Post by HoM on May 27, 2008 14:03:13 GMT -5
The Flash
[/i]Issue #24: “Who Rides The Wind…” Part I
Written by Kevin Feeney:
Cover by TBD
Edited by House Of Mystery[/center]
The 25th Century
The tall skyscraper stood out from its surroundings, a spire thrust upwards far over the other buildings around it, it’s aerial literally reaching the clouds. The lights of the building were dimmed for the night, its inhabitants having returned to their prefab shelters and homes. A single golden light shone in the tallest window of the tower, the private sanctum of its owner. A storm raged outside.
Lightning crashed down.
Lightning.
In the end, it was all about the lightning.
How appropriate, mused the owner, that it should flash on today of all days- today when he would at last set into motion the steps which would lead to his final victory over the man who had done so much to him. From lightning he was born, the man reflected, staring out his windows. And in lightning, he shall perish. He snapped back to the moment, whirling to face the video-screens and holographic displays which dominated the room. A massive board of 4-dimensional holo-chelak hovered over the meeting table, and the man surveyed it, frowning. He flicked his hand, and the board moved from the present day to hundreds of years ago, the 21st century, the pieces on it changing radically. For a second, he paused; staring at two figures placed closely together on it, on a tile marked “Iron Heights”.
“Perhaps…” he mused, but then withdrew his hand. “No. Not alone. They failed when I despatched them before, they would only fail again. Alone, at least.” His gaze turned to other pieces. “And he has proven more than capable of dealing with the Rogues before now. Brute force alone is useless. What this requires is a bit more… sophistication.” Idly, he set the board to scroll through time until….
“Of course!” He nodded quickly, almost smiling- almost. “The only choice to kill a speedster...” He clapped both hands and another computer screen flickered on. “But when… when to strike him…” His face clouded for another moment before he nodded tightly. “It must be before the girl comes, that much is clear… but after her conception this time, I think. The more concerns on his mind, the more distracted he will be, the easier to destroy.” He snapped his fingers. “Very well! Meloni!” As he said the name, he seemed to shudder ever so slightly, as though in distaste or pain.
“Your will, sir?” the computer system’s synthesized voice mimed female tones.
“Activate Contingency Plan Mercurius!” He made a fist as he began to walk towards the exit. “Century 20, Decade 6.”
***
When people are waiting for something, they like to move. It’s a human impulse, one ingrained in us from birth. Babies don’t sit still, (And believe me, in the last few months I’ve come to know that one from experience- and it looks like I’ll know it even better soon) they gurgle, they fidget, they play and explore. Adults, though they try to deny it, will still pace when they’re waiting for news, or else they’ll wring their hands or lick their lips- anything, any sort of movement, to alleviate their boredom or impatience.
Iris always says I go one step further.
When I’m waiting for something, I run.
I’m running right now, nothing too fast- about 350 miles a second, the speed of sound, give or take a few miles. Normally the faster I run, the more impatient I am. I’m burning off frustration (Along with quite a few calories) and letting myself loose. Of course, as Iris never fails to remind me, it’s counterproductive. As just about everybody has experienced, time isn’t a constant. It moves relative to us, to our perceptions. When it feels like something good is over quickly and the dull things drag on and on and on, (I’m looking at you, family gatherings!) that’s what is actually happening, since time isn’t something “real”, but a human conception. To a lot of people, that’s just a theory, but I’m living, breathing, red-clad proof. See for me, when I shunt into speed mode to leave the rest of the world behind, every ‘second’ stretches on for an eternity. I can go around the world five times in less time than it takes the fastest shuttle to travel between Keystone and Metropolis. I can reach the speed of light- I can outrace Superman. Most people think that means time must fly by for me. They’re wrong. Instead, everything else just moves like, to quote a TV show Wally likes to watch (to Iris’s understandable disapproval), an asthmatic ant carrying some heavy shopping.
So anyway, the point is- when I run fast, time moves slower. Which sort of defies the point of running at all, but that doesn’t stop me.
My name is Barry Allen.
I’m the Flash- the Fastest Man Alive.
