Flash Read online

  “We were in the back,” Randy said. “We didn’t see him, just heard a voice.”

  “Right.” Douglas nodded. “No big deal. We’ve been talking to locals all night. So anyway, after a minute, we hear the sergeant and the other guys—Gephardt and Ramirez—they’re talking real mad, shouting and cursing. Next thing we know, they’re pulling us out of the back. Dragged us over here and strapped our wrists to this pole.”

  “Gephardt wanted to shoot us, but they couldn’t agree,” Randy said. “They ended up just driving off.”

  The Flash took a deep breath. “Okay, got it. So when you got to town, did anybody brief you on a guy named Roy Bivolo—maybe called him Prism? Did they show you a picture?”

  “Naw, man.” The two soldiers struggled to look at each other, shaking their heads. “We just rolled off a C-130 about three hours ago, and hit the streets. Orders to keep an eye out for looters or citizens in distress.” Douglas leaned forward. “Really, man, wouldja mind? You got a knife or something?”

  The Flash reached between them and took a plastic strip between two fingers. He vibrated the first zip tie apart, and then did the second one.

  “Man! Cool!” The two soldiers laughed as they massaged their wrists.

  The Flash held up a finger to silence them. “Hey, guys,” he said to Cisco and Caitlin. “We’ve got trouble. Bivolo bushwhacked a squad of National Guardsmen.” He looked at Douglas. “What kind of weapons were you carrying?”

  “We each had an M-16 with grenade launchers for tear gas, and Sergeant Cooley’s got a forty-five auto on his belt. The Humvee carries a fitty up top.”

  “A what?”

  “A fitty. A fifty-caliber machine gun.”

  “Oh.” Barry spoke into the comm, “Alert CCPD that there’s a heavily armed National Guard vehicle with three soldiers on board, somewhere in the city. They’ve encountered Prism. I’m going to find them.” He looked at the troopers. “Thanks, guys. Gotta run.” And he was gone.

  * * *

  The Flash laid down a search grid, and was a red streak racing up and down streets. In his wake, papers scattered, coats fluttered, hats blew away. At major intersections he stopped to listen for the sound of gunfire. Luckily, he just heard cars, horns, and voices.

  Turning onto a major avenue, he saw it.

  Ahead of him, a desert-tan Humvee rolled through the light traffic. No one manned the machine gun on the roof. He rushed behind the rumbling vehicle, following for another block, then swung out wide and saw three soldiers inside. Two in front, and one in the back seat who had ear buds in and looked to be asleep, with his helmet shoved down over his eyes.

  The Flash slipped up to the open driver’s window.

  “Are you Sergeant Cooley?”

  “Gah!” The driver jumped in alarm and turned the wheel hard toward the Flash. The trooper in the passenger’s seat jerked, too, fumbling for his rifle beside him. The Flash deftly dodged the heavy vehicle as it squealed into the curb and ground to a halt. Cars swerved around it, blaring their horns.

  The Flash stood on the sidewalk, carefully watching the men in the Humvee. They went quickly from frightened to amazed. The passenger woke up, and grinned.

  “Holy crap! It’s the Flash!” he said, adding ironically, “I wondered if we’d run into him.” The driver shoved open the door. He wore the insignia of a first lieutenant.

  “Hey, sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to almost run you over. I’m not used to guys running up beside my vehicle when I’m moving. You okay?”

  The Flash held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’m looking for a vehicle with a Sergeant Cooley, and two guys named Gephardt and Ramirez. Is that you?”

  “No, no Cooley here.” The lieutenant ducked back inside. “Anybody know where Cooley is? Or Gephardt or Ramirez?”

  The soldier in the back leaned up. “Yeah. Sergeant Cooley is in Bravo two seven.”

  The lieutenant turned to the Flash. “You’re looking for Bravo two seven. We’re two four. I can call them for you.”

  “Yeah, would you see if you can?” The Flash came over to the Humvee while the lieutenant climbed back in and reached for the radio. The other soldiers got out, including two more from the rear of the vehicle, and they gathered around him.

  “Can you really run on water?”

