The Death and Life of Superman, page 16
Civil defense and emergency sirens wailed all over Metropolis. Radio and television stations shifted over to the Emergency Broadcast System, and on the streets, police loudspeakers began warning people to take shelter.
At the counter of the Hob’s Bay Grille, Professor Emil Hamilton looked up from his pie and coffee. He had been composing a compliment to Mildred’s appearance—Must be careful, can’t appear too forward—when a high-pitched hum suddenly blared from the little diner’s radio, most rudely interrupting “Begin the Beguine.”
“Attention! This is not a test! Local, state, and federal authorities have declared a state of emergency to exist in the greater Metropolis area. Citizens are urged to seek shelter immediately. If you are within the sound of my voice, tune your radio to 860 kilohertz AM or 93.1 megahertz FM for more information over your designated local Emergency Broadcast Station. Repeat, this is not a test! WUMT must now sign off for the duration of the emergency . . .”
Emil looked at Mildred and blinked. The waitress’s face had gone white, and she was frantically pounding on the old radio’s dial.
“I told ’im! I told ’im, but would he listen?”
“Whatever is the trouble, Mildred?”
“I don’t know! We may never know! The tuner on this thing’s been busted for nearly a year! I told the owner, but he said one station was enough! Now what do we do?”
“Well, we can’t stay here, my dear! I haven’t a clue as to what sort of emergency this is, but the Grille, for all its virtues, is hardly a fortified shelter. Get your coat! I’ll help you lock up and we can repair to my building. I’ve plenty of provisions, and the lab has sufficient stores to hold off a small army, I daresay.”
Mildred forced a brave smile. She didn’t know what was happening, but if the world might be coming to an end, she could think of few people she’d rather see it out with. “Just let me lock up the register.”
Arm in arm, Emil and Mildred sprinted down the rapidly emptying streets. A block away, a police cruiser was warning people to stay inside. “Whatever could be going on?” muttered Emil.
From behind them came a low growl. “Doomsday’s comin’!”
They nearly jumped out of their shoes. Emil was about to grab Mildred and run when he realized that they were in front of the Ace o’ Clubs, and that the growl had come from the man standing in the shadows of the doorway.
“Bibbowski!” There were few people in the neighborhood who had not encountered the tavern’s proprietor. “What are you talking about?”
“Doomsday,” repeated Bibbo. “He’s some big monster, see? My fav’rit’s been chasin’ him cross country—an’ gettin’ nowheres!”
“Your favorite?” Mildred was quickly regaining her composure.
Emil knew there was one man whom Bibbo regarded over all others. “You mean Superman, of course! This Doomsday monster has been giving Superman trouble?”
Bibbo looked troubled. “Yeah—it’s been on the TV all afternoon. Can’t understand it. Sooperman’s the toughest guy I ever met, tougher even’n me! But he can’t seem to stop the ugly so-an’-so!” Bibbo’s countenance suddenly brightened. “Perfesser, yer smart! Can you think of any ways to help ’im?”
Emil’s mind was racing. “Perhaps. But I have to know more about this creature. There may be something in my lab—!”
“Hey, I’m comin’ wit’ youse!” Bibbo straightened his cap.
“Really, that’s not necessary—!” Emil began to protest.
“Hey, if I can do anything to help youse help my fav’rit, I’m gonna do it!” He turned to shout back into the bar. “Lamarr, I got stuff to do. Stay put an’ look after things for me while I’m gone, okay?”
“No problem, Bibbo.”
“An’ don’t let me catch you an’ Highpockets downing too many free beers this time!”
A cheery belch echoed from within the tavern. Satisfied, Bibbo turned and threw a protective arm around both Emil and Mildred. “Okay, now let’s go help Sooperman!”
Back at the Park Ridge construction site, a huge pile of scattered girders shifted. And then, from the bottom of the pile, Superman emerged, shouldering aside several tons of steel, a trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth. Blood? When was the last time I was hurt badly enough to bleed? If I’ve become that vulnerable, my reserves must really be depleted. Better finish this quick, if I’m going to finish it at all. He emerged from the wreckage, aching with every move, his cape in tatters. Shouldn’t be hard to find him . . . just have to follow the path of destruction.
