This Burning World

By Jeff Lane

Picking up where This Paper World left off, Jim Hunt is at home with friends and family for summer break... but only briefly. He has committed to attend intense training to hone his new abilities at a Champion training camp in northern Maine. Upon arriving at the camp, Jim is introduced to his new teacher, Clyde, a crusty curmudgeon of a man who is determined to keep Jim on his toes. Sharing the camp is a talented young teen, Gabby, who hasn't "flipped her switch" yet, but has the potential to become a powerful Champion.

While at the camp, a powerful enemy who has crossed Jim's path before strikes a devastating blow. Jim sets off on a solo journey of vengeance to bring retribution down on this evil being. Will Jim find the justice he seeks or will he lose his life and his soul in the pursuit?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeff Lane
• Release date: Dec 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311384591

Jeff Lane

Jeff Lane lives in New Hampshire with his wife and two children. He also publishes his fiction in audio form, as a podcast, available free on iTunes. His website is www.jefflaneaudiobooks.com. Please follow him on Twitter; @writerjefflane and “like” him on Facebook.

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THIS BURNING WORLD

Jeff Lane

Published by

Jeff Lane

[e-mail]

http://www.jefflaneaudiobooks.com

This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, and plot are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, companies, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 Jeff Lane

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

First Smashwords edition December 2014

For Richard Lane,

my dad who kept saying, when are you going to write that book?

Prologue

On the second highest floor of an unremarkable office building in Manhattan, two powerful and evil creatures stood in front of the door to a makeshift drug lab. The slightly taller and more distinguished of the two clearly carried the demeanor of leader of this short-lived double act.

There is something seriously wrong in that lab. They did something. Come on! Ford, dressed in dark military cargo pants and gray mock-neck pullover looked at his new acquaintance, a piercing-riddled Spoiler who had either acquired or granted himself the moniker of Pestilence. He then shifted his gaze to the young child impatiently beckoning to follow him further down the hallway.

Pestilence couldn’t see their young companion. In truth, he might not actually have been there at all, but Ford trusted him all the same. He had been a constant and unflappable presence in Ford’s life ever since…

Well, best not to think of that. Despite the young ethereal companion’s insistence that they continue up the hall, Ford just had to figure out what had been done in that lab. The pair he was chasing, the young Champion and his Pedagogue could wait. They were going up after all, trapping themselves further in this Spoiler fortress – his juvenile escort had already indicated that. Just a quick peek wouldn’t matter.

Ford opened the door to the lab, and instantaneously recognized the heavy, acrid scent of propane.

Oh man! They’re gonna blow this place up! Apparently all the metal inserted in and around Pestilence’s nose had not impacted his sense of smell. He reached inside the door to flick on the lab’s overhead lights. His hand never got within a foot of the switch.

You want to go with it? Ford’s hand tightly encircled Pestilence’s wrist only as long as needed to arrest his motion and stop the impetuous killer from igniting the flammable gas inadvertently. He let go just as quickly to end the unpleasant tingling coursing up his arm. He hated touching these things.

The unseen boy, who held a remarkable likeness to Ford, danced from one foot to the next, clearly impatient to move away from the dark, drug kitchen. Ford hated to ignore the guidance of the youngster whether or not he was a projection of his own psyche or abilities or whatever, but the hissing call of the gas jets from within the lab was stronger… if for no other reason than self preservation.

We’ve got to at least turn off the gas. Maybe ventilate it a little if we can. Ford stepped in, scanning the room despite the minimal light creeping in from the hallway. He saw the row of propane nozzles protruding from two stand-up height counters, one running through the middle of the room, the other on the far back wall. Did they turn on all of these?

Turn off all the spickets on the center counter. I’ll get the ones on the back wall. Ford continued to direct Pestilence, not looking back to see if he was complying with his orders.

It was clear the gas was denser as he stepped further into the room. He could feel its weight and solidity. Its stench was almost cloying, and was beginning to make Ford’s eyes water.

With a healthy dose of unnatural speed, he went to work closing the valves of the propane nozzles. Out of his peripheral vision he saw Pestilence, the lower half of his bedazzled face tucked into the neck of his T-shirt doing the same.

Ford closed the final valve and turned to scan for any more propane outlets he might have missed in his first assessment of the room. The young boy, dressed in a dark blue suit and red and blue striped tie (clip on tie, Ford remembered) stood in front of him.

