Water and Ice

Bill dashed back to his car, with Tree striding close behind him . . . then stopped when he got to the driver's side door. "Damn it," he cursed, glancing back at her enormous wooden frame. "There's no way you're going to fit inside."

"Don't worry," Tree said, "I can follow along behind you."

Bill frowned. "You can run fast?"

"No," Tree said, "But I . . . have another way of getting around. Just keep your speed under forty."

Bill blinked. No time to sort this out. "Okay, then," he said, got in his car, started it, and pulled out onto the street. In his central rearview mirror, he saw her just standing there, dwindling behind in the lengthening distance. Then she took two sprinting steps forward and sprang into the air. She was up above his mirror's line of sight almost instantly. So! She could fly, then?

Two-and-a-half seconds later, she slammed back down onto the pavement feet-first, right behind his car. He could feel the jolt through the ground. She took one more running step, and jumped forward, again disappearing above his line of sight. She wasn't flying, she was leaping! And she'd landed awfully close that time; she might just land right on top of his car the next. He pressed down on his accelerator pedal, hoping the extra speed might open up the distance between them. But a little over three seconds after her last launch, she landed right behind his car again and took another bound, as though she'd been expecting him to speed up.

He glanced at his speedometer after she left the ground again. Nearly 40 miles an hour. Right at her speed limit. Sure enough, after three seconds and change, wham, she landed right behind him and took back off again. She was having no trouble keeping up. Now, though, he had to turn the corner to the right. She landed well behind this time, part of the way through the intersection he'd just cleared. But she pivoted in mid-landing and leapt straight toward him, coming down right on course behind him with her next bound.

And off they went into the warehouse district, a Chevy with an eight-foot jumping bean tailing along behind.

Stuff I intend to have happen in this story:

• They drive/leap to the building in the warehouse district where Bill had seen them take Joe. Inside, Joe and six others are seated in front of a mass mind control device.
• Bill runs in to rescue Joe, but he runs into the device's area of effect just as it turns on. Instinctively, his hands shield his face. Since his mind wasn't prepared ahead of time for the procedure (like the subjects behind him were), the neural onslaught causes far deeper effects than mind control. He becomes aware, both inwardly and outwardly, of things more than he'd ever been before. For an instant, everything is profoundly simple. And then, that instant is gone; T.H.E.M.'s device has been pointed away from him.
• But it leaves a residual awareness, a tiny sliver of that total oneness, with one thing: water. The compound most basic to organic life. He is in complete communion with every instance of water — liquid, frozen, or gaseous — in his surroundings. When he removes his hands from his face, he is covered from head to heel with a thin layer of ice.
• Here is Water and Ice Man's character sheet.
• Meanwhile, Tree is also caught in the beam. Her wooden braincase protects her from the full onslaught that befell Bill, and she becomes T.H.E.M.'s unwilling puppet.
• Bill starts using his newfound powers to free Joe. Surprised by the new ice-covered superhero, the T.H.E.M. operatives order Tree to stop him. The mind control interferes with Tree's normal accuracy with punches, and she misses Bill with swing after swing. Finally, Bill taunts her into throwing something heavy at him — while he's standing in front of the mind control generator. The generator is smashed, and Tree and the other victims faint. Tree regains consciousness first. All the T.H.E.M. operatives can do is flee.
• Joe regains his senses a few minutes later and finds himself on an ice slide frozen from the water in the air, with some new ice-armored super hero holding on to him.

Send comments regarding this Web page to: Roger M. Wilcox.

Roger M. Wilcox's main stories page

Roger M. Wilcox's Homepage