Spider-Man

by Stefan Petrucha

  Startled, Spider-Man brushed his foot along the floor. Silvermane whirled in response, but by the time his piercing gaze reached the stairs, Peter was already upstairs, springing out of the derelict building.

  He must have been talking about the doc’s hidden lab. Connors must’ve been under some pretty intense duress to take him there.

  Back in the open air, Spider-Man flung himself upward into the city skies.

  If Connors is the Lizard again, his panic switch must have failed. Which means I’ve got a stop to make first.

  The clock was ticking on Silvermane’s six-hour deadline. Reaching ESU’s Life Sciences building, Spider-Man smashed the smallest window he could find. He squeezed through, then tried to tear open the reinforced supply-cabinet door without completely destroying it. Once inside, he grabbed one of the large liquid-nitrogen cylinders Connors kept on hand.

  Wonder how he gets that past the budget committee.

  He was out before security could even approach the building. Carrying the bulky tank under one arm, he headed for a certain manhole cover near campus. Most had been welded shut since 9/11 to guard against terrorists, but Connors had fashioned this one to open with a twist.

  The sewer was hot and humid. The odor was sharp—but not as bad as the bottom of the East River. Moving along the curved wall, Spider-Man didn’t have to worry about remembering the right spot. The heavy thudding and pounding noises behind the slime drew him right to it.

  I’m guessing that’s not banging pipes.

  He pressed his ear to the brick cover concealing the entrance and heard the sound of rattling chains.

  The Lizard’s contained. Good. But who knows for how long? I’m going to have to deal with that thing sooner or later, and it’s not like it’ll be any easier later. Besides, Connors may know something helpful about the tablet.

  Tightening his grip on the tank, he pressed the lever to open the lab. Inside, the damaged full-spectrum lighting flashed erratically, strobing against the chained beast as if it were an animatronic in a haunted house.

  Then again, it was always hard to accept that the man-sized reptile was real.

  When the Lizard saw Spider-Man, its thrashing grew more violent. The voice was harsh, sibilant, as if its throat wasn’t intended for human speech.

  “Ah! It’s the thick, juicy spider!”

  Whenever the Lizard moved, the bones beneath its leathery green skin made a gross clicking sound, like a comb’s teeth raked by fingernails. It swayed, judging the distance between them. Then, without warning, its head shot forward like a striking cobra, lifting the rest of its body into the air behind it. As powerful as the sudden lurch was, the chains held, tugging the Lizard’s arms and legs so sharply that the creature fell forward on its chest.

  As it scrambled up on two feet, Spider-Man scanned what was left of the lab: overturned tables, shattered specimen tanks, and scattered refuse. “This is why you can’t have nice things.”

  “Peh. You mammals think you’re so superior— but without the reptile core, your feeble brain wouldn’t exist at all.”

  Gripping the tank, Peter cautiously circled the beast. “You always did make me dizzy, Lizzie.”

  I have to lower Connors’ body temp just enough to cause the change. The Lizard’s thick hide will protect him, but only to a point. Too much cold and I might kill him; too little, and I’ll drain the liquid nitrogen tank for nothing.

  He edged around the room, looking for a clear line of fire. The Lizard followed his movements, all the while pulling at its bonds. The thing’s most dangerous weapon, its tail, was unchained. He had to stay out of its reach, making it tough to find a good spot.

  “We’re in all of you, you know,” the Lizard hissed. “Eager to rule, to feed. If only Connors understood how lucky he is to have such a direct connection to the life force itself.”

  The four chains seemed firmly anchored in the reinforced wall, but Spider-Man could tell from the hunger twinkling in those vertical pupils that the urge to attack was making the Lizard stronger. Already, he could hear the taut chain links creaking.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to remind him to write you a thank-you note next time you ruin his life.”

  The debris made it even tougher to find the right angle. But the longer he waited, the more time the Lizard had to figure out a counter move. One corner of the lab had the fewest obstructions, but it was also farthest from the open door. Seeing no better options, he figured it would have to do.

  Before he could open the nozzle, his spider-sense sent him darting up the wall, out of the way of a hurtling table.

