By Peter Amico at pa225099@ohio.edu

Chapter 15

"Stop the car, this is fine," Bruce said finally. It was the first thing he’d said since he’d gotten in. He sat up in his seat, staring out the windshield. "Yeah, this is far enough." Clark slowed and pulled the car off the road, turning off the lights as he did so.
"Why? The circus is still a mile away," he pointed out. Bruce frowned and gave him a long-suffering look.
"Do you even know what the word ‘stealth’ means?" he asked, rubbing his temples. "No, don’t bother answering. I guess this is what happens when you think you’re invulnerable," he muttered under his breath. Clark rolled his eyes and got out of the car, slamming the car door behind him. "Silently, please!" Bruce hissed at him as he climbed out. "Just cause the circus is a mile off doesn’t necessarily mean that Richie is."
Clark fought back the urge to scream at him. "So what now? We walk?"
Bruce swung the duffel bag over his bag and shortened the strap so it was tighter against his chest. Then he reached into the back of the pick-up and hefted the metal pole. "Run, actually. He’ll be expecting us to come by the road, driving in the front way." He looked around, scanning the area. "I think we should head into the fields," he pointed towards the wheat fields to their right with the pole. Beyond the field was the forest, like a vast, dark wall. "We’ll stick to the tree-line and follow it up to the circus. Coming in from that side, we should be able to catch him unaware."
"Should?"
Bruce shrugged absently. "Strategy’s not an exact science. Plenty of things could go wrong. There’s even a very good chance that it’s a trap."
Clark let out a breath of air. "You’re not an optimist, are you?" he asked sarcastically, heading into the field. Bruce passed him at a quick jog, laughter trailing behind him. Smiling to himself, Clark increased his speed a little and shot past him. Bruce’s laughter stopped immediately and he settled into a run that Clark swiftly matched. They reached the trees and turned left, heading towards the circus. Staying back in the forest for shelter, they ran swiftly, Clark’s sharp eyes letting him pick out any upturned roots or stumps that might trip a normal person up. At first he kept his eyes on Bruce’s path as well, making sure the other boy didn’t trip either, but Bruce didn’t seem to need any help. He seemed to sense where the obstacles where and agilely avoided them.
They ran in silence for several minutes, until the field tapered off beside them and they reached the start of the fair grounds. Bruce slowed and stopped easily, hardly looking winded at all. He crouched behind an overturned log and stared out at the grounds. Clark crept up next to him and quickly scanned the field with his x-ray vision. It was a strain to see through the trailers and focus in on them from so far away, but Clark kept at it. He swept the grounds back and forth several times, but there was no sign of Richie. "Do you see him?" Bruce asked quietly as he noticed what Clark was doing.
Shaking his head, Clark closed his eyes, rubbing them gently. "No, either he’s not there or somehow he’s hiding."
Bruce sucked in his breath in irritation and pointed towards the end of the road into the grounds. Clark could just barely make out a car that was parked in the shadows of the forest. "I guess the police left a guard here," Bruce whispered. Clark stared inside the car and winced suddenly. He pulled his gaze back and looked down at the ground.
"They did," he said quietly, gritting his teeth.
"Damn," Bruce snarled. "Any survivors?"
"No."
"How can you tell this far off? They could still be alive."
"They’re in half, Bruce." He stared at Clark and then his mouth twisted into a grimace.
"I swear, I’m going to hook him to the back of your car and drag him off to jail," he promised.
"You want any help with that?" Clark asked him.
"Thought you’d never ask." Silently jumping over the log, he motioned Clark to follow him. They scurried, keeping low to the ground until they reached the safety of the first trailer. Bruce crouched underneath it, staring out between the wheels, looking for any activity. Clark pressed himself against the side of the trailer, listening intently. Aside from his rushed heartbeat, the night was silent, hardly an owl hooted in the forest. Breaking it, there was a sudden chittering of bats far off, but that hardly made him feel any better.
