Free Grounded (Out of the Box Book 4) by Robert J. Crane Page A

the heat contained within. It had held against a bomb going off within it, keeping within its heart a furious storm of propulsion and heat. I pushed against it with a touch, and still it held. My fingertips came away dusty, turned almost red. I turned my head to look and saw giant, gaping pits in the earth around me on either side of the street where the ground had risen up to offer this earth as its sacrifice, protecting me and the entire street from what would have become an uncontained disaster.
    My eyes fell on sudden motion to my right. Just off the street stood a young man with his hands in the air, mouth agape like his jaw had fallen down in total shock. His fingers were extended and he was shaking, a thick sheen of perspiration across his forehead, like he’d strained himself utterly to do what he’d done. As I watched, he fell back on his haunches on the curb, exhausted, and to my left the shield of dirt fell with him, crumbling back to red dust, the Georgia clay turned into brick by the heat and now too thin to be held together without this young man’s help.
    The van was scorched, roaring with flames, which I absorbed into an outstretched hand as I looked at this young guy who had saved my life. I took weary, faltering steps toward him, and he stared up at me as I approached, seemingly wary. Or maybe he was just about to pass out. He certainly looked the part.
    I turned and dropped right next to him, more than a little sweaty myself. I was still caked with blood and I could smell it, but the heat and the strain of the last few minutes had left me exhausted, too, and I settled back on my hands as I heard the sound of sirens in the distance. I watched the van burn and knew that the last two guys had bought it in the explosion. Alas. Someone had tried to kill me. Again. Must be Tuesday.
    “What’s up?” he asked as I looked at him sidelong, nodding in greeting. He was still shaken, sweating profusely, and not just from the heat.
    I sat there, covered in my own blood, glad I didn’t have sleeves on this blouse because they’d have been burned off by my heat absorption, and let myself rest, taking a deep breath and then letting it out. Smoke billowed out of my lips like I’d taken a big old draft off a cigarette, and once it cleared I coughed. “Not much,” I said, returning his cool observation in kind. His eyes widened and quickly returned to normal at my casualness. We were both playing, I was just better at it than he was. Years of experience with this sort of thing. He was clearly new to the game. “Earth powers, huh?”
    “Yeah,” he said, looking at his fingers. They weren’t shaking now. “I guess so.”
    I gave him a slow nod as I stared straight ahead. People were coming out of their houses now. A crowd was bound to assemble soon; they always did. I saw people pointing to us, saw them mouth my name. Heard a whisper from someone as they pointed to him. “That’s Augustus Coleman,” they said.
    “Augustus?” I asked. He turned his head very slightly to me and nodded. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”
    “Pfft,” he said, and waved me off. “Like there’s anyone who doesn’t know who you are. You—you’re somebody.” And he said it with a certain reverence that—frankly—I hadn’t heard associated with my name in a long time.
    “Thank you,” I said quietly, and he looked at me like he was surprised, or like he didn’t know what I was thanking him for. “For the help back there.”
    “Got to do what heroes do if you want to be a hero,” he said with a shrug. There was a long pause. “And you’re welcome.”
    We both settled back and sat there in silence as the sirens drew closer, discordant music to my ears as I waited, and felt the warm heat of the sun on my skin.

9.
    “It’s not going to be quite what you expect,” I said to him as the first police cars were pulling onto the street. Augustus and I were both there with our hands in the air as one does when the cops pull up