Suicide Squad

by Marv Wolfman

  Then the figure turned, and he saw what should have been a face looking back at him. Instead, he was staring at a large, black, misshapen mass sitting on top of a semi-human body with the proper number of arms and legs in their appropriate places, but twisted and bent in an almost inhuman way.

  There was no flesh on its face, but something that looked like it had been was coated over with tar then left to dry and crack in the sun. There seemed to be no front or back view, no mouth or ears or even a nose. The entire head was a massive, encrusted barnacle.

  That wasn’t what was really scary.

  Pocked into its crusted façade were eyes. Thousands of glowing eyes, and the eyes were all staring at him. Not just where the face should have been, but where gaps and tears in clothing revealed bare flesh. Impossible eyes that didn’t blink.

  Deadshot pulled back, stunned. He didn’t know what he was looking at, but he knew it defied reason. He knew the thing was evil.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Something we don’t want to tangle with,” Flag said, his voice low. “Let’s go.” Then they felt their neck hairs bristle. Lawton turned and saw Diablo behind them, frightening in his stillness.

  “They are the Eyes of the Adversary,” Diablo said softly. “EAs.” Somber, frightened, he stared past them. His eyes were unfocused. “Our deaths.”

  Boomer walked up and took Deadshot’s carbine, looked through the scope. He turned back to the others, his face ashen.

  “Looks like crap with eyeballs.”

  Diablo turned to Flag with uncharacteristic urgency.

  “Burn this place down, Flag. Cleanse it now, while we still can.”

  “That ain’t right.” Deadshot stared into the dark. He didn’t have to see the thing again—it had already permanently burned into his memory. But it was there. In the dark, and it may not have been alone. “That ain’t even possible.”

  He reached a finger into his collar, pulled out a small gold crucifix, and held it for reassurance. He looked to see the others staring at him. Not because he was holding the cross, but because they, too, didn’t know what to make of whatever they were seeing.

  They, too, needed reassurance.

  For the first time they all looked to Flag for their next move.

  “Get ready,” he said, understanding the sudden shift, and ready to use it to his advantage.

  Then the thing, the “EA,” suddenly charged, darting from behind the vehicle. These EAs weren’t just people—they were something very different. The Squad and SEALs raised their weapons, ready to fire on command.

  Another EA suddenly darted out from an alleyway between office buildings, while still others pushed aside manhole covers and flowed up through them and onto South Paul Street. Many of them were carrying weapons, guns and rifles taken from soldiers they had murdered.

  They were all moving inhumanly fast, and they were coming from every direction at once. Flag shouted to the Squad, shocking them from their catatonic rigor.

  “Hit ’em,” he bellowed. “Now! Aim for their eyes. They can’t attack what they can’t see.”

  No kidding, Lawton thought angrily. It took only moments to fire several hundred rounds, but the things, the EAs, did not stop coming. Even more poured in after the initial swarm.

  Squad and SEALs kept firing. Nate and Gomez had nearly three-dozen grenades each. They tossed them all, one after another, but the creatures would not be stopped. They separated and scattered in different directions, moving too fast for the Squad and SEALs to focus their gunfire.

  Deadshot clipped several of them, but his weapons weren’t powerful enough to put them down. A few of the things got close enough to land blows, and each time they did there was a scream, short and quickly cut off. Other EAs darted into the doorways and hurried to hide around corners. Dozens jumped into open sewer entrances, disappearing underground. In seconds they were gone.

  Flag embraced the momentary calm. They desperately needed the break to reassess what had just happened.

  “Cease fire,” he said. “We need to conserve our ammo.”

  It was quiet once again.

  GQ spotted four of his men lying dead in the street, but he couldn’t find a single EA corpse.

  “No kills. We didn’t drop even one.”

  They stood quiet for a very long time.

  “What were they?” Croc asked, breaking the silence. “Were they real?”

  Boomer laughed. “Same could be said about you, Scales.”

