Marvel Novel Series 05 - The Fantastic Four - Doomsday

by Marv Wolfman

  Quickly, without pause, he climbed the cables. He thought of nothing but reaching the thirty-seventh floor. Hand over hand, his feet hooked the cables and pushed him upward. It was only a matter of moments now. He could see the elevator door above him, a shining beacon indicating freedom. It drew closer, became larger. Then, at last, it was beside him. He blasted the door off its hinges and he leaped to safety.

  He made it. He had conquered death once more. Invigorated with renewed pride, he shouted to the world at the top of his voice, “I am victorious! I have won! I am Victor Von Doom. Let the world beware my awesome power!”

  And now, he thought, he need only find what he had come here for.

  “Soon, very soon, the Negative Zone will be mine!”

  Nineteen

  Reed Richards was running for his life. He heard the sulfuric acid roaring along behind him. The corridor came to an end. What do I do now? he asked himself. I’ve got to remember the pattern. He had seen the intricate maze for only a moment before the ceiling forced him downward, but a moment was all he needed. His photographic memory would do the rest.

  If he had time to think, which he hadn’t. And if he could see the maze, which he couldn’t. He stretched his hands out, as far as they could go. One hand took the right tunnel, the other the left. The left met resistance fifty feet up. He ran toward the right.

  The acid gushed toward him, filling up the left-hand chamber and flowing through the right. If he had taken the wrong turn, he would be dead at this moment.

  He kept the fear from gnawing at him. Just concentrate. Think before you take any step. Sort out all the confusion and just plunge on.

  The tunnel continued, but there was another tunnel branching off to the left. He stretched his hands out again. The left tunnel branched into two more tunnels. There was no way to know if they continued on or met dead ends. The right tunnel circled a bit, then veered sharply to the left. Reed couldn’t stretch his hand any farther. And he was unable to remember the twisted route. Whatever he did, it had to be by instinct.

  Two tunnels to the left, one straight ahead. How would Doom construct the maze? He heard the acid gushing toward him, slapping against the corridor walls. The right tunnel circled around. All three tunnels were longer than Reed could stretch. He made a decision.

  He headed toward the corridor on the right. With all his speed he ran, his hands feeling the path before him. Doom would round one tunnel to make it seem it was coming back on itself. But Reed, in his anxiety, was able to stretch farther than Doom had expected. He had felt the tunnel veer sharply toward the door at the far end of the maze. This had to be the correct way. If he were wrong, he wouldn’t suffer long.

  His pulse rate increased; he felt his heart pounding. Reed Richards was not a young man any longer. Perhaps Johnny could keep running at top speed, but Reed would soon slow down, and the acid would soon engulf him.

  Reed thought of his son Franklin, born just five years before. He might never seen him again.

  Once more the tunnel branched off into two. The right corridor was blocked fifty feet up. He had to take the left. Reed ran, puffing, his heart tripping. Pain cut through his lungs. He found it hard to breathe. But he continued. Step after step after step.

  Then he remembered. He turned back and ran toward the right-hand cutoff. He could see the maze clearly in his mind. Halfway down the corridor he felt a small opening on the left. He had seen it when he had stretched over the maze. The tunnel opening was two feet off the ground, and a hole only one foot wide. He hadn’t felt it when he checked this tunnel because his hand stretched toward the end, down the center. It didn’t snake along the sides.

  Like a snake, he slithered though the hole and found another corridor. He paused for a moment. It would take a few minutes for the acid to fill the tunnel he had just run through. A few minutes before it would reach the hole and seep on through.

  He desperately needed those few minutes to calm his heart, to slow down his hurried breathing. At last he heard the wave of acid crash down the tunnel behind him. He had to begin running again.

  Three more tunnels appeared before him. One, he knew would lead to the exit door. The other two would bring him closer to death. The corridors were too long to stretch forth his arms. Once more a decision had to be made. Which corridor? Which?

  No way to decide. He anchored his legs at the wall and stretched down the left corridor as swiftly as he could. It circled to the right, then the left. It cut back on itself. Reed snapped his elongated body back to the starting point.

