Sun 18 Dec 2011
When I was writing Phoenix Rising, I often used some famous comic book splash pages for inspiration, especially as my Alec Ramsey’s firestarting abilities start to go completely out of control near the end.
It worked in prose but I couldn’t stop wishing for George Perez or Marshall Rogers to appear in my home and illustrate it.
Which brings me to the contest. Answer this question in the comments below: what scene from your favorite book would you love to see drawn or illustrated, either in a comic or a poster?
A winner will be announced Monday morning and will be chosen by random number generator.
To set up the sequence:
Alec and the military-style assault team assigned to assist and protect him are chasing terrorists on the Newark docks. Problems arise when the terrorists begin escaping via tugboat. Alec’s trying to stop it with his telekinesis and a wall of fire.
The fire screamed at Alec, rolling into a ball of raging heat, wanting to consume what was in its path, more powerful than any fire he’d handled before. It wanted to incinerate the entire tug, including the bomb. But he had control. This is what he’d trained to do all his life.
He created a wall of fire on the far side of the tug, trying to make it retreat. More shouting. Again, Hans calmed the others down and the boat kept moving. Alec had to let some of the fire spin away, lest it hit the bomb. They’d called his bluff. Shit.
The tug chugged into the harbor, taking it farther from Alec’s range and closer to a big, shadowy shape out on the water. Another ship. No way he’d be able to stop the bigger ship if they loaded the bomb on it. Sweat poured down Alec’s neck and back. His breathing grew quicker, his eyesight blurrier from the smoke of the burning dock.
Hans was the calm one. Get him and the rest would panic. Alec broke off a small ball of fire from the flames above the tug and sent it crashing into Hans’ chest.Hans screamed, stumbled backwards and fell into the water. Steam hissed and was quickly snuffed by a wave.
The tug stopped moving, dead in the water. Yes!
A shadow fell over the tug. Their pickup. The transfer wasn’t at the docks like intelligence said, it would be on the water. Kowalski, who’d berated them for their mission questions, had been wrong. If Daz didn’t go after the CIA fuck, Alec would.Daz yelled out loud. Alec ignored it.
Daz’s voice buzzed in his ear from the radio. Alec tore off his helmet. Tears ran down his face from the smoke. His knees grew weak. The fire almost escaped from him, almost roared into the bomb. Dammit, I can control this. What was wrong with him? He knew better.
He dropped to his knees and pushed the fire back to the tug’s bridge. Another man was yelling now. Alec saw the face illuminated in the firelight and recognized Demeter, the fanatic. He should crisp him too, but if he let the fire go even a little, he’d lose it completely. Hell.
He raised a hand and created a roof of flame over the boat. There! Let them try to move the bomb with that there. He grinned, panic gone, and stood. He blinked and saw the flames around him had grown.They whispered to him, embraced him, until he was weightless, free, just like the fire. Nothing could hurt him, nothing could defeat him, especially not some second-rate terrorist cell.
I ’m busy, Daz.
Alec blinked and finally registered the twenty-foot wall of flames directly around him. The fire he’d created had joined with the flames from the sniper’s body and grown into an inferno. F-Team was trapped between the warehouse and a shipping container and the flames were closing in. They’d be incinerated.
In the distance, a horn sounded, close to the tug. Fuck! Daz yelled his name again, voice more desperate.
Okay, easy. Take control of both fires. He could finish the mission and save F-Team at the same time. Piece of cake.
He spun around and around in the flames encircling him, pushing them upward, away from F-Team, sending them into the sky, where they’d have no fuel and would sputter out on their own. The metal of the crane above twisted and buckled from the intense heat. His throat felt like dust. Heat enclosed him, baking his skin. He shouldn’t have made it so damn hot without realizing it. He knew better. What the hell was wrong with him?
He waved his hand. The flames around him started to sputter out. Good, F-Team was safe. The roof of flames above the tug disappeared.
No, shit, he didn’t mean those flames. He reached out with his TK toward the boat. He felt something fuzzy, like a figurative cotton ball in the air. He had no idea what the hell that was.
An explosion rocked the night air, splitting the tug in half. Alec fell face-forward to the dock. He spat out ashes, cursing. What had happened?The fire around him leapt high again, its flames a vivid blue color. He couldn’t have exploded the bomb on the tug—he’d been careful. So what the hell had done it?
He pushed himself up with his arms, bit his lip and the fire around him stole the air from his lungs and took control of him.He closed his eyes, joined the flames, felt them rise up around him, like he was flying high with it, flying to the water, flying to consume that big ship out there. Who needed control?
This was all he needed.
He could be fire.