Stronger: A Super Human Clash Read Online Free PDF Page A

around for something to clean up the blood, but the only thing I could find was the shredded remains of my alb. I used it to wipe down my arms and chest—which dislodged a few more bullets—then tossed the ruined alb aside. Ma was going to give me grief over that—they’re not cheap.
    The growing wail of approaching sirens echoed through the church, and I knew I had to get out of there. The back door was ordinary sized, and I wasn’t sure I’d fit through.
    And I also wasn’t sure that I
wanted
to run…. Where would I go? And how long was I going to be like this? That thought hit me harder than the shotgun blast:
Am I going to be like this forever?
    Why I didn’t go insane, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because kids are more resilient to change than adults. I saw that often enough in the mine.
    I sat down next to the front door with my back to the wall and tried to get a handle on what had happened.
    Outside, the shooting had stopped and I could hear one cop barking orders: “Get these people out of here—now! Youtwo: around the back. I want all possible exits covered! There’s still a kid in there with that thing!”
    Why don’t I just go out?
I asked myself.
If I just stand there and don’t do anything to scare them, maybe they’ll realize I’m not a threat.
    Right. Like that’ll work.
    But even if I couldn’t talk to them—and I was doing my best to push
that
thought out of my mind—I could still make them understand me.
    Over in the corner was the church’s visitor’s book resting on a little table. I reached out to it and pulled the table closer. The pen was tiny in my massive blue hand, but I was sure I now had enough control of my body to write a message in the book. I was wrong: The pen snapped between my fingers.
    All right,
I decided as I tossed the pen aside.
Just wait and see what happens.
I looked down at my blue arms and wondered how long it would be before the effect wore off, before I turned back to normal.
    I spent I don’t know
how
long sitting there with my back to the wall, listening to the panic outside and picturing myself as I had been that morning, concentrating on that image and trying to somehow force myself to change back. I hoped and wished and even begged God to restore me to normal. None of it made the slightest difference.
    At the back of my mind, the horrible thought remained that maybe this was permanent. Maybe I was never going to be normal again.
    And with that came an even more disturbing thought:
What if I can’t make them understand me, and then Pastor Cullen dies and they think I murdered him?
    Something outside went
Ptoof! Ptoof!
and two small canisters bounced through the door and came to a stop in the center aisle. For a second I thought they were soda cans, but then they popped and started belching thick white smoke into the air.
    Immediately the church was swarming with men: They darted in through the main door two at a time, they smashed in the rear door behind the altar, they came crashing through the big windows on either side, showering the church with fragments of glass. All of the men were wearing black body armor and gas masks.
    The smoke from the canisters stung my eyes a little, but not much more than when you’re flipping the burgers on a barbecue and the wind suddenly changes direction. Whatever the stuff was—probably tear gas—it didn’t affect me as much as the soldiers had hoped. They spread out, surrounding me, each one aiming a wicked-looking gun.
    One of them yelled, “On the ground! Now! Facedown, arms spread! Do it!”
    They kept their distance as I did what I was told—I figured that the sooner I got to speak to someone in charge, the sooner they could figure out what had happened to me.
    For the next few minutes the soldiers remained just out of arm’s reach, not doing anything except staring at me. Every time I tried to move, they barked another order to “Freeze!”
    When the tear gas cleared, there were more heavy footsteps