With wide saucer-like eyes he silently pleaded for Ford to pay attention. Ford nodded, always trusting his small counselor. Assured he had Ford’s attention, he raised his suit-coat draped arm and pointed.

At first Ford thought the boy was pointing at Pestilence, who looked like he was two nozzles away from finishing his row. He looked back to the boy questioningly.

Again, the lad pointed, this time with more urgency. This time saw that the finger was actually aligned to a small stand-alone station in the corner of the room, just over Pestilence’s shoulder. On it was another propane nozzle along with a jumble or beakers, clamps and other assorted lab equipment.

Unknown to Ford, but perhaps known to his young friend, said lab equipment was actually set up as an effective blind, shielding a coffee maker; a coffee maker on an automatic start timer, counting down…

2…

1…

The whoosh-whump and pressure wave felt throughout Ford’s body were simultaneous and completely unexpected. Ford was so unprepared for this turn of events that even his high revving mind took several seconds to even start to assemble the pieces.

He was surrounded by a solid expanse of pure flame which he saw rather than felt… at least at first. He was no longer on his feet. In fact, his legs were above his head. One of his own knees has been driven forcefully into his mouth and nose. His side had been introduced rather expeditiously into a wall or some other solid object. How much damage his body had sustained in that collision was yet to be determined.

As the utter completeness of the fire dissipated to roaring flames, Ford saw that he was surrounded by and covered with a tangle of unrecognizable debris. Most of it was on fire.

He was on fire.

The heat didn’t rise gradually, but hit him all at once and with such an agony he couldn’t even begin to identify what parts of his body were being consumed. The sheer searing pain obliterated all but the most reptilian of brain functions. He ceased thinking and started thrashing.

He opened his eyes momentarily even though he was pretty sure that his face was on fire. In that brief glimpse, he saw the boy and it galvanized him – brought him back to a part of his brain that had at least some rational thought. How long that part of his mind would withstand the onslaught of raging torment he did not know.

He used that few precious seconds of thinking to spot Pestilence’s lifeless body… or the biggest hunk he could find anyway. He stumbled shakily through the blazing debris and collapsed next to Pestilence’s smoldering corpse.

With the last vestiges of sane thought ebbing away he lifted a blistered arm and slammed it onto Pestilence’s chest. Ford drew in a hot, shuddery breath and mentally pulled.

For a split second Ford couldn’t feel it; couldn’t feel the death residue that should be clinging to his murdered compatriot. Wasn’t this little twerp dead?

Then it came, almost swarming Ford, surrounding him and bathing him in a dirty crimson light. The light extinguished the actual flames, first tracing a thin outline around the injured Ford, then swelling to a roughly man shaped aura that extended six inches or more beyond his physical body.

Like an intravenous shot of morphine, the red glow muted (though not completely eradicated) the worst of Ford’s pain. He lie for a second not able to think, not able to move, only to enjoy the relative absence of his pain.

The boy stepped forward into Ford’s view appearing in flickering shades of pink and red through his ghostly veil. Both hands lifted from the boys sides in an unmistakable ‘get up’ gesture.

Ford knew he was right; he had to leave this inferno. He would only be protected for so long. But if he could only rest a few moments more. He could feel the red light swarming in and around his body, mending, healing, trying to put back together what was left of his charred limbs and torso.

He had no illusions that the crimson glow could completely repair him. He had used it too many times, and though he didn’t pretend to know all its limits, he was pretty sure it couldn’t completely repair the mess his body had become.

Again, the child lifted his arms, more urgently this time.

OK. OK, I’m going, Ford croaked through cracked and withered lips.

He willed himself to stand up, steeling himself for the pain, and found, with no recollection of how he got there, he was standing.

The walls, ceiling and floor of the makeshift drug lab were ablaze and glowing orange. Blue flames shot out from the broken gas pipelines leading to the now demolished lab stations. Ford, for all intents and purposes was standing in an oven.

He knew he had outstayed his welcome. He needed to leave before the floor collapsed, the ceiling caved in, or both. His crimson shield could only protect him from so much, no matter how much he had learned to harness and master it.

With the boy leading the way, Ford walked out into the flaming hallway. Sprinklers were valiantly fighting a battle they had no hope of winning. Ford walked through the flames and water, a burnt and twisted parody of his former self.

He no longer had the desire to go up one flight to follow his original targets; Hunt and the old man. For one, he knew his first priority was leaving the premises of the Primadon Tower and putting as much distance between it and him as quickly as possible. And two, the red glow that surrounded him, which had now begun to shimmer and undulate, was guiding him, pulling him down, down the tower in their wake.

