Spider-Man

by Peter David

  THE CONFRONTATION

  … and then he was gone.

  Just like that.

  But not without help.

  For what seemed the umpteenth time that day, Mary Jane couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  At first she didn’t understand. All she saw was a red and blue blur slamming into the green armored creature. It was moving so quickly, she couldn’t even tell if it was a human or some sort of missile or what. What she did know for certain was that her attacker was no longer there. Instead he was falling down, down, knocked clean off the glider by the impact of the … the whatever it was. The creature plummeted, landed on one of the passing floats, bounced off it, somehow managed to twist himself in midair, and crashed feetfirst into a large tent serving Greek food. The armor he was wearing seemed to protect him from any serious harm.

  And then she saw that glider of his coming after him, seeking him out. It let nothing stand in its way. It sailed through the replica of the globe, crashing in one side and out the other, knocking the globe off its stand.

  At that moment, Mary Jane saw something land on a wall of a building across the way. She realized belatedly that it was the thing that had knocked the monster, however briefly, off its perch. And then she recognized him. How could she not? His pictures were all over the papers in recent days.

  “Spider-Man,” she breathed. And if she had ever been inclined to believe any of those headlines about what a criminal mastermind he was, all of those went right out the window.

  “A little help!” she tried to scream to him over the chaos below, because she still didn’t have a firm grip and the balcony seemed on the verge of breaking off anyway. But Spider-Man wasn’t looking in her direction. Instead his focus was elsewhere.

  And then she saw it, too.

  The globe that the glider had knocked over was rolling. Like a gigantic boulder, it was crushing everything in sight, and people were pushing and shoving and screaming to get the hell out of its way. Directly in its path was a small boy, staring in frozen shock as it barreled right toward him. His mother was screaming, waving her arms, trying to get to him and being carried in the opposite direction by the wave of panicked humanity.

  Instantly Spider-Man raised his arm and something came hurtling out of his wrist … a web? My God . . . how weird is that? Mary Jane thought.

  The web line snagged a billboard high atop a nearby building and, with no trace of fear, Spider-Man swung off the building in a huge arc, heading for the little boy, his right arm outstretched… .

  I’m not gonna make it, I’m not gonna make it, thought Peter, as the little boy trembled in front of the rolling globe. And then he was right on top of the kid, and the globe was rumbling so fiercely that it hurt his teeth. He snagged the boy and whipped his body upward, arching his back as the globe rolled just under him, snapping a row of parking meters as if they were matchsticks.

  “You made it!” the boy gasped.

  “Never a doubt.”

  He hurtled past the tent where the green armored nutball who’d started all this was struggling to get out from under the fallen canvas. He was surrounded by police, and Peter heard him shout from underneath, “I surrender! I surrender! Media violence made me do it!”

  What a loon, Peter thought as he angled himself toward a woman who was waving her arms and screaming “Billy! Billy!” over and over again.

  “That your ma?” The boy nodded, and Peter dropped down next to the woman.

  He saw the look on her face, the fear of his own masked features, plus who-knew-what-else thanks to the Daily Bugle. But he couldn’t give it any further thought. Instead he handed the boy over to her without comment and turned toward the balcony where Mary Jane was holding on. She had managed to get some traction and had braced herself so she was no longer dangling over the street, held by the strength of her arms alone. Peter was about to swing up to get her… .

  When suddenly he heard a roar, a cackling, and he spun just in time to see a half dozen of New York’s finest flying off in all directions. Standing in the middle of the melee was the armored monstrosity that had come tearing into the middle of all this and terrorized so many.

  Under his mask, Peter felt his fury growing even as he charged forward, his booted feet moving with precision and certainty across the debris-strewn street. He leapt through the air, did a series of handsprings and somersaults for no other reason than to show this monster just with whom he was dealing, and landed directly in front of his opponent.

  “How dare you interfere with me!” snarled the green goon from beneath his mask. “What do you want?”

  “World peace. But I’ll settle for your chin.”

