A Dangerous Place to Live

By Nicholas Ahlhelm

He would like to think of himself as a hero, but even Freedom Patton knows that he is far from that. He is just a flawed man, yet a man always compelled to help those in need. His own past shrouded in secrecy, Freedom doesn’t know the origin of his powers and calling. Nonetheless, Freedom finds himself with a twentieth century calling in a twenty-first century world. He must act for life gives him no other choice. With the help of a former lover he goes in search of a homeless teenager. But when dark forces start moving through the small towns of Iowa, he quickly ends up stuck in the middle. He soon uncovers a massive conspiracy in the heartland of America which could lead to the complete and total destruction of the United States.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metahuman Press
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476127620

Nicholas Ahlhelm

Nicholas Ahlhelm produces new super powered fiction, often in a serialized format like you see here with Lightweight. He lives in Eastern Iowa where he wishes the winters were just a bit less wintery. Learn more about his work at superpoweredfiction.com. To directly back his writing and get new serialized stories months before everyone else, support him at Patreon.com/ahlhelm.

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Nicholas Ahlhelm’s

Freedom Patton in…

A Dangerous Place to Live

A Dangerous Place to Live Smashwords Edition © 2010, 2013 Nicholas Ahlhelm. All rights reserved, including the reproduction rights in whole or in part in any form. Some fonts used in production of this book were created by Blambot and are used under their Free Font License Agreement. © Nate Piekos. Blambot.com.

Cover design by Nicholas Ahlhelm.

Table of Contents

1. Ignition

2. The Flame Still Burns

3. Mourning

4. September 2001

5. Journeys Begin

6. Iniri

7. January 2002

8. February 2002

9. From Bad to Worse

10. Captive Audiences

11. All Comes Together

12. Standoff

13. Getaway

14. Awakenings

15. Showdown

16. Frontal Assault

17. New Blood

18. The Neanderthal

19. Caught

20. Games of Life and Death

21. Countdown to Destruction

22. Freedom’s Freedom

23. Freedom Versus the World

24. Endgame

Epilogue

About the Author

Lightweight: Dreams

One

Ignition

After all the misery I put myself through, all that came of it was another senseless death. Another failure to haunt me. More Blood on my hand. Champion City can go to hell. Freedom Patton knew it was time to move on by any means necessary. Even if it means hoofing it.

Being metahuman made things easier, especially with a running speed that could put a norm to shame. Even at a relaxed gait, he could cover about twelve miles an hour. He headed north, deeper in to Iowa. He wanted to forget, but knew he could never accomplish that goal. So he just hoped for distraction, something to make the pain fade even a little.

A spike of pain struck the base of his neck and surged up in to his skull. The feeling was horribly familiar, but Freedom never got used to it. He lost his footing. He stumbled off the road and in to the ditch. He landed hard on his rear, but the screaming in his skull blocked out any other pain.

A shiver ran down his back as he listened to the voices chatter around him. He rose to his feet and saw the smoke rising from the town up ahead. He struggled to remember the road signs further back on Highway 27. Mount Pleasant, the city was called.

The voices called out to him like they all did at first. Their dying agony rippled down his body and tied his stomach in to knots. He fought to keep his lunch down, but it was no use. He heaved what few contents remained in it on to the ground.

His skin itched as he continued to gasp for air. It felt to him like a furious case of hives, but he knew it could be far worse. The horror of being burnt alive sent his stomach twisting again. He did his best to resist before the dry heaves took him.

Freedom slowed his breathing. Need to focus, he thought. I have to get it together. Those people need me.

He pulled himself up and out of the ditch. His blue jeans were covered in mud and his own vomit, but he ignored the dampness creeping in to his skin. I’ve got to help them.

He rushed down the empty road as fast as his legs could carry him. The town was only about a half mile away.

He covered the distance in two and a half minutes. He cursed his slowness. Time meant lives, and he couldn’t risk the sacrifice of anymore.

Billowing clouds of smoke poured from the building. The four story building was the tallest in town, a large Victorian-style mansion left to decay in a city that didn’t really need it. The building was only partially-sided. From the construction signs on the spot it looked to be halfway through a renovation in to a Best Western Hotel.

The fire burned hot, but that didn’t seem to stop the town’s citizens from forming a crowd. As Freedom made his way through the gawkers, he contemplated whether anyone could survive in such a blaze.

Help!