They had collected whatever they needed from the 41st floor above him and were now exiting the building at a high rate of speed.

Ford smiled… or tried to anyway, his blistering and oozing face making a mockery of the expression. It didn’t matter how fast they fled or how far they got. They were, in essence, Pestilence’s executioners. When they killed him through their clever little trap, they left a trail of guilt and culpability.

Ford could follow this trail wherever they went in this world. And follow it he would… all the way to their steaming corpses.

With that thought pulsating in his mind, Ford stepped into a stairwell and started down to the street level. His small companion had gone gauzy and ethereal and would soon disappear altogether until Ford had need of him again. The light around Ford began to shimmer and dance as if imitating the flames that were consuming the top floors of this building.

Ford descended the stairs content in the knowledge that he had this power with him again. He knew that until he killed Jim Hunt it would be with him, inside him; his precious, wonderful burning!

Chapter 1

The red light flickered and danced, sometimes almost orange, other times growing dim, almost black, only to blaze back to life again. Jim Hunt sighed happily as he lay on his back on the sun warmed outcropping. Sunlight was sparring with the leaves of the tree branches above him, boogying across his closed eyelids.

Shirtless, his tan body soaked in the warm sun in a way that he could not have explained to his dearest and oldest friend Justin Landry who sat beside Jim on the rock a few feet away. He couldn’t explain it because his body, on many levels, was nothing like Justin Landry’s… or most other people on the planet for that matter.

Justin had his knees drawn up to his chest, his bare arms wrapped loosely around them. His bare feet kept enough tension on the sloping rock to keep him from slipping into the shimmering waters of the pond ten feet below them.

His close cropped hair (much closer than when the two had been in High School) was just a shade darker brown than Jim’s sun streaked, slightly shaggier mop. His features, though slightly more round and bulbous than Jim’s own angled and chiseled features had still aligned themselves to form a handsome countenance, but gave him the impression of being a little beefier than his frame suggested.

Man, this sucks. Justin said, not for the first time as he scanned the far shore.

Are you really pissed? Jim cracked one eye open to squint at his best friend. He knew the answer though. He knew it even before he broke the news that even though they had both been home from college for a few weeks, Jim would be heading to the willy-wacks of Maine for the rest of the summer.

You know it does, Jim. Justin kept staring across the pond that was, at least for now, Jim and Justin’s own private swimming hole.

Though summer hadn’t officially begun according to the calendar, Massachusetts was certainly experiencing a great sneak preview. Pete Bouchard on 7 News had already declared one official heat wave, and said that if they topped 90 degrees again today and tomorrow (which was looking pretty likely), that would make heat wave number two.

Yeah, I guess it does. Jim propped himself up on his elbows unconsciously imitating Justin’s inspection of the trees on the other side of the pond.

Justin glanced at Jim out of the corner of his eye and pretended not to notice how ripped Jim had gotten over their freshman year. He had always been in good shape, but jeez, Hunt, steroids much or what?

So, run this by me again… you’re going up to the deep woods of Maine to learn construction? Justin turned his attention fully to Jim.

Yeah, basically… and to help out a friend of my neighbor, Mr. Parker. Jim stopped realizing how good he was getting at telling this lie weeks ago. His friend Clyde is a little older, but wants a camp or cabin or something. He’s got the know how to build it, but, you know, not the body. Park is also worried he’ll get hurt or something and no one will be there to help him.

So how come Park doesn’t go?

Jim was momentarily stumped. This was one thread he hadn’t yet added to his woven tapestry of untruths. "Um, well, he is… too… going, I mean. Not the whole time, but to, ah, drop me off, you know.

And he’s not young either. I think they need kind of a young buck for the real heavy stuff. Jim’s tall tale train was leaving the station and heading down the express line to Phonyville.

No, but between the two of them, they’d be fine, right? They don’t need you. Justin, not unlike Jim’s former roommate Eric was quite the salesman when he wanted to be.

Ah, I don’t know about that. Jim cracked a smile, though he did know. He knew very well that Park and Clyde would have been more than capable of building a mansion if that is what they wanted to do, despite their advanced age. It just so happened that building anything at all wasn’t the real purpose of Jim’s visit to northern Maine.

