Flash Page 12

“Roger that,” Cisco said.

  “Besides, I have to leave as the Flash, and you have to be here when the police arrive,” Barry said. “Don’t worry. I’ll meet you at the lab.”

  “We’ll see you there,” Iris said, settling the matter before Joe could protest further. Her arm snaked through her father’s.

  Joe knew when he was licked. “Fine. Just be careful.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, Detective West,” the Flash called out, stepping onto the porch. Sirens could be heard in the distance. He darted away, pausing at the still-open hydrant and shutting it off. Then he disappeared into the night.

  Joe shook his head, leaning against the doorframe.

  “How long is that boy going to pretend nothing is wrong?”

  “I know.” Iris sighed, and then studied her father. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, why shouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, you were just attacked by a metahuman?”

  Joe bobbed his head. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I’m good.” He turned and headed back inside. “Come on, let’s get ready. I’ll call dispatch and let them know the black-and-whites don’t need to bother. Then we can head over to S.T.A.R. Labs. I want to hear what Caitlin says.”

  He stopped, and kissed Iris on the cheek.

  “Thanks for whatever you did to warn Barry about Nimbus. It was probably dangerous, so don’t tell me about it right now, but I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, Dad.”

  * * *

  By the time they arrived, Caitlin already had Barry sitting on her diagnostic bed with his long legs dangling over the side. His chest was bare, sensors were stuck to his body, and her monitor was processing the information.

  Joe paced back and forth as she drew blood, while Barry gave Joe a reassuring smile. Iris stood off to the side with her arms folded across her chest. Her tremendous patience was a constant annoyance to Joe. Even when she was younger, nothing ever seemed to faze her. Not exams, not the news… not even the loss of her mother. Iris just focused on the moment, and always met it head on.

  While Joe was a nervous wreck, she remained a pillar of calmed assurance.

  Caitlin, on the other hand, wore an intense expression as she went from one task to the next.

  “We’ll see if there are traces in your blood,” she said.

  “Traces of what?” Joe came closer.

  “Well, this soon after the latest event, I’m hoping it will have left some sort of marker.” Caitlin took the vials of blood to a workstation against the wall and dropped them into the centrifuge. “Some indication of a chemical imbalance or foreign agent.”

  “And if not?” Joe asked anxiously.

  “I’m going to run a CAT scan and MRI.” Caitlin offered a reassuring smile at Joe. “I’ll find the answer, Detective West. I promise.”

  Joe nodded. “I know, Doctor. It’s just that we know so little about Barry’s speed—all we’ve got are guesses.”

  Caitlin stopped and stared at him.

  “I don’t make guesses,” she said.

  Joe shook his head apologetically. “I don’t mean that. I just, I mean—”

  “What he’s trying to say,” Barry interjected, “is that studying a metahuman involves brand new science. We have a limited data set.”

  “That’s what makes it kind of exciting.” Cisco swept in with a tray of sub sandwiches. “It’s frontier science—this is the wild, wild west… so to speak.”

  “This is my son we’re talking about,” Joe growled. “It’s not exciting. We have got to do better. We have to learn faster.”

  Taken aback, Cisco offered an apologetic shrug as he handed the sandwiches to Barry.

  “Thanks, Cisco, you’re a life saver,” Barry exclaimed, taking the platter and digging in. “I’m starving.”

  “Little wonder,” Caitlin said. “Your reserves are dramatically depleted.”

  “Reserves?” Joe watched Barry devour his first sub. Even without superspeed, he ate like a starving wolf.

  “Barry’s metabolism burns at an extreme rate,” Caitlin explained, “which is why he’s always hungry after he taps into the speed force. At the moment, he appears to be running on empty.”

  “Why would that be?” Barry said through a mouthful of roast beef. “It all happened pretty quickly, and I’ve taken lots worse beatings before. I was worried about Joe, so that added to the stress, I guess.”

  “Hmm.” Caitlin studied the data stream on her screen. “It must be these glitches—or the blur, if you prefer—consuming your energy. And the rate is pretty alarming.”

  Cisco examined some of the readouts. His usual happy countenance was replaced with a frown.