Keeping his voice low, Clark asked Bruce, "Do you remember where you smashed your car?"
"Fifty meters up and half that to the right," he answered in a voice that only carried a few feet. His eyes narrowed suddenly and he glanced at Clark. "How are you feeling? Any weakness?"
Clark narrowed his eyes, and then shook his head. "Just nerves. But I have to be fairly close for there to be a reaction."
"How close?" Bruce asked him.
"Ten feet, maybe," Clark offered lamely. "Not enough for a warning."
Bruce shrugged and scanned the trailers again. His face was taunt with emotion; excitement, fear, Clark couldn’t tell. Regardless of either, he looked more alive now than he had ever before. Bruce noticed Clark looking and turned briefly, giving him that same half-grin from before. Then he stared out again, his face serious once more. He crept out from the trailer, keeping to the shadows as he moved. Clark followed him as best he could, envying Bruce’s ability to move so easily in the shadows. Personally, Clark felt more exposed than he ever had. He could almost feel Richie’s hands coming at him from behind, but every time he turned, startled, there was nothing there. Sweeping the field with x-rays hardly helped either. The other boy was nowhere to be found.
If he sees us before we see him… Clark pushed the thought away with force. No, we’ll find him, he promised himself. We have to.
They covered the distance to the car in a few minutes, moving slowly, their eyes constantly searching around them. There was little to see; trailer doors swung open in the wind, the police had removed all the bodies, so all that was left were random splashes of dried blood on the grass or the trailer walls. It was like a ghost town, Clark thought, instantly regretting it. He tried to keep his mind sharp, listening intently to any sound that might warn them of danger, the scrape of Richie’s skin against a trailer, the grass being crushed beneath his feet. But there was nothing. Nothing. Clark swallowed nervously and focused on Bruce, trying to remain as calm as he was. The other boy looked alert yes, but not worried.
"Here we are," Bruce muttered as he crouched down beside the wreck of his car. The sedan was embedded in the side of a trailer up to the windshield. There was a wide tear down the center of the hood where Richie had ripped his way out. Both front doors were bent in their frames, jamming them into place. Bruce swung the duffel bag off his back and put it down by the wreck. He tugged on the back door, but it was jammed shut as well.
"Terrific," Clark said, still looking around. Bruce frowned and then smashed the window in with his elbow. Clark jumped as the sound exploded behind him. "I thought you said to be quiet?" he whispered.
"No other way," he said, clearing the rest of the glass out of the window with the pole. Then he set it down and reached into the car, rummaging about the backseat. He pulled a long cylinder case out and leaned it up against the car. Then he reached in again and pulled out two more bags, throwing them on the ground.
"Are they really going to help?" Clark asked, glancing quickly. Bruce smiled and unzipped one of the bags to reveal a row of gleaming ninja stars sewed into the lining.
"Can’t hurt," he said, pulling out a black belt full of the stars. He latched it around his waist and pulled one of the stars off. "Us, I mean," he added, examining the edge.
Clark smiled and turned around, bathing the area with x-rays again. As the world fell away, he saw a vague outline rush forward in the trailer right next to them. It was human shaped, but had no skeleton that would have stood out so noticeably. Suddenly there was a loud tearing sound and Clark dropped his x-ray vision just as a figure smashed through the trailer wall straight towards him. He saw a flash of Richie’s face, snarling angrily, and then his breath rushed out of him as Richie buried his arm in his stomach.
"Clark!" Bruce screamed, readying a star in his hands to throw.
Clark was dead, he was sure of it. He looked up at Richie’s face, stiff and set, but his eyes horribly gleeful, and Clark was sure it would be the last thing he would see. His vision swam and faded into gray, and then… he coughed. Clark hacked and sucked in air, righting himself. Blinking away tears, Clark was surprised to discover he could breath. He glanced up at Richie, and saw the boy’s face just as puzzled. Then he looked down, expecting to see Richie’s hand impaled in him, but instead his chest was fine. Richie’s hand was extended, as sharp and pointed as any spear, but his fingers hadn’t pierced Clark’s skin.
