Flash

by Susan Griffith

“Breathe,” Green Arrow told him. “Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Pause.” The man spoke so quietly it was like a soft buzz in his ear. The Flash listened as Oliver slowly repeated the mantra a couple of times. His body began to relax. He stopped shifting about.

  John announced over the comm that they were in position. Felicity gave them details on the locations of their targets, tagging them to schematics they had acquired beforehand. The Flash nodded to the Green Arrow.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Arrow came to his feet. “Spartan, disable the alarms.”

  “We’re on it,” John answered via the mic in his stylized helmet that gave him his codename.

  “After alarms are disabled, you have the single target on the top floor.”

  John acknowledged, and a short time later gave the all-clear. The Flash and Green Arrow moved in until they were crouched at the front near the door with their backs against the wall.

  The Flash looked expectantly at Green Arrow.

  “After you,” the archer said.

  “Meet you inside,” and the Flash was gone. Entering through the front door, he crossed a huge open space on the first floor and went straight for the stairs that led down to the wine cellar. At the bottom, he found aged wines stacked bottle after bottle against the walls.

  A heavy table dominated the center of the room, lit by an overhead light. It was covered with a variety of equipment, including a spectrometer, several rotary cutters, and what looked like jeweler’s tools. He also noticed crystal shards and chunks of stone, likely what was left of the Singing Meteorite.

  Hartley Rathaway leaned into the pool of light, looking far too smug. He wore his sonic gauntlets. As the Flash entered, Shawna took a step back into the shadows.

  “Well, look who finally decided to show up to the party,” Rathaway sneered. “It turns out our little song bird was a snitch after all.”

  “I didn’t tell them!” Shawna implored. “I don’t know how they found us.”

  The Flash crossed his arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rathaway, but you left a trail even a reporter could track.”

  Rathaway studied him. “I hear you’ve brought in help. Couldn’t handle the job yourself?”

  “It just means I get to take out the trash that much faster.”

  “Ah, the witty comeback.” Rathaway clapped his hands. “That must mean you’re officially a Super Hero. Congratulations.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t antagonize the Flash,” Shawna suggested.

  “It was pretty good,” the Flash admitted, giving a small grin, “but that’s all I’ve got. So step away from the table, and let’s call this thing over.”

  “Over?” Rathaway laughed. “My endgame has just begun, you see. All of this has been merely the preamble to my glorious finale.”

  The Flash groaned. “You got a lot of nerve criticizing my dialogue, what with that cliché monologue you’re spouting. I’m already bored.”

  “Bored, are we?” Rathaway’s eyes narrowed. “Then by all means let’s begin.”

  The Flash catapulted himself forward, but suddenly the Pied Piper vanished. Skidding to a stop against the far wall, the speedster sent bottles clanging noisily at the impact. He spun around to see Peekaboo near the stairs, standing beside Rathaway.

  Perfect.

  He lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

  An arrow struck the floor between the two criminals, producing a blast of light. Shawna cried out, blinded and unable to teleport. Green Arrow came down a few steps into the cellar, his bow already nocked with another bolt.

  Rathaway cursed and held up his hand. He clutched a device the size of a cigarette lighter, which he pressed with his thumb. The Flash’s ears exploded in pain that seemed to come from the earwigs themselves. Oliver also arched backward in agony. Digging his fingers under the edge of his mask, the Flash pulled out the earpieces. The sound stopped, but his ears still rang.

  Rathaway grabbed Shawna and shoved past the staggered Green Arrow.

  The Flash’s metabolism, wonky as it was, eased the trauma from Rathaway’s attack. Fumbling along a wall, holding his aching head, he weaved toward Green Arrow. Surprisingly, even without a super power, the archer pulled himself to his feet, his face still pinched with pain.

  “Get after them,” he grunted.

  The Flash nodded and sped up the stairs. He searched through the few large rooms on the main floor. A sizeable back room had a wall of windows facing the lake, all smashed outward. The kitchen was a wreck. Finally he spotted Rathaway and Shawna, almost to the front door.

