Man of Steele

by Alex P. Berg

I hopped over a crate and sprinted toward the third cloud, the spot where I’d last seen the orc. He stumbled out from the smoke as I arrived.

  I slammed into him hard, driving the last of my syringes into his chest as we tumbled to the ground.

  Three.

  He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and anger, trying to grab me by the coat as I scrambled to my feet. His shout turned into a gurgle as I pulled Daisy from my belt loop and ran back to the last of the clouds—which, as I now saw, were coalescing into a single large cloud. Were the bombs still smoking? I hadn’t considered the full implication of using them indoors. No matter. My throat felt only a minor tickle thanks to the moist rag covering my mouth and nose, and the room had high ceilings. The smoke would rise. Hopefully I’d sneak away through the sewer before it got too thick.

  I heard another angry bellow in the smoke behind me as I plunged into the eerie yellow glow. Though the smoke continued to expand, it did seem to be thinning ever so slightly. I saw the first thug from almost three feet away.

  He growled and swung his spiked club in an overhand smash, but I stepped into him, planting a fist square in his gut. He grunted but didn’t go down, instead latching onto my jacket, but thankfully not my arm. I let him yank on the leather, pulling my left arm from my sleeve as I tucked and spun, planting a hard elbow into his ear. He stumbled back, clutching his head as I slipped back into the sleeve and whipped Daisy toward him at high speed, catching him in the jaw. Bone cracked, and he went down in a heap.

  Four.

  That’s when someone leapt onto me from behind, wrapping his arms around my neck and chest. Maybe the sounds of fighting had given me away. Either way, I got lucky. My attacker came at me too high.

  We stumbled forward, but feeling his weight pressing on my shoulders, I tucked into a roll, flipping my attacker over me and onto his back. He landed with a thud. I aimed a heavy foot as his face, but he rolled out of the way, grabbing my exposed boot in the process. He yanked, and I fell, but I refused to let my gravitational energy go to waste. I landed on top of him, driving an elbow into his midsection. He heaved and groaned, trying as best he could to roll away, but I was ready. Scrambling to my knees, I slapped him across the temples with Daisy, one, two, three times. His eyes rolled back into his head. Somewhere in the background I heard another angry bellow.

  Five.

  “There he is! Get the bastard!”

  The last two of the human thugs came at me together, materializing out of the smoke several feet in front of me. One of them walked in a half crouch, holding a long knife, balanced carefully like he knew how to use it, and the other one, a big musclebound bruiser, held a piece of lead pipe about a foot longer than Daisy.

  Topples and Biggie had already shown me what two gangbangers working together were capable of, and based on first impressions, Topple’s knife skills paled in comparison to Crouchy’s.

  I turned tail and ran.

  “Hey! Get him!”

  I leapfrogged a stray crate, darted around a stack of boxes, and spun around a massive spool of rope, weaving this way and that, barely knowing where I was going. I tried to access the mental picture I’d taken of the storage room, but whether because of a lack of landmarks, a failure to memorize the room’s assorted junk, or the adrenaline shooting through my veins, it came back as a blur. The smoke didn’t help. Though it had diffused a bit, it still permeated the space, scratching at my eyes, obscuring every turn.

  Again I heard the bellow, followed by a decidedly angry roar. “He’s over here.”

  I turned back the way I’d come. A figure dove out of the smoke at me, pipe whistling as it swung through the air. I couldn’t get out of the way in time. All I could do was turn.

  Pain lanced across my back and the upper portion of my left arm as the pipe thwacked into muscle. I tried to ignore it and drove forward, throwing my bruised shoulder into my attacker.

  It didn’t do much damage, but it knocked him off balance enough for me to run past him. At least I was prepared for the moment his buddy tried to knife me.

  I swung Daisy, trying to knock free the knife from my attacker’s hand, but Crouchy was too quick. He danced back, pulling his knife out of harm’s way. He lunged in for a quick jab. I slapped him away with Daisy, catching him with a glancing blow.

  We lunged and swiped and parried a few more times, me managing to get a decent whack on the guy’s free elbow and Crouchy managing to slice my jacket open at the bicep, but not doing much real damage. We danced backward, toward the flickering yellow glow of one of the lanterns, each of us growing more wary with each strike. Neither one of us could get the upper hand.

  Then Pipehands lunged out of the smoke, I tangled my foot in a coil of rope, and everything went to shit.

  I toppled backwards and fell, crashing into the crate that held the lantern. Wood shattered underneath me. Daisy flew from my hands, clattering across the floor and disappearing into the smoke. The lantern toppled to the floor, the flame dimming as oil spilled from its reservoir. I rolled away from the wreckage, expecting an attack from above, but a tug at my leg kept me tethered. The damn rope had looped itself around me.

