Zero II (2 page)

“You can do this. You did this before,”
Alan paced back and forth at a park just a few blocks away from the motel where
he spent the night. His stomach rumbled not for the first time as Alan pushed
himself to be as fast as he had been the night before.

“Come on!” he yelled in frustration.
Pedestrians that bothered to look at him frowned or shook their head. Alan
could only imagine what he looked like; a teenager in a rented tuxedo, yelling
to himself in a public park.

Think, in both cases you were
afraid. You feared for your life. That has to be it. Whatever is happening is
triggered by your will to live.

Alan tried to remember that feeling
now, he tried to remember the exact feeling as he fell. He imagined that same
grip on his shoulder. The fear being chased had brought gradually spread though
his veins.

He felt himself quiver at the memory
of being bullied for so many years. He thought back to his countless nights and
days of depression, the feeling of loneliness and the panic that social events
usually triggered. Alan felt perspiration start to bead across his brow as
angst built up inside. Then Alan forced his eyes open and ran.

Alan ran as fast as his legs would
carry him. His feet yelled as they were forced to a dangerous pace, rubbing
against his cheaply-made-nonetheless-expensive-to-rent tuxedo shoes. Grass
blades crunched under foot as Alan streaked across the park.

Eager to see how fast he was moving he
turned his head from side to side. Alan felt his jaw drop as he witnessed life all
around him taking place at a speed much slower than his own.

People stood still as he moved
forward. Birds hung in the air, their wings stuck in place. There was no noise.
Everything around Alan looked like a picture, lifelike but unmoving. Alan
pulled to a halt, his mind trying to make sense of the impossible. As he
stopped, everything around him began to move at a normal pace once again. People
continued about their way both on the sidewalk and in the park; horns blew and
birds ascended and descended in flight.

No way. There’s no way you’re that
fast.

Alan crouched in a kneeling position
as he tried to piece together the puzzle whose pieces were all around him.
Thoughts of superheroes, mutants or evolved humans passed across his mind. In
all honesty there was no telling what he was now. All he knew was that he could
move and he could move fast.

From that moment on Alan promised
himself things would be different. Plans started to form in his mind of how he
could put this gift of speed to use. His stomach rumbled again.

Priorities, man; food first, money
later. Now, what sounds good?

Tingling and laughing out loud, Alan stood
from his crouching position. Feet firmly underneath, he ran.

“Hi. Sorry I don’t want to disturb
your reading time—Oh, Spartans, very cool. Hope you don’t mind me looking
at your book. I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, just trying to make
conversation and not let this get awkward.”

Alan raised his eyes to see a dark
haired woman about his own age. Large black-rimmed glasses framed her eyes. Jeans
and boots marked her either as someone who had not anticipated or didn’t care
she was going to a bar where Austin Martins and Ferraris were valeted on a
regular basis. “I’m sorry do I know you?”

“Nope, not yet. Do you mind if I sit
down?”

“Listen, I don’t want to be rude. I’m
sure you a great person but tonight—“

“Oh, oh, no. Do you think I’m hitting
on you?”

Alan raised an eyebrow.

“I mean not that I don’t think you’re
attractive. I mean, my gosh, have you seen your arms?” The young woman shut her
pink lips tight. Her fair skin turned as red as the outside of an apple. “I am
so not good at these types of things.”

She took a seat at Alan’s booth across
from him disregarding his attempt to politely decline her company. “Listen,
let’s start over.” The young woman extended a fingernail polished hand that
matched her red face, “My name is Danielle Turner.”

Alan pursed his lips and set his book
on the table. He reluctantly shook the woman’s hand. Four years of running from
his past and denying the underprivileged path his adolescent life had taken,
Alan was used to using aliases, “Connor Moore.”

Danielle released his hand and
laughed, “Alan, please if you are going to use a fake name at least choose one
that’s not so obvious.”

Alan felt his posture straighten. If
she wanted to get his attention, she had it now. Alan was a name he had left a
long time ago. “How do you know that name? No one has called me that in a very
long time.”

Danielle took a deep breath. “Listen,
this is not going at all how I planned. I told him I wasn’t good at this kind
of stuff.”

“Told who?”