Slowly a smiled broke out over Clark’s face and he glanced up at Richie. The other boy’s mouth twisted into a snarl and swiped his hand at Clark’s face. Catching it tightly, Clark tightened his fingers around Richie’s arm, feeling Richie’s skin grate against his, but there was no pain. Marveling at it, Clark threw him back into the trailer. Richie hit it awkwardly and fell on his back, the air rushing out of him.
"Clark?" Bruce said, rushing up beside him. He stared at Clark’s stomach and then looked up at him, astonished. "What happened? He should’ve had you."
"I know," Clark said, looking at Richie. This close to him, he should have been feeling weak and dizzy, but instead, incredibly, he felt fine. He glanced at his hand for the telltale reaction with the meteor rocks, but it was fine. "Yesterday I couldn’t get near him, but now…" he said, staring. The meteor rocks, he thought suddenly, staring at the three stones embedded in Richie’s chest. Yesterday they had been glowing green, but now they were a dark gray. "The rocks must have worn off," he realized. "He can’t cut me now."
"I’m going to do a lot more than that," Richie screamed, launching himself at Clark again. Bruce snapped into a fighting stance, readying himself, but Clark stepped forwards. He swung his fist with all his might into the boy’s gut. It felt as hard as stone, but it gave slightly and Richie staggered back, gasping. He tripped and fell backwards again, gulping in air.
Bruce slowly relaxed and stared down at him. "Well this is a disappointment," he stated bitterly. Clark frowned at him and Bruce put up his hands deferentially, stepping back. "Hey, I’m glad you’re still alive, but I was expecting something more. A fight, some action," he remarked. "I didn’t expect things to go this easily." Clark started to answer him when he noticed a sudden whining in the air. With all the action, he hadn’t noticed it until just now. Bruce heard it to then and craned his head upwards, listening. Then, over the forest, three military helicopters burst into view. Searchlights bathed the area as they flew overhead.
"You just had to say it, didn’t you," Clark yelled as the lights darted towards them. Bruce yanked Clark into the lee of a trailer and pulled him underneath it.
"We can’t let them see us," he yelled, making himself heard over the rotor noise.
"I thought they weren’t supposed to get here till tomorrow," Clark shouted back.
"They must have been closer than we thought." Bruce started suddenly and grabbed Clark again. "Richie’s still out there." Clark looked out from under the trailer, trying to find him. Then he saw him limping away by the far trailer. The helicopters bathed Richie in light and he stared up at them, snarling. There was a shot, and a bullet ricocheted off his leg, almost making him buckle. He cursed and broke into a run, moving with surprising speed. In an instant he was halfway to the forest. Two of the helicopters roared after him in pursuit, but the other broke off to circle through the grounds.
"They’re trying to bring him down," Bruce said, starting to climb out from under the trailer. "Bullets won’t hurt him though. If he reaches the forest they’ll lose him." Clark grabbed his leg and pulled him back in as another helicopter flew by overhead. "Let me go!" he said, yanking his leg back.
"They’ll spot you," Clark said, inching forwards. "Look, I’ll follow him, they won’t see me. You stay put until they leave," he yelled. Bruce frowned, and for a moment, Clark thought he wouldn’t agree, but then he nodded.
"Alright," he said bitterly, "but I’ll follow you as soon as I can." Clark nodded and dashed out from under the trailer, running as fast as he could. He passed through the searchlight’s beam, but he knew no one could see him moving at this speed. Clark reached the edge of the forest in seconds and dashed through, following after Richie.
