by Peter David
Penny Marko had initially been unhappy as the news broadcasts had knocked Jeopardy! off the air. It was her favorite show, even if her impulse was to pronounce it “GEE-o-party.”
But as she’d watched, she found herself fascinated by the images of the person everyone was calling Sandman. They kept showing the same sequences with him over and over, and now she got to her knees and drew close to the screen. She reached up and touched it tentatively as Sandman tossed aside all efforts of the SWAT teams to rescue people. “Mama,” she said slowly, “I think that’s Daddy.”
Emma called back from the kitchen, “What’s Daddy?” She emerged to see what Penny was referring to, and Penny pointed wordlessly to the TV At first Emma laughed and was about to tell Penny that she didn’t know what she was talking about. Then she took a closer look, and Penny could see by the change in her mother’s expression that Mama likewise thought it was Daddy. She was shaking her head, though, trying to deny it to herself.
“The sand castle,” said Penny. Her mother, still appearing shell-shocked, looked wordlessly at the little girl. “I was with him. That’s him.” She tapped the screen. “He’s doing this for me. I can feel it, Mama.”
There was a knock at the door so unexpected and intrusive that both Penny and Emma jumped in alarm. Penny headed to the door, ignoring her mother’s warnings not to open it for strangers.
A police officer was standing there, and next to him another man.
“Penny?” he said, and when she nodded, he extended a hand and smiled gently. “I’m Dr. Wallace. We need to talk… quickly.”
Pounded back and forth between Sandman and Venom, Spider-Man’s bloodied body slammed to the ground. He lay there, trying to will himself to get to his feet, to grow four extra arms or become ten times as strong. Something, anything that would give him a fighting chance.
High above him he heard the sound of groaning metal and looked skyward through blurred vision. The noise was coming from the Dumpster, shifting in the web and leaning more and more toward Mary Jane’s taxi.
Desperately he tried to haul himself to his feet to get there in time, and suddenly the Dumpster tore away and plummeted straight down. Spider-Man, horrified, could only watch as the Dumpster winged the cab, causing it to roll onto its side.
Mary Jane smacked up against the driver’s-side door, popping it open. She shrieked as she fell from the car. Grabbing, she snagged the closed door on the driver’s side, reached through, and clung to the steering wheel. She dangled there, clutching on for dear life.
“MJ!” screamed Spider-Man.
With effort he willed himself to stand. He swayed in place, tried not to puke inside his mask—
Five hundred tons of sand pulled together, sweeping up tractors and power shovels as it rose to form a gigantic Sandman.
He loomed over Spider-Man, hundreds of feet high, with a roaring sound like that of a tornado brought to life. It—for he would simply not have seemed appropriate—came after Spider-Man, smashing the ground with its massive fists and feet as it tried to crush the dodging blue-and-red-clad figure.
Spider-Man had a brief glimmer of hope, because as powerful as Sandman was, Spider-Man had him beat on speed. He was too quick and agile for the lumbering giant to catch. But Sandman apparently came to the same conclusion, for he changed his form again, extending his hands into giant paws that reached down for Spider-Man.
Firing a webline, Spider-Man bounded clear of the terrifying sand hands, but he didn’t get far. Venom came leaping forward, intercepting him in midair and landing a powerful kick that knocked Spider-Man into a girder.
Hey, gorgeous, what are you doing here?
Oh, just hanging around.
Mary Jane, clutching the steering wheel like a bat, was busy writing her own jovial dialogue in her head. It was a witty exchange between herself and Peter that would show just how plucky our heroine was and how dashing our hero. It helped take her mind off the fact that her fingers were growing tired.
She tried to haul herself up into the driver’s seat. Perhaps she could buckle herself in, last a little longer. But she didn’t have the opportunity as her fingers—far more fatigued than she’d thought—gave way, and she plummeted from the car.
Shrieking, tearing through the weaker strands of the gigantic black web, she was finally halted by the bottommost strands of the webbing. She bounced up and down for a few moments, steadying herself, and then looked up to see what new calamity was about to befall her. She was becoming cynical enough to assume that there would certainly be something.
