This is the 124nd in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.
The Quarry, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 3rd April 2013
Word count: 625
The story:
Callum dug himself deeper into the coat rack inside the fashion store. He waited warily, he could hear his pursuers inside the shop kicking things over trying to find him.
It had been two hours of relentless chase, and they were determined. Breaking into the shop had been Callum’s act of desperation, it was the only thing he could think of, his energy was spent, he needed time to recharge.
“He’s in here somewhere,” growled one of the pursuers.
“We’ve looked, what if he’s not? He might have broken the door to distract us,” another said.
“Right, I want a watch on the front and rear exits, the rest of us will spread out see if we can’t pick up his scent,” the first voice said.
Callum breathed a small sigh of relief. It was in that moment he felt his drained powers starting to return finally.
Half an hour later he was tired and weary from the fight, his powers still slow to return, but he decided to leave his hiding spot. If he stayed, eventually someone would come and call the police. The police would love to get their hands on Callum, a true super powered vigilante, but worst would be what his pursuers would do to the police to get to him.
One of the pursuers was at the front entrance, he was looking out into the street though, he didn’t see Callum creep forward.
As long as Callum had had these powers, he’d made himself promise to never kill, it was too much of an ethical compromise. Now, things were different. Each of his pursuers had the same powers he had, strength, speed, ability to jump great distances, and a toughness that could resist a bullet or a blade. The only way to face them and survive was to reduce their numbers, and that was a compromise Callum realised he would have to live with.
He bunched his legs beneath him and got ready to sprint as fast as he could into the watchman, it had to be fast and decisive.
“Cone on!” someone outside shouted.
“What?” the watchman shouted.
“He’s going south, get your arses in gear,” addictive getting closer shouted. The watchman darted off at speeds scarcely matched by the fastest Olympic sprinters.
Callum stayed low and waited patiently, then after a while he got up looked at the street through the window. It was empty, but that didn’t mean he was safe. He certainly couldn’t go home, or anywhere anyone knew him, or he cared about. He realised his best option was to leave the city, if they were following they would have to do so on open ground of he went south.
He set off at a run, knowing his pursuers were to the South, but knowing it would lead them away from all he cared for if he couldn’t slip past.
Then as he got to the bridge over the river that ran to the south of town, he saw the sentry waiting there for him. He saw the sentry had seen him, and was advancing, Callum charged him.
The fight was fierce, but brief. Callum stupid over the body of the sentry, he was in shock. He had had time to recover from the exertions of the previous five on one fight, and the hunt, and with years of practice with his strange preternatural abilities, crossing the line had been easy.
Some part of his mind flickered back to life, and he realised the others would soon realise they were a man down, he had to move.
He fled into the night, to look for somewhere to hide or to make a last stand. Four on one, and this time he wouldn’t be holding back.
Aspiring 