Trees rushed by him as Clark dashed through the forest. He hurtled over stumps and smashed his way through bushes, trying to follow Richie as best he could. It was almost impossible to see him in the darkness; even with his x-ray vision Richie was nothing more than an outline. The two helicopters whined overhead as their searchlights tried to pierce through the thick treetops. Clark pressed on though, and ran as fast as he could while still searching for Richie. Suddenly there was a gap in the tree line and the searchlights stabbed down just ahead of Clark, making him come to a screeching halt. Backing up, he suddenly heard a crashing sound to his right and spun around. A sapling shook slowly, its limbs almost torn off of it. Farther past it, Clark could hear more crashing sounds. "Richie," he said and followed quickly. The helicopters continued on behind him, heading off in the wrong direction, Clark knew. Regardless of which, Clark ran on trying to catch up with Richie.
Suddenly the forest ended and Clark ran onto an old farm field, now filled with weeds. He slowed down suddenly, glancing around to get his bearings. Then his stomach lurched and he stared down at his hand as it writhed. Specks of green light winked up at him from in between the weeds. The meteor rocks, he thought and then Clark realized where he was. Sure enough, he glanced down the field to see the abandoned foundry looming in front of him. It was the same foundry where he had fought Greg Arkin, who had been transformed into some kind of… man-spider by the meteor rocks. It was also one of the most heavily concentrated meteor rock locations in Smallville. Clark gasped and stared at the foundry, his breathing heavy from the run. If Richie wanted to fight him here, he couldn’t have picked a better place, Clark thought grimly. Then he noticed the foundry’s door swinging wide open. "Perfect," he muttered, and dashed towards it. Flashes of green winked out at him from the ground as he ran by grimly. As a child, he could never walk near this field without almost passing out, and now it was no different. His heart hammered in his chest as Clark continued, running for the foundry doors.
He lurched inside and tried to catch his breath. The sickness was less in here, with piled up lead machinery blocking some of the rocks’ effect, but it was still noticeable. Clark took a few hesitant steps forwards and then went flying as Richie tackled him from behind. Richie fought madly, clawing and ripping at him as they tumbled across the foundry floor. But despite the damage he had done to Clark last night, he couldn’t pierce his skin now. With brute strength, Clark threw Richie off and started to climb to his feet, but Richie was quicker. Born and raised in a circus, he tumbled like an acrobat and threw himself at Clark again, knocking him down once more. Clark fell awkwardly and his cheek struck something hard. Suddenly his skin felt like it was burning and he screamed, flinching away in pain. It was another meteor stone, resting a few inches from his head. Before he could scramble away, Richie suddenly fell on top of him, his hands clamping around Clark’s head and grimly forcing it down on the meteor rock. The sickness roaring through his head, Clark struggled against it, but his cheek was slowly forced down to the stone. Clark screamed as he touched it, and the pain gave him enough strength to throw Richie away. The boy smashed into a box of crates and disappeared in the rubble.
Free, Clark scrambled away from the stone, his chest working like a bellow. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Fighting back nausea, he climbed to his feet, staring around him again. Clark called out, "Richie! You have to give yourself up!" He staggered forwards, craning his head to search for him, not trusting his x-ray vision here.
"I can’t do that!" Richie called back from somewhere close. Clark turned around quickly, but he couldn’t find him. He put his back to the side of a thick metal slab and waited, staring around. "I’m never going quietly again," Richie yelled and stepped out from behind a smelting pot. Clark started towards him, but then stopped suddenly as Richie held up a chunk of meteor rock in his hands. The rock glowed bright green and Clark felt its light lance into him.
"This hurts you, doesn’t it?" Richie said with a laugh. His voice was almost insane with intensity, his eyes gleaming. "What makes you weak, makes me strong!" he laughed, holding the rock high over his head. "Did they change you too?" he asked, but then shook his head, his muscles creaking. "No, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters to me anymore. I’m free," his voice becoming a whisper.