  Before I could move, Crouchy and Pipehands were on me. I curled up, trying to protect myself from the rain of blows. Ribs, back, hips, and arms all blossomed with pain as pipe blows, kicks, and punches rained down on me.

  I tried to banish the pain by thinking of Shay. I couldn’t give up. Not now.

  I kicked out, trying to get someone in the legs, but it was no use. I was too far away. Too exposed.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Crouchy. “I’m going to cut his damn nose off.”

  Pipehands dove on me, smothering me, and I caught a glimpse of Crouchy coming toward me, knife drawn with a wicked sneer stretching his face.

  Pipehands had me pinned at the shoulders. I couldn’t get any leverage. But I could still reach my belt.

  I slipped a vial into my free hand and mumbled a veiled threat.

  Crouchy’s face loomed large. “What was that, asshole?”

  The guys from the SWAT team had said to throw the bottle from a distance. Not like I had any choice. I held my breath, shut my eyes tight, and whipped the glass vial into Crouchy’s face.

  The broken glass bit into my hand as the vial shattered, then I heard a growl of anger followed shortly by an inhuman shriek. “Ahh! AAAAAHHHH! Get it off me!”

  I heard Pipehands’ voice next. “Dude, what the—? Ah! Oh, it burns!”

  With my eyes and lips still shut tight, I shoved with all my might. Pipehands grunted and cursed as he fell off me, all while Crouchy continued to shriek incessantly.

  “Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!”

  I opened my eyes, hoping the pepper extract I’d smashed into Crouchy’s face hadn’t gotten onto my own.

  Instantly they started to burn and water.

  Crouchy clawed at his face. “Ahh! I’ll kill you!”

  Half blind, he lunged at me, knife still in hand.

  I fought back with the only thing in reach. I grabbed the lantern and cast it at Crouchy’s face. The glass shattered, sending shards and oil flying. Then a fireball ripped through the air, engulfing the entire side of Crouchy’s head in flames. He cut loose with a bloodcurdling scream and fell to the ground, rolling and slapping weakly at the inferno.

  I hadn’t known the pepper concoction was flammable. Still…six?

  Pipehands growled and launched himself at me. I should’ve seen it coming, but with my eyes watering, I couldn’t see much of anything.

  He slammed into me, and we fell to the floor. With both of us having lost our weapons and the light of the flames dying, Pipehands and I resorted to good old fashioned wrestling. He pushed. I pulled. He tried to get on top of me. I twisted. He grappled. I rolled.

  Thanks to my police training, I had the better technique, but Pipehands had me on strength and size, and gosh darn it, I was getting tired. Sweat poured off my face
and soaked my shirt. My breath came in ragged gasps through the wet mask, and my throat burned.

  I tried to slip free, to break away, to give myself a fresh angle of attack, but Pipehands was too tenacious. He grabbed me around the thigh, lifted, and drove me backward, through a makeshift curtain of hanging ropes. Pain shot through my spine as he slammed me into one of the panels of levers. The things cracked and shuddered, or maybe it was my ribs.

  Pipehands jabbed an arm into my neck and grappled at my face, trying to gouge my eyes. He was dumb enough to leave his thumb hanging there for the taking, though.

  I chomped down on it, feeling the hot, metallic taste of his blood flow into my mouth. Pipehands cried out and recoiled, stumbling into the hanging ropes.

  Ropes…

  I feinted to the left and darted to the right as Pipehands dove for me. It only gave me a small window, but I took advantage, slinging one of the hanging ropes around his neck and jumping on his back.

  Pipehands tried to buck me, as I’d done to my attacker earlier, but the rope wouldn’t let him. It tightened as he struggled against it, attached as it was up in the rafters. I pulled on my end of it, adding more pressure to Pipehands’ neck.

  I’ll give credit where credit is due. I thought I finally had him, but Pipehands didn’t panic. He drove me backwards, slamming me into the panel of levers. Bruises sprouted upon my bruises, pain streaking through my battered body, but I held on anyway.

  He slammed me again, and I cried out. My grip slipped. The lever panel shuddered and shook. The rope around Pipehands’ neck, now taught, vibrated, and despite the pain, an idea sprouted.

  Pipehands readied another backward slam, but before he could shatter my spine, I hopped off, raking my arm across the levers. They responded with a series of clunks and a whirr. Pipehands grunted as he was lifted off the ground, clutching the rope as it whisked him into the rafters.

  I may not know much about theater, but I know enough about physics to know that what comes up must come down. I danced out of the way as a half-dozen sand-filled canvas bags thudded to the floor in front of me, most of them followed by whizzing sections of rope that had slipped their pulleys and undulated down to the ground atop the pile.

  I bent over, pulling my mask off as I sucked smoky air in through my mouth. Gods. Seven. I did it.

