Clark covered the distance to the circus in a few seconds time, but as he slowed to a stop at the border of the field, he knew he was already too late. He froze at the edge of the field and felt himself still. It was like his mind and body stopped working for a moment, and all that he could do was see. The field lay full of the dead or dying. They were scattered in clumps; ringed with blood and gore; none looked like they were sleeping. There were times that Clark enjoyed having better vision, hearing, and smell, and he had thought that there had been times when he had hated them; but this was the first time he discovered how truly horrible they could be.

Bile rose in his throat, and he turned to the side and retched. When he was done, he blinked away tears and staggered through the fields, trying not to hear the grass squelch underneath his feet. Doors swung haphazardly on abandoned trailers, the lights from inside lighting up the night. He hurried on, looking desperately for some survivors. A feeble, old woman shook on the ground, her back horribly mutilated. Clark knelt beside her and tried to say something. She clutched his hands and opened her mouth, but nothing came. Two great tears rolled down her eyes as she stared at Clark. “We’ll get help, alright…” Clark finally spoke. “We’ll get you to a hospital and you’ll be…” he tried to promise, but she didn’t hear him. Her heart had stopped, one look told him. He held her for a moment and then hugged her desperately. “All this power…” he muttered and sobbed. Finally he let her go and slowly stood up. There might be others still alive, he told himself firmly; help them.

The farther Clark walked through the trailers, the worse the bodies seemed to pile up. People were slashed and torn up, cut to pieces in some cases. Some looked like they had stood and fought, others had died on their knees. Clark turned a corner and saw a sight that seemed to sear itself into his mind. A young girl lay on the ground, alive but covered by the corpse of a woman, her mother, he presumed. Her eyes were wide with shock and horror, but she didn’t scream out. She fought desperately to get out from underneath the body, but couldn’t manage it. Clark rushed forward and pulled her mother off of her, feeling his guts churn as she hit the grass. The girl launched herself at him, holding onto him tightly. He hugged her back, trying to quiet her shivering body. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her.

He glanced around quickly, staring through the trailers using his x-ray vision. The walls of the world fell away as Clark looked for a good trailer to hide her in. He found more than what he was looking for. There were people in a trailer to the right of him, alive and hiding in the back end. Clark picked her up gently and hurried over, knocking quietly on the door. “I’m here to help, open up,” he said quietly. Nothing happened and Clark took another glimpse inside. One person had risen to let them in, but the others were waving him back. Growing impatient, Clark opened the door, the lock bursting as he did so. He quickly lifted the girl inside and put her down. He glanced at the people inside, who looked back, terrified. “Stay here,” he hissed at them. “Help’s on the way soon,” he promised. He closed the door quickly and then twisted the metal frame of the door together so it couldn’t be opened again without a crowbar. He started off, when he heard a scream farther down the field. He rushed off at top speed and came to a stop less than a second later. He’d found Richie.

Richie was thin, bone thin, and all angles as Clark looked at him for the first time. His face was an ugly sneer that was sandwiched in between a pair of cheekbones that looked like razors. He was barefoot and shirtless, and as he turned to him, Clark saw the three holes in his chest and how they glowed green. And as they did, Clark felt that now familiar lurch in his stomach. The headache started immediately and he began to sweat. The meteor rocks, without a doubt, the meteor rocks had done this to Richie, and they had left their taint in him. “Who do we have here?” Richie said, looking at Clark. He waved a bloody hand in the air and shook his head. There was a girl behind Richie, holding onto an older man who lay unconscious on the ground. It took a moment, but he finally recognized them as Gail and her father. Gail was terrified, but still unhurt, unlike her father. Blood was smeared across his forehead, but he still appeared to be breathing.

“Get away from them,” Clark demanded, trying to fight back the nausea. The world tilted and swayed under his feet, and he almost lost his balance.