Her cynicism paid off. The taxi was ten stories above her and about to tear loose from its precarious perch on the web. When it did, it would crush her, and there was nowhere for her to go.
Dear Lord, please, make it quick. Then she corrected herself. To hell with that, make it slow, drag it out, give Peter time to get here.
Spider-Man was running out of time.
He was scampering up one of the girders when a black webline wrapped tightly around his throat, yanking him backward. He dropped two stories, smacking onto a crossbeam. One story below, Venom was pulling on the webline, strangling him. The world was turning into a red haze around Spider-Man, and in the distance he heard Venom shouting, “Now! Kill him now!”
Going on the assumption that Venom wasn’t addressing him, Spider-Man figured he was talking to Sandman. Sure enough, a shadow loomed over the struggling Spider-Man—it was Sandman all right, bigger than King Kong and twice as formidable.
Jennifer Dugan looked out from the TV screen in Harry Osborn’s apartment. “It’s hard to believe what’s happening… I don’t know how he could take any more… This… this is the end of Spider-Man.”
Harry Osborn wasn’t listening.
I’m sorry, MJ… I tried… no one could have tried more.
Even as he thought that, Spider-Man didn’t cease struggling against the webbing that was holding him down, trying to get clear of the massive form of Sandman that was about to annihilate him.
A tiny copper ball sailed out of the clouds and lodged on the back of Sandman’s massive head.
Sandman turned, sensing something behind him, and Spider-Man barely had time to see that what had landed on Sandman’s head was shaped like a pumpkin before it detonated. Chunks of sandstone exploded from the side of Sandman’s head. Stunned by the impact, he crumbled like a massive statue.
Mary Jane didn’t know where to look first. She saw the mighty Sandman collapse, she saw Venom on the ground looking up in confusion, and then she twisted around and saw what Venom was already looking at: a man astride what looked like a flying hi-tech snowboard, which was roaring like a jet engine.
She recognized the gadget immediately, the rider a moment later. “Harry!” she cried out in joy.
Though she felt a quick flash of anger over the way Harry had manipulated her to hurt Peter, for whatever reason he was now coming in on the side of the angels. There was still a lot to be explained, a good deal she didn’t understand—for one thing, my God, what happened to his face?—but it could wait until they all got out of here alive… an optimistic view to have, but at least she suddenly had one.
Harry chortled with self-satisfied glee as he rammed the Sky Stick into Venom, knocking him aside and sending him crashing against a crossbeam like a beanbag. He landed next to Spider-Man, who looked as if he’d just gone twelve rounds with a giant mutant Cuisinart.
Unable to understand what had just happened,
Spider-Man looked up at him tentatively, confused. Instead of bothering to explain, Harry simply extended a hand to his old friend and helped him to his feet.
“I… can’t believe you’re here,” Spider-Man said.
Harry nodded. “Apparently just in the nick of time.”
Spider-Man rubbed the back of his neck and Harry suspected that, under his mask, Peter was wincing. “Well, five minutes ago would have been good too.”
The distant sound of snapping weblines caught their attention. They
looked up just in time to see the taxi above Mary Jane tearing loose.
Mary Jane rolled aside, barely avoiding the car as it ripped down through the weakening strands of black web. It continued its death plunge, tumbling end over end several times before crashing to the ground sixty stories below. But in passing, it damaged the web that MJ was clinging to. The entire thing was rapidly shredding.
Clearly she only had seconds left.
Harry revved the Sky Stick. “Hop on!” he shouted.
Spider-Man needed no further urging. He leaped aboard, and they raced upward toward Mary Jane.
Too late.
The giant black web gave way. Mary Jane tore loose from the last of its strands into thin air.
No way no way no freaking way, thought Harry desperately as he angled the Sky Stick around, diving after her, and he would have been surprised to learn that Peter was thinking the exact same thing.
“Give it everything!” Spider-Man shouted as the Sky Stick raced to catch up with her.
Harry gunned the engine, zipping after the plummeting Mary Jane. They were heading straight for the ground, Harry now coming to a terrible realization. “We’re diving too fast! I won’t be able to pull up!”
