Wes Wesolowski knew he was going to die. He was in his car, driving for his life,

hoping that he was wrong about the car that was behind him. He needed to get

somewhere that he could hide until he could write his story and present his evidence

to save his life.

As a reporter, he had covered a lot of stories. This was the first one that could get him

killed. He should have given the story to McKay so he could get killed.

The car sped up and hit him from behind. He steered away from the impact. If they

knocked him off the road, he was as good as dead. He had to find a place where he

could lose them and then get back to the paper.

Once the story was out with evidence to back it up, he would be in the clear.

There might be some reprisals. Big time criminals didn’t like reporters poking into

their business. It was the nature of the beast. He had dealt with some of them over the

years. They didn’t even want to be treated badly as they waited for their sentencing.

He checked his mirror again. The other car was coming up for another ram. He

weaved side to side so they couldn’t get a clear shot. He had to stay on the road. If he

was knocked off here, he would drop into a valley and have to be carried out with a

basket from above.

He couldn’t let them have the records he had stolen. If they got them back, all of his

proof would be gone. His story would be dead.

He rocked in his seat as his car took another hit. How many more could he take before

the tires gave out. That would be just as bad as anything else that might happen.

Another hit and he lost control. He saw the guard rail coming up and tried to turn to

catch it with the side of his car. He took another hit and his Pontiac was airborne. He

tried to steer on the way down but he hit something and the car flipped and rolled

towards the bottom of the valley.

He had worn his seat belt and it cut into his hips and legs as the car carried him to his

crash. He felt blood on his face and his suit was ripped up. He had to get out of the

car and get away from there before the guys who pushed him off the road came down

and finished him off.

All they had to do was shoot into the car and that would be the end of it for him.

If they only wanted to stop him, shooting the car until it caught fire with him inside

of it was the best thing for them to do. He had to get out and find cover. Then he

could think of patching his wounds and getting things to his desk to write up for his

editor.

He realized he was upside-down. That was bad for him because it made it easier to

shoot at the gas tank. And it made it harder for him to undo the seatbelt so he could

flee.

He worked at the buckle until the belt snapped loose and he could drop down to the

roof of his car. He cut himself squeezing through the window. He lay on the ground

for a minute to catch his breath.

He had to get away from the car. If they started shooting at it, he could be caught in

the blast. If they started shooting at him and hit him, he could be wounded bad

enough that he couldn’t escape.

Then he would be one more missing reporter that was lost somewhere while doing

a story.

He should have asked McKay to cover this. He didn’t care if McKay got shot and set

on fire.

Wes dragged himself away from the car. His legs didn’t work right for the moment.

He pulled himself along with his hands. He reached another downslope to a mass of

trees. He pulled himself to a roll that carried him to the trees.

He reached the trees and hit painfully against the wooden sentinels. He took a

moment to catch his breath again. He had to get into the trees to get cover from the

other car on the mountain. He could see the lights up there.

Everything hurt. Blood was everywhere. He felt the world sliding to the side. He had

to keep going until he got help to get him to the paper.

He had never hurt this much before. He could see being in the hospital after he got

this story cleared. Maybe he could write a story about the hospital while he was stuck

in it.

He should have taken another road to get away.

He dragged himself deeper in the woods. He had to get away from the road. He had

to protect what he had taken. He had to try to keep going.

Wes knew he had no chance of reaching a rescuer. He was going to die on the

mountain. They were going to find the files. Maybe they would set his body on fire

to hide the evidence.

He hated losing like that.

Wes struggled along. He couldn’t wait on them to find him. He was going to die,

but he was going to make them work for it. He tried to smile at that, but the

pain turned it into grimace.

He heard a sound like a whistling above him. He wondered where it was coming

from. He put it out of his mind. If it wasn’t help, then it was useless.

The ground exploded to his right. Trees jumped into the air. His hand caught fire.

He rolled as more pain flooded his system. He glanced over and saw a fire burning

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in the trees. Had they shot a rocket at him? Is that what had caused the explosion?

He rubbed his hand. The pain there eclipsed everything else he was suffering. He

looked down at it. He saw that he had acquired some kind of burn mark that looked

like four diamonds.

He rubbed it to clear some of the ash and blood off of it. He blinked as the diamonds

lit up. He thought that he was about to pass out because he was hallucinating.

His body stretched out into a ribbon. He floated above the fiery crater. He tried to

look at himself but he couldn’t see his hands. What was going on?

He found his clothes and stolen files laying on the ground. He frowned that he was

running around naked and apparently floating above the ground. The pain was gone.

He tried to frown but he couldn’t feel his face. He tried to feel around with his hands,

but he couldn’t tell where his hands were.

What was going on?

Wes decided that he had to get out of there and figure things out later. He had to get

to the paper to write up his story if he could use the typewriter.

He floated to his belongings and gathered them up. He flew down the mountain side

to the city below. He wondered how fast he was going.

He had so many questions but he had no way to work on that yet. If he could get to

a doctor, maybe then he could worry about not feeling normal. He was glad that the

pain had faded away with the change of shape.

Maybe there was someone he could ask about this. Maybe there was someone like

the Mark who knew what happened to him.

If the Hazard Scouts were still around, Mr. Robot had been the expert on strange stuff

like this. And they were based in California. He could have called and arranged for

an appointment.