  “You’re off your game, Liz. Missed me by a mile, and I’ve still got the tank.”

  The chains rattled. “But I wasn’t aiming for you.”

  As clouds of gas puffed down from the ceiling, Spider-Man saw that the Lizard had struck the red panic button on the wall.

  “There’s still gas in the system? But that’ll hurt you more than it’ll hurt me.”

  “Will it? Guesss again.”

  White clouds fell along every spot in the room—except where the Lizard stood.

  He destroyed the nozzles above him! Smart.

  “That apish fool who chained me here cracked the button when he used it. He didn’t realize he’d only released half the gas. That’s how I was able to stay in control.”

  Spider-Man couldn’t escape the freezing clouds without leaping into the Lizard’s clutches, so he twisted between the nozzles, hoping to limit his exposure to the gas. The aerated mist was less concentrated than a direct liquid blast from the tank, but it was cold nonetheless.

  Frost formed on his costume. Peter felt the chill down to his bones. The Lizard looked groggy, but still conscious.

  “Tell me, Spider-Man, does it burn your warm blood the way it burned mine?”

  As the gas supply ran out, the clouds began dissipate. Spider-Man, stiff from the cold, staggered in the wrong direction. The Lizard’s unchained prehensile tail flew out. It curled around the cylinder in Spider-Man’s hands, and snatched it away.

  Before Spider-Man could react, the Lizard wrapped one of the chains around the tank and twisted it, tightening the links. The torque wasn’t strong enough to penetrate the cylinder’s thick steel. But it was more than enough to snap the chain.

  Spider-Man rolled to a safe distance, then half-stood and tried to rub the warmth back into his arms. “Brrr! Nice move, Lizzie, but you’re out of gas, and you’ve still got three chains left. You really think you can stop me from getting that tank back?”

  “Like any captured beast, I haven’t had much to do other than think about escape. Tell me, warm-blood, do you remember what happens when you grab a lizard’s tail?”

  The Lizard braced its legs, free hand and tail against the reinforced wall. Then it pulled, stretching its trapped arm taut. With a sickening crack of bone, the limb tore free from the torso. Surprisingly bloodless, the still-chained arm dangled, slapping against the wall.

  “Oh, man! I did not need to see that!”

  The missing limb began to grow back, a nascent stump forming on the Lizard’s shoulder. But the creature didn’t wait for it to finish. It used the tank to spray liquid nitrogen on one of the chains fastened to its legs. The frigid liquid made it howl in agony, but it held on long enough for the chain to grow brittle. Then it twisted the chain around the cylinder and pulled. The tank shuddered and threatened to crack open—but the frozen chain snapped instead.

  Now only one chain remained.

  Spider-Man fired both web-shooters, briefly restraining the Lizard’s free leg and arms. But the creature’s claws tore through the webbing. Peter tried to get closer, scrambling along the wall, then the ceiling. But when he reached out for the tank, the Lizard’s tail swatted the him away.

  If he gets free…

  Spider-Man redoubled his efforts, covering the tail with a long, thick stream of webbing. But that only allowed the Lizard to focus on the final chain.

  Now wary of the pain ca
used by the liquid nitrogen, the creature again tried to use the cylinder alone to torque the chain. But the pressurized cylinder was already badly weakened. Both it and the chain moaned and began to bend—and it was anyone’s guess which would give first.

  If the tank cracks, it’ll explode. The lab will be drenched in over a hundred liters of liquid nitro! But if he snaps that chain, he’ll be free—and I can’t risk him escaping on top of everything else. At this point, I haven’t got a lot of choices.

  Looking for anything he might use to stop the Lizard, his eyes settled on the hard metal base of a Bunsen burner lying on the floor.

  “Sorry, Doc! This is gonna hurt, but that thick hide will protect you!”

  Still twisting the tank, the Lizard turned toward Spider-Man. “What do you—”

  Using his last bit of web fluid, Peter snatched the metal base and hurled it directly at the weak spot on the damaged tank. As his desperate shot sailed true, he flipped up the overturned table to shield himself.