  “Seriously,” he agreed. “He’s like got nothing in the tank. How are you even awake?”

  “Too hungry to sleep,” Barry confessed. “I could use some more sandwiches. Or maybe some pizzas? I could eat like a dozen or so pies.”

  “Whatever you like, Barry.” Caitlin nodded to Cisco, but Iris stepped in.

  “I can order them. You two keep working.” She grabbed her credit card and smartphone, and shot Barry a look. “You just stay where you are.”

  “Hey, I feel fine,” Barry insisted as he unwrapped another sandwich. “Really.”

  “Maybe,” Caitlin said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

  Joe sighed, taking Barry by the shoulder. “Don’t fight it, Bar. We’ve got you outnumbered.”

  18

  “What were you doing, Nimbus?” Mardon demanded. “Rathaway told you to stay away from Joe West.” He glared over a glass of bourbon. “Besides, I want a piece of him, too.”

  Nimbus poured another drink for himself. He slumped in a chair, sullen and angry. He rubbed his bald head with rough hands and muttered.

  “Mind your own business,” he growled.

  Roy Bivolo sat at the table, too. He chuckled while leaning back, amused by the two criminals snarling at each other.

  “Rathaway’s going to have your head,” he said with barely disguised glee.

  Shawna, on the other hand, ignored the bickering while she searched a cabinet for something to eat. She opened a jar of peanut butter only to find that it had been scraped clean. She shoved it back in the cupboard and continued her search.

  The stockpile of groceries they’d stored up at the beginning of the caper was running low. A mound of dirty dishes filled the sink, the marble countertops were stained and covered with used pots, and the trash overflowed onto the expensive tile floor. She’d spent time lying low with petty criminals before, and was reminded that men, left to themselves, were content to live like animals.

  If they think I’m going to clean this up, they can screw themselves. Behind an empty box of cereal she discovered a protein bar, lying forgotten, so she pounced on it.

  Mardon yanked the bottle away from Nimbus. “What gives you the right to take out West, all by your lonesome? It’s my brother he killed.”

  “Your brother, and me,” Nimbus growled. “He put me in the gas chamber.”

  “Crap, will you let that go?” Mardon said. “You got out. And besides, you deserved it. You killed like what, ten guys?”

  Nimbus clutched the edges of what had once been a beautiful mahogany table, now gouged and stained and burned.

  “What do you know?” he said darkly. “I ought to let you see what it feels like—to have nothing to breathe but poison gas. You start to cough, and choke, and then you can’t draw a breath. You just sit there, completely aware, knowing you’re going to die.”

  Wham! Shawna slammed the cabinet.

  “So why didn’t you kill this West guy, if you’re so stone cold?” she growled. When Nimbus and Mardon stared at her like an unwelcome interruption, she crossed her arms in defiance. “You two sit around and brag how badass you are, but you can’t take out one cop. Sounds pretty lame to me.”

  Nimbus glared. “You don’t know how it was. I woulda had West, but the Flash showed up.”

  Bivolo angled
his head toward Shawna. “What do you know about anything, girl?” he asked. “Without a man to back you up, you might want to keep your nose out of things that don’t involve you.” He sneered toward the Mist. “The Flash showed up. And Nimbus got scared. End of story.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  He’s doing this just to mess with them.

  “You’ll want to keep your nose out of my business, Bivolo,” she said flatly. “I could teleport you out to the middle of the lake and just leave you there. Next time you call me girl, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Got it?”

  Mardon scoffed, “The Flash? I could’ve had him at the warehouse fire. He was in my sights.”

  “Sure you could,” Bivolo spat. “You’ve had your shot at the Flash, and got nothing.”

  Shawna laughed. “Without me, you wouldn’t be here to gripe,” she said. “The Flash would’ve shown up, carried out a bunch of dangerous chemicals, put out the fire, signed autographs for a buncha orphans, and still had time to drop you bums off in prison.”

  Nimbus growled like an animal. “Nobody’s ever going to put me in a cell again,” he said. “You hear that? I’ll kill anybody who tries.”

  Mardon rolled his eyes. “So what did the Flash do to keep you from offing West?”

