The Light

By L R Buxton

This story is about a young fry cook, Cat Chambers, who becomes a superheroine almost by accident! After a humiliating run-in with the heavy-handed local police force in a Redditch-like town she decides to become 'The Light' - a fast-moving figure in black attire, who appears at night and uses blinding light to stun and shock her opponents - doing her best to free the community from its oppressors.

She is aided by two friends - Queenie Amal and Birpal Bashir, the former an ideological protestor who works with Cat in the cafe and the latter a volunteer on the very force they are fighting. The reluctant Cat finds herself encouraged by the rather more outgoing Queenie to become a full-time superheroine to avenge both them and others in the community who are suffering under the rule of the local law-enforcers, introduced by the chummy populist Hugo Pickering.

The Light is the first in a planned series documenting the struggles of the world's unlikeliest superheroine and has a humorous slant to offset the action and political comment (it was partially inspired by lockdown but also by the Brexit referendum and the subsequent split in the country), and also because there may well be a gap in the market for a British superhero series. Funny, quirky and succinct, The Light will entertain readers of any age.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L R Buxton
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798215584897

L R Buxton

I am a writer from the Midlands (born in Worcester) with a liking for classic farce, contemporary fantasy and psychological thrillers.I went to university in Southampton, which fuelled my ideas for the "Mandy And The Missing" series.Among my influences (from both the printed word and on-screen entertainment) I would count classic (1963-1989) Doctor Who, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Ultraviolet (the TV series), JRR Tolkien, Tom Sharpe and Fritz Leiber. I also enjoy biogs of famous actors, musicians and authors.For my hobbies I enjoy motorsport, football, debate, politics, socialising, visiting interesting cathedrals and places of interest, and going to music gigs and literary festivals.

Book preview

The Light

Copyright 2020 Laurence Buxton.

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Chapter Guide.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

About The Author and Other Books

Prologue

Monday 22 April 2020, 9.48pm.

You seen The Light?

For a moment Colin thought his orangecoat colleague Tim, out on patrol this unseasonably drizzly June night, was talking about religion. As if...

Wh – no. No, just thinkin’ ‘bout the missus, he said finally.

Tim, though, laughed harshly. You still frettin’ over ‘er anniversary present? Got you by the balls these days ain’t she, ratface… sad to see.

Colin uttered a curse, frowned, and continued to stare off to the other side of Bromsgrove road, which ran down the hill to their right. How had he got roped into doing this volunteering nonsense, he thought for the umpteenth time? Bloody police budget being cut wasn’t his fault. They blamed it on covid, but he reckoned the force round here was going to get cut anyway. No-one gave a damn about bloody Pinkton…

He squinted his already narrow eyes. Some kids were hanging around outside the all-night convenience store next to the café – a brown-haired boy, a blond lad and a skin-and-bones brunette – all of them clearly underage. Probably cadging some fags and booze – from the look of it the blond one had a can in his hand already.

Then Tim, to his annoyance, caught his stare and followed it. Oh God! More o’ them little punks… he spat.

Colin shook his head sadly, and scratched his pale, pointed nose. C’mon, bud… he muttered. Ain’t worth it…

God, you’re at it again Col! he sneered. First you let ‘er walk all over yer, now it’s these brats. Some orangecoat you are He extinguished his cigarette, a good old-fashioned nicotine stick. And with that, he marched over the deserted road, a reluctant Colin – whose eyes showed anything except the killer instinct – scurrying after him.

Oy! called out Tim, loud enough to startle the kids and too late for them to be able to run for it.

The lads, none of them looking more than fourteen, did a nervous double-take even as they tried to front it out. Busted, thought Colin, skulking behind his bigger friend.

Your parents know you’re ‘ere, do they? Tim barked.

Er – yeah… the brown-haired boy said, his voice betraying his nerves.

Gettin’ people in there to buy you this stuff? he said, snatching the bottle off the lead lad with his right hand. It was a can of cider – the stuff that some off-licences round here once used to quietly sell to these kids.

Nah. The blond kid, slender and with short-cut spiky hair, smiled a defiant toothy grin. Been savin’ up from me birthday money…

But Tim was in no mood to swap pleasantries. He turned to the sniggering brown-haired lad and the girl, who was nonetheless tugging worriedly at a hazelnut-brown lock of neck-length hair.

Piss off!

They needed no further encouragement, heading down the hill to the bus stop, with nervous glances back toward their abandoned and shocked friend, who stared downheartedly toward his fleeing, fairweather friends.

So. Not so cocky without your little buddies, are you? Tim sneered.

I’ll tell me dad ‘bout you… came the childish response from the now cowering lad. But it only seemed to enrage Tim further. He flung the half-drunk can of cider from him, and the clatter made the slight lad jump, the can rolling down the hill and shedding the last of its liquid as it went.

Panic-stricken, the lad tried to run, but was tripped by the alert Tim, fell and hit his face on the uneven pavement slabs. He cried out in pain, and held his now reddened nose.

Colin, though, was not so much concerned as puzzled. The uneven roll of the can down the hill had suddenly stopped, and he felt a little uneasy. Er, Tim…

But Tim was in no such mood for doubts. He bent over the now terrified kid, pushed him onto his back and drew back his fist menacingly, oblivious to what the owner of the convenience store might say.

Where’s your smart mouth now, kid? Tim snarled.

Yet now the lad was looking up, not quite at him but over his shoulder. His jaw had dropped open…

Colin and Tim half-turned and caught a glimpse of a dark figure stood behind, which was suddenly bathed in brilliant white light. A cape hung down near the ground. Both recoiled, even before they were blinded by the searing brightness. A blur of movement from the figure’s right arm and that was it – a dazzling white light burned into both of their eyeballs.