  “I can easily kill you, Stickman. Would that be enough to prove to you how real I am?” Boomerang’s eyes widened in momentary fear. Croc smiled. “I mutated to become what I am. I suffered, but they…” He turned back to Flag. “What have you sent us to fight?”

  “Once we rescue our HVT, we’ll find that out.”

  “The hell,” Deadshot interrupted. “Those dudes run fast. Lightning fast.”

  “Faster,” Croc added. “Much faster.” Harley Quinn was at his side. “What do you want, girl?” he asked.

  “You’ll protect me, right, dollface?” she said hopefully. She fluttered her eyes and smiled at him. He stared at her for another few seconds then, without a word, he walked away.

  They didn’t have to talk to know this was just a momentary respite. The things, the EAs, had checked out the humans, and now they were most likely plotting their next move.

  Deadshot took the moment to reload his weapons, but he wasn’t at all sure it mattered. Hundreds of rounds had been spent, but there were no enemy kills.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph tucked inside. He had a ritual he followed.

  “Mate, what is it with you staring at that photo,” Boomer said. “They say you do it before and after each kill. What’s that all about?”

  “Just something I do. My job pays me a shitload of money, and that lets me make sure Zoe gets the good life she deserves, not the crap life I lived.”

  “So you’re doing it all for her?”

  “I am. It’s all for Zoe.”

  “Yeah. You keep telling yourself that, mate,” Boomer replied. “Personally, I think it lets you keep doing exactly what you wanted to do anyway.”

  “This talk’s over… mate. Let’s not do it again.”

  Lawton walked off, cursing Boomerang, but fearing he might be right. Zoe never asked him to spend any money on her. She only asked him to spend time with her. Like a normal father and daughter. Without worrying that at any moment the police would track him down, or that Batman would turn him into bloody pulp while she watched helplessly.

  Yet every time Lawton thought about putting his guns down and becoming normal—whatever the hell that meant—he’d convince himself yet again that he was doing this for her. He knew it was a lie, but it was a lie he could live with.

  “So how do we stop ’em, Flag?” Deadshot asked. “We need bigger guns? Nukes? What?”

  “We’ll figure it out, Lawton. Because we have to.”

  “So, ‘because we have to’ is your plan? Why am I not encouraged?”

  “Ask me if I care. I just need your goddamn bullets hitting those damned things until they stay the hell down.”

  “And there’s that good ol’ team rah-rah speech I’ve been waiting for.” Deadshot shook his head and walked off, disgusted.

  * * *

  Diablo stood to the side and watched Deadshot leave.

  “You can’t blame him, Flag. He’s a paid assassin. He’s never failed ’cause he plans out everything to the last detail, but you’re telling him to trust luck. That’s not in his DNA.”

  “And handing out orange slices and chocolate chip cookies isn’t in mine.”

  “You gotta remember, we’re putting our lives on the line ’cause you and Waller gave us a choice between reduced sentences and having a bomb explode in our heads. But if we don’t think we’re going to make it, that promise is smoke. You’ve got to give us something more. Even some real info would do.”

  “Guess becoming
heroes by saving the world from those eye creatures isn’t enough, huh?” Flag snapped back, then he, too, left. He had better things to do than argue with a mass murderer.

  “You don’t get any of it, do you?” Diablo shouted after him, but Flag was already halfway down the block, going over his attack plans with GQ and his men. Damn Flag. He is going to get us all killed.

  Diablo felt his anger grow. He looked at his hands and saw them beginning to steam. No. I don’t need this. Not now. His felt his body heating up. Rage fueled his fire and he knew he had to quickly tamp that growing anger, or he would ignite. He didn’t know what he’d burn when he did.

  He feared that first wave of fury would unleash a fire hot enough to burn through anything within twenty yards. Unchecked, that would all-too-quickly expand to fifty yards, or a hundred, or even more. His fires had never reached their limit, so not even he knew the full extent of his destructive powers. For all he knew, he could incinerate everything within a hundred miles or more.