Before she could answer, the waitress
appeared at the side of their table. “Hello, can I get you something to drink,
Miss?” She motioned towards Alan’s bottle of whiskey. “Perhaps a glass?”

“What? No.” Danielle said with the
slightest hint of disapproval. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple please.”

The waitress nodded, her mouth
beginning to drop open before she turned to fulfill the order.

“Shirley Temple, huh?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, I’m a lightweight. Give me a
drink or two and—“ panic washed over Danielle’s face again as she found
herself in the middle of a sentence she didn’t want to finish.

Alan felt his lips twist into a grin
despite himself. “Okay, you have me interested. How do you know my name and
what is it that you want?”

“My organization has been watching you
since the night you jumped—fell—off the roof and even before that.
What we want is your help. What I mean to say is that we think a partnership
would be mutually beneficial.”

Alan searched the dimly lit interior
of the bar, for what, he wasn’t sure; cameras revealing that he was being set
up, dark-suited government agents set to take him away for experimentation or
the FBI for all the money and merchandise he stole over the past four years.

He scooted a bit closer to the edge of
his booth, ready to run at a moment’s notice. As a general rule he didn’t use
his speed in public, but this could be an exception.

“Please, don’t do your super speed
thing,” Danielle said. “You’re not alone in this. I know you must have so many
questions. I can give you the answers you’ve been searching for. The world
needs you, Alan.”

Alan could feel his chest constrict.
Fear of the real possibility of having his questions answered spread through
him for the very first time. For years Alan searched for answers to what he
was, but every lead ended the same, with only more questions.

The waitress appeared out of the
corner of Alan’s eye, balancing a glass on a tray. Danielle turned her
attention away from him and visibly brightened, “Oh, my Shirley Temple. There’s
a cherry in it, too. Yesssss.”

            Alan
readied himself in the shadows. He was tired of stealing food one or two meals
at a time. He was exhausted from taking everything he wanted in secret. Sure it
had been cool the first year but there was just something about having money to
buy things instead of taking them from right under people’s noses. He wanted to
feel normal: he wanted to go shopping with and in front of everyone else. A
weird part of him actually wanted to pay for things, like normal people.

            The
last year provided Alan with a ton of experience when it came to working on his
speed. He was quicker than any camera, faster than any eye. Now he was done
with trivial things; now was his time to step up into the big leagues.

           
No
more stealing day after day. Amateur hour is over. This will set you up for a
long time. You can get your own pad, no more motels.

           
Deep
inside Alan knew what he was doing was wrong. Whether it was his conscience,
subconscious or something else, a voice inside told him he was given this gift
for something more than just stealing and personal advancement.

            Day
after day Alan silenced this tiny cry for morality until it stopped pleading
with him altogether. Now Alan found himself with a black ski mask in his right
hand, crouched in an alley behind a large trash container. The city’s largest
bank and trust across the street.

            Sweat
glistened off Alan’s brow as he looked down at his watch; it read 5:58 PM. Alan
spent the last few weeks scoping out the bank. In that time he learned that
this day was the least busy of the week. He knew that the bank closed its doors
at exactly 6:00 PM every business day.

           
This
is going to work. Nobody can see you let alone touch you.

            Alan
could feel his heart beating out of his chest. By far this was the craziest
thing he had ever attempted in his life. He felt his grip tighten on the mask’s
thick fabric and chuckled to himself. He knew that the mask wasn’t going to
keep people from seeing his face, his supernatural speed would do that. The
mask was in his hand more as moral support than anything else.

            The
mask comforted him in a way that a safety blanket would a small child. Alan
took in another deep breath and let it out slowly. He pulled the black mask’s
thick wool over his face. The fabric scratched his skin as he slid it into place.
There were three holes, two for his eyes and one for his mouth.

            Even
as he reached for the large black duffle bag beside him, even as his digital
clock hit 5:59 PM, Alan’s internal voice begged him to stop. It told him he was
doing the wrong thing. It told him he was meant for so much more. Alan forced the
voice from his mind as he lunged forward.

            The
sounds of everyday life ceased to exist. When Alan ran now, it seemed as though
everything stood still while he moved at a normal pace. His legs pumped beneath
him as he exited the alley and crossed the street.

