Clark was just trying to mind his own business, although he was acutely aware of the presence of Lana Lang across from him. He’d had a crush on the pretty girl for as long as he could remember, but he’d never had the nerve to do anything about it. For all he knew, she thought he was weird—like everybody else did.
“I can’t see Favre ever dominating like Majkowski,” Pete Ross argued in the seat ahead of Clark. The big redhead wasn’t talking to him, of course. “The guy fumbled four times against the Bengals.”
Pete’s buddy, Whitney Fordham, looked back over the seat at Clark. A smirk betrayed his ugly intentions.
“Hey, ass-wipe, what do you think?”
Clark’s heart sank. He’d been hoping that Pete and Whitney would leave him alone for once. He stared out the window and tried to ignore them, not that that had ever helped before. Up ahead, just few minutes away, a bridge spanned the flooding Arkansas River, which meant that the bus still had a ways to go.
Just my luck, he thought glumly
To his surprise, Lana came to his defense.
“Leave him alone, Pete.”
“What are you, his girlfriend?” Peter asked with a sneer. He leaned back over the seat to get in Clark’s face. “I wanna hear what ass-wipe thinks.”
“I don’t really follow football,” Clark mumbled.
That wasn’t good enough for Pete.
“What do you follow, dick-splash?”
An explosive bang, coming from beneath the bus, distracted everyone. Clark was momentarily relieved, until he realized that the bus had blown a tire. It hydroplaned across the wet highway, swerving toward oncoming traffic. The panicked driver yanked hard on the wheel and the bus swung to the left, straight into the bridge’s safety rail. Teenaged passengers screamed as the bus crashed through the rail and plunged down into the frothing river many feet below.
The driver and kids were thrown from their seats even before the bus hit the water. Pandemonium erupted aboard the sinking vehicle as everyone shouted and scrambled frantically, in fear of their lives. They clambered over one another to get to the exits.
Freezing water flooded the interior of the bus, adding to the chaos and desperation. Loose backpacks and injured students clogged the aisle.
Only Clark wasn’t afraid—at least not for himself. He turned his gaze toward the rear of the bus, which was sinking faster than the front. Lana was trapped in her seat, neck-deep in the water. Blood streamed from a nasty gash on her forehead. She gasped fearfully as the water rose toward her mouth.
And she wasn’t the only one in danger.
Clark knew what he had to do. He swam through the gushing deluge to the submerged rear exit, and kicked it open. More water invaded the bus, but he pushed against the current, diving headfirst into the river outside. The muddy water was dark and agitated, but he could still see what he was doing.
He grabbed onto the bus and kicked.
Lana thrashed wildly as the water rose past her mouth, her nose, and her head. She held her breath to keep from drowning. The freezing water numbed her body. She was running out of air…
And then, miraculously, the water began to recede. Within seconds, it sank beneath her head and she gasped hungrily for air. Confused, she looked to the rear of the bus—where she saw Clark framed in the rear doorway. Straining, his face a mask of concentrated effort, he pushed the bus up and onto the river bank. Torrents of water, escaping the bus, spilled past him.
Lana’s eyes widened.
“How?”
Clark couldn’t have explained if he’d wanted to. Shifting position, he braced himself against the back of the bus and shoved it further ashore. A choking noise caught his attention and he glanced back at the murky river. His eyes narrowed in concentration.
Hang on, he thought. I’ll be right there.
Letting go of the beached vehicle, he dove back into the raging river.
He saw Lana watching as he disappeared beneath the waves. Along with the other kids, she’d managed to extricate herself from the bus and stumbled out onto the shore. Wind and rain buffeted her, making it hard to see, but she scrambled to the river’s edge. Anxious eyes searched the water.
Clark saw her staring when he climbed out of the river, carrying Pete in his arms. The bully—who must have been washed out of the bus at some point—was unconscious, but he was still breathing.
Emergency sirens signaled approaching rescuers, but it was the shocked expression on Lana’s face that concerned him the most. She backed away from him apprehensively.
How on earth was he going to explain this?
“My son told me what Clark did.”
Clark sat on a swing outside the Kent family farmhouse. It was late afternoon and it was already starting to get dark. Barns and silos rose behind him. A windmill turned in the autumn breeze. Fields of corn waited to be harvested. Even though he was outdoors, he could easily see and hear his parents talking with Mrs. Ross in the living room.
Pete’s mom sounded pretty worked up.
“Pete was under an enormous amount of stress, Helen,” Jonathan Kent said. “Everyone was. I’m sure what he thought he saw—”
“—was an act of God, Jonathan.” She had her arm around Pete, who was more subdued than usual. He stared at the floor, not speaking. “This was Providence.”
Martha Kent refilled a coffee cup.
“I think you’re blowing it a little out of proportion.” she said calmly.
“No, I’m not,” Mrs. Ross insisted. “Lana saw it, too. And the Fordham boy. And this isn’t the first time Clark has done something like this.”
He flinched at her strident tone. He didn’t want to listen anymore.
Clark was long gone by the time the swing stopped swinging.
His father found him out by the cornfields, not long after their visitors had left. Clark was seated on the open tailgate of a pickup truck. He braced himself for another lecture.
“I just wanted to help,” he said defensively.
“I know you did,” his dad said. “But we talked about this. You have to keep this side of yourself a secret.”
“Was I just supposed to let them die?”
His father hesitated before answering. His face wrestled with conflicting emotions.
“Maybe.”
Clark stared at him in surprise. He couldn’t mean that, could he?
“There’s more at stake here than our lives,” Jonathan said, trying to explain, “or the lives of those around us. When the world finds out what you can do, it’s going to change everything. Our beliefs, our notions of what it means to be human. Everything.” He shook his head solemnly. “You saw how Pete’s mom reacted. She was scared, Clark.”
Clark didn’t understand. He had saved Pete’s life. Her son would have drowned if not for him. She should have been grateful that he could do what he could.
“Why?”
“People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” his father said.
He could see that. Clark didn’t understand his own abilities either, and that scared the heck out of him. He’d spent his entire life trying to figure out what made him different from everyone else.
“But is she right?” he asked. “Did God do this to me?”
Jonathan paused, biting his tongue. His jaw tensed from the effort of keeping silent. Clark could tell he was holding something back.
“Tell me,” he pleaded.
The expression on his father’s face showed that he had come to a decision. He nodded gravely, and led Clark to the old threshing barn out back. The modest, dilapidated structure had long ago been rendered obsolete by a bigger barn that could handle the new combine. His parents had declared the smaller barn off limits years ago, “for safety reasons,” they said. Clark had always respected their wishes.