  “Yeah, when I need to. It’s not as easy as it looks, though.”

  “No way! And up the side of a building?”

  “Yeah, sure.” The Flash tried to listen to the lieutenant without much success.

  “Could you?” One trooper pointed at the high rise across the sidewalk. “Just run up to the top and back?”

  “Maybe later. I’m a little busy trying to find these other guys.” He pushed closer to the lieutenant. Lights flashed around him, and he realized that the troopers were leaning in with their smartphones to take selfies.

  “No luck.” The lieutenant tossed the radio back onto the seat. “They didn’t answer.”

  “I had a feeling,” the Flash said. “Let your command know to keep an eye out for them, and be careful. They could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “They’re under the influence of a metahuman named Roy Bivolo. That’ll make them emotionally unstable, and that’s a bad combination, given that they’re heavily armed.”

  “Is Bivolo the guy with the cold gun?”

  “No, he’s—” The Flash stopped and shot him a frustrated frown. “Why didn’t they brief you guys—” He was cut off by a distant boom and the asphalt rumbled underfoot.

  “I just felt an explosion,” he said into his mic. “Are you picking up anything?”

  “Just a sec,” Cisco replied. There was the sound of fingers on a keyboard. “Can’t tell. We’ve lost most of the cameras downtown. We’re blind in big chunks of the city. Trying other sources.”

  “Keep me posted,” the Flash said, then he turned to the lieutenant. “Keep trying to reach Sergeant Cooley. If you can talk to him, you may be able to calm him down and shake Bivolo’s whammy.”

  Before the officer could reply, the Flash ran up the side of the high rise the soldier had pointed out, ignoring the whoops he heard from behind. Once on the roof, forty stories up, he scanned the cityscape.

  There was smoke rising, about five miles north.

  Heading in that direction, he quickly arrived at his destination, and swept to the top of a ten-story building. He spotted a Humvee on the street below. Its headlights and forward spotlight shone into a cloud of smoke boiling out from the ground floor. Two soldiers stood watch, M-16s at the ready, while a third trooper manned the heavy machine gun on top.

  “Barry,” Cisco reported, “I’ve got your location. That’s the Central Plaza Arms on Weisinger. Every unit is full, so there are lots of people inside. One of the occupants is your boss, Captain Singh, there with his husband.”

  “Bivolo might be targeting him,” the Flash responded. “In any case, I need to take out the machine gun first—uh-oh!”

  “What?”

  One of the soldiers shouted and pointed up at the Flash. Instantly the machine gun swept upward, barking as it did so.

  The Flash launched himself off the side of the apartment building. At his speed, bullets appeared to be plowing through turgid air, each leaving a slow trail of turbulence. As he sped down the brick wall, he could see faces in the windows. People stared out in surprise or curiosity or fear. Many of them had phones in their hands. Some carried small children. Each window was a frozen tableau, ready to become a target zone.

  He plucked the first shell from the air just a few feet from the building. Continuing downward, he grabbed another one, then another. The machine gun had created a wide sheet of steel flying toward the face of the building. In the dark and smoke, it was hard to see the bullets in flight, but the Flash had to catch them all before he could go after the gun itself. Just one of the massive slugs could shatter glass or brick or bone.

  He snatched three, five, eight, ten. He couldn�
�t hold any more, so he opened his hand. The collection of brass-jacketed shells hung in the air and would eventually drop, doing little or no damage unless someone stood directly underneath them.

  Nearer the ground, the bullets were closer to the building. Worse, the smoke billowed thicker, and he strained his eyes to track swirls penetrating the cloud. One shell was just grinding into the brick, while another was partially buried in the wall. He swatted others from the air, feeling the burn against his hand.

  Above him, he caught a telltale glint. A glitter of glass. He had missed one on the way down.

  The Flash roared back up the side of the building, the bricks hard against his feet. On the eighth floor, a bullet was entering a window. A neat thick-rimmed hole spread around it. The glass itself rippled like water.

  Just inside was someone Barry knew well—his supervisor, Captain Singh. The man craned his neck to see the disturbance below, his face a mask of intensity. He held his service pistol in one hand and was talking on his phone at the same time, likely calling for a police response or demanding answers from the National Guard.

