Arrow

by Marc Guggenheim

  She screamed harder. Dropped to her knees, not feeling them bang on the floor. The fire looked even larger from here, a hovering force of absolute destruction, pressed against her cry with a physical weight. It was bright, so bright and hot.

  Through the haze of her vision came movement.

  She was pulled sideways, leather jacket pulling tight across her shoulders and chest like a lasso. Her muscles creaked as she fought and the voice thundered in her head.

  Got to stand my ground! If I fail, the others will be burned alive.

  She surged against the pull, sonic scream wavering, making the fire pulse toward her. Then everything turned upside down, and started spinning. Her throat closed, canary scream ending as if it had been chopped in two by an ax. Her legs were singed even through the thick material of her costume as the flame poured itself into the space where she had been.

  Dinah hit the ground with a hard jolt, any pain from it driven out by the shock of not being burned. White Canary loomed over her, blond hair hanging low enough to tickle against her skin. The other hero smiled widely.

  “Good job. You got skills.”

  Black Canary pushed herself up, throat too raw to say thank you, so she nodded, then looked around. They were in the stairwell, the people they had been herding to safety huddled along the rail to her left.

  “You good?” White Canary asked.

  She nodded again, not trusting her voice. She’d never pushed that hard, not even against Black Siren on Lian Yu.

  Sara stood and reached down. Dinah took the hand and let herself be pulled to her feet. She noticed the strength in White Canary’s pull.

  No wonder she was able to pick me up and carry me.

  “Get up,” White Canary said to the civilians who had dropped to the floor. She moved close to the man who had panicked, looming over him. “What’s your name?”

  The man swallowed. “Brad.”

  “Listen up, Bradley, did you see what she just did to save your skin? That was amazing. She held fire back with just her voice.” She leaned in close, her face nearly touching his, not snarling but speaking low through her teeth. “Can you do that, Bradley?”

  “No.” Bradley wouldn’t look at her.

  “Then from now on, until you are safely out of this building, how about you follow our orders and trust us?”

  He nodded, eyes still down.

  White Canary turned away and winked at her as she mounted the first steps up. “I’ll walk point from here, so you take it easy for a bit.”

  Black Canary touched her fingertips to her mask in salute.

  Sara smiled and began marching up the stairs, the civilians following her like sheep. Her voice came again, but this time through the comms as well as echoing in the stairwell. The effect was eerily disjointed.

  “The fire’s spreading fast,” she said, sounding calm despite their situation. “I hope you guys have that door on the roof open.”

  * * *

  The comms in their masks didn’t click or hum, but White Canary’s voice was suddenly there in their ears, strangely calm for the words she said.

  “The fire’s spreading fast. I hope you guys have that door on the roof open.”

  Spartan looked down at Wild Dog. Rene knelt, arms braced on a wrought-iron chair, the semiautomatic pistol in his hands extended toward the two propane tanks.

  “Take the shot.”

  Wild Dog pushed his mask up, sweat running down his face. He swiped the sleeve of his jersey over his eyes to clear them.

  “Hot up here.”

  “I’ve got one, too,” Spartan said. “Take the shot.”

  Wild Dog tilted his head, looking down his arm, across the sights of the pistol, to the small square just above the sparking ignition.

  “Take the—”

  The gun kicked as his finger squeezed, spitting a bullet across the rooftop patio. It struck the tank before the crack of it breaking the sound barrier reached their ears.

  For a long moment, nothing happened. Then there was a blade of hot blue flame as the ignition sparked into the propane, then nothing as it sucked back into the tank.

  Wild Dog and Spartan looked at each other.

  The tanks exploded in a blast of flying metal and blue flame.

  * * *

  “How much longer?”

  Mister Terrific looked down from where he hung by a pipe, and swallowed. Green Arrow intimidated him. He wasn’t sure why. He’d never been anything but supportive—well, except when he’d tried pushing the entire team away from joining up. But the team was solid now, solid as osmium. None of them would betray Green Arrow.

  Not again…

  “How. Long?”

  The question broke into his thought pattern. He carefully twisted the nozzle between his fingers and dropped back down to the floor.

  “Now.”

  Green Arrow nodded. “Okay, what’s my part?”

  “Oh, it’s easy for you.” Curtis moved toward the isolation door, motioning for Green Arrow to follow. “I’m going to use the T-Spheres to send an electric surge through that—” He pointed to the sprinkler system. “—which should activate all the sprinkler heads. They’re all aimed at the door. When the door is coated in water, it will rapidly cool this side, causing it to—”

  “Cold water in a hot pan.” Green Arrow cut him off.

  “Yeah, thermal shock.” Mister Terrific reached toward his face, stopping himself before he could adjust glasses that weren’t there.

  “The cold water will make the door warp,” Green Arrow said. “I’m familiar.”

  “Okay, when the water hits the door I need you to put explosive arrows here—” He pointed to the upper right corner. “—here—” Lower right corner. “—and here.” The center of the door.

  “I can do that.”

  “At the same time.”

  Green Arrow looked at the door and nodded. “I can do that.” He touched the comms. “Overwatch, tell fire and rescue to move back around the corner of the last stairwell.”

