The Stronghold

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Walking through the now-familiar corridors of Thunder I kept my head down, following the patterned wood planks with my eyes. Trusting my instincts and other people to move out of the way I walked onwards, humming 'Yellow Submarine' under my breath.

"Move out of my way," a voice growled, barging past at some speed. I looked up and frowned, taking one hand out of my jeans pocket to make a rude symbol at her back. She was pale and had beads of sweat on the back of her neck, glancing around nervously. Her shoulders were up by her ears and one hand was clenched beneath her jacket, a mysterious bulge an inch or so from it. She pushed open a door with slender, white fingers and vanished from view. I memorised her appearance before shrugging and continuing on my way.

Hundreds of yards away I realised that the knock with the woman had 'broken' my internal sat-nav.

In short, I was lost.

Grumbling and cursing I turned on my heel and tried to find an exit. I was down darker corridor, the oxygen restricted and the colours faded. It was obvious from the amount of dust and flickering lights that no one had been down here for years.

I left clear footprints in the dust and smiled childishly to myself. The impression left behind made me think of snow, a great rarity in modern-day London.

If you leave footprints then the woman should too, assuming she came down here.

Immediately I looked around, searching the ground for another set of footprints. Smaller, high-heeled shoes had left behind their mark and so I followed them,wondering what was at the end.

The smell of smoke reached my nostrils but I shook it off, scolding my subconscious for making me think of Josh when I should have been concentrating. The odour persisted and, looking straight ahead, I saw one of the things I most fear.

Fire.

Spinning around I ran, blurring across the floor. Dust clouds arose behind me but by the time they were three feet up in the air I was four hundred yards away, following the twists and turns of the corridors, my breathing ragged. The smoke was draining what little air there had been in the first place and the corridor had started to go uphill.

Drop to the floor and crawl. The freshest air is in the lowest place.

I collapsed, pulling myself onwards using my elbows in an army-style crawl. I was wheezing but struggled on, ignoring the mounting pressure on my chest. After what seemed to be forever I reached the clean, well-lit corridors I was used to. People milled around in their usual red and white uniforms - only I and premature agents were allowed different colours - and the noise of training could still be heard from the front quarter, despite it getting late.

"Fire," I choked, drawing the attention of those closest by forcing myself upright and grabbing someone's leg. "Fire!"

The person looked down and their eyes widened. I had no idea what I looked like but it had some sort of effect. The cry was sent up, people started screaming and I was carried away, offering no resistance. The last thing I remembered before blacking out.

*

"Why is it always you?" were the first words spoken to me.

I blinked open my eyes and waited for my head to stop spinning. Blocking out the artificial light through my lashes I tilted my head, trying to see who had spoken to me.

"I mean, you're always the one getting into trouble, getting involved in things you shouldn't," the voice continued, "and just generally getting a bit of a rough life, when it comes to other people knocking you around. Wait, that came out wrong..."

I laughed softly and sat up, wincing at the pain in my head. The stabbing sensation went away and I breathed deeply, only then registering the sound of hospital machinery, the smell of antiseptic and sickness.

"Why am I here?" I asked. "Why aren't I home?"

"Thunder took you here," Georgina said, lowering her voice. "They insisted."

"I hate hospitals," I muttered, folding my arms. "The food is horrible and they always try to take blood from me. I say no but they still stick needles into my arm, saying that it's for a good cause... I don't want some poor person to be stuck with powers like mine, it's wrong, it's unfair and- do you have pizza?" I'd spied the box sat on the chair next to Georgina. She grinned and raised a finger to her lips.

"You're not really allowed it," she explained, "so keep your voice down, yeah?"

I nodded and reached out for the red, green and brown cardboard box. The scent of cooked dough, ham and pineapple wafted towards me and I groaned, yearning for food that wasn't squelchy, inedible mess.

"Pizza," I said, stuffing a large piece into my mouth. "Mm pizzm."

"What was that?"

I swallowed and coughed, my eyes lighting up as I noticed a bottle of Pepsi. Using begging eyes I managed to persuade Georgina to give it me, opening the top and taking a long swig.

"Oh, that makes me feel better," I sighed contentedly. "A lot better."

"You still haven't translated what you said before," Georgina prompted. I snatched up the pizza box and forcefully pushed my bed backwards, distancing myself from my fiancée.

"My pizza," I repeated. "Mine."