  The tank ruptured. The terrific blast hurled the table flat into Spider-Man, sending him flying out of the lab door and into the far sewer wall. When he hit, the frozen table shattered against his body like a sheet of glass. The few drops of liquid nitro that hit his arm sent a pain sizzling through him that was worse than any acid.

  But most of the released liquid nitro rained down within the lab. Inhuman though the Lizard’s anguished howl was, it made Peter wince.

  No longer under pressure, the nitrogen quickly reverted to gas, pouring from the lab into the sewer and forming a chilling fog. Grabbing his pained arm, Peter rose to his feet and tried to get close enough to peer inside.

  “Dr. Connors?”

  Through the haze, he saw a bestial figure. Body shaking, eyes shrinking, the Lizard stumbled out and made a grab for him. His spider-sense warned the attack was coming, but the pain and disorientation from the blast kept him from reacting in time.

  The heavy claw grabbed him by the chest, cut through the fabric and into the skin. But the yellow eyes were blinking rapidly, the dread snout receding.

  “Connors will never be free of me! Part of me will always lie within him, waiting! Part of me…issssss…”

  The claw let go. The transformation was complete.

  For a while, they both sat in the filth of the sewer floor, panting, checking themselves for wounds.

  Connors spoke first. “Looks like I owe you again.”

  “Uhh…don’t mention it.”

  “I’ve got some salve in the lab for those freeze burns.” Propping himself up on his one arm, he looked back inside the lab. The nitrogen gas, poisonous when concentrated, had been cleared by the air-filtration system, leaving a clear view of the damage. “If I can find it.”

  As they sifted through the debris, Spider-Man described Silvermane’s hideout.

  Connors located the ointment and tossed it to the web-slinger. “It makes sense. The elixir is working to evolve him beyond any need for personal history. Of course someone like Silvermane, who’s only ever lived and fought for himself, is fighting it tooth and nail. It’s as if he somehow keeps generating more ego, while the elixir keeps working at eliminating it.”

  “So without all those reminders, he’ll forget everything again?”

  Like, say, my secret identity?

  Connors shrugged.

  “When does his brain get washed?” Spider-Man asked. “At the end of a cycle?”

  “I don’t really know. As a scientist, I know that before the brain forms, or once it’s too old to function, memory isn’t possible. If Manfredi tries to hold on, who knows what he’ll remember, or what he’ll forget?”

  Peter squeezed the ointment onto his fingers and rubbed it into the burns. At first, the skin and muscle stung all the more, but then a soothing sensation ran from the wounds through the whole of his arm.

  “Is Silvermane right? Is there a way to stop it?”

  “Not from what I was able to read. But the more I try to understand exactly how the elixir works, the more I feel like McCoy from Star Trek. I’m a scientist, not a linguist or…a magician.” Spotting a piece of silicone on the floor, he picked up the remains of the cast he’d made from the tablet. “And it’s not as if I’ll be doing any further research with this. Which is probably for the best.” He eyed the wall-crawler. “The aging should accelerate even more at some point. He’ll get more and more desperate, more and more dangerous, right up until the cycle starts again. Why don’t you just give him the tablet? It won’t help him.”

  Spider-Man bobbed his head, weighing the possible outcomes. “No offense, Doc, but what if you’re wrong?”

  Besides, it’s more complicated than that. If I give it to Silvermane, Vanessa Fisk won’t help Aunt May.

  He stood to leave. “I’d love to help clean up, but I’ve got some decisions to make. And a wacky selfcentered mobster to deal with.”

  “Understood.” Connors looked around. “I suppose I could consider my safety precautions a partial success. But clearly, I’m going to need stronger chains.”

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH Peter Parker was trying to accept change as a part of life, the return journey to the depths of the East River was no different than the first time. The smell he encountered on breaching the surface was exactly the same. The feeling of being caught between a rock and a hard place, literally, was the same. For that matter, the pivot point of his current misery, the tablet, hadn’t changed at all for thousands of years.

  He scaled the bridge pylon, perched on the corner, and stared at the relic, thinking about its worth. So much depended on who you asked.

