Curtiss turned around painfully at the top of the steps. He saw the green monster turning his might on the hapless sentries. They were even shooting each other in an effort to get a new bead on the Hulk. The agent grimaced as the bullet lodged just inside his body sent another twinge of pain through his nervous system. Rosanne waited at the balcony’s edge, motioning agitatedly. Curtiss turned then, realizing that the Hulk had only borne the brunt of the onslaught in order to give the girl time to escape. And only after she had escaped had he thought about defending himself. The beast was definitely smitten.
At the present moment, the beast was smashing everything his fists made contact with. He swung and he swung, until the air whipping between his arms sounded like a monsoon. He reveled in his strength.
He was alive again! He lived! The Hulk was alive!
Fourteen
The General was ready. He looked himself over in the hangar’s full-length mirror. The blue and green flight suit was adorned with useless zippers, sewn-on epaulets, meaningless insignias, and a completely empty utility belt. The General thought it looked magnificent.
He took a moment to circle the prototype. It was also outfitted beautifully, but with an official-looking U.S.A. insignia and a completely false set of code numbers. The on-board computer was programmed so that no radar or tracking station would realize it wasn’t one of theirs until much too late.
The General raised his hand in an “A-O.K.” sign. The spotlights that had pegged the ship on the runway suddenly went off, and the sparkling red lights of the runway itself went on. The foreign dignitaries had plastered their faces against the barracks windows to get a glimpse of the General’s procession. After all, the dictator’s every move was a three-ring circus. Now, as he prepared to destroy the United States, he was attended by three tailors, two advisors, several chefs, and countless courtesans.
With a wave, he dismissed them all. Two technicians came forward to secure the proper hoses to the General’s special outfit. After fifteen minutes they were finished, and the first sound of gunfire was heard from the mansion.
One of his advisors came running up and breathlessly inquired, “Shall we investigate, sire?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he replied. “There’s too much at stake. Get this plane off the ground. Hurry!”
The main pilot was hastily brought out, swathed from head to toe in his plain, but effective, pressurized garb. The General urged him into the cockpit just as one entire wall of the mansion exploded outward. All those who were gathered at the airstrip oohed and ahed as if if were just a part of the General’s “bon voyage,” but the man himself began to slap his technicians into even greater activity.
“Hurry!” he commanded. “Hurry!”
Rosanne and Curtiss were thrown down by the force of the blast. Even in his wounded state, Curtiss spun in the air so that he would fall, protecting the girl.
“Get off me,” was her only thanks. “We’ve got to keep going.”
Curtiss slid off her and looked back. The light from inside the house spilled out across the jungle-like yard, showing the running guards in half-silhouette. From behind the fallen rubble came a rumbling growl, then a renewed flurry of green fists. With a dizzy lurch, Curtiss got to his feet and stumbled after the retreating girl.
The Hulk was alone. Everyone had run away. The house was empty. With satisfaction, he watched the shadows disappearing into the black night. He listened as the devastation behind him sputtered sparks and spat water. Vast clouds of steam covered most of the area. The Hulk moved quickly in the direction of the beckoning lights outside.
Curtiss kicked the engineer right behind the knee. He felt the man’s work pants part as his leg buckled. The engineer’s face tightened, his eyes rolled up, his tongue pushed out from between his teeth, and then he fell like a sack of potatoes to the hangar floor. Curtiss looked around urgently for another victim—any victim—but the area was totally deserted, all the other participants having chosen to watch the General take off.
“Aw, the hell with it,” the agent muttered, tearing at the acid sack and hurling the ball into a sink on the wall. Seven seconds later the sink began to deteriorate.
“Quick,” said Rosanne, “while we still have the chance.”
He turned to the girl with a hurt look. She motioned to him to lie down and the look turned to surprise. When she ripped off his shirt, he felt sure he had accidentally stumbled into a James Bond movie.
“Now is hardly the time,” he murmured.