With a running stride, Superman leapt uncertainly into the air. The coppery taste in his mouth was turning his stomach. All he could think of was that time when he was four, before his powers began to develop. He’d fallen from his folks’ old walnut tree, breaking his arm. It’d hurt so bad, he’d bitten his lip, and the taste . . . Careful, Clark! This’s uncomfortably like having your life flash before your eyes. He tried not to think of the danger. He could not stop now, could not waver. The lives of too many people depended on him. In the distance, across the river, a cloud of smoke rose where a high-rise apartment had once stood. To his ears, it seemed that every siren in the city was sounding. As he flew deeper into the heart of Metropolis, Superman concentrated, screening out the sirens, listening for the squawk of police radios.
“Attention, all units! Doomsday has been sighted—repeat, Doomsday has been sighted—on the four-hundred block of Shayne Boulevard.”
The four-hundred block of Shayne . . . that’s where the Newtown Plaza is being built. Superman poured on the speed. Doomsday’s found another construction site to attack.
As he approached the half-completed complex, Superman saw a huge hole near the foundation of the main tower. Oh, great. He’s gone underground! The Man of Steel plunged down through the hole, a maze of ancient pipes stretching all around him. The lead pipes inhibited his vision, but following the trail of debris, he finally found his quarry. Doomsday was ripping his way into the Metropolis sewer system.
Leaping onto the monster’s back, Superman reached under Doomsday’s arms and around the back of his neck, gripping him in a full nelson.
“Stop squirming, damn you! You’re not kicking free of me this time!” Then Superman caught the telltale scent of leaking gas.
With Doomsday in tow, he shot toward the surface. As they emerged into the light of day, construction workers were still being evacuated from the Newtown Plaza complex.
“Come on, move it! Move it!” The job foreman desperately herded his workers away from the towers.
Amidst all the chaos and confusion, ironworker Henry Johnson saw the monster flailing away at Superman. “What is that thing?”
“Ain’tcha heard? That’s Doomsday. He’s a demon or something—and he’s been kickin’ Superman’s butt all over town.”
“No way, man. No way!” Henry bolted away from the others, grabbing up a sledgehammer on the run. Sledge in hand, he vaulted over a small stack of girders, determined to help Superman stop the monster.
Deep underground, the leaking gas flowed over a sparking power line. There was a sudden, violent, foundation-rattling explosion, and the largest of the complex’s buildings split wide open. Henry Johnson fell to his knees, and the floors above fell on top of him as the entire central borough shook from the force of the blast.
In the media suite of LexCorp Tower, Lex Luthor II was in the middle of a news conference.
“In answer to your question, Ms. Anderson—no, I don’t know what Doomsday is or where he came from, but it has become increasingly obvious why he is here. The creature has some manner of grudge against Superman!”
Lex could feel Supergirl tensing by his side. He knew that such talk disturbed her, but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tear a strip off his old foe. WLEX might be blacked out locally during the emergency, but he could still feed his message to the rest of the world via his superstation’s satellite and cable connections.
“I’m loath to ask, but does Metropolis need a champion who draws such negative attention? Does Superman’s presence here cause more harm than good?”
At that point the shock wave from the Newtown Plaza blast hit them. The tower noticeably swayed, and the cameraman struggled to hold his Minicam steady. Supergirl kept Luthor on a steady footing, but she was clearly alarmed.
“I think Doomsday may be more than Superman can handle alone. Don’t be annoyed, Lex, but I have to help him!”
“Annoyed? Not at all!” Lex played to the cameras for all he was worth. “Very generous, love. Indeed, I agree with you, Metropolis must be preserved!”
As the cameraman turned to follow Supergirl down the corridor, Lex smiled. I couldn’t have timed that better if I’d planned it!
Buffeted by the shock wave, Superman bore Doomsday up toward the vacuum of space. The monster struggled in his grasp, lashing out with the bony spur of an elbow. So hard was the spur, and so weakened had Superman become from the prolonged struggle, that Doomsday drove it deep into his captor’s side.