  Nimbus started to answer, then he stopped and seemed to be thinking.

  That’s gotta hurt, Shawna thought wryly.

  “He… uh… he did this thing I never saw before.” That piqued her interest.

  “What was it?” Shawna pressed.

  Again Nimbus rubbed his ratlike head.

  “He was all… blurry. You know. Blurry.”

  “He does that a lot,” she said. “And then what?”

  “And then? Well, he kinda… he was like almost transparent. Just standing there like he was building up all kinds of power. Like a wrestler coming off the top rope.”

  “Yeah?” Mardon squinted suspiciously. “So what did he do? How did he beat you?”

  Nimbus looked from Mardon to Shawna to Bivolo, as if searching for sympathy. They all stared silently. His mouth hung open.

  “I… uh… I wasn’t about to find out.”

  “You left?” Bivolo barked. “You ran?”

  Shawna snorted. “The fearsome Mist. You’re so scared of the Flash you just split. So he didn’t do anything?”

  “He was going to!” Nimbus protested, his words slurred. “You weren’t there. None of you! You didn’t see him. He was ready to drop some kind of superspeed vortex lightning punch, or something like that.”

  Mardon sat there, wide-eyed, and looked at Bivolo. Suddenly both men broke out in laughter. Shawna couldn’t help herself, and joined in with a chuckle that suddenly burst into a deep guffaw. Before she knew it, she was doubled over at the waist, laughing so hard she couldn’t stand straight.

  Nimbus pushed back from the table, fuming.

  Bivolo stood up with his fist raised. “A superspeed vortex lightning punch!” He then turned slowly and drove his fist toward Mardon, inch by inch, until the knuckles gently touched his chin. Mardon threw himself backward out of his seat in slow motion.

  Shawna laughed harder, nearly losing her footing as Mardon rolled against the wall with make-believe force. He looked up from his spot, sprawled on the floor.

  “Great plan, Mist—running away before the Flash even does anything. You’ve really taken Rathaway to heart.”

  Nimbus sat quivering with rage. His features grew indistinct and went a sickly green.

  “Nimbus!” Hartley Rathaway shouted from the kitchen door. “Don’t.”

  The Mist’s features fused again, and his color returned to normal. Rathaway peered curiously at Mardon on the floor before turning back to him.

  “Despite my direct orders,” he said, “you went after Detective West.”

  “Orders?” Nimbus snarled. “I don’t take orders. You’re not my boss.”

  “Actually I am. As long as you’re on this team, you will do as I say. Do I have to teach you another lesson?”

  “As long as you’re under my roof, young man…” Mardon stood up with a smirk. “…you’ll live by my rules.”

  Rathaway regarded Weather Wizard coldly.

  “Essentially, yes,” he said, looking angry at being mocked. “There’s nothing funny about this. Nothing funny at all. Your incompetence could have derailed all of my careful plans.”

  Shawna snickered. “Yeah, one good superspeed vortex lightning punch and it’s game over.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Shawna,” Rathaway scolded.

  She drew back, annoyed with his attitude. “I know that, Rathaway, but come on—no harm, no foul.” She leaned against the counter.

  “Yeah, she’s right.” Mardon moved to the table to stand near Nimbus. “Lighten the hell up. I should’ve done the same thing, going after Joe West, but Nimbus had the guts to do it.”

  Rathaway frowned. “You won’t do the same thing. You will do as I say, if you want to be rich.” He paused, then continued. “We’re entering a new phase of the operation, and it’s essential that we work together. We’re going to ramp up the pressure on Central City.”

  “What’s the point?” Bivolo raised both hands dismissively. “How’s this going to make us rich? We’re not stealing anything, not since the museum. We’re not making any demands. We’re not taking out the Flash. What kind of two-bit scam are we running here?”

  “The smart kind.” Rathaway narrowed his eyes. “The kind none of you have ever been involved in before.”

  Bivolo just cursed and turned away. Mardon shook his head and actually slapped a friendly hand on the Mist’s shoulder.

  “C’mon, Nimbus—let’s do our drinking elsewhere.”

  Nimbus’s head jerked up. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “This kitchen stinks, and it ain’t the dirty dishes.”