“You’re delirious,” she chastised. “That’s why now is exactly the time. You won’t get very far with that bullet wound.” She began to tear up his shirt. She had devised a compress and bandage from his garment by the time the sink had disappeared and a small hole began appearing in the wall.
“Now, that’s what I call acid,” said the agent.
The General was ready. Again. He had forced his way into the little cockpit after having overseen the installation of the Gamma Treatment. The engineers had set up a projection system that gave the weapon’s beam the widest radius possible at the highest range of altitudes. It sat in a little harness in a little box in the middle of the jet.
All systems were go. The General gave himself permission to take off. In order to give his faithful audience more for their money, the dictator had instructed the cramped pilot to make it a classic liftoff, utilizing the entire runway. The pilot tried to explain that this jet needed only a quarter of that space, but the General would not be swayed. So the entire runway it was.
The pilot leaned over and started the engine.
The Hulk heard something roar. Then he heard the noise turn to a deep whine. Was it another beast to be challenged? The Hulk’s fists clenched and unclenched. Something was scaring his angel, that was for sure. He had seen her running across the field and into the big place where the noise was coming from. Then, through a hole in the wall, he’d seen her run through a doorway over to his left.
He moved his large legs as fast as he could. Stones became powder under his feet. The noise grew louder. He began to move in its direction, and then a metal bird began to emerge from the enclosure.
The Hulk suddenly felt a tug in his chest. He looked down in wonder, but nothing seemed to be wrong. He felt his mouth move down at the edges and his brow quiver. He did not know what these movements meant. He looked at the metal bird again. Then there was that same hitch in his chest. He pounded one fist against the hurt spot.
The metal bird was now completely visible. The Hulk stared at it. He looked from its tail to its head. And there, through a clear section up front, he could see a dark profile. His angel? It was too far away to tell. He would just have to get closer. The legs moved again.
Matthews came in low and fast. He jammed on all the jammers, flipped down all the flaps, and pretty much broke all the rules. He was flying on the edge of desperation. As soon as he had received Curtiss’s signal, he had sped along with all the jet’s defensive devices on. So far he had not been spotted, let alone challenged. Now if he could only keep it up until he made it to the General’s tiny nation.
Curtiss had expended all his weapons, but did that mean he was finished with his work, or dead? What would Matthews find when he arrived? No matter what his fantasies, the blond agent was not prepared for the reality of the situation. He banked up as soon as he reached the border of the General’s domain, and then he came sweeping down over a burned-out husk where the despot’s mansion was supposed to be. He pulled around to the private airport where an even more incredible sight awaited him.
From above, it looked like a mini model of his own jet taxiing down the runway. Actually taxiing! And there, right in the middle of the blacktop two hundred yards down, was a tiny speck. A speck that was running toward the jet. A green speck.
The Hulk waited. The metal bird was growing larger now, picking up speed as it went. He tried to peer into its head to find his angel, but the jet was coming too fast. The Hulk realized he would not be
able to stop it without hurting someone. So he decided not to stop it. He decided he would just check for his angel.
“Pull up! Pull up, I say!”
“We can’t! We haven’t gained enough speed.”
“Gain it, gain it!” The General leaned forward and started waving his arms. “Hulk! Get out of the way! Get out of the way!”
The plane hit the Hulk at near liftoff speed. It had risen off the ground almost five feet when the landing gear smashed into the green chest. The Hulk bounced off a wheel once, flew back, then wrapped his limbs around the bottom of the craft.
“We’ve hit him,” said the pilot.
“Is he gone?”
“I can’t tell—we’re taking off, but I don’t know if he’s been knocked behind us or not.”
“No matter, no matter. Once we’re airborne, there’s nothing he can do. Nothing.”
The Hulk’s grip held. He felt his stomach sink and his mind whirl, but his hands and legs gripped the landing gear with riveting power. The horizon spun like a ferris wheel around him, but still he held on. It was for his angel.
One hand released the wheel and reached up. There was a tiny hole there, about the size of the gear. Four green fingers latched onto the edge and pulled.