  He closed his eyes and searched through all-too-many conflicting thoughts and emotions to find his unique path to meditation. He had decided years ago that whatever happened to him no longer mattered. All he cared about was making sure he was no longer a threat to anyone else.

  He felt his anger fade but kept his eyes closed for a few moments more. Finally, the rage gone, he opened his eyes again to see the torn-up streets of Midway City. He drew in a deep breath of cordite-scented air and stood up, no longer feeling rage, ready to move on.

  As he walked past Harley, she was examining her magnum, spinning its cylinder.

  “Hey, Hot Stuff,” she said as soon as she saw him. “So, you back to the land of the living?” She laughed, snapping her chewing gum. “Ready to roast some hundred-eyed chickens?”

  He saw the others also getting ready for war. They just want to kill, he thought. Deadshot was loading all his guns, and it seemed as if there were dozens of them. He passed Boomer, sharpening the razor edge of a large metal boomerang.

  Katana was seated on a half-demolished bus-bench, readying her Soultaker for the battle to come. She was carefully rubbing its blade with light gun oil spread on a silicon-coated cloth. That done, she took out a soft cloth and wiped it dry.

  Yeah, Diablo thought. We’re the Suicide Squad, and we’re going to die. Had to happen someday. Might as well be now.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Flag was frothing at the bit, anxious to get started. He would never admit it, but he wanted to get this over and done with as much as they did. They were fighting a war. He was, too, but his fight would only end when he saved the life of the woman he loved.

  Flag had always heard of love at first sight, but he had never experienced it. And if he could admit the truth to himself, he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced any other kind, either.

  But he was in love now, and he knew he would do anything to save her. Including, he realized and accepted, sending all these people—SEALs and Squad alike—to their painful deaths, if it meant she’d survive.

  Flag shuddered at that thought.

  Deadshot had said the two of them weren’t all that different. When it came right down to it, both would kill anything that stood in their way, if it meant saving the one they most loved.

  Maybe the killer wasn’t wrong.

  Flag looked at the others, far enough down the block that they couldn’t hear him, and he whispered a very quiet prayer. He hadn’t done that since he was eleven, but he did so now. He figured he had nothing to lose.

  Then he moved to catch up. “Alright, folks,” he said to them, “hell’s waiting. D-up. We’re un-assing this location right freaking now.”

  The others acted as if they were oblivious to the madness that surrounded them, laughing and telling stories as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Flag assumed they were working out the details of their super-villain takeover, for whenever this job was done.

  Damn, he hated them.

  Then he silently cursed Waller. He was used to soldiers who snapped to attention and saluted crisply when he entered the room, not bottom-feeders and scum like this damn squad. They made it abundantly clear that they didn’t want to be here, didn’t intend to put their own lives on the line, and frankly couldn’t care less who died, as long as it wasn’t them.

  At least they were true to themselves. They knew exactly what they were, and they weren’t running from it. But Waller stuck him in this no-win scenario, and despite all the voices in his head warning him otherwise, he’d accepted the job. Now that he was ass-deep into it, someone had to show these bastards what it meant to play the hand you’re dealt, whether you wanted to or not.

  Because he really had no choice in the matter, he decided that might as well be him.

  “I said, get up,” he commanded. “Now. We’re moving out.”

  Harley yawned, stood, and stretched sensuously.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Whatever.” The guys watched appreciatively. She may have been every kind of crazy, but man was she hot.

  Reluctantly, they all finally got to their feet, not nearly ready to move out.

  Hell came to them first.

  * * *

  Suddenly the EAs were everywhere. Dozens appeared, streaming up from the sewers, doorways, and alleys. They darted across the street, and they were fast.

  Inhumanly fast.

  “Goddamn it,” Flag shouted. “Frag ’em.”

  Deadshot fell back, firing like a machine, shooting and reloading as fast as his weapons allowed. Black shards burst from the creatures with each impact, as if they were made of obsidian or coal. Every shot struck home, but nothing stopped them.

  “I’m tagging headshots,” he shouted, “but they ain’t dropping.”