  His arm moved so fast that the armored man never even saw it coming. Peter’s punch lifted him clear off his feet and sent him tumbling heels over head into a brick wall. His heart pumping, Peter charged straight at him, cocking his fist to deliver another fierce blow …

  … and the creature caught it in one metal hand, stopping the punch in midthrust.

  “See what I did there?” he said almost conversationally, and then he drove a punch straight at Peter, and Peter had never, but never, been hit that hard in his life. Not even as a kid being smacked around by bullies. It was like being punched by a wrecking ball, and Peter crashed through an ice cream cart and into a lamppost.

  The world was spinning around him, and Peter fought off a wave of nausea as he staggered to his feet. A heartbeat later, his spider sense screamed a warning and, operating purely on reflex, he backflipped high in the air. An instant later he saw why he’d felt compelled to do so: The bizarre glider the guy had been riding had come swooping in behind him and would have broken his spine if it had struck home.

  With a gleeful cackle, his armored opponent leapt high in the air, landing smoothly on the flying wing. His boots snapped into place with an audible click and up he went into the sky.

  For a moment, Peter allowed himself a breath of relief. He hadn’t caught the guy, but at least he’d managed to chase him away.

  The sound of machine-gun fire alerted him to his error.

  Mary Jane, having managed to pull herself away from the edge of the balcony, bringing herself closer and closer to relative safety and Harry’s outstretched hand, was starting to think that the worst was over. Then she heard the machine-gun rounds pumping away and twisted her head around to get a better view of what was happening.

  The nut on the glider was diving down toward Spider-Man, and machine-gun muzzles had popped out of either wing. Bullets were chewing up the ground, and Spider-Man was moving faster than Mary Jane would have thought possible.

  Spider-Man leapt, firing a web line at the same time. It drew taut and he ricocheted upward, staying just ahead of the gunfire’s path. He swung up and over a huge float of a Rasta man, as the maniac on the glider disappeared into the sky.

  Suddenly the reviewing stand moaned. With a creaking of metal, the struts began to give out, rivets popping like so many champagne corks. Harry was still trying to reach down to M. J., but she was out of range and slipping fast. She let out a scream that she hoped would attract Spider-Man’s attention.

  She succeeded in doing so. She saw Spider-Man look up at her, and an instant later he was moving. A procession of floats stood between her and Spider-Man, but not only did that prove to be no obstacle to him, they were in fact his means of getting to her. He bounded from one float to the next, drawing closer and closer to her. He’ll save me, he’ll save me, she kept saying to herself, trying to let that new mantra drown out the continued creaking of the overstressed metal supports.

  Spider-Man was in midair when the monster reappeared.

  He came ripping down from nowhere on his glider. Spider-Man obviously saw him coming, twisted around in midleap but was momentarily helpless. And the creature took full advantage of it. The grinning gargoyle smashed into Spider-Man, wrapping him in a bear hug and driving him into the building above the balcony. Glass and debris rained down, and Mary Jane
frantically shielded her head as small bits of rubble and glass bounced off her.

  Harry wasn’t quite so fortunate. He tried to dodge, but there was no room to maneuver, and a chunk of rubble bounced off his head. He wavered where he stood, trying to maintain his footing, but then Mary Jane watched in despair as his eyes glazed and he slumped over.

  Spider-Man shoved away from the building with his legs and twisted around so that he had his toes on the edge of the glider. There he slugged it out with the armored monster. She could hear the sounds of the metal ringing under the pounding of Spider-Man’s fists, but the creature didn’t seem the least bit perturbed, as if—now that he’d readied himself—he could take whatever punishment Spider-Man was dishing out. Then the creature swung an elbow around, catching Spider-Man in the jaw. The impact sent Spider-Man toppling off the glider, and he smashed into the balcony.

  The impact of his landing caused Mary Jane to lose not only her grip, but also the small measure of safety she had managed to obtain with her struggles. She rolled toward the edge, and she could have sworn she heard Spider-Man cry out. It was the balustrade that stopped her once again, bringing her to a halt but leaving her dangling perilously high above the street.

