Hope & Fury (Heroes & Demons Book 2)
Chapter 22

Despite feeling it was somewhat on the nose, Sandy felt exhilarated by the thrill of the chase. Had she stopped to think about what she was chasing, or why she was chasing them – she might have realised that she was being led. She wouldn’t have cared even if the revelation had come, her blood was up and she was determined to get her pound of flesh.

If she could get that from the skinny bitch.

She used the dark side to her superpower to kick start the combustion engine of a nearby dirt bike and screeched out onto the road through the trail of destruction the jeep had left behind. Luckily the whole place had pretty much been devoid of people by the time they had thrust their way out of the village market to join the main routes – most of them scattered from the initial blown up fish stall moment.

She could feel them now beginning to look back out through the doors, to question themselves as to whether or not it would be safe enough. Even if they had seen her, they would not have been reassured – some would say years later when they retold the story of that day, flames were coming from the woman on the bike. Just like that there Ghost Rider fella from the comic books. The ones so inclined would point out that she was better looking though. Hotter, if you forgive the pun.

Had she have known she might have realised it was that perhaps more than the crappy 10cc engine which propelled her forward and helped her to catch up with the speeding jeep, weaving ahead of her through the very light early morning traffic heading into Mosta. She weaved herself, far more nimbly through the scant cars all of them gawping at what they were seeing.

The adrenaline pumped through her veins, the wind whipped through her hair and thin pinpricks of dust tried to blur her vision but were burnt away. Was she shrieking? She couldn’t tell – all she could focus on was the rush of blood and the face in the back window of the jeep.

The traffic became heavier, the weaving more pronounced as they found themselves coming up to the start of the town of Mosta. The houses began to grow closer together, the buildings now several stories high. The faint traces of ‘outskirt’ businesses like car garages began to emerge.

The face in the back window of the jeep looked out at her, grinning. The road began to narrow as the buildings got closer together, they must have been nearing the centre. The pavements were mainly bare of people at that time, so she swung onto it to avoid the constant weaving. They were veering far more than they must have liked, the backend making it hard for their eyes to remain in contact.

The jeep deviated left into an alleyway and Sandy followed with it, trying hard not to skid. As she turned the small electrical outlet nearby blew with sudden force, crackles of electricity spider-webbing from it. She smelt the ozone in the air and could almost hear Stacey cackling through the windscreen of the jeep. It narrowed her concentration further as they crossed the first of the normal streets, bursting from one alleyway to another missing destruction and other traffic by mere inches.

A dark realisation touched the back of her mind, that soon they would hurt themselves or others. It did pierce through the fury blinding, stuck to the back of her eyes. Time began to slow, her concentration grew purer, she raised one hand summoned forth a ball of fire and flung it at the right rear tyre. She might have seen a brief moment of fear in Stacey’s eyes as she saw the fireball hurling towards it – she might even have heard her scream at the driver to look out.

It struck, the rubber tyre exploded with a loud bang jerking the jeep down, weighted suddenly too much on one side. The driver did not know his shit, so as they burst from the end of their current alleyway he attempted to right the skid he’d gone into. The jeep turned ninety degrees – too wide to make it through the next alleyway and instead jammed, front and rear against it – finally brought to a broken halt.

Sandy skidded to a halt herself, still several yards away and climbed off the bike. People were beginning to gather around, though many of them remained far back from the crash. Was there a person filming on their phone camera? Wasn’t there always? She scoured the jeep from a distance for signs of life – the driver was knocked unconscious.

Stacey, however, was not. She kicked open the back of the jeep, the twisted door through which she emerged. Apart from a cut on her forehead, she appeared fine, if a bit pissed – but that was par for the course with the little rage monster she was. Sandy still had always failed to see the irony that the thorn in her side was a creature of anger and vengeance.

“Still not ready to give this up?” Sandy asked her.

“Never!”

She should have seen it coming but the sudden shriek of lightning was so quick in its ferocity she barely had the chance to catch it. She took it full force in her chest, felt lifted with it and thrown back several feet. She landed hard on the cold ground and rolled to a stop nearly back where she started. All her muscles twitched and tensed and for a second she was utterly helpless.

Then it subsided and she felt the familiar sod-everything-else rage flare up once more. This time she knew she shrieked as she threw herself to her feet and raced for her foe. She feigned left, dodged another strike from the right and when within distance flung herself full force at Stacey – her eyes widening with shock seconds before they collided.

What she hadn’t counted on was the next level of rage which coursed through her, propelled her. As she collided with Stacey, intending to drive her to the ground and gain the upper hand – she instead felt lifted. The two of them risen suddenly and spectacularly into the air above the jeep, above the alleyway.

She realised in seconds she was several stories up, until the realisation that it was she – her force of propulsion which was doing it – and the sudden shock shorted it out. She felt gravity reassert itself, bringing her and the hissing and spitting Stacey several feet down to land hard on the rooftop of the nearby building.

Sandy felt herself roll further, stopped only by the concrete lip of the building’s roof. She landed facing back the way she came to replace Stacey already getting to her feet.

“Someone’s been practising,” Stacey sneered at her, rubbing blood from under her nose. Blood stained her teeth as well and Sandy thought for a moment how she looked, whether she was injured. Then pushed it down and got to her feet, teeth gritted and nothing seemingly broken.

“Up yours, blondie,” she spat back. She felt herself swoon a little, clearly disoriented from the impact. She held up her fists, ready to fight but Stacey promptly lowered hers, smirking.

She felt a second swoon, this time a wave of confusion and dizziness more powerful than the first. She worried that she had a concussion, that she’d banged her head on something. But even when landing on the ground on the roof, she’d not hit her head. It shouldn’t have been happening, not that way.

Blackness stole the periphery of her vision as Stacey visually relaxed even further. The third wave was so powerful, so coldly powerful, that Sandy felt herself fall to her knees. Even from a distance, Stacey towered above her.

Her confused mind and eyes showed her the sun-baked rooftop she was kneeling on. She saw her own shadow – her own shadow far too tall and with large Angel like wings. For a moment she began to wonder if he had come, wondered if the reinforcements had arrived. The thought was weak. All her thoughts were weak, confused – what was she even doing?

Her fire went out, her eyelids heavy and her balance finally going. She crashed face-first onto the rough grit of the roof, feeling it bite ever so distantly into her cheeks. Shadows moved above her, sounds – though distant through the tunnel she was falling into – they were the only contact she had with that sunny world she was in.

“Was that good enough?” she heard Stacey ask someone. She sounded eager to please, it made her sound younger, more innocent – more like the newsreel home footage that Sandy had tormented herself with. It was the sound of a teenager asking their parent for approval. “Did I buy us enough time?”

“Time will tell,” came another voice, from another place.