“Wait a minute. Something’s wrong with the landing gear,” said the pilot.
“What? What?”
“I don’t know what! These devices don’t talk—they just light up!”
“Do something, then!” screamed the General. “Fix it—bank, roll, dive, I don’t care! Do something, you idiot!”
The Hulk had torn open a three-foot hole by the time the jet began to twirl. It spun like a top, and the air whistling between the landing gear felt like thousands of tiny fingers pulling at him. He closed his eyes, tightened his grip, and kept ripping.
The hole was finally big enough. The Hulk climbed up and entered the supersonic jet. The force of the barrel-rolling pushed him over to the side, right against a system of harnesses and pulleys. He turned his head and stared at a little rectangular box.
“We’re losing altitude,” said the pilot.
“More power, then,” commanded the General.
“We can’t. There won’t be enough energy for the Treatment.”
“That’s it!” shouted the General with enough volume to scar the pilot’s eardrum. “Aim the Treatment at the landing gear! You can do that, can’t you? If that Hulk thing is on it, he’ll go crazy and fall off!”
“But . . .”
“Do it! I command you!”
The pilot did as he was told.
The Hulk suddenly couldn’t breathe. He threw his head left and right to find the thing that was doing this to him. Then there was that feeling he had had at the airstrip, like two walls closing in on his chest. He had just gasped some air when the pain hit him square in the stomach like a fist.
The Hulk howled in rage and began swinging. But the pain got worse, much worse, until the beast was doubled over onto his knees. His head began to ache. The Hulk had never known such pain. His eyes stung, and there was a yellow-orange wash covering everything he looked at. He looked wildly about to see what was hurting him. But there was nothing—no men, no animals.
The Hulk thought about the rhino king and the jungle snake. Is this what they had felt? Was he being punished for what he had done?
The metal bird gained altitude and the air grew thin. The Hulk lay against the hull, gasping, his hands holding his chest and his head rocking from side to side. As the Hulk shook his agitated head back and forth, he suddenly saw a sliver of light inside a tiny metal box. The sliver appeared just inside a lens which was pointed out of the plane and downward. The Hulk fought through the haze of his agony. Was that light on before he had felt all this pain? The Hulk knew the answer: no. With an all consuming scream of effort, his left arm swung. The fist hit the box broadside, immediately smashing it into thousands of little pieces. There was a greenish flash of energy and smoke, but the fist kept going. Through steel and plastic many times the strength of lead, it kept going. And it only stopped when a tornado of wind wrapped around it.
“Oh, my God!” screamed the pilot, suddenly fighting the controls like a possessed man.
“Now what?” the General asked wearily, his face turned in the other direction.
“Goddamn it, man, look!” the pilot screamed. “We’re losing pressure. We’ve sprung a hole somewhere. If I don’t right this, we’ll crash faster than anything has ever crashed before!”
“I don’t care what our policy is!” raged Curtiss into his jet’s comm-link. “These are human beings I’m talking about here—American citizens! In chains, you understand? Look, I don’t care if white slavery has been a fact of life in the new Africa for years! For once in your life, make a stand! Get a team in to get them out, and do it now, while all hell’s broken loose. I’m telling you, the government and the press won’t even know! Damn it, I saved the world, didn’t I? You owe me this much.”
His tirade was interrupted by a sudden violent explosion. He quickly turned to the nearest porthole and stared down as Matthews made a sweep over the area. Down to their left, on the side of a grassy mountain, was a jet wreck. Pieces of the plane had scattered on its initial impact, leaving a fiery trail behind. The smoke and the flames guaranteed that no human had survived.
Curtiss returned to his radio. “The General is gone,” he said wearily. “I mean, he’s no longer alive. Yes, and the gamma device is no longer a threat. And, oh, yes, Dr. Wittenborn and his son are dead, too. We did manage to rescue the girl, okay? So after such a great job, you’re going to deny me this one little favor? Well, hell, that’s big of you. Yes, right now. In and out—it’ll be simpler than Entebbe. Yeah, sure, don’t worry. My lips are sealed. Yours are, too, aren’t they, Blondie?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Matthews.