"We can get you help, Richie," Clark said quickly. "Doctors might be able to-"
"To do what?" Richie interrupted. "To cure me?" He shook his head, mockingly sad. "I’m more than fine. And I’m not Richie anymore." He frowned and then his face lit up. "Call me… Shard," he said quietly. He laughed again and looked up at the meteor rock in his hands. Richie, or rather Shard, frowned suddenly and his face contorted. The light from the rock flickered and then slowly dimmed as the stones in his chest blazed into life. Throwing the drained stone aside, Shard flexed his fingers wickedly. His chest swelled and he smiled broadly. "That’s much better," he said quietly. Clark edged away, the radiation hammering into him now, stronger than ever.
Shard smiled and started to advance, his fingers mincing at his sides in anticipation. "Last time we tried this, something was a little off," he said quietly, swiping his hand down the side of a metal plate. Sparks flew around it as his fingers carved deep gashes down its side. "Let’s just give it one more go, what do you say?" he asked. Suddenly there was a scream of metal and sparks from his right shoulder and Shard grunted in surprise. He plucked a badly bent metal star from his shoulder and stared at it, dumbfounded. "What the hell?" he muttered as three more struck his chest, flying off. Clark and Shard both started as they saw Bruce crouched on one of the old walkways overhead.
"No matter what you call yourself," he said, "you’re still the same pathetic waste you’ve always been… Richie."
"Tom!" Shard yelled at him, turning away from Clark. "I was hoping for this," he said eagerly.
"In a minute," Bruce promised him. He picked up the metal pole he’d brought with them from the farm. "Hey Smallville!" he called to Clark, and tossed the pole down to him. Clark caught it easily and leveled it at Shard. The other boy snarled at him, but then turned around again as Bruce dropped to the floor behind him. Rolling to avoid the shock, Bruce came to his feet clutching the same cylindrical package he’d grabbed from the car. It almost looked like an architect’s design case, Clark wondered. Snapping the lid open, Bruce pulled out what was most definitely not blueprint though; it was a sword, a katana to be more precise. He unsheathed it and tossed the scabbard away with the rest of the case. The blade gleamed brightly and Shard took a step back, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. "I thought this would even the playing field," Bruce said quietly.
"Doesn’t change anything," Shard muttered. He bent down, ready and waiting. "Anytime you’re ready to die," he offered. Bruce smiled and advanced a few feet, holding the sword expertly. Shard swung at him angrily, but Bruce was still to far away. Fighting back the sickness, Clark held the pole tightly and circled around behind him, trying to get closer. Shard noticed him though and turned for a moment. It was then that Bruce struck. He leapt in close, the sword a glittering arc as he chopped at his arm. The blade sliced at it, but it only made a shallow cut on Shard’s tough skin. Still, he screamed in pain or anger, and rushed at Bruce. Now it was Clark’s turn, and he darted in to smash the pole into the small of Shard’s back, sending him sprawling. Clark retreated back quickly from the radiation, and Bruce stepped forwards as he did so. He swung again, but this time managed to Shard twist away. Bruce followed him, slashing always at his arms and legs, trying to disable him. Clark darted behind them and threw his shoulder into a pile of scrap metal, sending it tumbling down onto Shard. Bruce leapt clear as the boy was pounded to his knees by the falling metal. Staggering up, Clark swung the pipe at him like a baseball bat and knocked him up and off his feet, sending him hurtling into the remains of an old conveyer belt.
Clark rushed towards him, heedless of the danger, his vision swimming around him. Desperately, he swung the pole down on Shard, but the boy caught it and wrenched it away from him. Clark tried to jump away as Shard slashed at him, but he wasn’t quick enough and Shard’s fingers tore into his arm. Stumbling backwards, he tried to get away, but again, he wasn’t fast enough. Shard’s hand, pointed and as deadly as any spear, hurtled towards him, and this time Clark doubted that it would only knock the wind out of him. But then, there was a flash of steel and Shard pulled his arm back, clutching at his hand. One of his fingers fell to the floor and rolled away. There was no blood on the end of it; the severed end was as solid as piece of stone. Shard stared incredulously at the stump of his finger as Bruce stepped in front of Clark, shielding him.
