Flash Read online

  “No? How did you look?”

  “Older. Much older. And I looked scared, Cisco.

  “I looked really, really scared.”

  4

  Caitlin’s worried expression met Barry and Cisco as they entered the Cortex. So did a blinking light on Cisco’s computer screen.

  “Are you all right?” Her eyes studied him critically. Shifting into her physician persona, she came forward to examine him.

  “I’m fine,” Barry assured her. “I lost concentration.”

  “Okay, now that’s strange,” Cisco remarked as the blinking light caught his eye. He rushed toward his workstation. Barry joined him, and leaned over Cisco’s shoulder. He squinted at the monitor.

  “What’s strange?”

  “Tornado,” Cisco said. “Right in the heart of downtown.”

  Barry looked at another monitor showing the view outside.

  “It’s a clear day.”

  “Hence the ‘strange.’” Cisco called up a city traffic camera. A dark spinning mass ripped across a crowded boulevard, debris and broken branches lifting into the air.

  “Actually,” Caitlin commented behind them as she made her way back to her own bank of computers, “tornados can occur near the trailing edge of thunderstorms. It’s not uncommon to see clear, sunlit skies behind them.”

  “Except there’s literally no thunderstorms,” Cisco informed them, checking the weather radar on a monitor to his left. He played the keyboards like a maestro. “Nothing. Nada. There’s like zero percent chance for one to develop.” He shot them a meaningful glance. “But I’ll bet there’s a one hundred percent chance of Weather Wizard.”

  The Flash rolled his eyes. Mark Mardon was one of their least favorite metahuman psychopaths.

  “Where’s the wand?” he asked.

  Cisco moved to a lit display case on one side of the control room, and pulled out a metal cylinder the size of a heavy flashlight, similar in shape, about the length of an arm, but with a claw at one end. Cisco had fashioned it during a previous encounter, to prevent Mardon from using his power by metabolizing the free electrons in the atmosphere. He handed it to the Flash.

  “I expect this back in pristine condition, young man.”

  Barry hooked it onto his belt. “We’ll see.”

  Caitlin pursed her lips as she observed Barry’s most recent bio readouts.

  “Maybe you should—” she began.

  “Okay, I’m out,” Barry announced, and he was gone, leaving her to sigh with annoyance.

  “—wait until we collect more data,” she continued over the comm link. He could hear the worry in her voice.

  “It’s downtown by the waterfront,” he replied. “Too many people are there. We can’t wait.” Even as he said it, he approached his target, so he put the strange glitch out of his mind. They would figure it out. They always figured it out.

  Time to focus, he thought to himself. Time to run fast, and save lives.

  * * *

  The wind blew fiercely and debris filled the air. As he jerked to a stop, Barry put an arm up to protect his eyes. He peered down the street.

  There it is. The rotating cloud had a snakelike form extending to the ground. Rain fell hard onto the pavement in a drenching gush. Papers, sticks, leaves, and dirt flew everywhere as the tail of the tornado scoured a nearby park down to the bare soil. A car tumbled down the street and a tree twisted off its trunk with a wrenching crack.

  “I’m reading sustained winds of more than 120 miles per hour,” Caitlin informed him.

  “That’s slow,” the Flash replied.

  “Only to you,” Cisco pointed out.

  The storm roared toward the River Financial Center where well-dressed people regularly crowded upscale cafes, having their business lunches. The region around Central City was no stranger to tornados—natural and otherwise—so as the twister drew close, people were already moving. A few stood gaping at the impossibility of the deadly squall that had appeared out of the blue.

  The Flash darted this way and that, shouting at them to get to shelter. As they complied, he turned to face the oncoming column of air. It was one thing to watch a tornado on a nature program, yet another to stand at its destructive feet and feel the raw power circulating inside it. From afar, such phenomena were hypnotic and amazing.

  Up close, they would kill.