  He stood less than an inch from the window.

  The tip of the bullet already touched his cheek.

  The Flash’s vision blurred. A surge of panic washed through him. Not now! He had made it in time. He had run fast enough. He was right here. He had to focus on the bullet. Like a man with a high fever trying to accomplish a simple task. Ignore the disturbance that tried to rob him of his ability.

  Reaching in, he delicately pinched the back end of the shell between his thumb and forefinger. Every ounce of attention went into that one act. He brought it into the speed force with him just as the flesh of the man puckered from the impact. The Flash snatched the bullet back through the hole. Singh’s expression didn’t change. He had no idea what had just happened, and wouldn’t until he noticed the hole in the window, and found the bruise on his cheek.

  Abruptly the world began to shimmer and the Flash’s vision sparked. He was blurring on the side of a building, high above the unforgiving street. He had to get down. The Flash half fell and half ran toward the street. The impact with the pavement drove the breath from his chest. He bounced and landed hard on his stomach. Remembering the soldiers, he tried to push himself up, but his hands seemed to sink into the concrete.

  Through his wavering sight, he watched the machine gun lower toward him. The faint echo of bullets pounded the pavement around him.

  “Get up, Barry! Run!” The Future Flash knelt beside him. “You can still save them. You just have to fight.”

  “I am fighting,” Barry wheezed. He struggled to get his feet under him, but his muscles responded like lead. He struggled not to flop forward over his trembling arms.

  “It’s not enough.” His future self placed a comforting hand on his back. It reminded Barry of his father. His older face seemed understanding, but terrified. “You know that, Barry,” he said. “You can do more.”

  Barry tried again, but his limbs had gone numb. He felt tears gathering.

  “I don’t know if I can.” Warmth spread down his cheeks. “I’m so tired.”

  “Flash!”

  Barry slowly wrenched his head up to see a shadowy figure atop the Humvee. The mysterious outline stood in the smoke and flaring headlights, his face buried in the darkness of a hood. He carried a bow.

  The Green Arrow.

  Barry lowered his head and muttered, “Better than Grodd, I guess.” He pushed himself up. Two soldiers writhed on the street, wrapped with metal coils. The trooper behind the machine gun slumped unconscious over the side of the turret.

  Struggling into a sitting position, Barry wiped his forearm over his wet face. “Okay, I know the drill by now. Let me have it. Tell me I’m not fast enough to save anybody. Tell me I’ve failed this city. Shoot me with an arrow.”

  “What?” The gravelly voice came from the dark hood. “Are you injured?” The shadowy figure vaulted from the Humvee and landed in a crouch. He was clad in green leather, with a hood and mask covering much of his face.

  Barry furrowed his brow in confusion. He looked around for his future self, but didn’t see him. Thick smoke clogged the air. Shards of glass and concrete covered the sidewalk. The two soldiers moaned in pain.

  He slapped his hand against the sidewalk. It was solid. He looked up at the familiar eyes shining out of the dark.

  “You’re real.”

  Green Arrow narrowed his gaze.

  “Did you take a head shot?”

  Barry laughed, and looked around. Deep gouges marred the pavement where he had been lying. The machine gun shells had passed through him while he was blurred.

  “No, I’m good. I’m just glad to see you.” Just as he extended his hand to shake, and for help standing, Arrow’s eyes turned hard and he sprang to his feet. He went for a shaft in his quiver and brought it to his bow.

  Barry flinched, throwing his hands over his head.

  “I knew it! Here it comes!”

  The arrow whooshed past Barry’s head, followed by a yell of pain from behind. He spun around. The lobby had been blown open, the glass doors and frames shattered by a grenade. In the fading smoke, a man in a uniform with sergeant’s stripes flew off his feet with an arrow wedged in his right shoulder. He carried a heavy duffel bag and had a thick tangle of gold chains and jewel necklaces looped around his neck. He fell to the glass-covered floor, and an automatic pistol skittered out of his grip.

  He lay bellowing in pain. Barry grimaced.