  Rathaway stood aside from the door. “Tomorrow morning at eight. Be here to prepare for the next phase.”

  Mardon picked up the bottle of bourbon.

  “Sure thing, but if we’re not here, Hartley, you be sure to wait for us.” He grabbed several glasses between his fingers, and said with an upper-class flourish, “Mr. Bivolo? Ms. Baez? Drinks on the veranda.”

  Bivolo rose without comment and joined the other two men as they walked out. As they passed Rathaway, Nimbus stopped and turned.

  “You gotta sleep sometime.”

  Mardon laughed deep. “Nah, not Hartley. He stays up twenty-four seven, being smart.”

  Shawna hesitated. She had no real desire to hang with these guys, but she liked the sympathy Mardon had displayed. Looking at Rathaway, she was surprised to see a faint smile on his lips.

  Well, I’ll be damned.

  He had played them. He turned a group of bickering malcontents into drinking buddies. Most likely he was playing her, too. Knowing that gave her an advantage the others didn’t have. She knew she could play chess with Rathaway whenever she wished.

  For the moment, however, she felt like she wanted to be a part of the gang. So she pushed off the cluttered counter, and followed the guys out.

  19

  “Traffic alert on the City Center Bridge.”

  “Hang on. I’m doing another building check.” The Flash completed the run-through of every room in a ten-story apartment building. It had been a long day of chasing disasters, after the stressful night of the Mist’s attack on Joe. This was the fourth lightning fire he had addressed today. Weather Wizard had been busy, but the Flash still hadn’t found him at any of the scenes.

  He carried the weather wand with him most of the time now, in case he encountered Mardon in person again.

  Content that the building was empty of people, the Flash ran down the stairs and halted on the sidewalk amid coiled hoses and pooling water. He gave fire and rescue crews a thumbs up. A group of people gathered outside the cordoned area.

  “When are you going to stop all this, Flash?” one shouted.

  “My business is underwater!” another y
elled.

  “What are we supposed to do?” a third demanded.

  “I’m sorry.” The Flash held up his hands apologetically. “I’m doing everything I can.”

  “Get those metahumans, and put them behind bars!” It wasn’t so much a cheer as an angry order.

  “I will. I promise,” he said. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He touched his comm. “What sort of traffic alert?”

  “Not sure,” Cisco said, “but this isn’t a fender bender.”

  “Okay, on my way.” The Flash streaked south.

  A river with several bridges stretching across it bisected Central City. The most important one ran from City Center to the crowded residential and business district of Lawrence Hills. It was always busy, and frequently gridlocked. However, the problem wasn’t rush hour.

  Cars littered the bridge, crumpled and battered, some moving and some not. Smoke filled the air. Horns blared. Voices shouted. Doors were flung open and people fought in the middle of the highway.

  The Flash sighed. Prism was here.

  He raced into the melee, quickly pulling aside two men wrestling on the yellow line just before they were crushed beneath the tires of a sedan spewing steam from under its hood. He weaved through traffic, slipping cars into neutral, taking car keys through open windows, and removing the odd lug wrench from angry hands.

  A black Hummer roared past, nearly clipping him. The Flash caught up to the massive SUV, racing up onto its roof. He clutched the luggage rack and dropped his face into the driver’s-side window. The driver furiously texted with both hands and steered the monster vehicle with his knees.

  “Hey!” the Flash shouted. “Stop texting, and hit the brakes!”

  “Shut up!” the man bellowed back. “I’m going to miss the matinee!” At that the Flash gripped the doorframe and reached inside. He pulled the phone from the driver’s grip and lobbed it over the side of the bridge.

  “Hey, you jerk!” Finally the driver stomped on the brakes, causing the Flash to seize the rack to prevent being catapulted over the hood. The Hummer skidded to a screeching stop. “That was my phone!”

  The Flash dropped to the ground. The driver, scarlet-faced with rage, yanked open the glove compartment and drew out a handgun. The Flash delivered a sharp blow to the center of the steering wheel. The airbag exploded outward with a bang, and slammed the guy back against the plush leather seat. He grunted and sat stunned, covered in white dust.