And an hour or so ago I got a phone call to tell me my parents have been caught in an accident.
Sometimes even the Fastest Man Alive can’t move fast enough.
***
The man known only as Savitar sat in his cell in Iron Heights, unmoving. He stared resolutely at the thick steel door, as though thought alone could break it. Once, he had been a God, now… now he had been pulled down from Olympus. The Flash, that odious mortal who believed he was the only one who could ride the Lightning. Certainly, that sanctimonious hypocrite would lie if confronted with that truth, would claim that he had no problem with other speedsters. But Savitar and Barry Allen- oh yes, Savitar knew his name, knew it well!- both knew that there could only be one who could access the Speed Force, only one. Was it mere happenstance that not all that long after resurfacing, the prattling pensioner Jay Garrick had perished, where Barry had lived? Sure he’d come back… but for how long? And how long, Savitar wondered, before Wallace West was killed too, doubtless in another unhappy… “accident”. And then the fool would return to kill Savitar- to finish what he had begun, so that he alone could access what had made Savitar a God.
But the captive speedster knew far more than his rival on this matter. It was not mere chance that he and his companion, Lady Savitar, who he had empowered himself, had appeared when they had, just before the birth of the first of Allen’s spawn. If Flash had been intelligent enough to do his research, he would have discovered that both Savitar and his follower had been seen before- over fifty years beforehand. Then too Savitar had had to compete with rivals- not Garrick, no, but the ones who came before even him. And they had believed they had rid themselves of him, but he was rescued by his lord, the one who had sent him here, to reclaim his title as sole speedster.
A twisted grin spread across his face. They might contain him now, his powers safely sapped within this cell, but his master would come for him, and for his disciple, and then they would have their revenge, not only on Allen, but on those who had wronged him once before.
It was only a matter of time.
***
I circle the globe one last time, and then I’m back in Keystone Hospital, in my civvies. Mom is sitting still in her chair- I can still see the cuts and bruises from the accident. Iris is with her- they’re holding hands, and I feel a sudden rush of gratitude to my wife. I’ve never known a woman as understanding, as patient and as selfless as she is- this from a guy who’s been on a team with Wonder Woman. I love Diana- everyone does- but there’s only one woman in my life, and it’s the one sitting there right now with her comforting arm around my mom. Never mind that she’s got to be almost as upset as I am, given how long she’s been with us, never mind that she has a thousand things to worry about, never mind that she has another baby on the way inside her right now- she’s always there for everyone else. I’ve heard some of the other heroes wonder- why does the Flash settle for some ordinary woman? That usually lasts until they meet her- and then they understand exactly why.
I know Bart’s at the sitter’s. Jay and Joan are still out in Coast City, taking a well deserved break to celebrate Jay’s return from the dead, they haven’t heard anything yet. As Iris pointed out, upsetting them when we know so little would just ruin their vacation. And then there’s the ward, just outside the door and down the corridor, where dad is. I can’t help but reflect on the irony of how his life is in danger because a driver broke the speed limit.
“How is he?” I ask automatically, and then curse myself inside. It’s a stupid question- though it had felt like hours to me, I haven’t been gone that long for my mom or my wife. But both of them take it in their stride.
“No change,” mom whispers. I wonder again if she shouldn’t be lying down herself- she had emerged mostly unscathed from the crash, but the doctors had still been reluctant to let her up and about. Still, pity the man who tries to tell her what to do.
“Henry’s a strong man, Nora,” Iris points out. “His injuries aren’t life-threatening. You should rest.”
She’s right, too, they aren’t life threatening. In theory. But he isn’t a young man- what if he has a heart attack from the stress? What if something goes wrong? What if-. Iris’s voice sounds gently, breaking up my reverie.
“Barry… please.” I look up to find I’ve been tapping my foot a few hundred times a second in frustration. I stop, sheepishly. It’s funny; people always assume I’m care free, and take life on the cuff. They think I worry less, but that’s not true- I worry much, much more. When every second is as long as it is for me, you can’t help but think about every possible outcome of every scenario. In fact, it’s because I have so much more time to worry that I take it the way I do. Life is life- whatever happens, will happen, and even for a speedster, life’s too short to worry. Maybe especially for a speedster- you know what they say about living fast. Lost in my own thoughts, I’m about to take off again when the door to the ward opens and my head shoots upwards. It’s the doctor, in conversation with his nurse, head bowed over a clipboard.
