Free The Last Hero (Book 1): Ultra by Matt Blake Page B

hobo’s den sent shivers up my spine.
    But halfway through the window, I didn’t really have much choice.
    I landed hard on the solid floor. I stood up, dusted myself down, winded once again. I couldn’t hear anything in here. Nothing but things scuttling about. I could feel cobwebs against my face and swore I felt little spiders creeping along my neck.
    I searched. Searched for a light source.
    And then I realized my stupidity.
    Of course there wasn’t gonna be a light source. Dad had left this place for dead. No way he was going to still be paying for…
    Weird thing happened when I pressed down the light switch.
    The lights flickered on.
    They were dim. Not the full beam they used to be. But they were there.
    I wondered if Mom knew Dad was still paying for electricity in this place. And I wondered why he was still paying for electricity in this place.
    I looked around. The room was as I’d remembered as a little boy, only a sad fossil of what it used to be. There was the spine of an old red car in the middle of the room. An Escort, or something. Looked pretty cool, but it’d need a lot of work to get in order; work this place wasn’t seeing any of. The floor was covered in dust and mud. Water dripped down from the roof above, covering the old car manuals, which were already so soaked they were going moldy.
    It felt sad, seeing this place in such a condition. It used to be my dad’s life. And just like my dad’s life, it was nothing now.
    But I didn’t have time to feel sad.
    I was here for a reason.
    I wasn’t sure how to feel about discovering I had ULTRA capabilities. Mostly terrified, which was consistent with my overall character, I figured. But I’d be damned if I didn’t learn if I could recreate those powers. Or at least figure out how to use them.
    I turned to a wooden beam sticking through the middle of the room. Held my breath. Pulled back my fist.
    I cracked it into the wooden beam.
    I yelped with the pain. The beam didn’t even dint. Shit. I could’ve tried something lighter first. If anyone saw me, they’d think I was mad.
    I held my breath and tried again. And then I tried jumping onto the wall just like I had in the stadium.
    I ran towards it. Ran with as much confidence and power as I could.
    I could do this. I could climb this wall and I could run along it. I’d done it before so I could do it again.
    I could—
    My feet hit the side of the wall.
    I ran up it, just a little.
    And then I went hurtling back to the floor, ass first.
    I kept on trying, as much as I wanted to give up. I felt irritation growing inside me as I landed on my ass for the seventy-fifth time in the space of ten minutes. It was a quarter to eight, so I had to be back in fifteen minutes. What a waste of time I’d spent in here. I hadn’t learned a thing, only that I was just as useless as I’d always been.
    Part of me was relieved. Because I didn’t want to be burdened with those abilities. I didn’t want to be public enemy number one.
    But part of me felt disappointed, too. Because when I’d used those powers, I didn’t feel utterly useless. I felt strong.
    Not like the kid who fake-shat himself in the toilet last week.
    Not like…
    When the embarrassment hit me, I saw a pencil drop off a flat work surface on the other side of the room, hit the floor.
    I felt a tingling feeling in my stomach. And it reminded me of how I’d felt at the stadium two days ago. It reminded me of the fear I’d felt. The embarrassment I’d felt.
    It reminded me of the pain I’d felt.
    The pain of losing Cassie.
    I let go of my breath.
    Tensed my fist.
    And then I walked over to the wooden beam and rammed my fist through it.
    I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing at first. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done what I’d done.
    But the middle of the beam came flying out.
    My knuckles didn’t even hurt.
    I laughed. Felt a smile of amazement spreading across my cheeks. My fear. My pain. My embarrassment. They were strong