Superman cried out in shock and pain. He could feel an initial gush of blood wash down his side. This was far worse than any cut, this was a ragged puncture wound. No one . . . has ever cut me like that before! His head grew foggy and his limbs went numb as Doomsday hurled him away. Unconscious, the Man of Steel fell to Earth.
Doomsday roared with laughter as he stretched out into a free-fall. But before he dropped more than a hundred feet, a red and blue blur streaked up from the city below, slamming into him with unexpected force. Doomsday reached out to grab his foe and found himself gripping only air.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to Superman, but I’ll make you sorry you were ever born!”
Doomsday was confused. The voice was much higher-pitched than the one he’d expected to hear. The caped figure that pulled his arm behind him was smaller, slimmer, and topped with long, flowing blond hair. Doomsday turned to shake off the grip, and Supergirl kicked him square in the gut.
On a rooftop far below, Professor Hamilton and Bibbo rushed to assemble a series of huge components. Mildred kept glancing uneasily from their labors to the skies above. She lifted the electronic field glasses Emil had given her—That man, doesn’t he have anything low-tech?—and looked up, watching Supergirl struggle with Doomsday.
“My lord in heaven! What . . . what is that creature?”
Emil tightened one final connection. “I suspect it’s a living weapon, Mildred, perhaps sent by some would-be alien invader to decimate the Earth.”
Bibbo wiped his brow. “We finally got dis laser cannon put together, Perfesser Ham—so let’s use it!”
Emil checked the skies. “As soon as Supergirl gets out of the way, Bibbo.” The Girl of Steel’s battle with the monster was drawing closer as she strained to carry him away from downtown. They could be seen quite clearly now with the naked eye.
Doomsday hammered away at Supergirl as she fought to subdue him. But her punches seemed to have little effect on the monster, and his were beginning to make her eyes cross. Can’t give up—can’t fail Superman.
With a bellow of rage, Doomsday hit Supergirl so hard that the young shape-shifter’s face deformed with the force of his blow. All the color drained from her. Supergirl went limp and fell spinning toward the Earth below.
Bibbo let out a howl. “Doomsday’s dropped Supergirl, Perfesser! Hit him now!”
Emil hit a switch, and a mighty beam of coherent energy blasted skyward. For a moment, Doomsday’s free-fall seemed to stop as he was transfixed in the cannon’s awful energies. A bellow of pain echoed across the sky.
“We did it!” cheered Emil. “We got him! He’s falling, but . . . Oh, dear.”
“Emil, he’s coming straight at us!”
Bibbo squinted. “If he’s tryin’ ta fall on top o’ us, he’s gonna make it! Run for it!”
Emil grabbed Mildred and scrambled for the fire escape with Bibbo hot on their heels. As they reached the third floor, Doomsday slammed into the building with the force of a twenty-ton bomb. The metal staircase began to collapse, shaking them loose, and they fell into the building’s dumpster.
They landed with little grace among the trash bags but were otherwise unharmed. “Mildred! Mildred, where are you?”
“Over here, Emil.” She emerged from beneath a green plastic bag, her glasses slightly askew. Everything had happened so fast, she’d had little time to be frightened by the fall.
“Thank God. Bibbowski? Are you still with us?”
Bibbo rose up at the far end of the dumpster, covered with packing material. “I’m okay, Perfesser. That din’t hurt no worse’n fallin’ off a stool. Ouch! Hey, what gives?”
Bricks, dislodged by Doomsday’s impact with the building, started raining down from above. As they ducked for cover, Emil looked back up at the building and shook his head. It’d be a while before he dared to go back inside.
Superman came to in what had once been an abandoned tenement building, now boarded up and waiting for demolition. His fall had already begun that process. All around him the old structure lay in ruins. A wave of heat washed over him, and the acrid smell of smoke hit him in the face. He could hear a series of explosions rumbling not too far off.