A series of coughs followed the cry from the hotel. Freedom and the crowd both looked up to find the source of the voice. Despite the distortion in the air caused by the immense heat, they could make out the form of a middle-aged woman. Her face was smudged black. In her arms she clutched a tightly wrapped bundle. From its movement, Freedom knew it could only be one thing.

She was trapped on the top floor. A check of the windows to either side of her showed the flames encroaching. Freedom silently prayed he was not too late.

He shoved past the rest of the crowd. The road around the hotel was barricaded off to allow the fire trucks the room to work. But the police had only two officers to control the crowd. It may have been all the town could afford. Whatever the reason, the anarchy of the situation made it easy for him to slip past. He made it half way to the burning building before one of the cops noticed him.

Jake, we’ve got a runner! The second officer turned at the sound of his name. Freedom ignored both men as he continued towards the building. His mind was already on his options. He could jump farther than any normal human, but he couldn’t reach the fourth story on a single jump, and the building was isolated enough to keep him from using any nearby buildings as a springboard. He had no choice; he’d have to go inside.

Halt! Freedom turned his head at the sound of Officer Jake’s voice. The cop had his sidearm drawn and aimed at Freedom’s chest. Freedom turned his focus back on the burning building. Taking one last breath, he rushed forward and in to the blaze.

***

The heat around Freedom even as he entered was nearly unbearable. What was once a shabby hotel lobby looked more like the gates of hell.

Freedom knew he had a matter of a couple minutes before the heat would start to cook him alive. He charged forward, bursting through the rising flames and up the spiral staircase located in the middle of the building.

He’d barely made it to the second story when he felt the stairs shift beneath his feet. Looking down, Freedom saw the flames engulfing the base of the stairs, where he stood only moments before. Any hope of escape through the front entrance was now lost.

It took four more steps before the stairwell shifted again. Its supports were burning away below him. It would only be seconds before his own weight, would send the stairs collapsing beneath him. Freedom took one more step, before taking a blind leap upward.

Freedom angled the jump to take him past the third story curve and right to the fourth story landing. But in the heat and smoke, he’d misjudged the distance, coming just a few feet short of his target. Freedom flailed his arms out above him, just barely catching the edge of the landing.

He started to pull himself up hand over hand. The landing creaked horribly as he moved upwards, as just as he pulled himself over the safety railing, he felt it come loose. Freedom leapt forward and on to the fourth floor hall just as the stairwell lurched one last time and collapsed to the ground floor.

Freedom lay on the hall floor for a few more seconds, catching his breath and thanking his lucky stars he’d survived. He could feel his lungs burning at the smoke he inhaled. He pulled himself up t his feet. He was almost there; if he stopped now, they would all die.

The flames weren’t as bad here, but it still took Freedom some effort to maneuver down the hall. Nonetheless, it only took him a few seconds to find what he thought was the right door.

Freedom kicked it in. The door caved easily, already weakened by the blaze. The heat was becoming unbearable now. Freedom silently prayed that he had made it in time.

He bounded forward, clearing most of the smoke filled room. The floor below him seemed to moan as he landed. He knew the floor would be following the stairwell soon enough. He only seconds to get out alive.

The woman was still beside the window, but she now sat hunched against the wall. She still clutched the bundled child to her chest, but smoke inhalation had taken its toll on her. Freedom gently lifted the child from her arms. He felt it wriggle in its blanket, and it began to cry at the loss of its mother. The movement and noise was a good sign; the baby might make it. He lifted the woman up and on to his opposite shoulder. He knew he’d never be able to get them out through the hallway; he doubted he could survive the blaze alone. That left him with only one choice.

Freedom balanced the woman on his shoulder before yanking one of his twin .45s from its holster on the back of his belt. Raising the weapon, he emptied twelve rounds in to the window frame. The glass exploded outward and the frame crumbled to nothing under the impact.

Freedom shoved the gun back in to its holster and stepped back. He sized up the whole in the wall. It would be a tight fit, but he thought he could make it. Gripping the woman and child tight, Freedom charged forward and through the hole.

***

Annabelle Montalvo watched as the procession of hooded figures filed in to the room below her. The rafters of the old auction house had been her and Richie’s meeting place for the last few weeks, without any sign of another human. Why would anyone else be here?

She and Richard Williams had first met at Hoover High School. Richie never quite fit in with the other kids. Not even his father’s position as mayor helped him, and Richie naturally gravitated towards Annabelle. As the only Latina student (and the only non-white student in the entire school, for that matter), she knew what it was like to not fit in.

Now at nearly eighteen, she and Richie had been dating for nearly two years; sexually active for over half that. They’d always met in secret in that time. Neither Richie’s parents nor the town at large would ever approve of their relationship.