“Just a little longer—”
“Pete—!”
“Almost…”
Harry wanted to be heroic enough that he’d be willing D crash the device into the ground before he’d break off pursuit. With a sinking heart, he knew he wasn’t, and he hated himself for that weakness.
“I’ve got to pull up! Now!”
“Go!” Spider-Man shouted.
He dove from the Sky Stick an instant before Harry pulled up. Spider-Man intercepted Mary Jane in midair and, wrapping his arm around her, fired a web. It snagged an overhead girder and they arced upward, barely missing the ground and soaring mere inches over the head of a boy who was watching in the crowd. “Wicked cool!” crowed the kid.
The crowd went wild as Spider-Man swung along with Mary Jane in his arms. Harry watched it all from a distance—he had just witnessed why exactly Peter Parker was a true hero who, dammit, deserved to get the girl. He resolved right then that his ridiculous crush on Mary Jane was at an end. Peter deserved to have her, and if that was what she wanted—
Harry had made a tactical blunder. Allowing his mind to wander, even for an instant, was a costly mistake.
Venom leaped forward from hiding and latched onto Harry’s Sky Stick. Harry, realizing he’d picked up an unwanted passenger, angled skyward, trying to shake him loose. No luck. Venom bared his vicious teeth and sank them into Harry’s ankle. Harry shrieked, yanking his leg away before Venom could get a solid hold.
Venom started to pull himself up, and a stiletto blade clicked out from the back of Harry’s bootheel. Harry had only had time to throw together a few pieces of the armor, but what he had chosen had been canny. He jammed the blade down into Venom’s shoulder. The creature howled in protest but still didn’t let go.
The Sky Stick banked with a whine of its engines. Venom was slammed against a concrete girder high atop the skyscraper. Venom was knocked loose, but the Sky Stick had sustained damage from Venom’s assault. The engine was sounding labored, and it was all Harry could do to keep it on course.
Nor was Venom done. Even as he fell, he fired a black webline and reconnected with the craft, swinging below it like a great dark pendulum.
As Harry angled around, he saw Spider-Man landing on an upper portion of the skyscraper, where a small platform had been set up for construction workers. He watched as Spider-Man set Mary Jane down there and breathed a sigh of relief that at least she was safe.
The ground stirred, twisted, grew, and a gigantic Sandman once again rose up before them. The missing portion of his head had reformed.
“Uh-oh,” said Harry, which by startling coincidence was exactly what Mary Jane said as Sandman loomed in front of them. Peter Parker said something a bit more colorful, but his mask muffled the words.
On the street below, J. Jonah Jameson fought his way to the front of the crowd, searching the faces of the news photographers. Alerted to the goings-on, he hadn’t been able to verify that the Bugle had anyone on the scene and decided he couldn’t trust anyone but himself to make sure his paper got pictures.
Unfortunately, as the battery of photographers snapped away, capturing incredible action photos, Jameson didn’t see a single one of his people. “Parker! Brock!” he called out, momentarily forgetting that he’d fired the latter. “Where’s my photographers?!”
He turned and spotted an eight-year-old girl holding a cheap Instamatic camera. “Hey, kid,” he barked. “Want a job?”
The girl stared at him incredulously. “No. I’m a kid. Why would I want a job?”
Exasperated, Jonah growled, “How much for that camera?”
Looking at the camera and smelling Jonah’s desperation the way that a lion smells weakness, the kid announced, “Forty dollars.”
“Forty?!”
The crowd gasped and pointed at some fantastic photo opportunity that Jameson was missing. Muttering, he yanked two twenties from his wallet and forked them over to the kid. “Little crook,” he snarled as the girl handed him the camera.
Jameson raised it for a shot, pushed on the shutter release, and couldn’t get it to do anything. Then he stared at the back of the camera and popped it open to verify what he’d already figured out: it was empty.
The kid held up a small box. “Film’s extra,” she said serenely.
Spider-Man grabbed Mary Jane in a tackle hold and leaped with her out of harm’s way as a gigantic sand fist pounded into the building. It trembled violently under the impact but remained standing.
