Chapter 9

The walk from the hospital to the Union Station bus terminal was only a mile, but Cole hated every step. Agents in black suits did little to hide themselves. As he walked the National Mall, he could have sworn he saw men pop up atop buildings before ducking back down. A few weeks ago, he was a nobody, and now he felt like an enemy of the state.

He stepped into the main hall of Union Station and looked all around, taking in its size and grandeur. He bought the tickets on his phone on the walk to the station and skipped the lines. After a restroom break, he walked down the stairs to the terminals. The smell of diesel fuel and rotting garbage hit him like a punch in the nose as he searched for his bus.

Luckily, the bus was waiting for him. With only a couple of people on the bus, he got his pick. He reclined and pulled his hood over his head. Sleep took him soon after. His body registered the engine rumbling beneath him and the bland safety chat as the bus pulled out of the station.

When he awoke, the sun was falling towards the horizon. The bus was about half-full, with most people staring at their smartphones, except for a few men in gray suits wearing sunglasses who occasionally spoke into their wrists after glancing in his direction.

They were on I-95 North, completely stopped in traffic, and from the green signage he saw they were stranded in New Jersey, just south of Trenton.

After a few minutes, the bus driver brought a speaker microphone to his mouth. “Folks, I just got word from my boss that I-95 is shut down. We’re going to be waiting here for a while.”

An old lady leaned into the aisle. “What the hell is stopping us?”

The bus driver shrugged. “I wasn’t told. They just said to sit tight. We may have to back up and get off at the last exit.”

A young man held up his cell phone. “There’s a maniac on the highway with a damn tank! It's on the news.”

Cole looked out the window. At least five helicopters hovered overhead. He groaned and dragged his hand down the front of his face and tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. After a minute of bouncing his foot on the bus floor, he hopped up and walked to the front.

He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Hey, could you let me off?”

The driver shook his head. “No can do.”

Cole looked left and right, then leaned down to the driver. “If you don’t, I’m going to throw up over the entire front of this bus.”

The driver pressed a button, and the bus door swung open. Cole looked back at the agents who were standing up before he hopped down the stairs. Walking to the breakdown lane, he looked up ahead and saw an endless traffic jam. Ahead of them, a column of black smoke rose into the sky.

He brought up his knees one by one and stretched. “Let’s see how fast we can run.”

Cole started with a trot as he heard the agents pour out of the bus behind him, talking among themselves. Putting in more effort, Cole rocketed forward; he couldn’t tell exactly how fast he was running, but it felt like highway speeds. Even though he was running faster than a motorbike, he felt no fatigue or burning in his lungs, like he could pour it on even more. When a car door opened into his path, he pushed off the ground and leaped over the door, then ten more car lengths, before continuing. After that surprise, he kept his speed at a pace that let him dodge obstacles comfortably.

After cresting a hill, Cole noticed more helicopters, but they weren’t civilians; they were attack helicopters. He slowed down and saw the remains of blown-up cop cars surrounding an Abrams tank. Off to the side of the highway, several buildings were hit with tank rounds and were burning. Looking closer at the tank, he saw the words “You Are The Traffic” spray-painted in sloppy capital letters.

He stepped forward between the blown-up police cars. How could he get this maniac off the road? As he thought, the turret turned toward him and fired its machine gun. A flash of light filled his vision, followed by a rhythmic series of deep bass booms in his ears. Cole looked down, then at his hands. Every scrap of clothing he wore was either blasted away or burning up. The smell of burning fabric filled his nostrils, but he was unharmed.

Cole’s face twisted in anger. He had never experienced such a fucked up twenty-four hours in his life. He launched himself forward and landed on the tank. He lifted his foot and stomped on the barrel, deforming it like unbaked clay. Another kick snapped the barrel off and sent it onto the grassy median. Leaning down, he punched the machine gun, crumpling it.

He hopped onto the tank's side and began punching the treads, sending metal pads flying. “You think you can just blow up a man’s clothing and get away with it?”

The tank started spinning in circles, and Cole had to destroy the other side’s tread before it was completely immobilized. The tank's rear sprocket wheels spun uselessly.

He got behind the tank and punched it. Instead of sending the tank off the road, he made a fist-sized hole in it. Shaking his head, he put his shoulder to the tank and pushed. The strength he had while punching or leaping wasn’t there, and he had to will his body to be strong in a new way. After concentrating, he felt strength build in his quads and calves as he pushed against the tank's back. The hulk moved, screeching and gouging the road as he pushed. Getting the hang of super strength, it took three good shoves to get the sixty-ton tank onto the grass beyond the breakdown lane.

He walked around to the front of the tank and yelled down the narrow opening of the gun barrel’s stump. “Do not get out until the cops come, or I’ll beat the ever-living shit out of you.”

A quavering, meek voice responded from the tank. “Ah… ah, okay.”

Cole’s ears pricked up as a cheer rose behind him. He turned and saw men and women getting out of their cars and applauding him. He stopped himself from waving and covered his crotch with his hands.

A rush of air pushed down on him as the roar of helicopter blades filled his ears.

“Get down on the ground now and put your hands on the back of your head!” the speaker from the helicopter bellowed. “You are under arrest.”

Cole dropped to his knees and said, “And this is the thanks I get. Fucking hell.”