Where was Richie, she wondered. She wondered if he’d seen the strange crowd below and left. The red and blue hoods of the twenty or so men below came in a variety of shapes and sizes, but all of them covered the group’s faces completely. All the men, and they were all men Annabelle noted, seemed familiar. She recognized Abner Jones, who owned the gas station, and she had the sneaking suspicion that the figure at the head of the pack was none other than Horace Williams, Richie’s father and Tudor’s mayor.

What were all of Tudor’s most prominent citizens doing in an abandoned auction house? And why at this time of night?

Annabelle continued to watch as the group milled about for several moments below her. Finally, the garage doors on the far side of the auction house slid open. Two men came through first. Both were decked out in some kind of military fatigues, and their faces were covered as well, but by ski masks. But what they held worried Annabelle the most. Each carried an assault rifle of some kind.

The two men surveyed the auction house over the barrels of their weapons. Annabelle ducked back in to the lift, praying that neither man had noticed her.

She heard several more muttered comments from the hooded townsmen. After five more minutes, which seemed interminably longer to Annabelle, she leaned out again to see what was happening below.

The townsmen now stood in a semi-circle in the center of the auction house; while the two gunmen stood to either side. A new figure, this one dressed in a simple shirt and tie, entered, flanked by two more gunmen. Unlike everyone else present, he wore no mask. Annabelle was somewhat surprised by his blonde hair and pretty boy features; he looked like no one who lived in Tudor.

The murmuring of the townsmen ended with his arrival. Hello, gentleman of Tudor, he said. I’m impressed with your town’s turn out, but so often it’s only in a small, close knit community like this one, that the truth becomes obvious.

What is this, Annabelle thought. What the hell have I stumbled across?

Two

The Flame Still Burns

This was the part of being a so-called hero that Freedom liked the least.

The crowd of Mt. Pleasant residents all crowded around him, thanking him and questioning him. He would never understand the mob mentality, no matter how hard he tried. He just tried to weather the attention, even though he would rather just disappear.

But when you’re surrounded by a crowd of innocent locals, there truly was no escape. Freedom sighed and continued to take his new fans’ adulation, in all its varied forms.

***

The hooded citizens of Tudor clapped for the mysterious man. All Annabelle knew was that something in his voice, some creeping sound in the inflection of his words, sent a shiver down her spine. Something about him wasn’t quite right; something unnatural.

Nevertheless, she continued to listen to his speech.

Gentlemen of Tudor, I think you are aware of the many problems facing not only your fair city, but every single man, woman and child in this country. Annabelle watched him move his vision across the crowd, drawing in each and every man present with only the intensity visible in his eyes.

"Your country has betrayed you. It sells your jobs to foreign companies in order to save money. It gives your children’s chances at a higher education to blacks and Mexicans, while forcing your families farther and farther in to poverty by not subsidizing your family farms.

It must stop, my friends. We must all become brothers in arms, prepared to rise up and take our country back from those who would warp it to their own heathen image. And we must do it now!

The townspeople clapped for their orator. Annabelle’s flesh goose bumped in her hiding place on the loft. This man’s message was profoundly disturbing, but every one of his words seemed to pull his audience further and further in. Were the mayor and the citizens of Tudor really planning an all out revolt?

The auction house echoed as one of the large garage doors on the far wall slammed up and open. A massive figure stood alone in the moonlight, a large package of some kind slung over his broad shoulders. She quickly realized it wasn’t a package at all, but a body of a man. The carrier dwarfed his catch; even from across the room, Annabelle could tell he couldn’t be an inch under six and a half feet. He slung the limp body off his shoulder and on to the floor.

Annabelle gasped as she recognized the limp body. Richie!

I found this one skulking about behind the building, the big guy explained.

The speechmaker scratched his chin as he looked down at the new arrival. Good work, Liberator, he said. Annabelle began to panic. What would they do to Richie?

Please don’t hurt him! One of the hooded townsmen rushed forward. He pulled his hood from his head as he rushed to his son’s side. Horace Williams immediately checked Richie’s pulse and cradled him in his arms. He’s my son! Don’t hurt him!

The speechmaker walked to Horace’s side and rested one hand on the mayor’s shoulder. "Mr. Williams, you have put me in quite the quagmire, I must say. On one hand, I understand the love we all have for our sons and daughters, our family. But on the other hand, we must face the facts that sometimes our own family members, our own children, can turn against us, even become what we fight. Just look at your son,