Shard shrieked in wordless fury and slashed savagely at Bruce, ignoring the sword totally. Bruce ducked the blow and answered with one of his own, chipping off pieces of Shard’s skin, but he seemed beyond caring now. Like a maddened elephant, he charged Bruce, making him dodge back quickly. Bruce tried to parry some of Shard’s slashes as best he could, but some couldn’t block them all and in moments he was bleeding from several wounds. Then with a loud snap, Bruce’s sword broke against Shard’s arm and he fell back against the old gear lift for the smelting pot. Clark cried out as he saw Bruce fall. Shard yelled in triumph and thrust his hands down towards his neck, seemingly intent on decapitating Bruce. Gathering his strength, Clark threw himself at Shard in a tackle, feeling the skin grating off his forearms as he hit him. Bruce scrambled out of the way as Shard fell forwards, his arms going into the gear slots in the old machine. "Pull the lever!" Bruce yelled and Clark hurriedly threw it. Shard screamed suddenly as the abandoned machine rumbled to life one last time and the gears started to turn. He tried to yank his arms out, but they were already caught fast and the machine grinded down on them.
Bruce and Clark stumbled back as the machine rocked on its supports, smoke and pieces of metal shooting out from it. Shard screamed again and the machine seemed to howl with him in a horrible whine of metal on metal. Then there was an awful tearing sound and Shard fell back, his arms broken away in stumps at his elbows. He stared at the ruins of his arms, his eyes boggling insanely. The smashed ends were completely solid and there was no bleeding from the end of it. He looked like broken statue, standing there in shock. Shard opened his mouth to scream again, but nothing seemed to come. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. The machine whined to a rest beside him, spitting out chunks of rock from its gears.
For a moment, the only sounds were the two boys heavy breathing and the rumbling of the dying machine. Then slowly, Clark said, "Is he dead?" Bruce tried to stand, but his legs failed him, so he crawled over to Shard and touched his neck delicately. He frowned and stared down at him closely. Clark slowly pushed himself away from Shard, keeping his distance from the meteor rocks. "Well," he asked, wincing as his arms scraped against the floor, "is he dead?"
"I don’t think so," Bruce said hesitantly. "I can’t feel a pulse, but he looks like he’s breathing. He crawled back to Clark and sprawled out beside him. They lay there for a while, simply staring at Shard, Richie, a few meters away. Finally, Bruce said, "Not too bad. Not too bad at all." Clark looked at him like he was crazy, but then he couldn’t help himself and he started to laugh helplessly. He hurt, he was still suffering from the rest of the meteor rocks in the area, but he was alive, Clark realized with joy. Bruce smiled and joined in after a moment.
Still laughing, the two boys helped each other up, and then Bruce limped away to the open foundry door. "What are we going to do with him?" Clark asked, glancing back at Richie.
"I think we can signal the helicopters out there and let them deal with him," Bruce said wearily. "I stashed one of the bags here before I climbed inside," he muttered and after a minute’s search, he returned with a small flare gun. "We just have be away from here before they arrive."
"Don’t expect me to carry you out," Clark joked. "I think the fastest I can manage is a hobble." He winced as the old wound in his side bit into his suddenly. It must have re-opened in the fight, he thought absently.
"I thought you were faster than a speeding bullet," Bruce laughed, and then grunted in pain as he touched his one of his shoulders tenderly. "Tell you what, I’ll raise you," he said with that half-grin on his face. Clark smiled as Bruce raised the flare gun to the sky. "On your marks."
"Get set," Clark laughed.
"Go!" The flare shot upwards, illuminating the night, as the two boys lurched away at a half-run, half-limp. Their laughter mingled in the night as they made their way to the forest, across the fields. Far away, they could see the lights from the helicopters turn around and come around towards them. As they disappeared into the protection of the forest, the helicopters raced to the swiftly dying flare, converging on the foundry.

END OF CHAPTER FIFTEEN