  “Ooh. You shot Sergeant Cooley.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Green Arrow growled. “Will you?”

  The Flash stumbled to his feet and took the green-gloved hand. It was solid and firm. He offered the archer a relieved grin.

  “Better now.”

  25

  “Hey! Look who I found.” Then Barry stopped. Why do I even bother?

  As the Flash and the Green Arrow strode into the Cortex, Caitlin and Cisco sat talking to John Diggle and Felicity Smoak. The latter smiled and waved.

  “Barry.” John nodded. The ex-military man stood six-foot-five, broad-shouldered like a linebacker, enough to make any criminal think twice before angering him. Barry knew him to be an effective fighter, a loyal friend, and a dedicated husband and father. Former bodyguard turned crime fighter. The right hand of the Green Arrow.

  Barry threw his arms wide as the second newcomer walked over.

  “Felicity, I’m so glad you came.”

  “Always, Barry.” She hugged him enthusiastically, reminding him of a sprite made of pure electricity and intellect. Beneath her open and expressive persona, she had one of the keenest minds in the country, particularly when it came to computer theory and network operations. Her blonde hair was pulled back and her eyes shone out from behind glasses. She broke off the hug and stared hard at his face.

  “You have a bruise on your jaw.”

  “Well, yeah, it’s been a little rough around here. So what have they told you—”

  “No,” Felicity stopped him, gripping him tight. “You have a bruise. You. Barry Allen. The Flash. Caitlin said you’d been having problems. Are you okay?”

  Caitlin returned to her workstation with the look of a doctor whose unfortunate diagnosis had been verified.

  “Told you. It’s noticeable.”

  “I’m fine.” Barry put a self-conscious hand to the bruise. It actually hurt to touch. “Or I will be, now that you guys are here.”

  The Green Arrow pulled back his hood and removed his mask to reveal Oliver Queen, the scion of one of Star City’s wealthiest and most powerful families. Or at least they had been—the Queens had fallen on dark times, and he was one of the few who remained alive. Oliver was tall, powerful, and athletic. His face was sculpted and still, his dark hair closely cropped.

  Steady, calm eyes regarded the room. Some saw quiet confidence in them, Barry knew, while others found them cold. He hadn’t been able to decide. Still, because of that sturdiness, Oliver
exuded an intoxicating commanding poise. A hint of violence lurked beneath that, however, as if he was constantly on the verge of lashing out.

  “You should’ve called earlier.”

  “You guys are just as busy as we are,” Barry countered. “With assassins or super soldiers or demons or political campaigns or whatever. Even now I worry that I’m pulling you away from something important.”

  It surprised him how relieved he felt, though, like seeing a protective big brother. He doubted Oliver felt the same way, but that didn’t matter. He was here.

  “We always have time, Barry,” Oliver said. “Sorry we’re late. It was tough getting in. You’ve got a lot of major roads washed out. Even so, I’m glad I got to you when I did.”

  “Caitlin told us where to find you,” Felicity explained. “A little hack into the National Guard server gave us a situation assessment.”

  Cisco looked impressed. “Yeah, I was about to do that, too.”

  “So let’s have the details.” Oliver set his bow down and removed the quiver from his back. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, to begin, there’s a team of five metahumans trying to blackmail the city,” Barry said.

  “Anybody we know among the metas?” Oliver asked, but his attention was locked on the bruise. He gave Felicity a quick worried glance.

  “Roy Bivolo. Remember him? Prism.” On cue, Bivolo’s photo appeared on the overhead monitor. “He’s the guy that made me crazy that time, when I beat you up.”

  Oliver furrowed his brow. “You didn’t beat me up.”

  “Well, I did… a little,” Barry’s voice lilted.

  John smirked, but Oliver grunted. “Who else is involved?”

  “None that you’ve met. Shawna Baez.”

  “Peekaboo,” Cisco announced, and he put up her photo.

  “That’s a cute name,” Felicity said. “Like Hello Kitty.”

  “She’s a teleporter,” Barry said. “Line-of-sight only, but she can bring passengers with her. She’s the reason I haven’t been able to get close to any of them.”