  Those crazy ancients thought it was a way to bring humanity to its ultimate form. Silvermane thinks it’s a way to stay the same. Vanessa Fisk hopes it can make things the way they used to be for her family.

  Me, I’m still thinking paperweight. Or lamp.

  Looking up, he realized how close he was to the spot where Gwen had died. Her face floated before him, with Uncle Ben and Captain Stacy not far behind. They still had no advice to offer; the dread decision was still his. But he felt their faith that he would do the best he could.

  In a way, I understand Silvermane’s desperation. Not because I’ve got some big reason to stay Peter Parker for all eternity—hell, half the time I’d rather be anyone else. But I never want to forget the people I’ve loved.

  There would always be things he couldn’t change. But just knowing Uncle Ben, Captain Stacy and Gwen—loving them, living with them—had changed him. They helped give him the strength to keep from lashing out, the patience to step back a little.

  He only hoped he had changed enough.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE GAUDY gold frame was chipped in spots, revealing cheap, blackened wood beneath, but the mirror still served its purpose. Silvermane studied himself, clicked on the recorder, and began to describe what he saw for his future self.

  “Fifties. I figure I’m in my 50s now. Got lines around my eyes, those…what do they call ’em? Crow’s feet. Otherwise no new wrinkles, but the ones I had look deeper. Hair’s getting some salt in the pepper. Funny, though—I’m not feeling any weaker physically. If anything, I feel stronger.”

  To prove it, he hefted one of the cinderblocks and threw it. It crashed against the far wall. “Stronger than ever. At least as far as I can remember. So, that’s my body, but there’s that other thing going on, something you’ll to have to fight in case I don’t beat it this time round. Hey, should I even call you you? You’re really me! Whatever—you know what I mean. You’re my future.”

  He glared at the reflection and felt briefly jealous of the Silvermane to come, the one who still had his whole life ahead of him.

  “Anyway, as healthy as I feel, inside all these bits and pieces are getting peeled away. It’s not like my brain’s going—I’m still sharp—but it’s memories, moments, words that keep slip-sliding away. Which ones go, which stay? It’s a crapshoot. Worst part is I can’t even say what’s gone,
’cause how do you remember what it is you can’t remember? All I can do is walk the whole memory palace every 10 minutes or so, to see if anything looks new.”

  As he spoke, he traveled among the relics, the souvenirs and the stories, aiming a light here and there, studying anything unfamiliar.

  “First time I was arrested I was 12. I’d taken a broken bottle to Micky Caleeso. His fat face always looked like hamburger anyway. Then in school, sixth grade, the teacher was…she was…”

  It was like a crumbling wall. The mortar couldn’t hold the pieces together, and the bricks kept coming loose. Once enough were gone, the whole thing would tumble down.

  He’d even forgotten the song again. He fumbled for the right recording, found it and played it back, but had a hard time believing the voice was really his. It was like that talking alligator had said: The elixir was eating away at his identity. Somehow that was supposed to perfect him.

  He pounded at his own gut. “It’s not perfect! It’s not! I won’t let you, I won’t let you…”

  But the elixir didn’t have legs he could break, a face he could smash, or a heart he could tear out.

  He was already scared, but an unexpected shush of wood against concrete filled him with the kind of gut-deep fear he thought only small children could feel. Grabbing his tommy gun, he flipped on the flashlight taped to the barrel and wheeled toward the stairs.

  “Who are you? The feds? How’d you find me?”

  Two intruders froze in the beam. One was a thin dame, dressed to the nines. The other, right behind her, was either a freaking monster or a door that had grown limbs and a head.

  Manfredi howled. “Quit haunting the stairs like a couple of…a couple of…” The word was gone. “Get in the light, or I make with the rat-a-tat-tat.”

  The woman didn’t move, but the man stepped in front of her. The giant’s name, at least, came to him.

  “Marko? I didn’t call you. And hey, no one knows about this place, not even you. You tailed me, you stupid dog!”

  Marko put out his hands, palms up, as if to make it clear he wasn’t a threat. “No, Mr. Silvermane. I never seen this place before, I swear. We didn’t know you’d be here!”