            Taxis
paused in their afternoon routes, pedestrians looked like mannequins and flags
hesitated in their waving. This was all familiar to Alan. He crossed the street
and ran up the steps to the bank. With each step of his Nikes on the pavement,
Alan rehearsed the plan in his head.

           
Straight
to the vault, only large bills, in and out under a second.

           
Alan
reached the glass door of the building that boasted the bank name in large
golden lettering
Shepherd and Montgomery
. He ripped the door open and
ran inside.

            The
interior of the bank was large. Wooden paneling under foot supported matching wooden
counters and a design that allowed teller windows to open in a half circle.
Alan took in his surroundings as he ran forward.

            A
security guard, whom he could probably outrun even without his powers, was
reading a newspaper to his right. There were no customers in line. Only two
patrons were in the process of depositing or withdrawing funds. They both stood
in the middle of conversations with the bank tellers assisting them.

            Alan
ran toward the center row of the half circle teller windows. He unlatched a
small gate that led behind the counter. An army of bank workers stood before
him. All dressed in dark pants with light blue shirts, they held expressions
anywhere from ones that looked at though they had caught a whiff of someone’s
old egg salad sandwich, to ones of relief the day was finally over. One lady in
particular held her hands in the air as though she was raising the roof. Alan
couldn’t help but wonder what she was saying. That thought soon disappeared as
he made his way to the bank vault.

            The
huge circular steel door was open. No one was inside as Alan entered the steel-like
tomb that guarded the bank’s cash. Another set of steel bars almost sent Alan
into a panic. Even as he placed his hand on the cold metal he could see the
door wasn’t closed all the way. An inch of space between the metal gate and the
vault wall saved Alan’s master plan.

            He
reached for the door and swung it open as he entered the first of two rooms.
The bank’s vault was divided into two separate compartments; one for the bank
deposit boxes and the other for cash.

            Alan
stopped mid-step as he made his way into the vault and turned the corner. He
wasn’t the only one in the room designated to housing the bank’s cash. An
elderly overweight gentlemen with a nametag identifying him as the bank manager
leaned over a mountain of cash.

            Alan
paused, forgetting for the moment that he was moving faster now than anyone
could see. Fear once again made its presence known as he hesitated to take
another step.

           
Move,
move, move. There’s no time for this!

           
Alan
wrenched his body forward, ignoring the fear that told him he would be caught
at any moment and instead went to work. Mountains of cash were pilled on steel-framed
cabinets against the walls. Lucky, for Alan they were stacked in numerical
value.

            The
pile of one hundred dollar bills that Alan was after just happened to be the
pile of cash that the bank manager was leaning over. The balding man looked
like Alan had caught him mid count, his left chubby hand holding a fat stack of
bills as his right hand reached out for another.

            Alan
grinned through his mask as he imagined the bank manager’s expression when he
would go from one second counting the money and the next having it disappear,
literally from right under his nose.

            Loading
the money into his black duffle bag felt great. Thick stack after thick stack
of the one hundred dollar bills piled into his duffle bag until every inch was
filled. Alan fought against the urge to count his money there and then.

There will be plenty time for that
later
.

            Zipping
the bag close took some effort but with a few more grins and smiles Alan managed
to secure his bag. The table that once held the money was all but bare. Only a
few lone bills scattered across the steel frame.

            Alan
couldn’t help himself as he reached out and plucked the last stack of bills right
from the bank manager’s hand.

            “Sorry,
I need this more than you. The bank is insured; you’ll be fine when they look
at the tapes and realize it’s not your fault.”

            With
that Alan turned and ran out of the building. The duffle bag bursting with money
felt heavy. The fabric strap dug into his shoulder making an uncomfortable
indentation even as Alan burst out of the bank and across the street.

            Alan
ripped off his mask and stuffed it into his back pocket. He crouched behind the
alley dumpster one more time and stopped. Time unfroze as soon as he ceased
moving. The cars on the street continued on their way, the pedestrians on the sidewalk
moved along at normal speed and the flags flapped and slapped against
themselves in the wind.

            The
only thing that seemed out of place in the following seconds were the yells
from the bank followed by the vault’s alarm.