Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone by Christopher Andrews Page A

more fired shots — one of the terrorized tenants caught a stray bullet in the side of her neck and sprayed blood like an obscene fountain. Cooper had crushed one of the officers against a wall before the rest called a retreat.
    Then Cooper finally saw something that brought him partially back to himself. He was on the second level of the complex, smashing a coin-thieving soda machine to metallic pulp, when he glanced over the railing into the swimming pool area. A number of tenants were making a run for it toward the exit on the far side of the pool, but the pair that Cooper zeroed in on were Arturo and his wailing mother.
    Arturo, who — in Cooper’s fragmented mind — had started all this trouble!
    Cooper leaned back to get some rolling room, then threw himself forward. His shield burned proverbial rubber and smashed through the upper-floor railing with barely a hitch.
    “Where do you think you’re goin’?!” he roared.
    Arturo and his mother looked back, their eyes widening in terror as Cooper dropped toward them. The mother stumbled and almost slipped into the pool, and Arturo struggled to keep her upright.
    Cooper reached the ground just a few yards from them — he barely felt the landing, but the concrete ended up with a shallow, fragmented crater. He rolled backward for just a split-second, then he was up and out of the shallow depression and bearing down on Arturo.
    Arturo said something in Spanish and pushed his mother in one direction while dodging the opposite way, waving his arms to keep Cooper’s attention on himself.
    How noble , Cooper thought with deep sarcasm.
    He pulled back at the last moment so that, when he struck the hoodlum bank employee, it knocked him down rather than rolling over him. Arturo landed on his back, gasping for breath.
    Cooper dropped his shield just long enough to plant a foot on Arturo’s stomach. He then stepped forward and reactivated his shield.
    What little air Arturo had managed to draw burst from his lungs. His face turned purple as he glared up at Cooper and beat at the feet hovering over his chest. Cooper tried to smile at him in triumph, but it only twisted his lips into an ugly sneer.
    “Arturo!” his mother cried, and again threw herself at Cooper’s shield. She was even more frantic — Cooper wasn’t just mashing her son’s foot this time, he was crushing the life out of him!
    Ignoring her, Cooper crouched to bring his face closer to Arturo’s, spitting, “Adios, amigo ...”
    “ Hey! Asshole! ”
    Cooper snarled and looked up, assuming that someone was probably about to shoot at him again from the second floor.
    He was wrong.
    Sailing erratically through the air over the roof of the apartment complex, Shockwave of the PCA had called him out. The paranormal agent wore a shiny full-body suit of deep crimson — it came across almost, but not quite, as a superhero costume; the only things it was lacking were gloves and a mask, and for that matter, shoes.
    The air rippling around and beneath him, Shockwave descended upon Cooper.
    “Hey, asshole!” Shockwave repeated, his fists clenched and ready to erupt with his namesake. “You want a fight? I’ll give you one!”
    And then Shockwave crashed into the swimming pool.
     
     
     

PARANORMALS
     
    Tires screamed on the asphalt as Michael and Shockwave peeled out of the PCA gym’s parking lot at high speed. The rear end of their sedan fishtailed as Michael cut across traffic to take the fastest route to their destination.
    Since Mark had learned to fly not long after they were partnered together, they’d had debates, on and off, as to whether or not he should take to the air when they got a call, as his traveling in a (mostly) straight line would get him there faster. But most of the time, they decided that, as partners, they should arrive together.
    “Any updates?” Michael asked as he negotiated around an oblivious driver who failed to pull to the right for the police-style lights the PCA field agents