Harry saw it all, but was distracted by his own problem. Venom was still climbing quickly up toward him. Tripping a switch, Harry ignited the thrusters on the bottom of the Sky Stick. They roared to life, and the rocket exhausts torched the shrieking Venom. Burning like a Roman candle, the flaming beast tumbled well away from the Sky Stick.
Freed of Venom, Harry shot straight toward Sandman. The towering creature had just taken a swipe at Spider-Man, who swung himself and MJ to safety… safety being a relative term. Trying desperately to buy Peter some time, Harry buzzed past Sandman’s face as a distraction. I’m worth at least thirty million dollars, and I’m a flying sand mite. What a comedown.
In trying to get Sandman’s attention, Harry was all too successful. Turning away from Spider-Man and Mary Jane, Sandman opened wide his hand and sent it blowing toward Harry at gale force. Harry tried to angle away from the blast but was enveloped in a small tornado of sand. He shielded his eyes with one arm, as the sand flurry worked its way into the innermost recesses of the Sky Stick. Harry cut hard on the engine, dropping down out of the assault, but then the engine started to choke and sputter. He tried to get it under control but to no avail as the vehicle hurtled across the sky, its gyros and servos disabled and its steering mechanism completely shot. Fighting to stay aloft, Harry veered behind a distant building, cut off from the war that now waged without him.
With Mary Jane safely out of the line of fire, Spider-Man was running across a girder when a sandstone arm smacked him hard across the face. It sent him flying downward, and he crashed hard into a half-constructed floor.
Sandman had reduced himself to his normal size, but that didn’t make him any less formidable. Having transformed his hand into a sandstone sledgehammer, he raised it above the head of a defenseless Spider-Man and growled, “Got no choice. You’re in my way.”
“Daddy, stop!”
To Peter’s astonishment, Marko froze in place, and he turned his head in the direction from which the plea had come: a slowly rising construction elevator. A little girl was emerging from it, along with her mother.
“Penny?” whispered Marko. He hadn’t lowered the sledgehammer, and Spider-Man could have taken that moment to lash out. Instead he made no move at all, waiting to see how this unexpected interruption would play out.
“I… I have to do this,” Marko insisted. “You don’t understand.”
“I do understand.”
“Flint,” Emma said, “the doctor came. He told us everything.”
Penny sounded as if she was more concerned about her father’s and the doctor’s feelings than her own welfare as she said, “He tried but he can’t help me.”
A crestfallen Flint Marko lowered his sledgehammer arm, all the fight gone out of him. The little girl, seeming much older than her years, continued to speak to her father in slow, measured tones as she approached. “But it’s okay, Daddy. It means you don’t have to keep doing this. You don’t have to hurt people anymore. You can come home.”
Marko shook his head. “I can’t come home. I…” He shifted his gaze to his wife. “I killed a man, Emma. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
He turned to Spider-Man. Penny held on to her mother, unsure of how to react to what her father was saying. Peter could relate to that; he wasn’t sure how to react either.
“I needed money for the medicine,” Marko said to him. “I told your uncle… all I wanted was the car. I was scared. He said, ‘Why don’t you put the gun away and go home?’ I turned to see my buddy running over with the cash. I was scared, and your uncle stood up, and I don’t know, my gun went off…”
Spider-Man listened carefully, dumbfounded, scarcely believing it.
“There was a flash, a puff of smoke,” Marko continued, “and I was standing there with this stupid expression on my face and the old guy on the ground. My buddy, good ol’ Caradine, he jumped in the car and peeled outta there. Left me behind to take the fall. I got on the ground next to… to Ben.” Marko said the name uncomfortably, as if claiming a familiarity that he wasn’t entitled to. “He looked puzzled, like he couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. I tried to pull him to his feet, shouted at him to get up. Then I heard the siren. I let his body slide outta my hands and to the pavement, and then I lit outta there just as the crowd was gathering. I…” He shook his head, reliving the pain, the suffering made real. “I spent a lotta nights wishin’ I could take it back.”