  Spider-Man rose, started to move toward her, and suddenly the glider was right there, rising out of nowhere. The turbojet had gone utterly silent; perhaps he’d had it on only for effect before, or perhaps there was some other power source for simple lifting, like magnetism. She had no idea; she wasn’t a scientist. Peter was the scientist. Deliriously, she wished he were there.

  With a deft maneuver, the creature swung his glider around so that he was facing Spider-Man. There was a humming sound coming from the vehicle, the noise of a weapon powering up. The front section began to glow. Instantly Spider-Man shot out a web strand. It splattered over the monster’s face with such force that, had he not been armored, it likely would have taken his head off. As the creature pitched back, clawing at his face, his change in posture sent the glider’s aim off just as the weapon discharged. It appeared to be some sort of laser beam, although she couldn’t be sure. But it was a pencil-thin beam of red light, and when it struck the wall next to Spider-Man, the wall blew apart. If it wasn’t a laser, it was still a damned nasty piece of work.

  The glider angled up within range of Spider-Man, and he leapt upward, grabbing at the underside of the glider. He came away with a handful of wiring from underneath. Immediately the glider began to smoke and sputter, sparks crackling from underneath. And its rider was still blinded by the webbing, howling his indignation as he angled the glider away from Spider-Man as quickly as he could.

  Thank God . . . I’m safe, Mary Jane thought with relief.

  That was when the ledge gave way.

  Mary Jane clutched at the air, frantically tried to walk on it, and then she fell. Her arms flailed about, and insanely all she could think of was that the dress she had worked so hard on was going to wind up being totally ruined. The street sped toward her, and she hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.

  Then, suddenly, she was in Spider-Man’s arms. He was snapping back upward, and she had absolutely no clue what was happening. Then she saw that he was clutching a web line and realized that he had used his webbing to effectively bungee jump after her.

  Spider-Man rebounded past the balcony, giving her a glimpse of the section that had collapsed. She saw Harry further in, away from the crumbling section, not in danger and just starting to come around. His eyes focused on her, and he seemed not to realize what it was he was looking at. Then he was gone as the arc of his web line took them up, up further, and then over.

  They whipped through the canyon of skyscrapers, Mary Jane looking around in amazement. He moved with a speed, a certainty that she wouldn’t have thought possible. She should have been terrified. She was being held aloft by a total stranger, swinging through the asphalt jungle as if it were a regular jungle and he was making his way on vines. When he would reach the end of his web line, he’d simply release it and there would be the brief start of a descent, whereupon another web line would take its place and off they went again. They swept low over the street, just brushing past the top of a cab, the driver of which stopped, exited, pointed, and bellowed to whoever would listen, “What the hell’s that?!”

  She started to wonder where he was taking her. To the spider cave under his mansion? Back to his place in the frozen north? No matter what, this moment was breathtaking. Particularly when she came to the realization that she wasn’t afraid. That somehow she knew, beyond question, that he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt her.

  M. J. was mildly disappointed when she discovered that their destination was neither subterranean nor iced over, but instead a garden rooftop near Rockefeller Plaza. It was at that point that his intention became clear to her; he just wanted to make sure she was far away from the danger, just in case the nutball on the glider came back. They alighted on the rooftop, to the astonishment of several young folks who were relaxing with their lunches on benches, chairs, and a spread-out blanket.

  “Don’t mind us,” Spider-Man said. “She needs to use the elevator.”

  It was the first time that he had spoken near her. There was something much more youthful about his voice than she would have expected. It was muffled, the exact tone hard to make out, but he sounded vaguely familiar. Someone she’d heard on the radio, perhaps.

  Satisfied that she was attended to, he started to turn away, but she stopped him with a quick, “Wait!”

  He looked back at her, waiting for her to speak. She wished she could see through the eyepieces, at least. The lack of eye contact was the spookiest thing about him. “Who are you?”

  “You know,” he said.

  Taken aback, she said, “I do?”

