Alex brushed the grass clippings from the headstone that marked his name. He wasn’t dead yet, but he wanted to make sure his spot was clean. He looked over at the other headstone marking his sister, and brushed the grass clippings from there.
“I miss you, Lexi,” he said quietly, squatting down at the grave. It was her birthday this week. He lay the roses across the headstone and dropped to his knees. Amazing how the grass had reclaimed the ground, when only a few short months ago it had been covered in loam and dirt.
“I miss you, and mom, and dad. I dream about you, about what you looked like before I deformed you. How pretty you were.” He smiled. “How you’d be the envy of all the guys if you had grown up without me.”
He brushed his hand along the clover on the grave. They shriveled up and turned brown at his touch. “I have a friend. A couple of friends now. You’d approve.” He got up. The clothes he wore were still holding up, magically enhanced by Mike to withstand his own toxic sweat. And it was hot here in Florida, humid. He walked back to the waiting taxi.
He got inside. “Hope I didn’t take too long.”
“Take as long as you want, mon, you’re on the clock,” said the taxi driver with the dreadlocks and skin as dark as pitch.
“I’ll go to a hotel now. Hilton.”
“Right, mon.” The driver eased out of the cemetery. Alex kept his eye on the grave until they turned the corner, and then it was lost in the crowd.
The Jamaican was not into conversation, which was how Alex liked it. Alex had given him directions and short answers. As they drove into Orlando proper, he settled back in the seat.
Then the driver slammed on his brakes, and the car skidded sideways, slamming into another car, throwing Alex against the other door. Good thing it did, because another car’s grill ended up where Alex had been sitting moments before.
“The hell–” The Jamaican was saying nothing – Alex saw blood on the plexiglass between him and the driver. Alex watched as the grill inched closer and closer toward him, heard other cars slamming into each other, the tearing of metal.
Alex poured the acid from his hands and pressed against the roof of the car. I hole formed instantly, which he made big enough to get his shoulders out of.
The entire highway was cars in various degrees of accidents. Some people were stumbling out of cars, others weren’t as lucky. The highway was a parking lot in front of him, and behind him cars were still piling into the fray, slamming into each other. He pulled himself out of the car, crouched on the roof. The car was moving still, being pulled toward the city, slowly but ever so surely. Knowing the Jamaican was probably too far gone – and even if he wasn’t, there was nothing he could do – Toxicon started jumping from car to car, heading toward the city.