Re: Snippets
Displays of Power
Man-made thunder roared from the Winchester carbine Ben fired and a glass bottle exploded. He jacked the lever and fired again taking down a second bottle. Then a third, followed just as rapidly by a fourth. When the last echoes of the shots faded and silence reigned, Warren said, “I don't know, Jason. I'm not happy that you know about it. If you hadn't tried facing down that truck...” Warren shook his head. “I don't want to end up as a guinea pig in some government lab.” “Warren, that truck wasn't a threat to me. You didn't need to shove me out of the way. Anyways, the people I want you to let examine you aren't part of the government. They do work for them from time to time, but they're businessmen. One of them is my father,” Jason explained. Warren lifted the rifle he had taken from his father, sighted it, and fired. Four rounds ripped through the remaining standing bottles as fast as Warren could work the lever and squeeze the trigger. “I'm not comfortable with the idea, Jason. I'm happy with few people knowing what I can do.” Jason sighed. “I understand that, Warren. Believe me.” Warren handed the rifle back to his father. “How can you? I've changed. I'm afraid of what it might do to me. I'm afraid of what might happen if someone decides to draft me into, I don't know, one of those secret black ops teams you hear rumors of.” Ben held the reloaded carbine out to Jason. “Want to have a go, son?” “What are you afraid of?” Jason took the rifle and examined it. “Winchester. Model eighteen-seventy-three?” Warren shook his head. “Maybe I don't want to be looked at like I'm different. Like I'm some kind of freak.” Jason nodded his head. “It's a seventy-six. My great-great-something-grand daddy was a Texas Ranger. This was his. Kinda a family heirloom,” Ben explained. Jason felt for the balance of the rifle. “My grandfather trusted you.” Jason turned a gauging eye to the farmer. Ben sensed something serious in Jason's tone. “I like to think that he did, son. What are you thinking?” “Honestly, sir? I'm thinking coincidence. You having worked for my grandfather. Those drums spilled on your farm. Warren...” “Yeah?” the younger man answered. Jason sighed. “Can you set up more bottles?” Warren shrugged. “How many do you want?” Jason gave him a tight-lipped smile. “As many as you think will be a challenge.” Watching Warren run off to set up the bottles, Ben asked, “There's more to it, isn't there? Something you're not saying.” “Your son is afraid. Of what he can do. Of what he is. I'd like to make sure that the change itself won't kill him, sir. The people I want him to see will make sure his health is stable. After that, whatever he decides to do with it is up to him.” “As long as you realize that it is up to me, we don't have a problem. I don't like the idea of ending up in someone's database,” Warren said. Jason hung his head in thought for a moment. “It's too late for that, Warren. Here, sir, I won't be needing this.” Jason handed the rifle back to Ben and turned to Warren. “You're afraid people will look at you as if you're different? You are different. Your world changed the night of that storm. I have no intention of handing you over to people that can't be trusted.” Jason's arm shot up, pointing towards the empty bottles used for target practice. A crimson lance leapt from his outstretched hand and shattered a bottle. Another followed suit. And another, until all the bottles Warren had set up were broken. Warren stared with his mouth agape. “Welcome to my world,” Jason said.