  The wave of acid crashed down the corridor. He didn’t have time to try testing the next tunnel. He had to make his decision. He ran down the center tunnel. He veered first to the right, then the left.

  Then, for the first time, his face contorted in horror.

  Before him was a blank wall. He had made the wrong decision.

  Sue Richards felt her force shield fading. It could last only a few moments longer. The laser beams flashed by her, picked up speed, richocheted off walls. They glanced off her force bubble, arced up toward the ceiling, bounced back and skidded off the table.

  “The table?” Sue was astonished. “How in the world did I miss the obvious?”

  She ran toward the table and ducked under it. She allowed her force shield to fade, and slipped a smaller one over the candle. She could maintain control over that force bubble with ease.

  A laser ray hit the wall and flashed toward her. She fell back and pulled the table on its side. The ray hit it and glanced off. Doom had made the table impervious to lasers. Sue could use it as a shield.

  She backed herself into a corner. Can’t let a ray hit me from behind.

  In the center of the room she saw the candle on the floor, still burning within the bubble of energy. “Got to snuff that damned thing out. Don’t want to waste any energy.”

  The force bubble contracted. It slipped under the wick and cut it. The flame sputtered for a moment, then died out. Sue breathed easier. “Now what do I do?” she asked, uncertain.

  For a few minutes she rested, the overturned table reflecting dozens of laser blasts. “Could try to blast my way out of here with a massive force bolt at the door, but if it’s not strong enough, I’ll be trapped. I couldn’t budge the door when I tried earlier, but then—” She remembered. The candle had made her drowsy. It’s possible that she was unable to use her full power.

  But she was still weak. It still seemed so hopeless.

  She saw Franklin playing in the field outside their country home. He was such a bright boy, so eager, so filled with joy. She wanted to be with him now, she wanted to hug him, to smother him with a mother’s kisses.

  Agatha Harkness came into view. The tall, thin, gray-haired old woman with the craggy features and harsh eyes was actually a warm, loving housekeeper. She saw Franklin running toward the cliffs. How many times had Sue warned him away from there? He ran; then he tripped and he fell.

  Below him, Sue could see a long mountainside and a river flowing past its base; rocks lined the river. Franklin’s body would be dashed on those rocks. He’d die.

  Then she saw Agatha standing by the cliff. She waved her hands above her head, and twin bolts appeared which flared out and formed a circle of light around Franklin’s falling body. The boy hovered for a moment in the lights; then he rose in the air, and the light brought him to safety. He came to rest in Agatha’s scrawny arms.

  Sue winced. She should’ve been there. She should have stayed with her child. It was her duty. Why did she abandon Franklin to run around the world? How could she show him the love he needed? She should be at her son’s side.

  But how could she be? She had been given these powers. They made her different. Long ago, when the four of them learned how the cosmic rays had affected them, they had sworn to use their powers to benefit mankind. To not use them would be to waste them.

  They had been given abilities that made them more than human, but to use them properly meant they had to make certai
n sacrifices others were never called upon to make.

  More than human and less than human. That’s what they were, and that knowledge bothered Sue. She wanted to be with her son, but she was unable to abandon her duty.

  Yet, Franklin was happy. He was astonishingly intelligent, ready to help, willing to do anything. He read voraciously; his imagination was limitless. Perhaps Sue hadn’t failed him. When they were together, they had a more intense relationship than any other family. They could pack more into those hours and days than other families could accomplish in weeks.

  Was it the time one spent, or the quality? Sue didn’t know, but she understood that the question demanded answers. When they returned home. If they returned home.

  She felt her powers increasing again. She was almost at full capacity. Just a few minutes more . . . all she had to do was hold on tight. A few minutes . . . that’s all.

  The time dragged on inexorably. Sue’s forehead was slick with sweat. She bit her lip waiting. She wondered what had happened to Reed and the others. Was Johnny all right? Did Doom get Ben?

  Not knowing hurt her more than she could realize. The Fantastic Four was a family unit. They lived together. They battled together. If one of them died, what would happen to the others?

  She fought to control her breathing, to calm herself down. Behind the table she would be safe.