The truth was that Clyde was more than Park’s friend and some old coot who wanted to spend his days fending off mosquitoes up near the Alagash. He was a trainer of Champions. If Park had given Jim his schooling, Clyde was going to give him his advanced degree.

Plus, Park’s a little old school, you know? He thinks everybody ought to learn a trade and all that. He thinks that learning to swing a hammer will be good for me. That might be the truth, Jim thought. He might actually teach me to fight with a hammer.

Like Thor? Justin teased.

Jim started for a split second thinking Justin had somehow read his mind… which, given Jim’s last six months, wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibility. Ha, yeah, exactly like that.

Well, whatever. It’s just going to suck, that’s all. Justin started getting up, brushing the dirt and pine needles off the seat of his green board shorts. I mean, it was one thing when you went to school in Florida, but I thought we’d at least have the summer to hang out. What do you say we head back to my house?

Justin twisted, looking for the keys to his mom’s silver Volvo on the ledge, not realizing his foot was practically touching them. Just the small bit of contact sent them sliding down the angled rock face.

Justin! Keys! Jim tried to warn, only to see them drop over the edge, followed almost instantaneously by an unmistakable bloop as they went for a swim of their own.

The profanity that leapt from Justin’s mouth was expected but unnecessary as he stated the obvious.

Jim hesitated for a split second weighing his options and then dove gracefully from their sun-warmed perch into the cold, clear water. With strong kicks and strokes he pulled himself deeper down the almost sheer rock face into the depths of the pond. The darkness closed in around him as if the sunlight had said, ‘you’re on your own, buddy.’

The temperature continued to drop as Jim descended further into the depths. The pressure around him pushed noticeably in on his ears. Finally, he reached the bottom, swiveling his head left and right. His lungs starting to send signals that they wanted to start heading up now.

Even with his enhanced vision which could see into darkness even better than a cat, he could barely see anything. The floor of the pond was an undistinguishable uniformly gray muck with an occasional slime covered stick or branch scattered about.

Where are those keys?!? he screamed internally. Just as he was about to give up and head for the surface, he felt an undulating pulse leap out from him. His mouth immediately filled with a taste that made him feel like he was chewing on pennies with a chaser of Worcester sauce.

Almost immediately an image was returned to his brain. It was the floor of the pond around him – 360 degrees. It wasn’t visual, per se, but it left a detailed picture etched in his brain.

The keys were about four feet to his right, three inches beneath the muck. His hand shot out, finding his objective right away. His fingers closed around the keys.

Well, that was new, Jim thought as he flipped his feet around beneath him. He coiled his legs, ready to spring off the bottom. They sunk almost four inches in the ooze before finding solid purchase. With a powerful thrust, he rocketed through the water, requiring only a few powerful pulls before he breached the surface into the warm air.

Jeez, Jim! I know you’re a lifeguard and all, but I was beginning to get worried. Those keys aren’t worth your life, man. Forget it. They’re gone. Justin had an uncharacteristically serious look on his face.

Nah, Jim blew a fine spray into the streaming sunlight as he exhaled the spent supplies of his lungs and pulled in a deep gulp of fresh air. I got ‘em right here.

Jim lifted his right hand, showing Justin the keys and then tossed them up to his astonished but relieved friend. Justin bobbled them a moment before finally clutching them close to his chest. He didn’t want to make his best friend go for another free dive.

Jim easily climbed up the craggy face of the ledge to the spot they had been hanging out and diving off since adolescence.

Holy crap, Jim! How did you do that? My dad says it’s like 50 or 60 feet deep here. That’s like a six-story building!

Oh, probably. Jim grabbed his towel and started vigorously scrubbing at his matted hair. But I didn’t have to go all the way down. The keys were still dropping… you know, just kind of drifting down. Jim held his flat hand out, palm down and swung it back and forth, like a feather floating down from above. Such a gesture would surely help make this fiction concrete.

Justin’s brain was trying to make the physics of Jim’s account work out in his head and then gave up. That had to be what happened. Even though Jim blew his doors off in swim team in High School, there was no way he would have made it to the bottom.

Lucky for me. My mom would have killed me for losing her keys. Thanks for getting them. Justin turned the keys over in his hand, wondering how the electronic guts of the key fob would fare the soaking.

* * * * *

The two lifelong best friends hiked back through the woods to where the Landry family’s Volvo wagon was parked in a small turnabout. Justin skillfully navigated it down the narrow, rutted track which had been carved out over the past few decades by intrepid youths trekking to and from this local favorite swimming hole.

