The Hercules Project

Chapter 8

The All-New Wyatt

I couldn't stop looking at myself, so overwhelmed with the changes in my body I didn't leave the view in my full-length mirror from the moment I got home. Abigail went directly for the phone, staying downstairs to talk. She tried to keep her voice down, but even from a floor and several rooms away I sensed her panic. It was obvious who she was talking to and I wondered if my father would finally care.

I felt so tall, probably as big as Dad's six feet. I was used to seeing the world from a hunched, seated position, at level with most people's waists. Everything seemed small to me now, including Abigail. I thought she was the biggest person I knew. Her personality making her larger than life, but standing in the yard hugging her proved to me how petite she really was.

I flexed my well-formed and starkly defined biceps with child-like glee in my too-tight t-shirt and impossibly short jeans as I listened to her still talking, coming up the stairs, hanging up the phone as she got to my door. I turned at her, a huge grin on my face. I couldn't help it. I was so excited I didn't care my clothes were a joke. I wanted to shout from the rooftops. Abigail appeared dazed, but she smiled back.

"Your father is on his way," she said. "He wants you to stay inside until he gets here." She shook her head at my frown. "I agree with him. We have no idea if you could have another freak out. The school was understanding enough, but I don't want to have to explain to the cops why you are suddenly able to leap tall buildings in a single bound."

"No proof of that yet," I said. Then beamed. "He wouldn't have to know. Just one building, one bound. Honest."

Abigail half-laughed, her face crumpling near to tears, falling against the door jamb as I struck a super pose, chest out, fists on hips. All I needed was spandex and a cape.

"No bounding in the house," she said when she regained her composure.

I followed her down the hall and to the stairs like an eager puppy, amazed and a little cocky about my co-ordination. Naturally my arrogance made me suffer a lapse, concentrating on walking instead of just letting it happen. I never learned to walk, so the whole thing was weird and exciting, like gliding along on well-oiled pistons. I felt like one of those android robots in my favorite sci-fi movies, my movements effortless, powerful. I may have lived my entire life on wheels, but if I let my mind go and just got out of my own way, it felt like the most natural and amazing thing in the world.

I spotted the hated lift on the way down and shot it the finger, feeling great about it. Abigail caught the motion out of the corner of her eye and scowled at me.

"Manners," she said.

"It's a thing."

"Still." Abigail hated swearing or anything vulgar. "Manners."

I rolled my eyes at the back of her head.

The kitchen called my name. I paused in the doorway, looking around, feeling my stomach growl, remembering I lost my breakfast. Ravenous hunger cramped my insides. It must have been obvious what I needed because, before I could say a word, Abigail went to the fridge and started putting together something to eat.

I sat at a bar stool at the island in the center of the kitchen for the first time in my life, vibrating happily. I no longer had to sit with my chin at level with the counter, courtesy of Abigail propping me up with a couple of pillows. I towered over it, my torso straight and strong, chest expanding as I drew a deep breath and laughed. I hadn't been able to fill my lungs all the way in years.

The first neatly quartered sandwich she slid toward me was gone in less than ten seconds. She made me another. And a third. By my fifth sandwich, she didn't bother cutting them anymore, just handed them to me as they were assembled. At the sixth sandwich, I let out a nice, satisfying belch and sighed. Abigail stared at me again as I downed half a carton of milk, belched once more, then looked with great longing at the cookie jar. She didn't bother arguing with me. Usually cookies were treats for after school, not hours after breakfast.

I emptied the remaining chocolate chip rounds and the other half of the milk before I felt full.

"Thanks, Abigail," I said. "I was starving."

This time her laughter was less partial sobbing and more hysteria. "I guess I'd better go to the grocery store," she said.

Squealing tires and the rumble of a car engine alerted both of us someone pulled into the driveway. The sound cut out and a door slammed. I made out the pounding of feet on the walkway and how they faltered, followed by a muffled curse as my father tripped over the loose stone before the front door slammed open and Dad rushed into the kitchen.

