Malcolm hummed a Nirvana song under his breath as he gazed upon the scenery down below. Vanderbrook always looked so small from above, sleepy and serene, full of trees and grass and stories carved by streets. Second Wind was to Malcolm’s left as they traveled, and he saw that his copy had a wide grin on his face.
Nobody can stay mad for long when they’re literally flying. But I’ll have to talk to him more about what’s bothering him.
The two of them maintained their height, and for good reason. It would ruin the reputation of “Wind Runner” for him to be seen in the company of the “Gifted Vigilante”. They both had their roles to play. Malcolm could see it, and he knew that Second Wind could too, even if sometimes less than willingly.
The farm Shield Maiden had mentioned to him was miles down the road from Vanderbrook, but they flew in a straight line at speeds that no car could have matched. Malcolm got a glimpse of Second Wind, his hair wild and tangled in the wind, clothes flapping like a flag on a windy day. He felt an odd sort of pride in him, which made him wonder if it was a sort of arrogance, to feel pride over one’s identical copy.
They descended onto the farm, and at a glance, Malcolm knew that they were too late. A man wearing overalls with a red stain on his back lay face down in the middle of a freshly plowed pasture. They walked over and checked to see if he was breathing. He wasn’t.
“He hasn’t been dead for more than a few minutes,” said Malcolm. “We can still catch them.”
Second Wind nodded.
“We already came down one length of the road, and didn’t see the truck. There’s only one other way they could be going.”
Malcolm looked at his double and raised his eyebrows. The silent tension that followed announced the race as clearly as any starting pistol. The two of them took to the air at the same instant, both of them drawing upon the limits of their wind manipulation in a mad rush through the sky.
They were even for the first few seconds, both of them flying into the current, trying to reduce their drag profiles by pulling in their arms and straightening out their legs. Then, Second Wind pulled ahead.
Malcolm pushed himself harder, drawing upon his powers a little more than he knew he should. Second Wind did the same, extending past his usual limits to maintain his lead. Malcolm knew that it must be taking a toll on him. He slowed down a little.
I’m going to let him win. And he’s going to be mad that I did. But what am I supposed to do?
A real race between them, with both putting all of their abilities into matching each other, would have tested the limits of their stabilizers and possibly their minds. Malcolm had seen a champion turn into a monster before. It really didn’t take that much, and he wasn’t interested in flirting with disaster for the sake of his pride or Second Wind’s.
CHAPTER 15
The truck appeared as they overtook a curve in the road. Malcolm gestured to Second Wind, and they dropped like birds of prey. The truck consisted of a small cab with a tank on the back. The tank was cylindrical and looked like it once might have been painted green. Even from the air, the odor of manure was pungent.
Two black cars, one in front and one in back, were escorting it down the road. Malcolm landed on the front vehicle, forcing the convoy to a stop, while Second Wind landed on the truck.
As soon as the car came to a stop, several bullets tore through the roof, one of them missing the edge of Malcolm’s foot by less than an inch. He leapt onto the road, rolling to dodge more bullets as four Multis climbed out to face him.
Malcolm deflected their bullets as they opened fire, all of them wielding pistols of a similar model. It was tricky to use the wind to divert so many bullets at once, and his focus was so concentrated that he almost missed the grenade they rolled in his direction.
He reacted on instinct, falling to the ground and throwing the grenade, using a powerful blast of air to launch it even higher into the air. Even so, the force of the blast flattened his already prone body against the ground. It also stunned the group of Multis, and knocked loose at least one of their weapons.
Second Wind let out a roar of anger, and then a second grenade blast shook the ground. Malcom saw that this one hadn’t detonated in the air, but in the midst of a group of Multis. A red spray pattern surrounded by bits and pieces of body parts was all that remained.
Malcom puzzled over Second Wind’s decision to heave the grenade at the ground instead of the sky. Both he and Second Wind had been put in almost the same situation, up against the same opponents. Copies fighting copies. Both groups of Multis had opened fire, and then attempted an attack with a grenade.
I launched mine into the air. He launched his back at his opponents. Was that just a fluke? A random variation caused by some otherwise insignificant detail?
One of the Multis rushed toward him in a suicide charge. Malcolm had just enough time to assess that he wasn’t wearing an explosive vest before he pulled from his body’s heat reserves to form a fireball and pushed with a gust of wind toward the attacker. It struck the Multi in the chest, dealing a painful, disabling, but probably not fatal injury.
The remaining three Multis opened fire on him. Malcolm dodged instead of deflecting, putting the lead car in between him and their bullets. He heard the whoosh of wind manipulation as Second Wind cut through the air, slamming into the Multis head on.
He was in the middle of them, too close for a regular opponent to risk shooting in fear of friendly fire. The Multis didn’t care. Two of them took aim and fired. Second Wind ducked, and instead of just deflecting the bullets, he redirected them into the body of the Multi nearest to him. Malcolm had considered trying that move, but was sure that he had never actually done it before.
The door of the fertilizer truck opened, and an additional Multi leapt out, wielding a shotgun and taking aim at Malcolm. That made nine in total, for a job that could have theoretically been done by a single person. Malcolm rushed at his new opponent, fearing that his wind powered bullet deflection would have trouble up against a scattershot.
The shotgun clearly didn’t belong to the Multi. He pulled the trigger and nothing happened. He was in the midst of checking the safety when Malcolm slammed into him.
More gunshots sounded from Second Wind’s direction as Malcolm fell to the ground, wrestling his opponent. Multi had not been a big man, nor overly athletic, but he had clearly made gains as a demon and passed them onto his copies. Malcolm punched his opponent several times in the face, each blow doing little more than annoying him.
The Multi somehow managed to pull his legs into his chest and kick. Malcolm flew up into the air, traveling fifteen feet before landing in a wind cushioned heap. He caught a glimpse of Second Wind finishing off his group of Multis with a pistol in each hand.
Second Wind had several open bullet wounds, enough of them that Malcolm couldn’t count them at a glance. His heart skipped a beat until he remembered that his copy shared his power mimicry, and would likely have Tapestry’s regeneration on reserve. Most definitely, given that he was still standing, and still fighting.
The Multi who’d been driving the truck pressed forward on the attack. Malcolm was thinking clearly this time. He let Multi get a hold of him before he began to overheat his skin, charring the demon wherever their bodies came into contact. The Multi screamed in pain. Malcolm punched him hard in the face, and this time he went down, stunned, but not unconscious.
Malcolm looked in Second Wind’s direction. All of the Multis there were dead. In total, Second Wind had done most of the killing, or at least delivered most of the fatal blows. The road was charred from where the grenade had gone off, with blood and various unidentifiable gory bits scattered in a circle around the center of the blast.