HERO

61 / Save Him

"Anyway," David said drawing his gun. "I'd like you to get away from whatever that thing is, please. Leave it alone – the world is getting on just fine as it is – and get yourself over there with the little ones."

Iain looked at the gun then his son and the boy's friend. Thomas' face showed how little he wanted his father to be near him, but Iain ignored it. He was young. He didn't understand.

"Come on," David prompted. "Don't let the fact your son hates you put you off."

"He doesn't hate me."

"Doesn't he? Let's ask him, shall we?"

David looked expectantly at the boy, with Thomas staring at the floor. Did he hate his father? Could he? He was ashamed, certainly. Disgusted. He didn't like the man, but hate was a strong word.

"I think the silence has just spoken volumes. Doesn't matter. Get over there now."

David's tone changed. The jaunty friendliness had been erased and it was obvious he meant business. When Iain hesitated, he began to raise the gun.

"Move."

Iain nodded and took a step towards Thomas but, as he went, he poked his fingers at the air, small flashes following his fingertips to indicate he was typing. There was a hum and the machine began to whir, with lights spinning around its top.

David's hand was still lifting, meaning the muzzle of the gun was pointing at air rather than a target. He soon corrected his lapse and brought it to bear on the scientist. Almost casually, he pulled the trigger.

Thomas had been watching David's aim and had seen the sudden correction. He was angry at his father. He was undecided whether the man could still be called 'father' but Thomas couldn't shake a certain instinctive loyalty.

Without thinking, he dived. As David's finger tightened on the trigger, he was in the air, his small figure looking as if it could do no harm to anyone.

Harm wasn't his intention. In fact, he had no conscious intention. Even so, his timing was perfect, depending on the definition. His chest imploded and, by the time a second shot was fired, blood was already spraying across the table and its contents.

The second shot hit its intended target, connecting with Iain's neck, disintegrating the left side. Father and son hit the ground, blood spewing.

Bren screamed and turned on the Spotter. The spines were out. The fangs and claws bared, but she didn't attack. She thrust her arms out and up.

David grunted as he was abruptly lifted into the air.

Bren swiped her arms to the left.

David's body flew across the room towards the thick column. He grimaced as he was about to hit it, but there was no impact.

It was much worse.

David groaned, unable to voice the pain that coursed through his body – or what there was visible of him. From the surface of the column, his upper torso protruded. One arm hung free. The other led back, the forearm fused with the stone. Unseen, his lower legs projected from the rear of the column. He seemed to be conscious for a few seconds, glaring at Bren, but she didn't notice, she was running to her friend. The few seconds quickly passed, and then David did too.

Dor, silent and unmoving until that moment, cried out and pounced at the girl.

Bren didn't stop. She'd reached Thomas and was knelt beside him when Dor's hand gripped her shoulder. Bren shrugged the hand off, impaling it with hard spikes ejected from under her skin. Without looking, she lifted her arm again and pushed forward.