I thoroughly enjoyed his gaping stare as I slowly stood up, aware again of the state of my wardrobe as the denim tore with a horrible ripping sound, the fabric finally unable to contain my thighs. I looked down with a grin at the strips of jeans and the taut t-shirt clinging to me like doll clothes.

"I think I need to change," I said.

"It worked," Dad said. "It really worked."

I nodded and grinned. "I guess so."

He took a step toward me, one hand outstretched. "How do you feel?"

I thought about it before I spoke, knowing it was important. "Strong. Healthy. Like I could run a marathon. My lungs are recovered." I took a deep breath to show him. "I feel like I always imagined normal would feel."

He was shaking his head as finished. "No, Wyatt," he said. "You are far beyond normal, my boy. Far beyond." Dad started to laugh. I couldn't remember the last time I saw my father happy. It took years off of him, so many he could have almost passed for my brother.

And then, the shock of my life. Edison Simons, my withdrawn and reserved father, closed the gap between us and hugged me. I was so surprised it took me a moment to hug him back. He leaned away and looked into my eyes, our heights a perfect match. I basked in the glow of my father's joy and, for the first time ever, felt like he loved me.

He had to go and ruin it. "We have to get you to the lab," he said. "There are so many tests to run, to see how your physiology has changed..." he turned away from me, missing how my face fell.

Tests. The lab. I was such an i***t. Of course he cared. His experiment, his lab rat, came through for him after all.

I was about to snap something bitter when Abigail beat me to it.

"Are you out of your mind?" I glanced at her at the same time my father did and winced. From the expression on her face, he was in for it. Abigail never pulled her punches.

"Abigail, please," my father started. He didn't get to finish.

"You take your innocent, disabled minor son to your hidden military lab in the middle of the night and use him as a test subject in some top secret experiment without caring that he is your son and you want him to go with you again, no questions asked?" She shook violently in her anger, words blurring together like machine-g*n fire. She was so worked up I suddenly worried she might blow a valve.

"Abigail," Dad tried again. But she was on a roll and no way was he stopping this freight train.

"Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking?"

I gasped. Abigail swore. That wasn't good at all.

"Of all the irresponsible, neglectful, arrogant things to do to your own flesh and blood!"

My father's face turned red so I decided to try to cut her off before she said something she didn't mean.

"It's okay," I said. "It worked, Ab."

She spun on me. "You!" She pointed her index finger at me, vibrating in her rage. "Room!" She pointed at the kitchen door. "And you!" She shoved the same finger toward my father. "Sit!"

I knew better than to argue. I chose retreat. It's not like I wanted to defend Dad anyway, considering. I was on Abigail's side for this one. The hurt from my father's reaction still lingered and I hoped she gave it to him good.

Surprised I couldn't hear Abigail yelling, I risked a glance over my shoulder. She leaned in close to my father, hissing her words so I wouldn't overhear. I headed for the stairs, disappointed I wouldn't get to share in the browbeating. Near to the top, without a hint of warning, blackness closed in around my vision as the world started spinning. I gripped the wooden handrail and shook my head as one knee buckled, squeezing my eyes shut to try to regain my equilibrium. I let myself fall forward, kneeling on the stairs while I cupped my head in my free hand.

I felt a pang of panic as the spell faded. The fear I would somehow revert back to my previous physical condition was a real possibility. From the failures of the experiment, I had a good idea no one knew what to expect from success.

The dizziness retreated. So far, so good. Still strong, still powerful. When I rose to continue on, I let out a little yell at the sound of Abigail speaking right next to me.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I turned to tell her I was going to my room like she told me when I realized she wasn't there. And more, I heard my father answer, clear as a bell.

"To get my son," he said.

His voice came from the kitchen. And there's no way I should have been able to hear him.

I pumped one fist in the air and tried not to laugh out loud.

Super hearing? Check.

***