At the ten-second mark, they became a shrill scream.
“What’s happening?” Blue Skull’s voice rose over the din. The words were just out of her mouth when the arrow’s screams ended in three simultaneous explosions. Metal sheared from the cars in blasts of noise and light and smoke, flinging a ring of concussive force from each that dropped a dozen skull-masked thugs to the floor.
Men and women, hardened criminals to a one, screamed as if the end of the world had come. Emergency lights came on, and then he was among them.
The hooded man moved with the brutal efficiency of a woodsman, chopping with his aluminum and carbon-fiber bow as if it were an ax, felling Skulls like saplings. A flash of movement caught his eye and he dropped, spinning on his toes and, in one graceful motion, drew, pulled, and fired a green-fletched arrow that sank into a Skull who had recovered enough to raise his gun. It hit with enough force to whirl the man around and sling him to his knees, the gun lost and clattering away into the shadows.
Without pausing he drove himself forward and swung elbow-to-jaw on one Skull, the blow twisting the mask completely around, blinding the woman who wore it. He let his momentum carry him forward into a flip that snapped his boot into the throat of another, this one with a telescoping baton that fell away from fingertips gone weak and watery.
He kept moving, kept grinding, kept dealing out the punishment for a life of crime. Skull after Skull fell in the dark to his blows, to his rage. He was more than a man in a hood, more than an archer, more than a vigilante.
He was Green Arrow.
Standing over the last Skull he looked around at the fallen criminals. Every one of them had on the bone-colored masks or the red ones.
Where are the Blue Skulls?
The answer came via the sound of the car carrier shifting into gear, and the stitch of automatic gunfire. He dove to the ground as the bullets pinged on the scorched and smoldering drug cars. Looking up, he watched as the Blue Skulls rode away, hanging from the back of the empty car carrier.
Pushing off, he climbed to his feet, pulled and fired an arrow. It arced across the warehouse and struck its mark, the rear tire of the car carrier, but the distance was too far, the rubber too thick, and it bounced off, as ineffective as if he had missed completely.
Racing after the departing vehicle, he stopped in the bay door of the warehouse and cursed as the vehicle pulled out of sight. He had the drugs—they weren’t hitting the streets—but the thought that the perpetrators had gotten away boiled his blood.
From behind him came the shrill whine of high-performance machinery. It echoed through the warehouse, giving the whine an erratic, almost hollow cadence. Drawing closer.
He pulled another arrow, waiting for what came.
A motorcycle streaked from the night, sliding to a stop beside him. The rider was a woman in dirty white leathers, blond hair tangled from the whipping of the wind. She cracked a reckless smile up at him. Her voice was a smoky growl.
“You want to keep staring,” she said, “or do you want to go catch some bad guys?”
Though questions whirled through his mind, he slung his bow on his back without uttering a word, climbed onto the motorcycle, and put his arms around Sara Lance, the White Canary.
* * *
The highway glistened, slick from an earlier rain, as it whipped by under them. He leaned with Sara, using his body in tandem to hers as she took the curves at high speed. Soon they were closing fast on the car carrier. Traffic was light with the late hour, and they were heading toward the edge of the city. The handful of Blue Skulls hung onto the metal frame of the speeding eighteen-wheeler.
White Canary leaned back, her voice tearing past his ears with the wind.
“Hold on.”
He pressed closer to her back. Bullets tore chunks from the road underneath them, pieces of it peppering their legs. White Canary twisted the throttle hard, making the bike leap forward. She veered left to avoid another spray from the Skulls’ firearms as the gap narrowed between them and the truck. The bike screamed up to the rear of the carrier, until it was just inches away.
Canary leaned lower over the handlebars.
She’s not—
He didn’t finish the thought before she pulled up sharply. The bike lifted, front tire leaving the ground and striking the loading ramp of the car carrier. Sparks showered as metal struck metal with a clang and a bang and the bike squealed as Sara screamed and forced the thing up and onto the back of the trailer.