  Now she was ready. Sue steadied herself, pressed her back firmly to the wall to brace herself. She would have to use every ounce of willpower she could possibly muster. She would have to use her energy powers as she never had before. She counted backwards from ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . Sue felt her veins tighten, her body grow tense. Six . . . Her head pounded. Five . . . four . . . three . . . What would happen if she failed? she wondered. Would there be time for a second chance? No way. One try. Blow out the door. Run. Find the others. Two . . . She prayed. She had never been religious, but she prayed now. ONE!

  She fell back against the wall, her eyes wide, unfocused. An almost invisible ball of pure energy grew from her temple. It moved slowly at first in the direction of the door. It grew larger, it picked up speed, larger, faster, larger, larger, larger . . . faster, faster—

  IMPACT!

  A moment of silence, then the door shuddered and creaked and groaned, then blew apart into so many atoms. The wall now held a gaping hole.

  Sue was momentarily dazed. It took several seconds for her eyes to focus, to realize where she was, what she had just done. She felt the blood drain from her. She was weak, yet she forced herself to stand, lifting the table above her, and she ran.

  Toward the gaping hole she ran as if her life depended on it.

  She ran because her life did depend on it.

  She dived through the hole and sat in the long corridor, and was terribly, terribly weak. And then she allowed herself to cry.

  “Awright, ya two-bit tin yahoos. Ya may not have known it before, but right now it’s CLOBBERIN’ TIME!” Ben leaped toward the horse and rider. He didn’t seem to care as his body shuddered with electricity. He was the Thing. He could fight the pain.

  “C’mon, baby, let’s see what ya can do.” He was taunting the knight, knowing it was only a machine, incapable of reacting to Ben’s sarcasm, but it made the burly ex-football player feel just a bit better.

  He tossed the robot knight from the horse, then threw it at the other robots slowly marching toward him. “Lemme see, strike or spare?” Two knights blew apart under the impact. There were still eight more. “Not bad. Not good, but not bad.”

  He leaped over one knight, his monstrous body incredibly agile. He glanced upward and grinned. “All right, ya bozos, this is where we separate the monsters from the robots. Ya ready, tin-heads?”

  The second horse and rider lunged at him. The lance struck Ben’s shoulder, and he collapsed in pain. “Blazes, ya think ya’d give some sorta rallyin’ cry before ya struck. Ain’tcha got no manners?”

  Can the jokes, gruesome. This ain’t no game. They’re after me. They got the power ta cut me inta little orange ribbons. Play it safe.

  The Thing forced himself to stand. The horse was rearing. It would charge again. To his side, on the wall, he saw a fancy tapestry. Doom had said it was worth more than thirty thousand dollars. Tough!

  The horse charged, and Ben ripped the tapestry from the wall. “Ya look cold, tinny. Mebbe ya better cover yerself with a blanket.” He heaved the tapestry over the two, and the horse thrashed blindly. The knight ripped at the tapestry; he tried to pull it away from his sensors. But Ben was already atop him, pummeling him with his massive orange fists.

  “Ya ain’t gettin’ outta this, creepo. There ain’t nothin’ the ever-lovin’ blue-eyed Thing can’t clobber if he’s got a mind ta.”

  Ben saw the other knights approaching him. He’d have to leap from the horse, get to cover. But first—

  He swung his right hand back behind him. His blue eyes glowed brightly in the dim-lit arena. His wide, brutish mouth was turned in a sneer.

  Then, in a wide, powerful arc, his hand flashed forward. His fist rammed into the robot knight. There was a loud mechanical explosion, and Ben fell off the horse as the rider found himself blown into useless rubbish.

  “Yer not doin’ too bad, blue-eyes. Keep this up an’ somebody’ll probably pin a medal on ya, providin’ they can find a place ta do the pinnin’.”

  Like a human dreadnaught, Ben smashed his way through the robots. Their lances smashed against his brickish skin, but he submerged the pain. Ain’t good for a monster ta cry. Ain’t no good fer my rep.