  The Squad kept shooting. Harley fired two weapons at once, a Glock and a SIG Sauer. She clocked two-dozen hits, but the things were still coming at her. She turned and ran, ducking behind Croc.

  “Please?” she said, her eyes wide and truly frightened.

  “Stay behind me,” he growled.

  Croc grabbed the EA closest to him and hit it with his fist. He slammed it repeatedly, smashing in its face, blinding most of its thousand eyes. His fist finally smashed through the thing and came out the other side. He held up his arm, showing the others the thing hanging from it. With his other hand he pushed it loose and it fell to the ground.

  “Thank you,” Harley said. She looked at it, grinned at Croc, and fired a half-dozen bullets into the thing’s brain. “For shits and grins,” she explained.

  Flag led the soldiers back to a series of waist-high concrete barricades, originally set up to route traffic to a different street. He hoped they’d be useful cover for him and the Squad.

  “Single shots aren’t doing squat,” he barked. “Let’s see what it takes to knock one of those bastards off its feet.” An EA was closing in faster than the others and Flag pointed to its head. “That’s our crosshairs. Let’s see what it takes to shred it.”

  The SEALs hunkered behind the barricades and concentrated their firepower on the one EA, targeting its head and ignoring everything else. A hundred rounds hit the thing’s face, exploding chunks of black crust from it, grinding it. Flag ordered them not to stop. Round after round. They kept shooting at the one beast until finally it collapsed into a pile of shattered fragments.

  “We did it,” Harley squealed. “Yay us!”

  GQ glared at her. “Took almost all our ammo. We had enough to take down a small country. No way we’ll have enough to deal with all of them.”

  “What the bloody hell are they made of?” Boomer demanded.

  “I knew that,” Lawton said, “I’d make my armor out of it.”

  “Guys?” Harley said. No one turned to listen. “Guys,” she shouted. No response. She was trying to speak but as usual they ignored her.

  “GUYS!”

  She might as well be invisible. Pissed, she took her gun and shot it into the air. They turned toward her, startled. “Better.” She was grinning whil
e staring at the corpse of the shredded EA.

  “Guys, look real careful. Under all that gook, I think there’s a real head. And face. And maybe some good parts, too.”

  Croc scowled at her. “So?”

  “So, I don’t think these thingamajigs are like Superman. You know, ‘a strange visitor from another world, blahblahblah.’ I think these used to be people.”

  GQ stared at the corpse.

  The creatures looked alike, part of a set. Whatever differences there were between them were nominal, but beneath the crust actual faces could be seen. They looked like the cops and SEALs who had been killed in the creatures’ last attack.

  “She’s right. God, I didn’t see it before, but that’s… that was Donovan.”

  Katana shouted suddenly, “Behind us!”

  Dozens of the things charged. Cop EAs, SEAL EAs, and others—locals who had lived or worked in the area. Now they were all monsters. Unstoppable. Unkillable. Things.

  Flag called to his people. “Fall back, but keep shooting. Do whatever you have to. Save yourselves.”

  Boomer laughed.

  They were all afraid, and they didn’t care who knew it. Their enemy was something nobody had ever seen before. Nobody had ever imagined before, and they had no idea how powerful the EAs truly were.

  A cop EA leapt on one of the SEALs. It grabbed the soldier’s rifle, flipped it around, and shot the SEAL in the face. The thing tried to stand up, but it fell back down into a pile of crumbled chunks of black crust. Katana was behind it, her sword satisfied. It now possessed a new, vibrant soul.

  EAs ran in from all directions. Ravenous, they leapt over debris that was blocking their way, and propelled themselves fifteen feet or more into the air before landing on the other side. Dozens of bullets slammed into them. The defenders tore apart a few, but they were still unable to stop them.

  * * *

  While the SEALs concentrated on shooting enemies charging from the front, they didn’t notice other creatures dropping down behind them. The EAs slaughtered some of the rearmost soldiers, but inexplicably dragged away others.