  The rain hit, and water fell in sheets. The cloud mutated rapidly, drawing up more and more debris. Its muscular core rotated nearly overhead now, and the merciless force wrenched windows from frames amid a hail of shattered glass. It lifted the roof off a cafe.

  The Flash darted forward, his speed protecting him from the force of the wind, racing around the appendage that tethered the twister to the ground. If he could cut off the tornado’s connection to the earth, then the storm cloud would just fly by overhead without continuing to inflict its terrible damage.

  The world blurred past as he ran around and around the funnel, moving against its natural spin. Finally, he felt the tornado’s momentum slow. With its energy draining, the tail of the storm ceased gouging the ground, and lifted up. Once contact was severed, the results were immediate and the Flash watched as the cloud rose up into the sky.

  Remnants of the carnage drifted to the ground in a shower of shingles, leaves, and heavy branches. The rotating cloud lifted high enough to pass over the financial center, then it faded to mere gusts. Blue sky appeared, shining through. His sigh of relief was audible even over the cheer of the crowd.

  Checking for anyone who might be hurt, the Flash smiled and reached down to help a shaken man to his feet. The tight grip of gratitude on his arm spoke volumes, and as the man stared back, there again was that look. Sheer appreciation echoed in every gesture and expression. The feeling it gave rippled through Barry. He needed no other reward.

  “Crisis averted,” he said into his mic, causing the man to shoot him an odd look.

  “Don’t count your chickens,” Cisco replied. “There’s another tornado forming on Canal Street!”

  “Another one?”

  “Holy smoke!” Cisco exclaimed. “It’s an F5.”

  Bracing himself, the Flash raced off again.

  * * *

  He reached the other twister just as it swept through a parking lot. People trapped there by the cyclone fence struggled through the fierce winds as cars began to shift like toys on a table. The Flash darted over hoods and car roofs to grab the helpless, trapped bystanders before they were crushed.

  Within moments he had deposited them all in the relative safety of a nearby lobby. The muffled roar of the storm grew louder as it advanced relentlessly on a cluster of buildings.

  “Stay under cover,” he told them as he turned back toward the door. The tornado sucked up massive amounts of debris like an out-of-control vacuum. Its base stretched to cover half a city block.

  “I don’t think cutting off the connection is going to be enough with this one.” As he stepped outside, he had to shout to be heard over the roar. He gauged his chances, and the debris began to pelt down, bouncing off of his protective uniform. “It has way too much energy.”

  The great behemoth of a storm lumbered toward him as if Goliath had finally spotted young David. The funnel crashed into the roof of the venerable old Central City Keystone Bank. The corner of the marble edifice gave way, and the hundred-year-old oak trees surrounding the building simply snapped. The unearthly roar grew steadily louder.

  The Flash began to circle the tornado, running in the same direction as its spin. It was the only way he could remain on his feet. He could tell from the unyielding power of the storm that he wouldn’t be able to disconnect it from the ground, nor draft this beast off its course.

  “Guys,” he said into the mic. “Any ideas? I won’t be able to hold this thing steady for long. It’s all I can do to stay on the ground.”

  “Barry, in order for a tornado to sustain itself, it needs two things,” Cisco said. “A warm updraft, and a cold downdraft.�
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  “Can I cool the updraft?”

  “No. In fact, by running around the tornado you’re adding energy to it. However, if you can warm the downdraft, that could rob the storm of its energy. It would help if you could fly.”

  “Yeah, if only.” Barry looked up at the roiling monstrosity that disappeared into low black clouds. “Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.”

  He stopped running.

  Thunderous winds seized him and he rose into the air. The Flash bounced off a hunk of wreckage, landing with his feet, propelling himself upward. Leaping from one shattered piece of the bank to another, climbing the massive wall of wind.

  Something slammed into the Flash’s head and he staggered, continuing to careen from one object to the next. A barrage of five-inch-diameter hailstones pelted him. He couldn’t dodge so he put his head down and plowed through. As his speed increased, so did the impacts, but they weren’t penetrating the suit or his flesh.