  “Will do,” Felicity said.

  “Tell them it will be loud,” Mister Terrific added.

  “Will do.”

  They moved back to the turn of the stairwell, to have cover from the backlash the explosive arrows would create. Mister Terrific reached under his jacket, pulling out the two silver spheres, each a little smaller than a man’s fist. A stylized “T” was inset in each shiny surface. He tossed them gently into the air and they rose with a barely audible hum.

  “They’ll do what you want them to?” Green Arrow asked.

  Mister Terrific smiled. “Yes, it’s actually intriguing, I use a series of—”

  Green Arrow gave him a look from under the emerald hood.

  Mister Terrific stopped talking.

  “Tell me about it later,” Arrow said. “No, don’t tell me later, tell Overwatch later. She’ll love to hear how it works.”

  “She already knows,” Terrific replied. “She helped me work out the guidance system.”

  “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

  “It is.” Mister Terrific’s mouth was a hard line, his feelings bruised.

  “It’s just not my forte.”

  “I know.”

  “Let it be enough that I’m impressed.”

  Mister Terrific nodded. The T-Spheres rose in the air, moving toward the ceiling. They circled the electronic switch box before inching forward until their sleek metal sides almost touched the iron pipe.

  “Get ready.”

  Green Arrow turned, pulling a three-part arrow from his quiver and notching it in the bow. He looked down its length, mind calculating the distance and angles—some of it conscious, but most of it happening in the instinctual area of his mind, honed to sharpness by years of living on an island where it was live or die by the shot you made or failed.

  Lian Yu.

  He pushed that from his mind. No time for it. He needed calm, the water, no ripples, no waves, just the smooth placid surface of his mi
nd so he could make the shot. Squinting down the arrow, he rolled his thumb, just ever so slightly, on the notch of the arrow, micro-adjusting the angle of the fletching.

  A buzzing crack sounded above him, followed by a gurgle and then the spray of dirty water that shot in an arc from where he stood. The water hit the door, sending steam roiling into the air. Still he focused on the target.

  “Wait for it to bend,” Mister Terrific said.

  The steam parted under the onslaught of the water.

  An image appeared on the door.

  A green triangle, covered with a red X, and surrounded with a series of lines meant to represent primitive flames. It was only there for an instant before rinsing away.

  The door creased in a sudden jerk, as if a giant fist had struck it.

  “Allons-y!” Mister Terrific cried.

  Green Arrow released the projectile. The triple arrow crossed the space, splitting into three, each piece striking the marks set by Mister Terrific. On impact all three exploded with a wave of concussive force that kicked back to the space where the two heroes stood. They braced against the impact.

  As the steam and smoke cleared they found the door slewed off the track, ready to be dragged out of the way. Mister Terrific reached out to clap Green Arrow on the shoulder, stopping before he actually touched the Emerald Archer. His arm fell but his smile stayed.

  “I never get tired of seeing you make those shots!”

  Green Arrow didn’t reply.

  * * *

  “Careful, ma’am.” Spartan pulled a woman through the blackened hole in the concrete wall. She nodded, holding his arms.

  “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said shakily before moving toward the group of people Wild Dog had gathered on the other side of the rooftop. The plan had worked. Not perfectly—they’d had to use one of the wrought-iron chairs to make the hole big enough for people to actually fit through, and the tile had been destroyed around the blast site, becoming a treacherous field of slippery broken stone. Nevertheless, mission accomplished.

  He turned to find White Canary crawling free, Black Canary right behind her, both of them singed and covered in soot. Black Canary’s lower half was scorched, part of one leg burned.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  She nodded in response, lifting a thumbs-up.

  “She really sang down there.” White Canary put her hand on Black Canary’s shoulder. “So her voice is shot, but she’s a little badass.”

  Black Canary touched her lips with her right hand, pulling it away in a downward motion in Sara’s direction.

  “Is that sign language for thank you?”

  Black Canary nodded.

  White Canary laughed, “One of the two signs I know. The other one isn’t polite.”

  “I’m glad you two are out,” Spartan said. “The helicopter will be here in a few minutes.” He paused and looked around. “Any word from Green Arrow or Mister Terrific?”

  “Mister Terrific?” White Canary’s eyebrows creased. “Really?”

  “He’s a big fan of yours.” Wild Dog walked up. “Everybody’s situated until the chopper gets here.” Behind him the civilians sat or lay on the roof. They were soot-stained and haggard but mostly uninjured aside from a few burns here and there.

  “We got lucky here today,” Spartan said.

  “None of this was luck.” The voice came behind them. Green Arrow stepped out through the hole in the wall, Mister Terrific behind him. “This was a deliberate attack.”

  The team fell silent.

  8

  “Mayor Queen!”

  Oliver stopped, one hand on the door to his office, as the sharp sound of his name and title broke through the single-minded focus that had ridden him since returning from the fires in Dearden Tower. Walter Tatum stood, rising from the chair in the waiting area outside his office.

  “Could I have a word?”

  Oliver took a centering breath before speaking. “I’m really in a rush this morning, Mr.… ah, Tatum. Can it wait?”