  They were blinking rapidly, and it appeared as if their vision was returning. He only had a few seconds to act. He streaked across the wide floor and grabbed Shawna. Carrying her to what he hoped was a closet, he pushed her inside, closed the door, and jammed it shut.

  The Flash turned around. “Give up, Rathaway. It’s over.”

  Rathaway shook his head slowly. “No, I’ve come too close to let it be spoiled now.” He raised his hands.

  Green Arrow stepped out from the shadows. The twang of the bowstring sounded as an arrow sped toward the Pied Piper. He still had his hands raised, and a burst of deafening vibrations shattered the shaft. The netting inside the head unfurled and collapsed in a harmless tangle at Rathaway’s feet. He let out a laugh.

  “A net?” he taunted. “The famed Arrow uses a net? Suddenly you’re not so scary anymore.”

  The Flash rushed him, but the master of sound aimed his gloves at the ground and the floor disintegrated between them. The speedster felt his footing give way, and he started to tumble. He leapt for the edge and just managed to grab the crumbled rim. He swung and pulled himself up.

  The house trembled on its foundation. The gap in the floor widened, creating a jagged chasm in the center of the large room. Green Arrow staggered, but instead of falling, he spun and fired an arrow that trailed a cable. It slammed into the wall and he slid across the chasm.

  Pied Piper reeled to his feet just in time to have Green Arrow’s bowstring settle over his head and across his neck. Arrow did a backflip off the wall behind his opponent, pulling the line taut so the wire dug into his throat. Gasping, Rathaway fell back against his captor. He flailed, hands reaching for the agonizing bowstring. His sonic attacks tore into the walls and furniture. Throughout it all, the archer stayed low behind Rathaway’s shoulder, gritting his teeth in pain.

  The Flash launched himself onto the wall, streaking around the wide gap in the floor toward the combatants. He ripped the gloves off Pied Piper’s hands as he passed. Green Arrow unlooped his bow and kicked Rathaway aside. With a single move, he nocked another arrow, pointing it at the villain’s head.

  Pied Piper coughed and drew in a strangled breath. “You’re all… so damn… physical.”

  The Flash held up the sonic gloves. “Now it’s over, Rathaway. You’re powerless, and we’ve got another set of these to add to the collection.”

  Rathaway looked at the arrow pointing at his head. He straightened, slowly rubbing his throat.

  “You think I’d go through all this without ensuring I’d win?”

  “Show me your hands!” Green Arrow barked.

  “Happily.” Rathaway smiled at the grim man and complied, keeping his palms open to show that he held no device.

  As the Flash stepped forward, a burst of sonic vibrations threw them backward. Green Arrow hit hard, making a deep crater in the plaster wall. The Flash flew back into the chasm, barely able to grab onto a broken pipe. He dangled over the side.

  “Gloves are out this season,” Rathaway growled. “Beneath my skin, I have perfectly harmonized crystals from the meteorite. I don’t need gauche artificial means to generate sound waves now. You see, I’m a true metahuman—easily the most powerful one, as well.” He strode over to the closet and yanked the door, pulling Peekaboo out.

  Green Arrow dragged himself from the debris. Breathing heavily, he drew two arrows from his quiver. One flew toward Shawna, exploding in front
of her face. She had time for a startled shout before it was coated in a sticky, porous foam.

  The archer let his second arrow fly. The blunt arrow mercilessly slammed Rathaway back and whipped a cable around him. The man’s arms were pinned to his sides as he fell. Then Green Arrow scrambled around the ruined floor, clasped the Flash’s arm, and hauled the speedster back up.

  “That packed a wallop,” the Flash muttered.

  Green Arrow spun back toward his prey just as sound waves radiated from Rathaway’s chest, fraying the steel cord that was holding him. It snapped and dropped in coils at his feet. He gave a furious bellow, and more vibrations emanated from him, focused toward the ceiling. Cracks formed and dust scattered over all of them. The once-beautiful house shook, and then came crashing down.

  The Flash looked up to see John and Joe falling through the collapsing ceiling.