He looked behind him. The fire in the trees still burned from what he could see. He

didn’t see anyone checking out the explosion. A secondary blast answered the first.

He frowned at the realization that his car had finally gone up in a fireball.

He was going to get the blame for the fire. He couldn’t believe it. He paused to

consider going back up to the top of the mountain in his new body and doing

something.

He wasn’t quite sure what that something was.

He found a payphone. He could call the paper if he could still talk. He could report

the fire and his attempted murder, even if he didn’t know who had actually did

the deed.

He returned to normal as he searched his clothes for change to make his call. He

looked around. No one was around to see him bent over his clothes in the buff.

He quickly pulled on his clothes before someone came along.

He frowned at the blood and dirt on everything. He felt better. Maybe turning into

a blob had healed up the injuries to him. He winced as he moved. He hadn’t healed

up as much as he thought.

Maybe he was going to die from internal injuries, but he was able to keep moving

at the moment.

He put change in the payphone and called the night editor for the paper. He had to

give a verbal breakdown for the fire story so it could be written up before the

deadline. Then he had to work on his bigger story.

“Clancy,” said the night editor. He didn’t have much to do, but when he did, his slow

talk turned to a fast clip. “What’s your story?”

“Clancy, this is Wes,” said the reporter. He looked around for a location. “A fire has

started up in the mountains. An explosion on the ground started it. I don’t know what

that was. Also my car was pushed off Old Pine Road through the guard rail

before the fire. My car exploded when the fire reached it from the looks of things. I

need to call the fire department and see what they can do.”

“Where are you, Wes?,” said Clancy. The scribbling of a pen, or pencil, came over

the line.

“I am at a pay phone at the corner of Burnes and Winchester,” said Wes. He

had to look around for street signs. “The fire is on the mountain where Old Pine

Road is. It’s in the trees below the road. You can see it from where I am.”

“What happened?,” said Clancy. “I’ll chop anything too outlandish.”

“I was pushed off the road down the side of the mountain,” said Wes. “Guys started

shooting at me. I got into some trees. There was a boom, and then there was a fire.

And then my car went up.”

“That is a lot of outlandish,” said Clancy.

“I know,” said Wes. “They were chasing me over some files I have. I was going to

bring them in so I could work on the Delveccio story. I didn’t think they would try

to kill me over it.”

“Delveccio is connected, Wes,” said Clancy. “Everyone knows it. I’m surprised he

hasn’t had you killed before this. He’s definitely going to want to kill you if you have

some kind of evidence against him.”

“I have been chasing this story for a long time,” said Wes. “I’m sure I can prove

something with what I have. I’m coming in to write everything up.”

“Don’t come here,” said Clancy. “This is the first place they will look for you if they

think you’re alive and got away. Don’t go home either. Pick a random place and go

there until some of this blows over. Thanks, Bel. All right. Some of your reporting is

not so outlandish after all.”

“What do you mean?,” asked Wes.

“The Observatory reported a meteor impact out your way,” said Clancy. “There’s

your explosion.”

“I almost got killed by a meteor?,” asked Wes. He couldn’t believe that. “There

was nothing left as far as I could see.”

“You lucked out,” said Clancy. “I am going to call the police and tell them about your

car, and tell them that you called in. Are you hurt?”

“A little,” said Wes. “I have had worse from my old man.”

“Don’t come here, don’t go home,” said Clancy. “Find some place you can hunker

down until things quiet. Delveccio might have some of the cops on the payroll. Don’t

tell them anything until you have your story written. I’ll talk to Fleming and see if the

paper can do something for you.”

“So I’m in the cold until I can get things done,” said Wes.

“If they are waiting for you here, you’ll be picked up before you can get to your

desk,” said Clancy. “Remember Marsden.”

“I remember,” said Wes. “Fire trucks are visible, Clancy. It looks like they’ll be

finding my car in a minute.”

“I’ll have Rewrite go over things before the press starts up,” said Clancy. “I will not

put anything in about you, your car crash, or your presence. You’re going to have to

explain things to Fleming in the morning. Until then, hide out. If you really have the

goods, be ready to protect your source from the police.”

“I can do that,” said Wes. He was the source, and he had committed burglary to

get what he had. “Thanks, Clancy.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said the editor. “Fleming will want to know what you got, and

how to use it. Make sure you have the real thing to justify driving you off the road

and down a cliff.”

“I’ll have to hire an expert, won’t I?,” said Wes.

“If you want your story to go, yes,” said Clancy. “You’ll need a third party to back

up your conclusion. And that’s if Delveccio doesn’t kill you first.”

“I don’t know any finance guys,” said Wes. “All right. I’ll work on that to get the

backup for the story.”

“Fleming and Golding will want to talk to you,” said Clancy. “I’ll let them know

what is going on.”

“Thanks, Clancy,” said Wes. “I’ll call back when I have something for you.”

“All right,” said Clancy. “Stay out of trouble until we can get things sorted.”

He hung up the phone.

Wes put the receiver on its hook. He hated to be reminded of Marsden. He had been

the first to go after Delveccio.

They had found his body anchored to a buoy off the coast. Parts of it were missing

because someone had taken a knife to him. He had been on his way to the paper after

finding something. He had never made it.

Wes didn’t want that for himself.