Wilbur picked up his fork. “It really carved my name? It carved ‘Wilbur Dibbs’?”
“‘Wilbur Cranford Dibbs’ to be exact. There were actually four of you in the entire world, but you were the only one terminally ill at the time.”
“Why would that make a difference?”
“Technically it didn’t. We gave the serum to all four of you.”
“So there are three other guys like me? Like this?” He motioned to himself.
“No, you were the only one to take the serum willingly. It seems that has something to do with acceptance of the foreign proteins and enzymes. The others are incapacitated.”
“Yes, well… One’s blood turned acidic and ate through his veins, nasty to watch and I’m certain just as bad to experience. Another’s mind cracked. He had been a university professor beforehand, but now he bites his fingers and mumbles about the number five. The third one grew a horn right out of his forehead. He threw himself off a bridge.
“Eat some of your pancakes, Mr. Dibbs.
“And that brings me to you. Somehow the serum has not corrupted you in the same way as the others. Though your powers lack control they seem largely to be maintained and your mind seems intact.”
“Don’t ask my sister,” Wilbur said. He chuckled. He raised a bite to his lips, but then stopped. She thought he was dead. He might never see her again.
An image flashed across his mind. An image of himself face down in his pancakes while Dr. Smite looked on, smiling. As suddenly as it appeared it was gone.
Wilbur looked back across the table at Dr. Smite who smiled in the same eerie way he had just seen. He dropped his fork. As he scrambled to pick it up, two large men stepped up to the booth.
“You just had a premonition didn’t you?” Dr. Smite asked.
Before he could reply Dr. Smite’s eyes changed from triumphant to angry.
“He’s disappeared,” one of the large men shouted. Once Wilbur realized the man was talking about him, he lost no time in punching the closest man in the groin. As the man fell Wilbur scrambled to get out of the restaurant. The second man grabbed him, but the man had no way of knowing what he was holding. Wilbur kicked hard with his legs and shoved the man into the bar and his head into the man’s stomach. Wilbur scrambled to his feet. Everyone in the restaurant began to converge on his location, all looking around trying to prepare for his invisible threat. He picked up a chair and threw it at the window next to Dr. Smite’s head. He jumped on the table then slipped off the side of it and underneath.
Dr. Smite and the two men jumped on the table and ran out the window. The patrons of the restaurant either followed Dr. Smite out the window or headed out the front door to find Wilbur.
When everyone had left the restaurant, Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief.
A weapon clicked behind his ear. “You’re invisible not inaudible,” a voice said from behind him.
Wilbur raised his hands, though the weapon holder would have no way of knowing it. “Please don’t shoot,” he said.
“Wow, stealth just ain’t your thing is it?”
“Alright,” the voice said. “I think they’re far enough away. Did you eat any of the pancakes?”
“The pancakes, did you eat any of the pancakes?”
“Good, now turn around.”
Wilbur dutifully turned and materialized. After he took in the Glock 22 in his face, he looked up at a burly man with a long, twisted horn poking out of his forehead.
“I expect you’re Wilbur Cranford Dibbs,” the man said.
“And so are you,” Wilbur said. “Wait, he said you jumped off a bridge?”
“Wasn’t the first time.” He holstered his gun and stuck out his hand. “Call me Cran. I figure we’re in this together.” He looked out the shattered window the people hunched over with their arms out searching every inch of ground by feel. “Come on Willy, old boy, we’ve got to get ourselves out of here before they find us.”
Wilbur and Cran went out the back of the restaurant. They walked a few blocks before Cran found an unlocked car and hot wired it. They drove out of town for nearly an hour. Wilbur pumped Cran with questions, but Cran just put his finger to his lips and said nothing. Finally they turned onto a barely visible dirt road leading at the end to what could only be described as a tree fort.
“Welcome to the Deathtrap,” Cran said.
“Funny, that’s what I would have named it too,” Wilbur thought.
To Be Continued…