  38

  During his time as a police officer, Joe had entered many houses with dangerous people inside, but never quite like this. He and John… Spartan… both wore black tactical uniforms. Spartan had his helmet, and Joe wore a black balaclava with only his eyes showing. Both men wore small breather units over their mouth and nose. They had elected to do without night-vision goggles.

  They slipped in through a side door. The only light came from the outside, leaving the world a mix of muddy black and grays. As they crouched, listening for signs of the enemy, John tapped the side of his helmet. Joe suddenly realized he only heard light static in his ear.

  Rathaway must have set up sonic interference to block communications.

  John signaled them to move out. Finding the stairs easily enough, they headed up with pistols drawn. Joe glanced behind him once and saw a streak of red below. A sense of relief filled him. The Flash had their backs.

  Felicity had pinpointed one of the targets in a room upstairs. Joe could barely make out Spartan’s form as they reached the top of the stairs. A long hall stretched out ahead of them. Five doors, three on one side, two on the other. The target had been pinpointed in the last bedroom, but with communications down, they’d need to check every room. The target could have moved, and they wouldn’t want a bad guy coming from behind.

  Spartan signaled for Joe to take the first door. Joe turned the knob as quietly as possible and eased it open. An open window shade allowed a bit of moonlight inside. The room was empty, the bed still made. A pile of freshly laundered and neatly folded clothes sat on a trunk. The closet stood open, showing hangers draped with shirts and pants. Women’s clothes. Shawna’s room.

  They moved methodically down the hall, silently checking each room. All empty. They finally reached the last bedroom. Joe listened at the closed door, but heard nothing. The gun in his hand lifted as he eased the door open and peered inside. Someone lay sprawled on a bare mattress.

  They had found their quarry. Kyle Nimbus. The Mist.

  In sleep, the murderer’s face held none of its usual contempt and hatred, but he didn’t look any less dangerous. Joe signaled John to hold his position. He moved cautiously toward the bed, gun at the ready, until he stood over the vulnerable man.

  One shot while Nimbus was in human form, and it would end here tonight. No one would question it. They’d all be relieved. Nimbus had cheated a death sentence before. Joe would just be carrying it out once and for all.

  But Joe was a cop. Not a judge, jury, or executioner. His finger slid off the trigger. Instead he pulled out a metal syringe. The tranquilizer would prevent Nimbus from turning into gas. Joe poised the needle right over the sleeping man’s arm.

  Abruptly he doubled over as the ear buds shot an agonizing squeal of white noise into his brain. It brought him to his knees and he screamed.

  Nimbus leapt up. The man’s small eyes were black pits as he frantically looked around the room. His gaze settled on Joe, and the rage showed that he immediately recognized the detective.

  Joe lifted his pistol and fired, but Nimbus dissipated. The bullets passed harmlessly through him. The cloud lifted up to the ceiling, roiling with seething fury. It dropped toward Joe and encircled him, forming a prison of poison gas. Darker tendrils reached out to pull at his breather, slipping underneath and shoving it to one side. Joe struggled to get to his feet, fighting not to breathe.

  Outside in the hall, John shouted. Joe waved him back to keep him out of range of the gas cloud. The madman coiled around, looming large, quickly filling the space of the bedroom.

  An all-encompassing blackness crawled inward from the edges of Joe’s consciousness. Hunching over, drenched in sweat, he shuddered.

  John threw something toward Joe, sending it sailing through Nimbus’s incorporeal form. Instinctively he grabbed for it. The long cylinder of a flare landed in his hands. Fighting off the darkness that was caving in, Joe dropped his pistol and fumbled to twist the top of the flare off. It came apart and he desperately attempted to strike one end against the other.

  The gas tightened. Joe could feel it pushing against his mouth and into his nose, trying to force its way into his lungs. With a final swipe, Joe ignited the flare. The spark flamed and the end of the cylinder burst into a bright, blinding blaze.

  The cloud ignited in a ball of flame. The blast shoved Joe across the room to collide with a dresser. Letting loose an almost inhuman scream, the Mist reformed, trailing dark smoke and his skin charred black. Burnt hands lifted to cover his face.