  “I’m sorry, but it can’t.” Tatum stepped closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nervousness. Oliver took his hand off the door and turned to face his visitor. He didn’t speak, just stood, watching, waiting for the other man to start.

  “As director of Parks and Recreation, I don’t feel as if you take my office seriously.”

  Oliver let the accusation sit for a moment.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “It’s not just you—I don’t think anyone takes it seriously,” Tatum replied. “Not since that damned show was on television. Thank god it was finally canceled.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Tatum, I don’t watch television.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t have time for it.”

  Tatum grunted his surprise. “How do you unwind from the stress of being mayor?”

  By dressing as a vigilante, carrying a bow and arrow, and bringing criminals to justice.

  “That’s personal, Mr. Tatum.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “We still need to go over the plans for the Blues Festival.”

  Oliver reached out, causing Tatum to flinch slightly at the motion. Ignoring that, he put his hand on the bureaucrat’s shoulder.

  “I’ve looked over your proposal, and approved it,” he said calmly. “Just stay in your budget and do whatever you wish. It’s a good, thorough plan and I trust you with it.”

  “You do?”

  “Implicitly.”

  Walter Tatum blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what to say.” His eyes went watery under his glasses.

  “There’s nothing to say, Mr. Tatum.” Oliver smiled widely. “I am sure that with you at the helm, the Star City Blues Festival will be a smashing success.” He stepped back, smile still in place, moving toward his office door again. “Now I have other things that need to be handled.”

  He was inside his office with the door shut before Walter Tatum could respond.

  * * *

  The lock clicked and his entire body tensed back to rigid lines, the smile gone and replaced with a hard-set jaw and a crease between his eyes. He was across the room and behind the desk in four long, purposeful strides, knocking the chair out of the way with his hip.

  It was still there.

  Still behind the stapler, between the phone and the cup of pens.

  The envelope.

  He watched it as he would watch a cobra coiled and ready to strike. It felt just as venomous. A seed of doubt began to grow in the back of his mind, though. Had he really seen what he thought he saw on the isolation door? Could it have been a trick of the light? His mind stuck on a loop—the image of a green triangle, a red X, and the symbol of fire? Had it been projected by his brain?

  Could he have made it up?

  He turned the envelope over.

  A green triangle, a red X, and the symbol for fire.

  It had been there. And it had something to do with this envelope.

  The paper rustled under calloused fingertips as he dug under the flap and tore it open. Once the package had been breached he upended it and gave it a shake. A slim silver rectangle clattered to the desk.

  He watched it for a long moment, not breathing, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

  Nothing did.

  Pulling the chair around he sat and picked the object up. It was a USB drive. He inserted it into the port on his computer, and it automatically opened to one file—a video clip with a simple title.

  OLIVER

  The mouse hovered over the icon a long time before he clicked.

  * * *

  “Well, I guess I’m dead.”

  It took all of Oliver’s control not to close the video.

  Adrian Chase sat behind his desk in the office of the district attorney, smiling at the camera. That smug, sinister grin Oliver had seen too much of in his life. When he’d learned Chase was Prometheus. When Chase had tortured hi
m. When Chase had taunted him in prison before breaking out.

  When Chase had shot himself in the head.

  And here he was again.

  “I bet you thought you were done with me, didn’t you?” Chase leaned closer to the camera. “But you need to understand that I am never going away. I’ve marked you. Exposed you for your true nature, and you will never be rid of me. I’m in your DNA. In your blood. I am knit into your skin.”

  The words lashed at Oliver.

  “I wonder who died on Lian Yu.” Adrian stroked his chin, contemplating. “Was it someone you can live without? One of ‘Team Arrow,’ a soldier, someone who ‘knew the risks’? You know you can think that, but it’s not true. They didn’t know your history. They trusted you to lead them to a good fight, one with honor, but really they were all just pawns to your ego. I wonder if they realized that, just as they passed from this world. If I see them I’ll ask.” Adrian smiled. “But you know— and that’s the important part.”

  They all chose to be vigilantes.

  He tried to reassure himself, still listening.

  “Maybe it was someone you can’t live without,” Chase continued. “As you’re watching this, are Thea or Felicity gone? Why is it you brought them into your murder spree, Oliver? The women you love the most. Do you actually hate them? Are you so broken that your love and your hate are one and the same? Is it them in particular? You killed my wife. Your mother is dead because of you. Now, have you killed Felicity? Is Thea dead because of you?”

  The image of Thea, small and frail, surrounded by machines and tubes and the cool, stale, recycled air of the hospital room, filled his mind. He shut it down and kept listening. Chase moved from behind the desk, walking over to the camera until his face filled the screen.

  “I hope they all experienced my gift, so they don’t have to see you as the man you are.” Chase chuckled. Oliver’s knuckles creaked as his hand clenched into fists.

  “Speaking of gifts,” Chase said. “I’ve left one for you. I suspect that’s why you finally watched this video. My guess is that you stubbornly refused to give me voice… until you couldn’t avoid it any longer.”

  Oliver hated how Chase seemed to know him, even from the grave.