“Matthews says his are too. Yeah, all right. We’ll be taking the high road home and getting in just in time for debriefing. What? Just a second.” Curtiss turned around to where Rosanne sat, staring out a porthole in silent mourning. Her face was composed but infinitely sad. Curtiss turned back to his comm-link. “Yeah, I think she’ll be all right.”
He was wrong, the girl thought, staring at the scarred jungle. She would never be all right again. She had seen the Hulk running toward the General’s jet. She had seen him attach himself to the landing gear. And she had seen him disappear into the belly of the plane. Then, moments later, she had climbed into this plane and saved herself. She had run away.
Rosanne Wittenborn stared down at the remains of the General’s jet. She compared it to the remains of her own life, then laughed bitterly at the metaphor. She would survive, and she knew it. She would get over the entire experience. Maybe, in future years, she would understand it perfectly, or feel proud that she had known Banner’s secret. She might even use the Hulk to scare her children with at story time. It was sad, but it was true.
She thought about Banner and his Hulk. Their faces seemed to appear among the smoke of the wreckage. The poor, tormented man. Both of them. Living with a cruel life’s sentence neither could understand. At least for them it was over now. She saw in her mind’s eye the General’s jet as it had gone into a brutal tail-spin, arcing down to the ground with blinding speed. She remembered the earth-shaking concussion when it had hit and the frenzied screaming of metal. She recalled the billowing ball of flame that had consumed the broken jet and then the steady roar of the fire. There was nothing left now but a charred husk. Searchers would probably not even discover bodies.
Rosanne turned away from the porthole and cried.
Two hands appeared among the wreckage. They were covered with black ash, but here and there a small bit of cracked green skin could be seen. The fingers wriggled against the red-hot metal, trying to get a better grip without singeing the flesh. Finally, the hands gained leverage and pushed in opposite directions. A hole appeared. It bent back until the crack was fully five and a half feet long. The
n the hands receded.
A gargantuan body rose fourteen feet off the ground. Its hair was smoking, leaving an arch-shaped exhaust trail as it leaped away from the jet’s remains.
The giant hit the ground. He shook himself like a wet dog. Then he looked up and saw his angel reaching for heaven. This time he was sure. It was her face in the porthole just skimming the top of the trees.
He cried to her in joy, but her head did not turn toward him. He yelled, but only her profile showed. He shouted pleadingly, but she just didn’t seem to hear. His legs bent and he propelled himself up. The first leap brought him just over the treetops. He waved and hooted at the oncoming jet, but it was still too far away to see him. He crashed down through the trees, leaving footprints in the dirt that sank to the depth of a foot.
The jet was about to pass overhead. The Hulk hopped up in the air and bowed down to the earth. His haunches lowered until his elbows rested on the dirt. He heard the jet shooting by, and then he propelled himself upward as hard as he could. The Hulk soared. He jumped higher than he ever had before. He saw the jet moving in a direct line at him. He was filled with euphoria. He was going to be with his angel forever.
But then he began to slow down. His face grew alarmed. He had reached the apex of his flight. The jet kept moving at him. The Hulk kicked and flailed in dismay, his mouth working piteously. The metal bird flew just overhead. One green finger slid across its underbelly.
But then it was gone and the Hulk was falling, wailing all the way. Back first, he collided with the sodden earth, sinking into a tailor-made grave. The sound of the jet was still passing over him, as if to torment him. He hadn’t made it. His angel was gone.
Rosanne Wittenborn never saw his desperate jump. She never saw him rise out of the ground. She never saw him rage at the heavens with a terrifying woe. And she never saw the huge, clear tears that had rolled down his face.
End Suite
Marvel Novel Series 03 - The Incredible Hulk - Cry Of The Beast Page 16