When I’m really, really stressed, I can slip into speed mode accidentally, and that’s what happens now. The second seems to last for en eternity- I feel like I could scream with frustration. What will happen now? Is it good news or bad? Or no change? Can his heart hold out? I know he was in good shape, but exercise can only make up for age so much, and I find myself more terrified in this instant than I’ve been since Bart was born. When I had last talked to dad, it had just been for a minute, and I strain to remember what I’d even said- had I been sharp? Impatient, terse? Were his last thoughts of me angry ones or-
I can’t take it. I forcibly shunt myself out of speed mode, back to the moment.
After what seems like an era, the doctor looks up.
He’s smiling.
Every muscle in my body relaxes, and I let out a breath I’ve been holding for three relative hours. It’s going to be okay.
***
Three rooms down, in the same ward, a beautiful young woman lay unmoving in the bed, her chest rising and falling slowly, stomach bulging just a little larger than normal beneath the sheets. Three men stood by the bedside, all of them in thick clothes. Two of them did not really look as though they wanted to be there, hanging back awkwardly, and constantly starting and looking around to check if they were being observed. The third had his hand on the woman’s hand, looking down at her with a hint of softness on his hard face.
“You shouldn’t have gotten messed up in all this, Lisa… you were never meant for this.” He murmured it so softly that even the two men behind him could not possibly have heard him. Anger seemed to well up in him, his grip intensified. “I’ll kill Mardon for doing this to you. Flash isn’t to blame, not this time. He couldn’t have known. Mardon got you involved in this, Mardon made it worse, Mardon’s to blame. And he’ll die, Lis. I swear it.” For a split second, his resolve faltered, his voice growing even quieter.
“Ah God, Lis… you were supposed to end up a skater! You could have gone to the top, you know? The very top…the first Snart to do something with their life. This… you were never meant for this…” He paused for a long second, and then relented.
“Come on Scudder, Rory. Let’s pick up the Rathaway kid and go.”
“Where to, Len?” asked Mick Rory, better known as Heatwave.
“Gotham. Metropolis. Chicago. We’ll work it out. All that matters is that it ain’t here.” responded Len Snart. “The Rogues are leaving the twin cities.”
As Captain Cold, Heatwave and Mirror Master left the ward, walking past another room in which an old man lay weakly sitting up surrounded by his wife, son and daughter in law, two other figures in thick coats, hats pulled down, stood in the corridor. After checking to see that the other three were gone, they stepped into the room. One of them paused for a long second.
“There you go, Marky,” came a singsong voice from one of the figures. “Golden Glider, sister of Captain Cold and erstwhile father of your kid!”
“You weren’t lying…” murmured Mark Mardon. “Jesus Christ… you weren’t lying…”
“Hey now, would the Trickster ever lie to you?” Jesse James threw his arm around Mardon’s shoulders. “It’s a long shot but you never know, Mark. She might come out of that coma you put her into!”
“That was Flasher…” Mark protested weakly, but James chuckled.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mark! Anyway, if Cold knows she’s pregnant, sounds like it might be a good idea to get out of dodge!”
“You bastard…”
“Maybe so,” Trickster laughed again. “But I’m all you got after you abandoned your old pals! Don’t worry, Mark…” he grinned. “I have a cunning plan!”
***
As a forensics scientist, I’m more familiar with most common injuries and wounds than a lot of people, but I’m not really paying a lot of attention as the doctor explains it to me. The specifics can wait- my dad is going to be okay!
“As long as he rests a lot,” the doctor is telling me when I tune myself back in. “And of course, he’ll need to stay here for several weeks, and we’ve prescribed him some painkillers. But otherwise, Ms Allen,- Mr and Mrs Allen- he should be alright.” Mom can’t even talk for a moment, she’s so relieved. Sure we knew in our heads that he’d be okay, but… well, it’s only been a year or so since we thought Jay had gone forever, and in this life, death is almost a constant. Thankfully for all of us, so is resurrection.
