Acceleration

Chapter 12: Overgrowth Part 3

The shifting of rubble woke Erin from his unintentional nap.

"I've got someone over here!"

A piece of concrete was yanked off his chest, and a flashlight immediately beamed into his eyes.

"You okay, sir?"

A firefighter crouched in front of him, offering a hand. Erin grasped it, wincing as he was helped out of the crushed cave of debris.

"We need to get you to a hospital—there's an ambulance nearby."

Erin shook his head. "Nah, I'm..."

His vision spun.

"Damn. I got hit hard."

"That's exactly why we need to get you checked out, buddy. You could have internal bleeding."

Erin glanced down. His pants were shredded, his leg a mess of purple and blue bruising near the femur. Strangely enough, he could still walk. Whatever had snapped earlier was already partially mending. But his suit?

Destroyed.

One sleeve of his jacket was gone. The other hung by a thread. The visor of his goggles had shattered, and his helmet lay in pieces on the ground. The only part of the costume still intact was the foam lightning bolt on his chest—barely clinging to the ruined fabric.

"Hypersonic, right?" the firefighter asked. "You've got blood on your mouth. You really need a medic."

Erin blinked—then his eyes widened.

"The flea market."

"Excuse me?"

FLASH

A burst of blue lightning marked his exit. He tore the broken suit off as he ran, shoved it in his backpack, and changed into his regular clothes in a blink.

By the time he reached the market, the sun had dipped below the skyline. Streetlights flickered on, casting the empty lot in a soft orange glow. Most booths had already closed down. Only one remained.

The worst one.

Elizabeth's.

She stood by the table, arms crossed, her glare hotter than the sun. Her parents climbed into their car behind her. Her grandfather stood nearby, silent and still.

"Liz, listen—"

"You said you'd be there," she snapped. "I gave you a ride, and you don't show?"

"There was an emergency—"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, so this is what helping your mom looks like?" she gestured to his bruised and filthy face. "Office work, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't stock a market booth, dickhead! You could've texted! That's literally all you had to do! Just once!"

Erin stood frozen. "I... I'm your best friend?"

"You were," she spat. "You were my only friend."

Were.

The word gutted him.

"I don't know anymore," she muttered, turning toward her car. A moment later, she was gone. Her parents drove off right behind her.

Erin stood there, alone.

Hotrod walked over quietly.

"You alright, kid?"

Erin nodded weakly. His eyes stung, but he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I'll be okay."

"You did the right thing," the old man said gently, placing a hand on Erin's shoulder. "You saved someone's life today."

"At the cost of someone who matters to me."

Hotrod sighed. "One of those is more important. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

Erin nodded, defeated.

"Now take your shirt off."

Erin blinked. "Excuse me?"

Hotrod rubbed his temples. "I'm a licensed EMT. Lived through a war. You just got launched through a building. Show me your injuries."

Reluctantly, Erin pulled his shirt over his head.

His torso was a canvas of purple bruises, blue splotches, and crusted blood. Cuts lined his ribs and stomach. Some deeper than others.

"Damn, kid. How much do you work out?"

"Not much," Erin muttered.

Hotrod nodded. "I had the same thing. Once your body kicks into overdrive, muscle just builds itself. But your healing's slow."

"What do you mean?"

The old man pulled a small pocket knife from his jacket and sliced a thin line across his palm. Erin flinched—until he saw the wound seal itself in seconds.

"No blood. No pain."

Erin blinked in shock.

"Looks like your healing factor's weaker," Hotrod continued. "Yours works, but not like mine. You must've traded healing for speed."

Erin pulled his shirt back down. "Speed and healing don't matter against this guy. He predicts my movements. He's always a step ahead."

Hotrod folded his arms. "It's the roots."

Erin frowned. "What?"

"The roots he spreads through the ground—they're his nervous system. He feels everything that touches them. When you step down, he knows where you are. That's how he blocks you so fast. He's reading you in real time."

"So... run in a different direction?"

"You could try," Hotrod said. "But a smart guy like him? He'll still trap you. He's not just sensing your movement—he's anticipating it."

Erin threw his hands in the air. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

Hotrod's lips curled into a smile.

"I was hoping you'd ask."