  He felt his back explode with fire. Two knights were behind him, their lances still embedded in his rocky hide. God, can’t take the pain; it’s rippin’ me apart. Tearin’ me up. Gotta fight it. Gotta fight it.

  Gotta pull the blasted lance outta me. Can’t cry . . . there, got it. But it’s burnin’ up my hand. Burnin’ me up real bad. Gotta hold on . . . gotta keep strugglin’. Keep on fightin’. Can’t fall. Sue an’ Reed an’ even the kid may be in trouble. Gotta help ’em. They’ll need me. Gotta help.

  He staggered forward, the electrified lances still in his hand. His vision was blurred, his legs weak. He could barely think, yet there was only one thing he could do.

  He fell back to the wall and saw the remaining knights marching toward him, their lances firm in their armored hands. He tilted his head upward and he said, “It ain’t gonna be easy, but I don’t do anythin’ the easy way, do I?”

  With incredible power, he heaved the burning lance. It cut through the chain high overhead. The chandelier swayed for a moment, uncertain whether to fall or not. Then it made up its mind and plunged downward atop the marching knights.

  Electricity sputtered wildly; sparks flew everywhere. There was a single corruscating squeal, and then silence.

  Ben fell back, breathed heavily, and just stared. “Brush my buns. It worked. I don’t believe it, but it worked.”

  With powerful hands, he ripped the heavy steel door from its hinges and tossed it aside. “Now ta find the others.”

  Twenty

  Johnny Storm awoke with a start. “Where am I?” he inquired. There was darkness everywhere. There was no answer. Either he was alone, or the other party wasn’t talking. Total silence. Johnny could hear only one man breathing. He was alone.

  His head ached and he still felt tired. I hadda be drugged. Nothing else could explain it. Drugged and brought here, wherever here is.

  He stood up and felt the walls. They were soft to his touch. Not stone, certainly. But what? Well, no use staying in the dark, he thought.

  He tried to flame on. He concentrated, but he was unable to ignite. “What the hell’s going on here? Who’s doing this? C’mon, where are ya?” Doom! It has to be Doom. He’s behind all of this. He lured us here. But what do I do about it? I can’t seem to flame on.

  He sat down again. There’s gotta be a way outta here. Reed had always told him to think out his plans thoroughly before deciding on a cou
rse of action. Don’t waste your power needlessly. Think. Think! THINK!

  Doom has somehow canceled my powers. How? I don’t feel any different. I can eliminate the internal factors . . . He may have drugged me, but I don’t think so. My vision’s clear. Heartbeat’s normal. Something external caused this. But what? How?

  The room? Possible! Air seems normal. Don’t feel any air pressure. So what did he do? With great care, Johnny Storm ran his fingers over the walls. No projections coming from anywhere. He crouched to his knees. Nothing from the baseboard.

  He stood up and tried to ignite again. His finger flickered a bit, then nothing. Something in this room has got to be affecting me. But what?

  Anguished, he wrung his hands together. They felt greasy. There was some coating on them. Johnny approached the dim light bulb. It glinted dully off a thin filmy substance that coated his hand.

  “That’s it. It’s got to be. He’s put something on me. I’ve got to get it off.” His sharp nails scraped the palm of his hand when he heard the sound come from behind him. He whirled and saw a fan in the ceiling begin to spin. No air blew from it. Suddenly he realized; it was sucking the air up through an exhaust system. Doom was pumping the air out of the room.

  “No! You can’t!” Johnny shouted, fear welling in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t do this to me! You can’t!” No use . . . Doom wanted him to die. Screaming would only make him use up his diminishing air supply that much sooner.

  He fell to the floor. Gotta keep quiet. Rest. Stay low. Take it easy. He breathed slowly; he remained relaxed. But he continued to scrape clean his palm.

  No use, he thought. It’ll take too long to clean this garbage off me. And by the time I do, I won’t be able to use my flame. There won’t be any oxygen left for me to burn.

  Whatever I’m gonna do, I’ve gotta do it fast. In five minutes there won’t be any air left. He tore off his shirt and ripped it into small rags. They’ll absorb this greasy stuff faster than my hands could scrape it away.