by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
"Fire! Fire!" I shout, pointing at the so-called Bigfoot. "It tried to kill me!"
Soon, all the crowd is screaming. The hate for metahumans, after Chicago, is maybe at the highest point ever in this part of the world. Sadly, it's evident that Turner is also a meta.
While the cops begin to shoot repeatedly the madman, I run toward Turner, followed by many bystanders now determined to make justice by themselves. It's a gamble, I know, but what else can I do?
I am still the fastest one, like in the old days. I jump over the former MCCA agent, and faking a fight, I whisper in his ear, "Don't resist; trust me, I beg of you."
Soon the others are over us and begin to kick Turner. Hate is a stupid thing, and they are so blinded by fury that don't understand that he could fry them like he did with the Bigfoot.
I shout, "Let's kill him! Any of you have a gun?"
"I have one!"
"Me too!"
"Me too!"
Fuck! This is America, not Italy. Improvise, Edulcore! "Okay, okay, let's kill him, but in a safe place. We don't want the cop to arrest us."
"Yes, he's right!"
"True!"
"But he has a funny accent, don't you think?"
"Where do we bring him?" I shout.
"There!"
"Behind the trees!"
"There's Old Pete's cabin."
"Sure, good idea!"
"Let's go!"
"Cool!"
We bring Turner there. Before even a single gun can be produced, all my "buddies" are electrocuted, barely alive and fallen on the ground.
"You thought of this from the beginning, Cicciotto?" asks Turner, wiping dust from the coat.
"Almost," I say, smiling.
From behind the trees, we look at the police finally taking down the monster. He is really dead, this time? Who knows.
The rest of the day is easy to sum up. We exchanged clothing with two of the knocked-out guys and went into town. Turner wanted to steal another car, but I stopped him. That would have easily gotten the police on our tail. Instead, with the money found in the pocket of our new trousers, we bought two Greyhound tickets for Los Angeles.
Now we are sitting on two of the last seats in the bus. We have just passed Seattle, and the next stop is Tacoma. I have no idea how many hours it will take to arrive in California. And then? Would Mexico be safer than the U.S.? Would it be easier to enter illegally from north to south? Or would it be better to arrive, I don't know, at maybe New Orleans and then find a job on a fishing boat to arrive at La Perdita?
Well, there will be time to think about that later.
Turner has been silent until now. "You didn't hesitate to push the police into killing that meta, Cicciotto."
I looked at him, surprised. "It was him or you, you know. You believe they have really killed it? Him. Whatever."
"It survived a charge of a millions volts. I don't know if bullets would really work on him."
"He has the plague... the Pathogen. It could spread to the population and infect the normal people."
"If it was someone from the Sideshow, Walker already knows and is thinking up something right now, Cicciotto."
"Yeah, I can imagine. Probably he's going to nuke the whole county."
"The end..."
"...justify the means. Shit."
"Why did you leave, then?" asks Turner.
"I had to save you. And me. You know what could have happened, staying there?"
"I know, but one week ago you wouldn't have said the same, I think. You would have tried to save all the town by yourself." He smiles sarcastically.
"Then, I could have. With my powers, you know." I pause. "And probably it would have ended in a disaster."
He laughs.
"I have changed, Turner."
"I know, Ed."
It is the first time he calls me by my first name.