The bike slewed sideways and he threw himself off, hands reaching out to grab onto the frame and stop himself from tumbling onto the speeding asphalt below. He latched on and used the momentum to swing up and onto the upper level of the car carrier. The force of the wind stream smashed into him like a bulldozer, almost knocking him back off.
Through the ramps meant to hold the top row of cars he saw that White Canary had also come off the bike, which had tumbled into the space between her and the Skulls. Somehow it hung upside down, engine still chugging. Two of the five Blue Skulls pointed their guns at her. He pulled his bow off his shoulder and had an arrow notched in the blink of an eye.
He was too slow.
Canary did a nimble twist at her hips and her arm extended as a blur. In the dark and at the speed it was done, he didn’t see the shuriken she threw until the spinning blades were embedded in the arms of both Blue Skulls. Their guns dropped, bouncing off the metal of the trailer and falling to the street to be swept away as if they’d fallen into a river. From a thigh holster she pulled a pair of nunchaku, the two hardwood handles connected by a length of chain.
“Stop this thing from moving!” she yelled up at him as she began working the weapon, spinning it and whipping it around to build momentum. “I’ve got these guys.”
Part of him wanted to stay and watch her work, but instead he pushed off, leaned into the wind, and began moving toward the cab of the big rig.
* * *
She could feel the smile that spread across her face.
Legs braced against the motion of the speeding truck, she worked her weapon, looked at her enemies, and felt that thrill—the joy of oncoming battle—swell inside her chest. This was what she’d been trained for, had been remade for, had been reborn for. All the things she had endured on Nanda Parbat, the times and fights since, had brought her to this moment, crafted her to become this thing built for the simplicity of battle. Strength against strength, skill against skill, weapon against weapon.
The nunchaku whistled around her, cutting the air, whipping in a pattern of centrifugal force with her as the anchor point. Her mind expanded, becoming an open field of perception that took in everything—the sway of the vehicle under her feet, the whirl of her weapon, the beat of her heart. The rhythms of her body, her blood in its blind circuit, the very air as it passed her by full of the scent of the night, of the truck on which she rode. Of the city itself.
The copper and latex scent of the criminals that were her prey.
The leader pushed two of the Skulls, pointing them up, yelling for them to climb and intercept the Green Arrow above. They swung their guns to their sides, anchoring the straps, and scrambled to climb up.
She didn’t try to stop them. Oliver could take care of himself.
The two she’d stuck with the shuriken began moving toward her. Despite a wave of sooty black smoke from the diesel engine of the truck, she could smell the blood running under their sleeves. She could read the conflict in their body language, as well. She’d hurt them, but in their eyes she was just a small woman and it made them angry.
One pulled a knife from his belt. It was as long as her forearm.
Looks like they want to teach me a lesson.
Her smile widened.
The two came toward her, moving with heavy steps, remaining upright by holding onto the metal beams that comprised the sides. They passed her motorcycle, its engine now silent, its wheels still. When they stepped past it, she moved.
Using the motion
of the truck under her, she leapt at the one with the knife, closing the distance as fast as a striking snake. He slashed at her, the blade shining in the low light. She dropped to a crouch, swinging the nunchaku down, the hardwood cracking against his shin, making him shunt forward. Twisting, she moved with the new direction of her weapon, and it struck the Skull’s knife-hand. The blade spun in a circle, flying up as its former wielder fell down, crashing into the metal platform of the car carrier.
Time seized up, and White Canary watched the knife spin in the air as if it were in stop motion, everything about it liquid and slow—an eternity between heartbeats, the heightened perception of a warrior’s mind. As the knife began to fall, she swung the nunchaku in a backhand, striking the handle. The blade went from a spinning thing into a streak of sharpened steel that had been fired and flew straight and true, embedding itself in the calf of the Skull who once held it. It passed between muscle and bone and wedged into the space between the metal tracks of the trailer, pinning him to the floor.
