Chapter Eight

Picking Paige up is part of what got me so strong relative for my age. She doesn't weigh much, but with time the strain of her weight is what my muscles become accustomed to.

She unintentionally trained my muscles to carry her at any time by simply being excessively playful.

Though, going down the stairs with her on my back, our clothes and snacks quashed into a duffle and hanging off my fingers isn't a task to scoff at. By the time I'm at the ground floor of the damned motel I'm exhausted and my fingers are aching.

Maybe I'm not as strong as I think.

The reception is as dull and grey as it was when we checked in yesterday, the vending machine in the corner certainly not working and no one at the barred reception desk where we made our payment in cash.

Maybe the owner ran off…if that was the owner that check us in anyway.

I set her and our things down on one of those rather uncomfortable short metal chairs that are always found in waiting rooms and receptions and take a short breather.

I hate that I have to, but it can't be helped, even with the ruffians out there trying to carve a piece out of the remaining chaos, thereby causing some more themselves.

As I breath heavy and laboured breaths, I stare out the entrance just in time to watch a man get shot in the shoulder and fall over.

I'm unfazed by this, but it does worsen my stress.

Those idiots will be marching in here soon, that is if they haven't already. I can't be around for them to meet when they do, gun in my hand or no, I'm not interested in getting into firefights.

But to begin with, is there even anything valuable in this motel? As far as I know we're the only ones who checked in, right?

I shake my head, never minding my thoughts and proclaim myself sufficiently rested to carry Paige and our things out the back door…there should be a back door…I hope.

As I get to my feet with her on my back and my fingers carrying the duffle, my eyes spy something…interesting.

The door leading into the little box like reception where payments are made is wide open. My periphery catches a safe, the swivel chair and the desk with the computer set on top of it.

Not to mention the fallen drawer with easily recognisable yellow, sparkling notes of cash credits.

Should I…?

My mouth hanging open is shut by yet another piercing sound of gun fire.

Right, I've got to leave!

I take two steps, ready to leave the damned red and dull motel behind but…

The extra credits couldn't hurt. I mean, we'll need it to get a better place and bullets for this gun.

Gritting my teeth, I backtrack and set Paige and the duffle down on the steel chairs once again before dashing through the open door.

Quick as a fox I start shovelling the notes down my pockets by the handful. If my speculative count here is correct, adding this bounty to what we've already got will let us live well off for at least a month before-

Click-Clack!

I freeze just as I reach for yet another handful of the yellow notes hearing the distinct cool yet menacing sound of a gun, specifically a shotgun, being primed and undoubtedly aimed at my unguarded figure.

Slowly, I raise my head, letting go of whatever money I have in my hand as I raise it over my head in surrender.

Before me, with a barrel glaring down at me, is a woman. It's not the person Paige and I paid to so…this person must be from outside.

The woman has a cruel tattoo streaking across her face and has a toothpick in her mouth, with the leather jacket and the more obvious shotgun in hand it's clear to see she's a ruffian.

There aren't any gang colours on her so she must be.

"Hello?" I greet nervously.

"Clear out your pockets, everything in that drawer and hand it to me pronto." She doesn't waste anytime giving clear directions enunciated with the poke of her weapon at me.

Fucking greed!

I curse my avarice as I get on with what she says, clearing out the pockets of my trousers, forfeiting all Paige and I saved up over the many years of torment under Steve's rule.

"So you gat credits!" The woman hacks in a terribly grating accent, "Ya greedy bastard!" she spits.

Well, you're not wrong.

Silently I keep shoving every bit until all that's left in my pocket is dust and thread. My would-be assailant sees this and nods, satisfied.

"Good, now be quick 'bout it and kick it over here." She demands, waving the shotgun anew like I needed any reminder that it was live in my face.

Just as I pull my leg back to kick it over, I hear a groan and a voice that should've stayed silent, "Vern, what's going on-"

Paige doesn't get to complete that sentences and the mad woman with the shotgun spins around, trigger happy and fires.

Immediately I shut my eyes, out of reflex more than of a need not to see just as I hear the booming sound of a shotgun blasting off but strangely, not the sound of destruction, and pain that usually comes after.

I haven't the slightest clue when I closed my eyes but I peer them open once again, and I'm greeted to a scene of near-death.

The mad woman has her mouth wide open in a scream and her trigger finger is all the way back, the shells pumped out and discarded all of them yet to hit the floor as they float, frozen in their trajectory.

And Paige…still looking sleepy even as the beginnings of realization twist on her face as six bullets travel through the air to her. Looking outside I still hear the chaos of ruffians running about with their stolen goods and owners trying to defend their stores.

The range theory is proven it seems. But more importantly…

I froze time again and I'm not sick!

I hold off on cheering as I remind myself that I could still spill over. Grabbing the open drawer with all my money and all this motels money, I run over to Paige and our bags.

Pulling her aside quickly I start panicking as it feels starts to feel like I'm holding onto a slippery eel.

Time must want to restart over here again. I'll need practice!

My head whips over my next problem; the crazy shotgun woman.

I won't be able to have her frozen in time much longer, I can feel it, certainly not long enough for me to haul Paige away.

I need to do something about her.

My hand strays to the gun tucked in my trousers – I gulp and wince. I'm having a headache now.

Not much longer…but, I've never killed a person before and I don't even know if mechanical objects work while in my time pause.

Logically they have to, right? Right?

A part of me, a small part hopes not as I pull the gun out. It's heavy.

Well, this is a good a time as any to check if it does…

Shakily, with my sweaty hands gripping the gun as tightly as they can manage, I walk up to the woman and press the gun at her head.

Just in case the bullet does get shot but my powers freeze its momentum in time.

I close my eyes and fight back the urge to puke, and not just because of the strain of my powers.

Do it! Do it! Do it!

"Ahh!!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

And just like that, time slips away from my grasp again.

"Agrhhh!!"

It's a cacophony of noise as the shotgun bullets blast into the wall, far away from where Paige is.

The crazy woman spills over onto the floor, bleeding and crying profusely as she fanatically tries to apply pressure on the three non-fatal but definitely painful places, I shot her.

As she bleeds outs from her shoulders and her foot, she glares up at me, the question in her eyes clear to see.

"I'm…a meta. Be glad I left you alive." I barely manage to sound tough and threatening while fighting down the urge to vomit.

"Vern! What just happened!" Paige runs over to me, holding my hand, her eyes wide at what she finds in it. "Where did you get this!"

She's forgotten a bit more. Good, so long as she can be alright, I don't mind her forgetting the whole day if that's her way of protecting herself.

"We have to go." I strain, wobbling over and grabbing the bag filled with clothes buried under a heap of credits. "There's likely going to be more of people like her, can't stick around for them."

She's flustered but doesn't ask too many questions…yet.

And just like that, I learned more about my powers and got some extra dough, tonight had better go smoother than this.

I need a break.