or both. The paddles sagged in the doctor’s grip. “I’m all right, doctor,” he said. “Really. I don’t think I need this.”
“What happened?” Finn asked. “We thought we’d lost you. The monitor showed your heart beat slowing down over the last hour or so, until we couldn’t get a reading and we thought it had stopped.”
“I was gone,” Fortunato said. “For a bit, anyway. Now I’m back.”
Finn handed the paddles to the nurse who was hovering anxiously over his shoulder, without taking his eyes off his patient. “Gone—like on a trip? Were you astral projecting?”
Fortunato nodded.
“Then your powers have returned?” Finn asked.
Fortunato nodded again, cautiously. “It seems so. It’s all so new, that I’m not sure.”
“Uh...” Finn cleared his throat. “They’re not... activated... like in the old days?”
“You mean by Tantric magick and the intromission of my sperm?” Fortunato asked. “That was before your time. How’d you know about that?”
“I’ve read your file,” Finn said. “You’re an unusual patient with unusual powers and presumably unusual strengths and weaknesses. Dr. Tachyon kept extensive notes on you, as he did on many aces and jokers—”
Fortunato laughed quietly. “I hope you didn’t believe all the bad stuff he said about me.”
Finn smiled. “Tachyon was—is—highly opinionated.”
Fortunato’s laughter turned to a sigh. “I’m sure I gave him cause.”
He stared at the ceiling, hardly believing that this notion had come into his head. What am I thinking? Fortunato thought. I must be tired. Over-wrought from the action of the past couple of days. I am getting old.
“What’s the matter?” Finn asked.
“Nothing,” Fortunato said. “I’m just tired. I need some sleep.”
Finn looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
“All right. Do you need anything for the pain?”
Fortunato lay back on the pillow and took stock of his body. The pain from the beating he’d suffered at the hands of the Jokka Bruddas hadn’t entirely vanished, but it had receded from the forefront of his consciousness, going deep into bone and muscle where it was a dully-throbbing presence. He could stand it. He shook his head.
“No,” he said, surprised. “It’s not too bad.”
“All right,” Finn said. “We’ll leave you then.” He stopped at the doorway after the others had streamed out of the room and looked back at Fortunato, shaking his head. “Aces! You always make the worst patients. No more gallivanting around in your astral form. You need rest. Get some.”
“All right.” Even if the boy was safe for the moment, Fortunato still had to be sure of his eventual rescue. But now he knew how to track him anytime he wanted to. Finn was right. Now he needed rest.
Finn switched off the overhead light as he left the room, leaving Fortunato discommoded by the annoying LED lights and rhythmic blips from the machinery and monitors connected to him. He thought that the distractions would make it difficult to sleep, but he was wrong. He closed his eyes and went out almost instantaneously.
While he slept his unconscious mind shunted energy throughout his body, repairing damage old and new, restoring tissue, strengthening ligaments, and mending tendons worn with use and age.
For the first time in years Fortunato slept, and did not dream.
♥ ♦ ♣ ♠
New Hampton: the Snake-Handlers’ Commune
“I’m sure there’s some way we can fix all this,” Jerry said.
Uzziah shook his head. “I’ve seen many things happen in this here church over the years. Many strange and awful things.”
“Uh-huh,” someone in the audience said.
“I’ve seen people possessed by the Holy Spirit fall on the floor and shake like the good Lord himself had put His icy hand on their spine.”