Sara twisted as the other Skull lunged toward her. He was too close and the nunchaku bounced off his shoulder, not doing any real damage. Hands closed on her jacket, bunching the leather, and he yanked her toward him. This Skull was a bear of a man, long arms thick with muscle, shoulders of rock, and a chest as wide as the grille of a sports car. He lifted her off her feet, swinging her like a toy he intended to smash against the wall.
She could hear his teeth grinding through his mask.
Her left hand clamped on his arm, fingers sliding until they found the soft spot, the place her shuriken had gone in. It had long since fallen away.
Pushing deep into the cut, she dug with her nails, not the least bit squeamish at the feel of his muscle separating. He howled, the sound vibrating the latex mask like a loose drum-skin. Then he jerked, trying to pull his arm away from the blinding pain she was causing him, the motion dropping her back down.
As her feet hit metal she rammed the handle of the nunchaku into his throat, driving with her shoulder and the force of her body weight. Instantly the Skull went limp, his knees banging into the ground before he slewed sideways and crashed, unconscious, on top of his fallen partner.
White Canary stepped over him, looking for the last Skull, the leader of them all, when the air filled with bullets.
2
The two Skulls pulled themselves to the top of the car carrier just as he reached the front half of it. They crouched, swaying with the rhythm of the speeding vehicle, their shirts rippling up their backs as a result of the drag of air rushing past.
The one on the left reached up and jerked the mask off his head, revealing a fighter’s face that matched his broad frame. Short-cropped hair, cauliflower ears, nose canted to the side from being broken more than once, and a slick of scar tissue over his left eyebrow likely from leaning into punches instead of ducking away.
The unmasked Skull was steadier on his feet than his partner, who held tightly to the rail beside him, knuckles white. Frozen by his fear, the man didn’t move forward.
But he did raise his gun.
Green Arrow drew an arrow from his quiver and fired, aiming at the unsteady Skull’s feet. The arrow clanged on the metal platform, spitting sparks and clattering toward his opponent like a skittering animal. The Skull jumped to avoid it. Off balance, he slipped and crashed to the metal platform, the impact shaking the grate. He cried out, finger squeezing the trigger, sending a stream of bullets into the night air.
Green Arrow drew and fired again, this arrow thunking into the metal grate a foot from the fallen figure. He moved his face slightly into the shadow of his hood as the flash-bang arrow fulfilled its destiny in a blast of sound and light and force. Then he turned back, in time to see the Skull slide away, sent flying by the blast, falling off the edge of the trailer.
The unmasked Skull lunged forward, shooting toward Green Arrow’s knees. His arms were outstretched.
He’s a grappler.
Green Arrow twisted, pushing off, stepping high to go over the man’s back. Something powerful clamped onto his leg and jerked him out of the air, the steel of the car carrier slapping him like a giant’s hand, forcing the air from his lungs. The world went staticky for a long moment, all white speckle snow pulsing in a field of matt black, and he fought to keep from falling into it, from being swallowed up.
Pressure on his chest, enough to make the fibrous seams of cartilage creak with sharp pain, cleared his vision. The unmasked Skull lay on top of him, pinning him to the steel grate, massive shoulders driving into Green Arrow’s torso as the criminal’s fingers dug into the holes of the grate for leverage, adding even more pressure. The archer twisted, bucking to throw the bigger man off him, but the big criminal fought back, driving Green Arrow down again. His face came inches from Green Arrow’s, as he bared his teeth like an animal.
A bridge of dark gray metal replaced three missing molars on the left side.
“I will kill you.”
His breath was the foul meat smell of a carnivore. Green Arrow didn’t answer, saving his own limited breath. His arms were pinned, the quiver on his back driving into him. Options zipped through his mind so fast they weren’t even thoughts, but rather instinct. His hands clenched into hard fists, first knuckle extended in a Phoenix Eye. He drove them deep into the unmasked Skull’s back, digging hard for the pressure points above the kidneys.
The man on top of him jerked away. The force of him lurching off Green Arrow’s chest knocked the Emerald Archer’s hand into the metal grate, and torn knuckles sent a burning lash of pain up his arm. His brain shut it away as air rushed into his chest and he rolled on top of the bigger man.