“Thank you doctor,” Iris’s voice comes from beside me, bringing me back to reality again. “Thank you so much…” That’s my Iris, taking control of the situation as always, never cracking for a moment. God, I love her.
“When can we see him?” I ask tentatively, placing my hands on Iris’s shoulders. The doctor exchanges a glance with his nurse, shrugging his shoulders slightly.
“He needs to rest for a bit now, but I think I could allow you in…” he muses. “In, say, two hours?” We all nod nearly simultaneously.
“Thank you,” mom breathes at last, and I realise it’s the first thing she’d said in a long time. Or maybe it only feels like that. Anyway, it’s pretty clear a great weight has been lifted off her shoulders- off all our shoulders.
“If you want to go home, to freshen up or to eat or….”
“No, thank you,” it’s I who answer, with mom nodding in affirmation. “We may grab a bite to eat across the road, but we’ll remain here. We’ve nowhere to go anyway.”
“That’s right,” the doctor smiles, clearly recalling something he had read. “You live in Keystone, right? In rush hour, it’s not like you’d have time to cross the bridges, freshen up and get back in that time anyway,”
Iris and I exchange a glance out of the corner of our eyes.
“That’s right,” I affirm, face totally straight. “Not enough time at all.”
***
I zip through the streets of Keystone, a load off my mind. What’s going on in the twin cities today, you may ask? Well, to be honest, the answer is- not much. Besides my accidental little vacation to a parallel universe (Which, okay, was pretty amazing, I’ll grant you), it’s been pretty quiet for the last few weeks- not a peep out of the Rogues, which in itself is something to be worried about. Most of the New Rogues are safely locked in Iron Heights, and the old ones are keeping a low profile. Bemusedly, I wonder about that Golden Glider girl who was with Mirror Master. She’s never come in to Iron Heights. I assume she must have been revived and joined Mardon and the others. A pity- every new Rogue is another annoyance. Why is it that Batman seems to fight a new, totally unaffiliated villain every ten minutes and yet I only seem to get new bad guys once every few months, and even then they inevitably join the Rogues? We super heroes could use a little variety in who we beat up!
I tear through another street, my eyes everywhere. Not even a person dropping litter! I can’t even remember things being this quiet. (Well, unless you count Justice League Monitor Duty. I swear, every super villain on Earth seems to make a point of doing absolutely nothing when I’m on Monitor Duty, to the point where I almost wish the Riddler would try to blow up Fort Knox or something, just to relieve the boredom. (But then I remember he’s dead, but it’s not like that ever stopped one of Bruce’s rogues before)) Most people would feel pretty good at a time like this- I just feel concern. After all this time, I know that the Rogues never quit. They just take a break to plan their next harebrained scheme.
Near Keystone central, I finally manage to find something. Some punks, in the absolute height of ingenuity, have decided it would be a brilliant idea to attempt to rob a centrally placed convenience story in the Flash’s cities in broad daylight. One quarter of a second after I find them, the terrified owner’s blink ends and he discovers that the punks are no longer there. Half a second afterwards, two twisted pieces of metal which were once guns until a super-speed fist vibrated through them appear in local trash cans. Three quarters of a second afterwards, two very surprised youths are standing handcuffed beside a police car with two police officers who aren’t quite as surprised as the punks because they’re used to it by now. One second after I first spot them, I’m running again, still torn between rejoicing that my father’s okay and being bored out of my mind! I shunt out of speed mode and look at my watch.
An hour and forty-nine minutes until we can see dad.
…Oh boy.
***
Seven minutes after the agreed time, I appear in the hospital waiting room, panting heavily and attracting the attention of several other patient relatives. Iris is standing, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, lips quivering in amusement, tapping her watch, and as I slow everything down to normal perspective again, I distinctly see my mom raise her eyebrows.
“I swear, I can explain it!”
“Of course you can,”
“No, I mean really! A really, really, really good excuse.”