Richie laughed and advanced towards him. “You think you can make me do anything?” he asked quietly. His fingers seemed to gleam in the light as he held them up. Clark’s stomach rolled as he noticed they were stained red and pointed like spikes. “No one tells me anything anymore,” Richie said and swung at Clark. He was fast, but Clark was already falling away from him. He wished he could have said he had planned it that way. The sickness was so bad it was almost impossible to keep his balance anymore. He scrambled away on all fours and pulled himself up against a trailer. Richie snarled and lunged again, but this time, Clark was ready. He hooked his fingers in the trailer wall and ripped a chunk of it out like it was cardboard. He swung and hit Richie just as he was in mid-leap. Richie grunted and fell to the ground, holding his stomach.

Dropping the chunk of wall, Clark started towards Gail until Richie rolled to his feet behind him. He ran at Clark, swiping his hands towards him. Clark jumped awkwardly back, not fast enough this time, and felt a hot streak of pain down his side. He clamped a hand to his ribs and pulled it back, staring in disbelief at the blood on it. Richie had cut him. Clark stumbled backwards, holding his side. He’d never been hurt this bad in his life. Richie stalked around him like a beast, snarling with his deadly hands outstretched. Clark fought back the sickness and tried to get himself ready for another rush.

Suddenly, behind Richie, a car engine roared into life. They all turned as a bright pair of headlights raced towards them across the field. Clark jumped aside as the car plowed right into Richie, imbedding him in the hood and dragging him along with it. The car careened out of control and slammed head-first into the side of a trailer. Almost immediately, with the meteor rocks blocked by a half ton of metal, the sickness faded from Clark and he stood up, wincing as the pain returned in his side. He hobbled over to the wreck, but jumped back when the driver’s door was kicked out. Bruce slowly climbed out the side and staggered over to Clark. He looked back at the car and Clark was surprised to see fear in his eyes.

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“Oh, God,” he breathed, “I didn’t mean to kill him. I thought he would go flying when I hit him, not stick in the front hood.”

“You didn’t know,” Clark said, winching as did. “It’s not your fault.”

Bruce didn’t answer. He looked around the field, taking in all the carnage at once. His eyes widened and his face froze up in shock. “Oh no…” he whispered. “Oh, no… please not again. Not again…” Clark stared at him and started to say something when Bruce suddenly shook his head and turned away. “We have to find survivors,” he barked harshly to Clark, keeping his back to him. “I passed more people on the road; some more have to have gotten away.”

“Gail and her father are back there,” Clark said, motioning back with his hand. “Richie was going after them when I found…” his voice trailed off as he heard a low tearing sound. He and Bruce both froze, as the sound grew louder. Slowly, they turned around to see two hands emerge from the wreck. The sound grew louder as the car was pushed backwards out of the trailer. There was a sudden screech of metal, and the front hood tore in two, right up the middle. Slowly, Richie emerged from the wreck, clawing his way out of the debris. He fell over the side of the car and then got to his feet, hunched over and holding his stomach. Clark swayed on his feet as the meteor rocks’ power came back in full force. Richie straightened and let go of his stomach, revealing a huge spider web of cracks and nicks across his chest.

“Tom,” his voice grated, “that really hurt.” He coughed and spit out a wad of something, swaying unsteady on his feet. His eyes were locked on Bruce though, who stood grim faced and resolute. Clark tried to say something, but his voice failed him. He looked down at his side and was shocked to see that his right pant leg was soaked in blood.

“Good,” Bruce said slowly, his voice back in that low pitch. He shifted into a fighting stance and snarled. “If you think you can take more, you’ll get it,” he promised. Richie laughed and limped towards him, his hands flexing by his sides eagerly. Clark tried to move in front of Bruce, but his legs gave out and he fell to his knees. Bruce glanced back at him and then focused on Richie, unafraid. A half-smile played around the corner of his mouth as he waited for him.

Richie lunged straight at Bruce, like he had with Clark, but Bruce rose up to meet him. He leapt; foot extended and planted it square in the middle of Richie’s face. Bruce rolled away as Richie clawed at him, his fingers missing Bruce by inches. Bruce ducked under another swipe and kicked him solidly in the stomach. Richie grunted and tried to grab Bruce, but he dropped and kicked his feet out from underneath him. Richie rolled away this time, climbing to his feet slowly. He snarled at Bruce and advanced slowly back towards him. Bruce waited patiently, almost looking amused.