Lunging forward in a mounted position, he tried to drop an elbow strike, but the unmasked Skull was too quick, his meaty hand catching the archer’s arm and deflecting it. The Skull didn’t try to flip his opponent off him. Instead he drove a hard punch to the vigilante’s ribs.
Even through the Kevlar mesh it felt like a hammer.
Green Arrow folded, elbows tight to his side to protect himself, and dove left toward his bow. It lay bouncing on the vibrating grate just a few feet away. His hand closed on it as pain blasted up the back of his leg, the muscles seizing into a clenched knot. Scrambling away he turned to find the unmasked Skull holding a metal tube not much longer than his hand. The end of it crackled and sparked with electricity.
Thanks, Cisco, Green Arrow thought. If he’d been hit with that Taser while wearing his old suit, he’d have been paralyzed, rather than just suffering a cramped muscle.
The unmasked Skull waved the Taser again. “I’m going to shove this down your throat,” he growled.
Oliver pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back.
“Shoot me!” the Skull screamed over the wind. “Do it!” A shadow passed across them, cast by a highway overpass.
Green Arrow pulled and fired.
The arrow crossed the space between them like magic…
And sailed right over the criminal’s head.
“Ha!” he cried. “You can’t even—”
The thin cable attached to the shaft burned across the Skull’s bicep as the loop on its end slipped over his arm, sliding all the way to his shoulder. He still looked surprised when the loop cinched closed, and he was pulled off his feet by the grappling hook arrow lodged in the overpass. Green Arrow stepped aside as the big criminal was pulled past him and off the end of the trailer.
He still had a limp as he turned and began moving toward the front of the truck.
* * *
The bike still hung upside down, its front tire wedged into one of the support struts for the upper level where Oliver stood. A hail of bullets struck it, and the impacts sang loudly in Sara’s ears. White Canary braced against the machine, nunchaku held low by her hip as she waited for a pause in the fusillade.
A few seconds later, the opportunity came.
Over the rumble of the speeding truck and the hollow clang of the bike hitting the side of
the car carrier, she heard the distinct dry clack-clack of a magazine being changed in an assault gun. Stepping around the hanging motorcycle, she found the Blue Skull raising the carbine in her hands. Whipping the nunchaku up and around she let it fly, spinning like a dervish across the space. The hardwood and metal chain weapon struck the gun, knocking it from the Blue Skull’s hands. The rifle swung around her body, still attached to the strap across her torso, causing the masked woman to stumble.
Sara closed the distance between them in three long steps, swinging a knife-hand strike at the Blue Skull’s head. Her opponent used her own stumble to duck, White Canary’s palm just skimming the latex of the mask. Closing her fingers, she snatched it off the Blue Skull’s head. The woman underneath the mask had a set of wide eyes that might have looked innocent if they weren’t pools of molten rage.
Canary planted her feet and spun, bringing her shin up in an arc toward the unmasked criminal’s head. The woman raised her arm to block. They connected and blue sparks shot from the blow, the shock causing White Canary to collapse to the metal grate of the carrier’s platform. Looking up through a curtain of her hair she found the Blue Skull pulling back the sleeve of her shirt, revealing a gauntlet of metal and wire that wrapped her forearm. She clenched her fist and electricity buzzed around the mechanism.
“You’ve got a Taser glove?” Sara said. “Not fair.”
“And it’s going to get a lot worse.”
White Canary pulled herself up to stand unsteadily, still holding the mask. The micro muscles of her legs jumped and spasmed. She’d be okay in a few minutes, but until then she wouldn’t be able to move—couldn’t brace herself, couldn’t even kick.
She raised the rubber mask and held it up.
“Got your nose.”
“I’m going to watch you scream, then throw you under the wheels of this truck,” Blue Skull said, breathing hard, pulling air through her teeth. Sweat from wearing the mask made her skin shine, highlighting cheekbones and brow sharp enough to cut. White Canary read the determination in the criminal’s eyes—she had a feral glint deep in them, of someone who would be absolutely ruthless.
Arrow Page 2