  John rushed in and snatched the metal syringe off the floor. He plunged it into a burnt arm. The scream trailed off, and Nimbus fell face down onto the floor. Joe pulled off the balaclava and coughed violently, his lungs struggling desperately for fresh air.

  John grabbed him and pulled him out of the bedroom and into the hallway, where the air was clearer.

  “You still with me?”

  Joe nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. John inspected the detective’s face.

  “Burns look minor, thanks to the tac gear. How’s the pain?”

  “I’ll live. Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  As they started to stand, the floor buckled beneath them.

  * * *

  The Flash saw the plummeting Joe, and felt a rush of terror. Behind him, Green Arrow fired a cable under the falling men. With practiced ease, John reached out and grasped it, catching the narrow lifeline with a hooked arm.

  Joe wasn’t used to such tactics. He bounced against the line and toppled away, panic and disbelief spreading across his face.

  The Flash roared out into empty space, reaching for him. His heart pounded hard in his chest… and then he felt it. The tug at the speed force. Everything accelerated, and suddenly he felt out of control.

  Tremors coursed through his body, generating a field of lightning. Small sparks lit his eyes, making the world go in and out of focus. Rathaway’s triumphant grin shone just beyond Joe’s falling body. The Flash’s heartbeat ramped up inside his chest, and the world started to slow.

  Green Arrow shouted to him, but his voice was a warbled distortion. The Flash couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it reminded him of the lessons. They echoed in his head, but his breath still came in gasps, his thoughts a chaotic tumble.

  A shadowy figure raced up beside him.

  The world around him went transparent.

  No!

  He didn’t have time for this. It wasn’t real. He closed his eyes in a desperate attempt to reassert power over his own body. Finally one conscious memory prevailed.

  The microscope.

  It represented the methodology of the lab. Even before he became the Flash, painstaking procedure was the path to finding answers. Solving crimes. Bringing justice. Researching. Measuring. Calculating. Discovering. All done at a snail’s pace. At human speed. One result after another.

  The rushing roar of his blood abated, and he drew a deep breath into his tight chest. The world around him became tangible again. He heard Rathaway, as well as Green Arrow. Joe’s falling body started to speed up.

  T
he Flash’s hand moved slowly, fingers flexing. His every instinct cried for him to suck in breath after rapid breath, but he kept his focus, trusting Oliver, keeping the rise and fall of his chest steady and rhythmic. One step at a time. Regardless of how many steps he could take in a second. His heart pounded steadily as he stared at Joe’s outstretched hand.

  Inhale. Pause. Exhale. Pause.

  The world snapped back into marvelous clarity. Joe’s hand slipped into his, fingers wrapping around his wrist. Joe’s weight suddenly pulled the Flash forward. He touched his foot onto the cable Oliver had fixed across the chasm. He focused on planting one foot after another. Feeling the press of his heel on the line, being a part of the real world. A few millisecond tightrope steps and he shoved off, pushing back into full speed, but this time maintaining control.

  Joe became weightless, hanging suspended in the speed force. The Flash gathered him in his arms and surged forward, then skidded to a halt on the far side of the pit. Joe regarded him with an amazed expression. Smiling, the speedster turned back to the fight.

  Rathaway had Shawna on her feet. His hand shattered her foam mask.

  “Take me out now!” he screeched. Most of the walls on the main floor had collapsed, and the rear of the house was visible, with its broken glass wall. Shawna looked that way and suddenly the two vanished.

  Debris continued to rain down with a sound like thunder as the house collapsed around the heroes. The ground cracked and split, and the cliff face itself gave way. Tons of rock and soil tumbled into the lake, taking the remnants of the building with it in a terrible avalanche that raised a massive cloud of dust over the once-peaceful neighborhood.

  39

  Shawna appeared in the opening of an alley with Rathaway at her side. He gasped for breath. She had sped along at the limits of her powers, hoping for… she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. Maybe that he would die—but then she might die too.

  Rathaway gave her an angry look. His attention quickly shifted to the vast circular building about two hundred yards away, across a deserted parking lot. S.T.A.R. Labs.