“Uh-huh. Busy few hours.”
“Yes! I mean… well, no, pretty quiet actually. But….”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, but listen, Iris! I was just thinking about how I haven’t fought anyone new in months, and then this big… medieval guy on a horse showed up, and…”
“What’s his name?” This was my mom intruding.
“What?”
“His super-villain name?”
“Um… I think he called himself “Baron Blackblade”. Anyway, he smashed things up, I stopped him, and it took a bit longer than I hoped and, well, the point is, large parts of Central City’s park may need a bit of reconstruction but I did take care of him.”
I wait sheepishly for the inevitable rebuke that will follow, but instead, mom and Iris just exchange a glance.
“Fifty-six?” asks my mom.
“Fifty-Seven,” corrects Iris. My expression must be betraying my confusion because Iris is clarifying- “Times this year you’ve been late for an appointment. How else would I know if you were replaced by an alien shapeshifter?” Part of me wants to object to what appears to be a running tally of my punctuality. For a half second, I consider it, but then decide that the minor detail of her being right probably discredits my argument somewhat. Did I mention I love her?
“The doctor’s waiting…”
We banter a bit more as we walk down the corridor, until the doctor pushes open the door to my dad’s room. I find myself a little short of breath (And this coming from quite possibly the fittest guy in the world) as we walk in, my pulse racing as fast as my alter ego- and then I see him. He’s looking undeniably worse than when I saw him last, propped up in his bed with some big, angry scars on his face- there’s a long gash beside his thick moustache which looks particularly bad, and I see more on the right arm which waves lightly to greet us. But he’s smiling.
We go through the motions for the first ten minutes of the visit. Mom gets all tearful, as is her wont, and Iris apologizes- she feels terrible that they were hurt coming all the way out to visit us. Dad, being dad, waves it away gruffly, insisting that he will find the lunatic who hit them and… give them a stern talking to. (My parents are kind of old fashioned- there’s only one lawyer in their hometown of Fallville, so a lawsuit was out of the question.) Mostly, I just smile and speak when spoken to- dad asks about Bart, apologies for inconveniencing us which Iris and I both dismiss… and that’s when things change.
“Oh, but we do owe you an apology, Barry,” dad says, propping himself up more in the bed and surveying me as severely as he can- the effect being somewhat undermined when he winces in pain and has to sit back, Iris and mom rushing to help him. After he’s more comfortable, he continues. “We owe you more of an apology than words can convey.”
“What… what do you mean?” I respond awkwardly, with a half smile frozen on my face. Iris’s expression is as mystified as I am- but mom… her face shows only sadness.
“Is now really the best time, Henry?” she asks quietly. Dad just nods gravely.
“It’s what we were coming to tell them, Nora. It’ll have to come out some time.” Her expression doesn’t change, but she doesn’t stop him either. Dad looks at me and licks his lips nervously, as though unsure how to proceed. I’m feeling really worried at this stage- what is it? Has something happened? Oh God, is my identity out? Mom was always a gossip, and dad can be a loudmouth too, when he’s proud. Or something worse? Does one of them have a medical problem?
But whatever I expect, I absolutely do not anticipate the words which dad says next.
“Son… does the name Thawne mean anything to you?”
There is a split second of silence as my eyes widen and my mouth drops open. How could-?
Then suddenly, a figure erupts through the wall at well over the speed of sound. I have a split second to glance at him and shunt into speed mode. He’s wearing what look like really, really old-fashioned casual clothes - I’m no expert, but I’d say these things predate the last World War!- and then my chance ends as he slams into me and carries me away so fast that even in speed mode I can’t adjust to it.
“BARRY ALLEN!” he roars, as he hurtles through the other wall and blasts to God knows where at 400 miles a second, shock still convulsing through my body.
“Who… who are you?” I manage to spit out.
“I left my names behind long ago, Barry Allen. All that matters is what I am now, and what I am to you…” his voice carries to me even at our insane speed- some quirk of the speed force. He grabs me by the collar as he runs, forcing me into the air, his eyes narrowing- “And now, to you… I am death.”
To Be Continued….!