Only once did they encounter another vehicle heading up to the pond; a jeep with four shirtless guys who looked maybe a few years older than Jim and Justin. Both vehicles pulled as far as they could to their respective sides of the road leaving a wide margin of at least two inches between their side mirrors. Respectful head nods were exchanged and the parties were on their way.

At the Landry house, Justin’s mom invited Jim to stay for dinner, which Jim politely declined.

I promised my parents I would have dinner with them before I head out tomorrow. Jim explained. Justin had already filled his parents in on his best friend’s summer plans to abandon him.

Want a ride home? Justin asked reaching for the keys which he had strategically left in a streak of sunlight on the window sill.

No, I’m good. I kind of want to walk.

Jim and Justin grasped hands and gave each other a rugged two slaps on the back (any more and it would have gotten weird) and said their good-byes.

Jim headed down the walk, calling out to Justin’s younger brother, who was lazily swinging in a hammock with a young, tan girl in a striped shirt and white shorts.

Hey, Pete! Next year, you’d better rule the school at least as good as our senior class did.

Even better, Jim. We’re going to leave a senior legacy that will put your class to shame, his Massachusetts accent made the word come out as Seen-ya.

Good luck trying, Jim returned as he hit the sidewalk and turned right. Have a good summer.

The Hunt’s gray cape was less than a mile’s walk. Jim thought of jogging and then decided a walk might be nicer. The sun was low in the sky, casting a magic light through the elms that lined the street. Even though the humidity hadn’t completely broken, small puffs of breeze made the evening heat enjoyable. His school year spent in Florida conditioned him for temperatures worse than this.

With each long stride, Jim opened himself up more, started removing the filters he had consciously learned to craft over the past few months. He could smell the plants and earth, feeling a connection with them more fully and completely than most people will even begin to sense. His ears filled with a cacophony of buzzing insects, tweeting birds, and chatter both from televisions and real people alike drifting from the houses around him.

His vision too had taken on a clarity that could not be duplicated by any technology created by man. There were so many more colors in his visual spectrum than there had been before last winter. He could actually see the mist and particles of pollen and dust floating in the humid air around him. The world was so much more mind-numbingly beautiful than he could have ever dared to imagine before his transformation.

Not that he hadn’t sensed deep down that there was something else, almost a barrier between him and some larger aspect of the world. In fact, he used to dream of a door - a locked door with his true nature, his true dimension hidden away behind.

Even though he tried not to, his mind often drifted back to the events of last January when he and his roommate, Eric had driven from Florida to New York City to break into an impenetrable fortress of otherworldly beings known as Spoilers to rescue his neighbor and mentor, Nathaniel ‘Park’ Parker.

It was during that trip that Jim made a choice… a full, no-turning-back commitment to his true nature… to his destiny. That decision blew that mythical door off its hinges and fully transformed Jim into the being that nature had intended him to be; a Champion.

That little escapade also culminated in the explosion and fire on the top several floors of the Spoiler’s office building labeled by the press as The 1 2 3 Terrorist Attack, based on the date, January 23rd, which was surely specifically chosen by the terrorists who seemed to have a penchant for clever numerology in the dates of their attacks (9/11, 7/7, etc.).

Jim was only a handful of people who knew truth about that explosion; that it was actually set by him and Park to create a distraction that would aid their escape from the building, and hopefully cover the tracks of their night’s handiwork.

As Jim rounded the corner to his street, the street he had lived on since he was three years old, he slowed his pace, taking in the scene before him. Being a quiet street, there were six or seven kids careening back and forth on bikes and scooters. An abandoned hopscotch grid, woefully out of square was etched in chalk just off the curb ahead of him.

He inhaled deeply taking in the scene. The slanting sun was casting everything in a golden light that even the most skilled Hollywood cinematographer would never be able to fully capture. The long shadows of the kids and their various wheeled transports stretched across the pavement, zig-zagging back and forth, the owners of those shadows whooping and laughing. Jim couldn’t help but to be nearly overcome by the simple beauty of the scene.

Time to rein it back in, Jim thought sadly as he started re-applying the blockades and walls necessary to put him close to par with the other two legged creatures he shared this planet with.

This process was fully complete as Jim turned up his driveway and headed for the kitchen door. He glanced over into his next door neighbor’s back yard. No sign of Park, but that was OK. They would have plenty of time together on the ride to Clyde’s camp tomorrow.

"Hey, Jamie!