PART 6
Michael couldn’t help but feel that he was utterly idiotic. But that made the sense of urgency no less powerful now that he was trying to make it to Boston before anyone else got killed.
There was no way he was going to make it in time. He hadn’t been in time to save his brothers on that fateful day, now ages past — late by several minutes. He hadn’t been in time to save a lot of Olympians — late by several seconds. He hadn’t been in time to help Hargrave and Jake, having got to them too late by just a few seconds.
No matter how much faster he got, he never arrived in time. Despite his power, he was always running to where he needed to be and getting there too late.
Even by a tenth of a second, Michael thought, thinking of how close he had been to saving Eleanor.
That was the reality of the world. Tragedy was always but a breath away. An eye blink.
Michael realized he had been running for several seconds now and was still gaining speed. The images of all the people he had failed filled his mind to a point he hardly even registered he was going well over past limits. He had to get there in time, so just he kept speeding up.
The wind grew heavier and heavier against his chest and eyes. His glasses pressed against his face, bruising him. But he could still run faster, he knew it.
Remembering Luke’s face when he realized Michael had not saved John and Mathew, Michael pushed himself further.
The hood of the raincoat tore itself off, a violent snap that pulled his memory back to the sound of gunshots. Of the dead bodies of those killed in the London Attacks, all of which he had seen.
Yelling, Michael got in-between the highway he was on and sped up, forcing his body to lean against the wind. But it resisted him, it resisted him powerfully. It blew past his ears with thunderous noise, so much so he couldn’t even hear the cars anymore, not at all.
He remembered Hargrave, dead against the wall. And the look on the face of a dismembered Jake Masters.
Michael was suddenly running straight. On the one hand, he was pretty sure he was about to fall to the pressure of his own speed. He was running fast enough that he could hardly discern what he was seeing.
The rush of it all kept his mind back, however. And the fact it all felt so familiar only helped. Muscle memory reached out and, without thinking, he responded. He sensed the precise moment he had to throw his body forward as if he wished to crash through a door.
A heavy boom echoed, lasting only an instant so small he probably only imagined it. And then there was silence.
The resistance was gone, and Michael could only marvel, in shock, at what had just happened. He couldn’t believe it, not really, but the evidence was clear. His vision was not only tunneled, but it was also completely blurry. Everything around him might as well have stopped in time, that was how fast he was running. The cars were moving so slow, and he couldn’t even tell with people.
The sound was absolutely gone.
No, Michael realized, literally running past a honk. It’s still around. I’m just too fast for it.
Michael had breached the sound barrier. He was running faster than sound.
His breathing accelerated, and so did his adrenalin production, as the landscape changed many times faster than he was used to. What would happen if he crashed into something? Navigating the cars was easy now that they were all stopped, though, even with his short-sightedness.
Still, Michael caught sight of farm fields and immediately went there. But within two seconds, the farm had ended and a hill sprouted up, bringing in trees. He was terrified and wanted nothing but to make a hard turn and circle around the farm until he slowed down.
But every tenth of a second mattered. One lost might mean another life lost.
So what if I die?
Gritting his teeth, he made it past the woods in the time it would have taken him to cross a street. He slowed down a bit because of the way he serpentined but it was inconsequential, he sped back up.
There was so much to process so fast he scarcely had the time to think and plan about what he was going to do, depending on what he would find. He couldn’t think straight, not any complex thoughts. Yet, that wasn’t hindering him in the slightest bit.
Michael grinned ironically. Thanks, Maya…you trained me well.
He didn’t keep track of time, he couldn’t. It was taking nearly all his brain power to navigate the obstacles in his path, and whatever remained tried to plan ahead to the fight he was storming into. And then a little bit was registering the whole experience.
Michaels was outrunning the weather. He always did, but now it was as visible as the drops of rain standing practically still in the air, like a curtain of glistening transparent sand.
His raincoat finally surrendered, tearing itself across his chest. As a result, his uniform revealed itself, logo first.
The lack of flapping clothes only allowed Michael more control. The contrast was larger than he had ever experienced before. As fast as he was going, he could feel how even his hair threatened to upset his trajectory.
He processed Manhattan Island only by the time he was crossing the water. He corrected his course, to head to Boston.
Michael was as if displaced in time. He was under the impression it had been mere seconds since he had run through the tree-filled hill, but that couldn’t be, because all of a sudden, he was crossing the bridge.
He was in Boston. And then he arrived at the harbor, finding himself amidst completely unbelievable chaos. Michael was so stressed about what he was doing that he managed to remember he couldn’t just slam into someone at such a high speed, that he would have to stop. So he began to decelerate, all the while doing his best to mentally process his surroundings, only then realizing how his vision had adjusted somewhat.
A firetruck burning on top of a gas station. Debris was raining all around. Boats were on fire. The cruise was turned around. So many people floating in the air, so many of them bleeding and bruised. Guns littered around the floor. A large volume of water in the air, moving to meet with the base of a water platform that was raised up from the ground. On that platform was a tent made of hair, and inside, a boy he knew was grasping at his throat, his face purple-red. Griffin was on the ground, on his back, and Rachel was on top of him. The glow in her hands was dissipating, and she was looking on confused and forlorn. Max was about to kick her in the face.
Michael slammed into Max with his shoulder, and the body shot forward with at least half of Michael’s momentum. Michael’s feet skidded across the ground, wavering, but he didn’t fall. Griffin’s eyes turned towards him, but before the face could do the same, Michael sped up, reaching out with both hands, and stole Rachel from the top of him.
As he had practiced, he held her head against his chest to make sure the whiplash didn’t get her, and ran for his life.
Maya will be in her mind! He thought and immediately stopped, turning Rachel around and away from him. The others!
“Wha–”
Michael was off before Rachel could finish a word.
Mach 