  Already he couldn’t see the ground. Black, swirling clouds and lightning surrounded him, sparking jagged bolts across the crowded sky every few seconds. High above the city, he started to run against the wind. Leaping from object to object, like crossing a roaring river on slippery stones.

  The lightning that lit the clouds joined the bolts roiling off of the Flash to fill the sky. The more he ran, the more white-hot energy crackled in the air. He dodged the brittle flashes of lightning pouring from the storm while trailing his own bright streaks of electricity.

  On he ran, burning through the sky, warming the cold air aloft. Tightly focused, he saw nothing but his next footstep, the next piece of rubble that was his path as he raced about the crown of the storm. The din of the tornado was lost in the roar of his own speed.

  Abruptly a piece of wreckage dropped under his foot. The wind was losing its power, and with it the ability to keep the debris airborne. Stones and girders and sheets of metal spiraled downward. Barry had to follow, weaving his way down through the crashing rubble.

  He redirected what he could on the way, unable to stop the deluge of wood, metal and bricks that pelted the ground. The trapped contents of the faltering tornado fell with thundering force as he reached the sidewalk. The Flash sidestepped a plummeting tree that stabbed six feet into the dirt next to him.

  “Scratch… another one.” Barry’s breath came hard as he skidded to a stop. Leaning over his knees, he sucked in as much air as his straining lungs would permit.

  “Are you all right?” Caitlin asked.

  “Just peachy,” he gasped.

  “Those two dissipated pretty quickly,” Cisco mused.

  “That seemed quick to you?”

  “Be careful, Barry,” Caitlin said. “Weather Wizard has got to be around.”

  “So far nothing,” the Flash said, “and Mardon likes to take credit.” He straightened and stretched out a sore shoulder.

  “Yeah, he has a flair for being a drama queen,” Cisco agreed.

  “No demands. No drama. No Weather Wizard.” The Flash looked around. “One of the tornados tore up the Central City Keystone Bank pretty badly, but Mardon isn’t robbing it. That seems weird for him.”

  People emerged from indoors, gaping at the storm damage. With a thumbs up the Flash assured them it was safe, and then raced off to conduct a high-speed search of all the buildings the tornados had struck, stopping to help injured or shell-shocked people. He pulled people from the rubble of the CCK Bank, and shuttled several to the hospital while the emergency crews were still distant sirens.

  * * *

  “You recovered yet?”

  He was shaking hands with a doctor at the emergency room, and refusing the offer of an examination, when Cisco’s voice vibrated in his ear.

  “Recovered from what?” Barry asked glibly. Before Cisco could answer, he added, “I feel great. I don’t just talk about the weather, I do something about it.”

  “Well, time to do something about crime. There’s been a break-in at the Natural Sciences Museum.”

  “There’s no sign of metahuman activity there,” Caitlin added. “The police are responding.”

  “I better go then…”

  The Flash was already on his way.

  “…since I work for the police.”

  5

  The classical gray Central City Natural Sciences Museum sported a translucent dome on top. Through the glass, the spread wings of a pterodactyl could be seen from the street. The main doors stood open.

  Speeding through the various wings, the Flash saw shocking incidents of vandalism, but there was no crime in progress. Upstairs and down, each room told the same sad story. Glass display cases shattered. Relics and artifacts smashed on the floor. It broke his heart.

  He made another circuit searching for signs of entry—smashed windows or forced doors. There were none. Only one person was present, a young man sitting at a desk talking on the phone. The man looked shell-shocked.

  Sirens sounded outside, and the Flash went to meet Joe West, who approached with his badge displayed on his belt and a notepad already in his hand. Joe’s furrowing brows pulled his entire face into a frown. His gaze centered on the fading bruises still visible under the mask.

  “Hey, Flash,” he said. “Good job with the tornados downtown. Could’ve been a major disaster. You look like you’ve been in a helluva fight. Was it Weather Wizard?”

  “No, these bruises came from a hailstorm in one of the tornados,” the Flash replied with a grin. “I didn’t see Mardon, but it had to be him.”

