Read Online Fog Bastards 1 Intention by Bill Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bill Robinson
Tags: Science-Fiction, adventure, Literature & Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Paranormal & Urban, Superhero, Superheroes
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stuck feline, intercepted one drug shipment, fed one poor person, or gotten rid of one weapon of mass destruction, and I'm a few days away from the 1,000 days left on Earth mark.
The only saving grace is that I never sleep when in Hawaii anymore, and Halloween has no trouble with her superpowers, so I haven't had more than a 10 word conversation with the Fog Dude since May and it's September. He was obviously pissed at first, multicolored fog balls chasing me every time he swirled his way in, but has backed off, probably more concerned that maybe they picked a fucking idiot to give this stuff to who can't even fly correctly yet.
For at least the past month every time I fly downtown I have the sensation of being watched. It feels like when you're a kid doing something you know you shouldn't, turn around, and there's your mom watching you. I think it's Fog Dude's way of telling me to get my act together.
I have gotten good at floating, and I'm doing exactly that, well above the bank building. I tilt myself on a course out toward the Inland Empire, grab some passing molecules, and push myself up to a couple hundred knots, staying 150 feet above the ground. Straight line. Good at that. If I can find a terrorist group who will agree to run in a straight line, and not go indoors, I am ready to stop them today.
The Twin Towers I call them, actually two big rocks out in Hesperia, but I thought it would be a good reminder of what I should be able to do. More molecules sacrifice their energy to my feet and I push near to the speed of sound. My course starts here, follows the railroad tracks through the mountains back into Ontario, then north, up and around the hills and canyons to intercept the Grapevine, and then across the valley, out over the ocean, and back to wherever I hid my car for the evening. I have yet to do it without hitting a canyon wall, or a hilltop, or both. Tonight is no exception. I have a similar loop around the islands when I'm in Hawai'i, but I haven't bumped in to one of them yet. If Molokai sinks, you'll know who it was.
I bounce not so gleefully off the wall of the train tunnel, straighten out for a while, and punch it up and over the hill, swooping down into the valley by Magic Mountain. The other thing about this route is the irony of flying past the Superman ride, reminding me nightly just how lame I am.
Tonight I turn north only briefly, and pop back through the mountains to the desert. I have set up a weight lifting course too, really big and lopsided rocks that I carry around, throw, and otherwise destroy. I have to admit that I am not too bad at the 10,000 pound rock toss. OK, I don't know what the rock really weighs, but I'm sticking with the 10,000 pound story until a better one comes along. I get the same stupid "I'm watching you" feeling from Fog Dude out here, but at least I can aim the rocks.
I have given up moving cars, because I have yet to do it without denting something.
So 90 days in, the Superman-Spiderman-Captain Marvel composite can almost fly without causing damage, lift big rocks, but nothing of value, in his bare hands, and beat a Buick in a race, provided there are no turns. Alright, I could beat the Buick if there are turns, but we'd probably only be able to race one lap on the track because the road would be a disaster after I went by.
Done with rock tossing, my toes do the molecule dance and I am jetting back across the night sky into LA. I do have to admit that it is beautiful up here, the view is amazing, and nothing you can do with your clothes on feels as free or as fun. The wind is cool on your face, it's night so you can't see the smog. Clouds are a pain, but once you've gotten soaking wet a couple times, you learn to avoid them. Which would be a lot easier if I could steer better, which is why I keep a set of spare clothes in my car.
Did I mention this is also screwing up my relationship with Jen?
The only saving grace is that I never sleep when in Hawaii anymore, and Halloween has no trouble with her superpowers, so I haven't had more than a 10 word conversation with the Fog Dude since May and it's September. He was obviously pissed at first, multicolored fog balls chasing me every time he swirled his way in, but has backed off, probably more concerned that maybe they picked a fucking idiot to give this stuff to who can't even fly correctly yet.
For at least the past month every time I fly downtown I have the sensation of being watched. It feels like when you're a kid doing something you know you shouldn't, turn around, and there's your mom watching you. I think it's Fog Dude's way of telling me to get my act together.
I have gotten good at floating, and I'm doing exactly that, well above the bank building. I tilt myself on a course out toward the Inland Empire, grab some passing molecules, and push myself up to a couple hundred knots, staying 150 feet above the ground. Straight line. Good at that. If I can find a terrorist group who will agree to run in a straight line, and not go indoors, I am ready to stop them today.
The Twin Towers I call them, actually two big rocks out in Hesperia, but I thought it would be a good reminder of what I should be able to do. More molecules sacrifice their energy to my feet and I push near to the speed of sound. My course starts here, follows the railroad tracks through the mountains back into Ontario, then north, up and around the hills and canyons to intercept the Grapevine, and then across the valley, out over the ocean, and back to wherever I hid my car for the evening. I have yet to do it without hitting a canyon wall, or a hilltop, or both. Tonight is no exception. I have a similar loop around the islands when I'm in Hawai'i, but I haven't bumped in to one of them yet. If Molokai sinks, you'll know who it was.
I bounce not so gleefully off the wall of the train tunnel, straighten out for a while, and punch it up and over the hill, swooping down into the valley by Magic Mountain. The other thing about this route is the irony of flying past the Superman ride, reminding me nightly just how lame I am.
Tonight I turn north only briefly, and pop back through the mountains to the desert. I have set up a weight lifting course too, really big and lopsided rocks that I carry around, throw, and otherwise destroy. I have to admit that I am not too bad at the 10,000 pound rock toss. OK, I don't know what the rock really weighs, but I'm sticking with the 10,000 pound story until a better one comes along. I get the same stupid "I'm watching you" feeling from Fog Dude out here, but at least I can aim the rocks.
I have given up moving cars, because I have yet to do it without denting something.
So 90 days in, the Superman-Spiderman-Captain Marvel composite can almost fly without causing damage, lift big rocks, but nothing of value, in his bare hands, and beat a Buick in a race, provided there are no turns. Alright, I could beat the Buick if there are turns, but we'd probably only be able to race one lap on the track because the road would be a disaster after I went by.
Done with rock tossing, my toes do the molecule dance and I am jetting back across the night sky into LA. I do have to admit that it is beautiful up here, the view is amazing, and nothing you can do with your clothes on feels as free or as fun. The wind is cool on your face, it's night so you can't see the smog. Clouds are a pain, but once you've gotten soaking wet a couple times, you learn to avoid them. Which would be a lot easier if I could steer better, which is why I keep a set of spare clothes in my car.
Did I mention this is also screwing up my relationship with Jen?
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