No Hero by Jonathan Wood Page B

of my head. I don’t even have my steel baton so I can give him a rap on the knuckles.
    The student lets out another bellow from his misshapen child’s mouth. He takes a step forward. Clyde’s sneakers skid back down the road, soles screeching. He grunts. The student takes another step.
    All I’m left with is running for cover. Head down. Feet slapping against the asphalt. I half expect a Peugeot up the arse.
    “Keep using Elkman’s Push.” Tabitha comes online again answering some unheard statement from Clyde. “Emphasis on the second syllable. Searching for something bigger. More oomph.”
    I slam into the limited shelter of a doorway. Tabitha is whispering a stream of curses into my ear. Whatever she’s trying to look up, she’s not finding it.
    From my momentary cover I look again at the student’s car battery. I look at the fist gripping it. It’s as big as my chest, fingers near the width of my forearm. I can’t get it to let go. There’s no way to prize those fingers apart.
    Still, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Even a twelve-foot-tall slavering monster cat. I hope.
    “Tabitha,” I say. “I need something sharp. Something with a rubber grip.” Something that won’t fry me like an egg when I jam it into that battery. “A fire axe would be nice.”
    “Have fun with that. Kind of busy.”
    I scan the street, the rubble. Nothing. I look over at Clyde. Doesn’t seem to have a fire axe on him.
    “Come on,” I say to Tabitha. “Please.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Cowley.”
    “I fucking know Cowley. Where on Cowley?”
    Adrenaline is screwing with my ability to keep up with conversation. I look left, then right. There’s not much to go on. “Opposite an Indian restaurant,” I say.
    Nothing. No reply. Clyde is in full retreat now. The student is grinning, mashing his way down the street.
    “Turn around,” Tabitha says.
    “What?” I was rather hoping to keep my eyes on the terrifying, death-dealing monster stalking down the street.
    “Turn around,” Tabitha repeats. “Pretty simple.”
    I hesitate, and then I turn.
    I’m looking into a hardware store. I’m standing in the doorway of a hardware store.
    Talk about staring you in the bloody face.
    I kick in the glass of the door. Which jars my leg in an uncomfortable way but still looks sort of awesome. Then I go and spoil the effect by trying to avoid slicing myself open on the remaining jags of glass as I edge through. The lights of the place have gone out. I can see people cowering in the aisles, heads down. Someone standing behind the counter furiously rubbing his eyes. Axes. Axes. Which aisle for axes?
    I can feel time running out. I can feel Clyde’s batteries running out. I hear a yell from the street and see him flying backwards, sailing through the air. Time’s up.
    No axe.
    Then I realize I’m staring at crowbars. Crowbars with easy-to-grip rubber handles.
    I grab one, turn, feet skidding. Adrenaline flushes my system and this suddenly feels like it might even be a good idea. I start running. My feet pounding down. I smash through the remaining shards of the door. I hit the street sprinting. My legs burn. A good burn. The burn of fire. Of power. The world is slipping past me in slow motion. It’s like a dream. The student is hefting another car. But I’m going wide, and he doesn’t see me. He looses the car at Clyde. I don’t have time to look. I’m coming up parallel with it. I’ve got the crowbar lifted like a javelin. The student looks left for another projectile. I’m coming up on its right.
    I jump. Right foot on the hood of a car. The twang of steel beneath the impact of my foot. The thing starts to turn. My left foot hits the roof of the car. Smack. And then I’m in the air, crowbar lifted above my head. A steel snake about to strike.
    The student swats me. Dismissed by the back of his hand.
    I am vaguely aware of pain. I am vaguely aware of my vision jagging abruptly sideways before it blurs. I am even