Amid the stunned terror Colin now felt – and the near blindness he panicked with – a horrid, creeping realisation set in. This was the one they’d heard about – the one they’d all secretly, or in his case openly – feared. The one from the internet, who had terrified every orangecoat and beaten many of them senseless the past few days!

Tim, attempting to counter, get a blow to the upper arm then a kick to the abdomen which shoved the dazed, hulking man backwards into the cold guard rail. He collapsed, desperately blinking his eyes and finally rolling onto his side, while the lad they had intended to punish had sprinted to a safe distance –only to turn, produce his phone and start filming, as was a short, slight woman unseen in the shadows.

Colin, in fright, turned and tried to run down the hill too, but it was no good. The figure could be heard sprinting after him. A light billowed in the sky behind, appearing one side then the other as they ran.

Oh God, oh God, don’t let him catch him…

Then he tripped. He’d had a blow to the kneecap, and involuntarily he fell down, his nose making contact with the cracked paving slab… Oh shit…

Even as his instinct should have been to check if it was damaged, his overriding concern was to put out his hand to shield himself from the beam of light in the characters’ hand, and to offer some semblance of defence against a blatantly superior opponent. His life flashed before his eyes…

Out of fascination he tried to look past the brightness that burned down. A figure of his height and indeterminate gender, stood there – a silhouette in black against the shuttered betting and the peeling paint of the fish and chip shop on the other side of the hill road. A hood. A black felt mask over their face – just as they’d appeared online…

This, truly, was what he had feared – and expected – despite Tim and others scoffing. He felt scared, yet also vindicated – if he took a beating like the others he would always have the upper hand…

I knew you would come! I – I tried to tell them…

The figure tilted their head, and a voice emerged – a quiet hiss, which made his blood freeze. And tell them something else…

What? He pulled his scrawny legs to his bony chin and stared at the figure, which straightened up fully. Who the hell were they, and where had they come from?

They leaned over and now he could see them more clearly. A shadowy face obscured by a hood, the features still indistinguishable even amid the blazing white light that enveloped them, but a hint of a feminine softness. That you’ve seen The Light.

Chapter 1

Friday 19 June 2020. 8.47am.

Two eggs, bacons, chips and beans! Table 12…

The loud voice from outside the ‘Must Fry’s hatch made her start for a moment, and Cat Chambers – the chef, and many hours from being any kind of superhero – was on the case in the white, pristine kitchen, even though the spotless standard of her surroundings didn’t extend to her own condition. Covered in dried tomato juice, specks of cooking oil and congealed egg yolk her overalls were hardly spotless, and her shift had only just started. Still, she was fulfilling her vocation – kind of. She’d always had a secret passion for cooking, a skill she’d gone to college to develop, and now here she was producing greasy spoon food, as her fastidious Uncle Freddie would have deemed it.

She bustled to the fridge, taking out the free-range hens eggs and slab of cooking bacon. Cat had never felt she’d end up here all her life, but she kind of wondered if she would now. Her advanced culinary course at the college had been chopped and the job market had taken the most almighty hammering from the pandemic. Besides, what other jobs would be out there for her to go to? Betting shops? Working on the markets? Delivery driver? She didn’t know the first thing about gambling, didn’t like crowds and didn’t drive. Not much for her to do with herself, other than keep pushing for one or two of her own ideas to go on the menu – but when there were about 1000 things on it already – nearly all involving frozen chips and ladles of baked beans – she wasn’t going to be producing anything cordon bleu-rated any time soon.

Then Queenie Amal, the fast friend who’d got her the job in the first place and had been the one who’d yelled the order through, appeared in the doorway with a pile of crockery in both diminutive hands, breathless yet still as full of energy as ever, again startling Cat who hadn’t initially noticed her. What’s the matter bab? she said brightly, flicking a damp lock of braided hair to one side with a toss of the face and pursing her generous, dark rouge lips. Spill the tea…

Caz blew through the side of her mouth and adjusted her crooked chef’s hat. It’s even hotter than normal in here today…

Really? That time, is it…

No… Caz said sulkily. Her hat was soaked through and she took it off, adjusting her soaked black mop of curls. No, it’s not that, Queen. Just been standing over this damn thing too long, she said, indicating the fryer with her egg flipper in her hand. She put it down, picked up a blackened oven glove and waved it in front of her face ineffectually.

Queenie looked sympathetic, but only to a point. Well you think you got probs, bab, you try takin’ the same order for them at table 9 three times while you’ve got Mrs Davies’ little kid kicking you in the ankle! She put the crockery in the sink, reached down and rubbed her foot briefly. You should see the look she gave me when I said she couldn’t swap everythin’ on the fried breakfast and ‘ave it the same price – I mean – she wanted to change the bacon for steak! Cheeky mare. She gave a bitter snort. Bet she wouldn’t try it on like that an’ get lippy if a white waitress took ‘er order, you know what I mean…

Rather you than me! Cat nodded, and turned back to her fryer. She needed to crack the eggs open.

But Queenie wasn’t done. Y’know, I still reckons we should ‘ave a protest against Pickerin’ an’ his bill on Wednesday night…

I dunno…

Oh, come on, Caz! The bloody vote’s on Thursday…

Queen, we’ve been through this before. You know how I feel about crowds…

Queenie sighed, and gave a sad look at a moist, fraying poster for a production of ‘Rent’ at the