Another gas main must have been ruptured. The thought came to him slowly, as if he were still trying to shed the fog of a deep sleep. Just sitting up was a struggle for this man who had once changed the course of mighty rivers. His side burned as though it were on fire. He felt for the spot where Doomsday had cut him. The wound was already starting to close, but his hand still came away wet with blood. My blood. The realization was very matter-of-fact, as though he had become numbed to the shock of finding himself wounded. He grabbed hold of a slab of masonry to pull himself up. His arms felt like lead and his legs like jelly. Every move was agony, but still he forced himself to his feet.
Around him, the neighborhood looked like a war zone. He grimaced at that thought as he staggered from the ruins. Suicide Slum had sometimes been compared unfavorably to New York’s South Bronx and Chicago’s Cabrini Green. Now this section of it looked more like Beirut.
“Help! Superman—help!”
The cry cut through the fog in his head like a searchlight. It was the high, earnest cry of a small, terrified boy. Superman became instantly alert. Who needed his help? Where—? He strained to peer through the smoke and dust. There . . . just a few blocks away. A fire at the Coates Children’s Center . . . the orphanage maintained by the Metropolis Children’s Aid Society! The building was being evacuated, but a caseworker and two young children were trapped inside.
Reflexively Superman leapt skyward and almost came crashing down again, so great was the pain in his right side. Keep going . . . got to keep going . . . they’re depending on you! They may die unless you do something! Gritting his teeth, he dove into the midst of the burning orphanage. The careworker gave out a shriek at the sight of him.
“Don’t be afraid!”
The boy in her protective grasp let out a whoop. “It’s Superman! I knew he’d come!”
“You just hush, Keith!” The woman looked uncertainly at the bloodstained letter S emblazoned across the front of the man’s tattered shirt. His face was bruised and swollen. A raw and bloody wound oozed at his side. This man looked more like someone in need of rescuing than a rescuer.
“I guess I must really look like a mess, don’t I?” He tried to grin, but it came out more like a grimace. “Even Superman has a rough day now and then. Come on . . . I’ll get you out of here . . . just stay close.”
Not good for much, he thought, but I still make a pretty good shield.
Fire trucks were arriving as Superman led the woman and children to safety. A fire fighter on the scene was aghast. Superman looked in much worse shape than those he had just saved.
“Sit down for a moment, over here. Let me take a look at you.”
Numbly, Superman did as he was told, and a paramedic pressed an oxygen mask gently to his face. The fire fighter shook his head in dismay. What is the monster, he wondered, that it could do such a thing to Superman?!
The metal back door to the building Emil Hamilton had called home exploded outward, sending shrapnel flying for half a block. The exploding door was followed a split second later by Doomsday.
Doomsday was a hellish sight to behold. The last few tatters of his outer restraining garment had been burnt away by Emil’s laser. All that clothed him now was a pair of dark olive trunks, which ended in metal bands encircling his thighs, and a pair of massive boots. He was covered all over in a gray, leathery hide wherever stark white bone did not protrude, and it seemed to protrude in sharp spikes or spurs at every major joint. Doomsday’s hideous face was a catcher’s mask of chiseled bone, its high forehead topped by an unruly shock of white hair, now singed and smoking at its ends.
From around the corner of the alley, Emil Hamilton watched furtively as the monster angrily flung the huge metal dumpster out of his way. No wonder the beast has been able to take such a pounding . . . he has a partial exoskeleton, as well as an endoskeleton. The professor prudently slunk back into the shadows, hugging the wall, as Doomsday looked around. This was clearly not the time to inspect the creature’s anatomy too closely. Emil glanced back to warn Mildred and Bibbo to silence. He could hear his own heart thundering in his chest. Should Doomsday turn down this cul-de-sac, they would be finished. But when Emil looked back, Doomsday was already leaping away.
The oxygen smelled sweet to Superman. It was having a revitalizing effect. His thoughts were coming faster now, more coherently. Is this how boxers feel? Is this what it’s like to be hit so hard that your brains rattle? What sort of damage has been done to me? He considered that thought for a moment. How dangerous would a brain-damaged Superman be?