  “That’s just great.” Joe nodded toward the museum. “So what’s the story here?”

  “The place is wrecked.” The Flash rubbed the back of his head and gave a heavy sigh. “So much stuff destroyed. It’s sad.”

  “You see anyone inside?”

  “Yeah, there’s one guy in the administrative offices. He looks pretty stunned by everything. I suspect he made the call to the police. The museum is closed today, so there are no visitors. Whoever did the damage is long gone.” Uniformed officers began gathering around them, and Joe turned.

  “Let’s sweep the building. Be aware, one male subject inside. Apparently unarmed, but use caution.” A couple of the officers drew sidearms and entered. Joe and the Flash followed them. “Who the hell would want to destroy a museum? Steal something, yes, but just wreak havoc? Where’s the sense in that?”

  “I can’t even imagine what we’ve lost here.” The Flash shook his head sadly, stepping cautiously through a collection of fossils that had been smashed to unrecognizable fragments.

  Joe scowled. “I’m going to need Barry Allen on this,” he said.

  The Flash nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be here.”

  “Never doubted it.”

  “Well, it looks like you have this under control. Good luck, Detective.” With that, the Flash darted away.

  * * *

  Barry walked into the museum, carrying an equipment bag across his shoulder.

  “Hey! I got the call. Sounds like a mess.”

  “I’m always amazed at how fast you do that,” Joe said quietly. “How can you enjoy life at that speed?”

  “There’s something to be said for taking it slow,” Barry replied, “but I don’t remember it.”

  “One of these days, I’m taking you and Iris on a vacation where we do absolutely nothing.”

  Barry smirked. “You know, I’d like that.” A police officer approached with the young man from the office.

  “Detective West,” the cop said, “this is Peter Stingle. He’s the guy who called this in to nine-one-one. He works here.”

  “I-I’m an intern,” Peter corrected in a stammering voice. He was thin, about eighteen years old, pale and shaken. “I’m only an intern. I just came in to arrange some insects.” He looked at Joe, nearly in tears. “I do insects. Arrange the collection. That’s what I do.”

  Joe signaled the uniformed cop to move on, and flipped open his notepad.

  “So give me the story, Mr. Stingle.
”

  “So I came in to arrange insects and…” He waved his arms around. “This.”

  “This?” Joe eyed the kid. “So this was just here when you walked in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There was nobody else around?”

  “No, sir,” Stingle said. “The m-museum is closed today. That’s why I came in to arrange the insects.”

  “What about the alarm?”

  “Th-there wasn’t one. The door was unlocked when I arrived. That’s when I knew something was wrong. When I w-went to check, the alarm was already off.”

  Stingle was shaking now. Barry had done his share of nerve-wracking internships. To be at the center of something like this must be terrifying. He felt bad for the kid.

  “So you can turn off the alarms?” Joe asked sharply.

  “Y-yes, sir,” Peter stammered.

  Joe covered a frown of annoyance, but he had to rule the kid out as a suspect so he continued his questioning.

  “Did you see anyone here?”

  “I didn’t really look.” Stingle looked down at his shoes. “I didn’t want to run into the r-robber. I went to the office and called Dr. Larson.”

  “Who’s he?” Joe asked.

  Barry provided the answer. “Hugo Larson. He’s the museum director.”

  “Yes!” Peter nodded vigorously. “I c-called him, but couldn’t get an answer. So I called the police, and then I tried to call Dr. Larson again, and then the police came, and now I’m talking to you.”

  Joe pointed up at a camera mounted on the wall. “Let’s have a look at the security footage.”

  Peter swallowed hard. “It’s turned off.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The monitors are in the office, where I was. W-when I first came in and saw all this, I thought I’d check around the museum to see if anyone was here. I didn’t want to run into some kind of robber. But the feeds from the cameras were blank. Someone had turned them off.”

  “Someone?” Joe said. “Do you have the ability to turn off the cameras, too?”

  “Sure.”