This time Richie didn’t come out swinging. He stalked closer to Bruce, hands ready and outstretched, but he didn’t swing. Bruce let him circle, turning to face him each time. Richie fainted a few times, and then slashed at Bruce with his right. Bruce dodged it and kicked Richie across the gut again, but this time, Richie didn’t double over. He took the blow and swiped at Bruce with his left. Bruce jumped back, but still was cut on his shoulder, the same shoulder that had been cut earlier. He didn’t flinch or cry out, but as blood ran down from it, his face grew serious. Richie swiped at him again, and Bruce jumped inside, blocking it, and then he smashed his fist across Richie’s nose. There was a loud snap and Richie clawed at Bruce in anger and pain. He grabbed his shoulders, but Bruce pulled his legs up and drop kicked him in the stomach, making Richie drop him. He rolled away, bleeding from a half a dozen different places. An ugly gash ran across the hand he’d broken Richie’s nose with. Bruce moved back into a fighting stance, but he trembled as he did so. Clark watched in desperation from where he knelt. Bruce wasn’t going to win.

Richie saw it to and laughed horribly. He rubbed his nose gingerly and glared at Bruce. “How long are you going to keep this up?” he asked him quietly. “You can hit me all you want, Tom; it’s not going to matter. Ramming a car into me didn’t work, you foot sure isn’t going to make much of a-“ he stopped as Bruce leapt straight for him and kicked him solidly in the throat. Richie staggered back, gasping for air as Bruce circled around behind him. He smashed his heel into the back of Richie’s leg, but Richie didn’t fall. Bruce drove his knee into the small of his back, but Richie still didn’t go down. Throwing all finesse aside, Bruce rained down punches into his kidneys. Richie took every one, still fighting for air. Finally, Bruce backed away, his knuckles swollen and bloody. Richie slowly straightened and turned around. “Tha…that,” he choked out, “that all… ya got?”

Bruce screamed and launched himself at Richie once more. Richie reached for him, his fingers glittering in the night, when there was a loud shot. A small piece of Richie’s arm exploded and flew off into the night. Everyone froze and looked to the source. Police cars were barreling down the road to the circus. Four officers were already charging towards them, guns drawn. “Everyone down,” one of the officers screamed as they advanced.

“He’s unarmed, rush him,” another yelled and threw himself at Richie.

“No!” Clark shouted, trying to climb to his feet. Richie extended his arms and the police officer impaled himself on them. Richie kicked him off as the other officers yelled and opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off Richie’s body, breaking off small chips of his skin on impact. He yelled in pain and stumbled back, trying to find cover. The officers kept firing, trying to bring him down. Finally, Richie turned and fled, dodging in and out of the trailers.

As Richie got further and further away, Clark was slowly able to stand. He was dizzy, wounded, and still very weak, but he could at least move now. He looked around for Bruce and found him hunched over nearby. Clark staggered over to him and Bruce looked up, his face pale, but his eyes intense and determined. “Go after him,” he muttered. “You’ve got to go after him. He can’t get away.”

“The police will-“ Clark tried to say, but Bruce swung his arm savagely at him.

“Police can’t catch him,” he yelled. “I’ve got to do it. We…” he slowed and blinked, his head bobbing uncertainly.

“We’ve got to get you to a hospital,” Clark said, looking at Bruce’s wounds. He was bleeding for over a dozen cuts all over his body.

“Can’t, no time,” Bruce muttered and grabbed Clark’s arm. “Take me after him,” he demanded. Sirens were screaming in Clark’s ears now as police cars roared into the lot. “Now…” Bruce almost pleaded. Clark stared back at him and dumbly shook his head. He took off running as fast as he could, with the wound in his side biting him every step of the way. Bruce was left with only a piece of Clark’s shirt in his hands, torn away as he left. Police officers swarmed around him then, flashing lights filling up the night’s sky.