  He paused for a long moment then, as if seriously considering saying something else. But instead he said simply, “Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

  Then he sprinted for the edge of the building. Despite everything that she’d just seen, she still felt a moment of panic as he vaulted off the edge of the roof, doing a double somersault as he went. But as he plunged she heard a thwippp noise, webbing shot out, and he swung gracefully away.

  “Spider-Man …” she whispered, waiting for the excited beating of her heart to slow, but at the same time kind of wishing that it never did.

  XIX.

  THE AFTERMATH

  Harry burst into the apartment, the picture of a young man in turmoil. He had his cell phone in his hand, and he was frantically dialing a number. Peter, at the window, was a portrait of calm, serenely drinking a glass of milk. He could afford to be calm, of course, since he knew precisely where Mary Jane had been dropped off, and that she was out of danger.

  But there was no way to convey this to Harry without tipping off to him things he was better off not knowing.

  Besides, a small, sadistic aspect of Peter, one that he’d really rather have not admitted to himself, was pleased to see Harry in such a tizzy. After all, Harry had enjoyed the inside track to Mary Jane for a while now, and in secret. In the back of Peter’s mind, it seemed justifiable payback to have his own secret about M. J. and to let Harry stew for a while.

  “Pick up, pick up!” Harry yelled into the phone, as Peter took a deep breath and enjoyed the night air. “If somehow you get this, call me right away!” He snapped the phone shut, shoved it in his pocket, and walked quickly over to Peter. “Pete!” he said, his voice almost manic. “I’m glad you’re here. Any word? Has she called?”

  Any word? As it so happens, buddy, yes. The word is that M. J. didn’t want to kiss you. Further word is that she looked at Spider-Man as if he was a god descended from Olympus. I’m on the fast track, friend, and you can eat my dust.

  “Not yet,” Peter said. “She will.”

  “She will?” Harry clutched at Peter’s shirt. “How do you know! You don’t know that!”

  Peter delicately pried the hand loose. He certainly didn’t need to have hi
s shirt ripped open to reveal the costume underneath. “A feeling I have,” he assured his roommate. “You okay? How’s your head?”

  Harry shrugged, as if his condition—and even the question itself—were of no consequence. “They patched it up. It’s nothing.” At that, he started pacing and talking rapidly, although to no one in particular. “What would he do to her? Thank God my father wasn’t there. That whole scene, where’d that thing come from? What was it? What’s that?” he asked, eyeing Peter’s glass. “Milk?”

  “Uh-huh. Got milk?” Peter asked lightly. He pictured what it would be like to appear in a milk advertisement, a little white mustache perched just under the masked bridge of his nose.

  Harry stared at him incredulously. “Why aren’t you worried?” he demanded.

  “Oh. Right,” Peter said, as if remembering to cue an emotion. “I am worried.”

  Beginning to pace again, like an expectant father, Harry announced, “I’ve put it together. Spider-Man knows she’s my girlfriend. He’ll want a ransom from my father.”

  Peter cocked his head and said, “Really? What could he get?”

  Harry’s cell phone rang. Harry quickly flipped it open and said, “Hello?” then he relaxed with visible relief. “Oh, thank God.” He turned to Peter and said somewhat unnecessarily, “It’s her.” Then, back to the phone, he said, “Where are you? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” He paused, listening. “He was what?” His brow furrowed. “What do you mean, he was incredible?”

  Peter raised a hand to cover the smile.

  Harry shook his head as if he were a dreamer trying to shake himself back to wakefulness. “Are you sure you’re all right? Are you … drugged? Where did he take you?” Another pause. “To a roof garden?” He looked to Peter as if to ask whether he was losing his mind or not. Peter just shrugged.

  “No, I’ve never been there,” Harry said, carefully measuring his words with forced calm. “Listen, I’m coming over.” Yet again a pause. “Because you need to tell me everything, that’s why. And what did you mean by incredible … ? What? You’re going to sleep now?!” He looked as if he was going to argue the point, then remembered that Peter was standing there, and so he said, “Well … then call me in the morning. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” He scowled.