  I would’ve jumped if not for the flicker of light that gave him away.

  A nebulous shadow loomed behind me, and I heard the menacing voice from before. “Got you. Now you’re going to pay.”

  I glanced back to see the ogre from before setting the second lantern down at his feet. He cracked his knuckles and hunched into a fighting stance, beckoning with his fingers.

  Right. There’d been eight.

  27

  I reached down to my belt, grabbed another pepper vial, and flung it at the ogre’s face, but he ducked his head to the side, sending the projectile sailing into the darkness beyond. I’d already used all my smoke bombs. My syringes hadn’t lasted much longer. I’d even lost Daisy. I didn’t have anything else.

  Then I remembered the knife.

  Of course, Tall and Scary stopped playing fair the moment my vial of toxins went whizzing past his face. As I realized stabbing the guy in his fleshy bits was a worthwhile endeavor, he slammed into me, picked me up, and chucked me into a pile of barrels.

  My entire body cried out as I hit the aged oak. If I’d yet to break any bones, it was only through sheer luck and my heavy consumption of milk as a child. Every muscle ached, reminding me that getting beaten to a pulp after nearly dying in a three-story fall wasn’t the healthiest of exercises.

  The ogre pulled me from the pile. I tore into him with every ounce of strength I had left, blasting him in the chest with punches, driving knees and kicks into his gut and shins.

  I think it surprised him, sort of in the way a boulder is surprised when you try punching it to death, too. He grunted and tossed me again.

  I flew like a wet rag, hitting the floor with a slap. I skidded to a stop near the lantern. Somewhere in the distance, I heard footsteps and voices.

  The ogre approached me, flexing his fists. “Playtime’s over, pal. Time for me to have some fun.”

  I strained my ears, praying for a miracle, ideally one outfitted in riot gear and with an angry 5th Street Precinct Captain bringing up the rear guard.

  My heart deflated when I heard the noxious, oily voice from the meeting, quiet and distant. “Go, my darling. End this.”

  The ogre stepped over me. In the background, I heard the same clack-clack-clack, drag from before. The sweat on my arms and face went cold, and goosebumps rippled across my arms.

  The ogre heard it, too. “Uh…boss?”

  He looked into the smoke, past the pile of old crates at my back, his eyes narrowing. Then they widened. He froze, and like a statue, fell over with a crash.

  Fear gripped me in an icy embrace. I trembled as the clack-clack-clack of the claws closed in on me, wanting to run but unable to get my legs to obey. Images of Shay laughing, smiling, lying naked in my arms flashed before me, as did the horrifying images of death from the last two days. Biggie. The room full of gang leaders. Now Tall and Scary. What would the Captain and Rodgers and Quinto do when they found me? Had Shay already suffered the fate that awaited me?

  The click of the claws raked trails of fear into my heart. I forced myself to think back, to remember that Bonesaw and his boss had survived whatever lingered behind me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off the ogre’s body.

  My eyes.

  I lashed out, smashing the lantern Tall and Scary had brought with him. The flame within flickered and dimmed. I slammed on it with my arm, smothering it and plunging my surroundings into darkness. Then I squeezed my eyes shut tight for good measure.

  Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the beast I thought approached was an old wives’ tale and I was about to dying a horrifying death regardless, but why take any chances?

  The clack-clack-clack, drag sounded once more, incredibly close, so close that I thought I might be able to reach out and touch the source of its haunting tenor. In the distance, I heard the oily voice. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  I stretched my ears, searching for nearby breath or motion, but I couldn’t sense any, in part because of my body’s betrayal. My heart beat heavy in my chest, blood pounded in my ears, and I couldn’t still my heavy breathing. In addition, rather than making my senses more acute, my self-imposed visual depravation made me hyperaware of my aches and pains. The stabbing sensation in my lower back, the itching in my throat, and the burning in my eyes, to name a few.

  I reached out my left hand, wondering if the sounds had been all in my head, a physical manifestation of my fear. Maybe I’d been wrong. Perhaps Biggie and the gang leaders had died through a dark ritual, an obscure bit of black magic. Perhaps I wasn’t being stalked by a cockatrice or basilisk or medusa. If so, I’d have to rethink my strategy, because—

  I heard a nearby hissing, a long slow exhale, then cried out as a dozen sharp teeth latched onto the flesh of my hand. I tried to pull back, but the powerful bite held me in place. Whatever manner of beast held me in its jaws yanked, sending me crashing into it.

  My first instinct was to protect my eyes with my free arm, but as I fell, off-balance, into the creature, I think I smacked it in its face with my elbow. It hissed again, refusing to let go of my hand. It must’ve tossed its head, because my arm wrenched violently to the side. I skidded across the floor, feeling the shattered remains of the lantern’s glass globe crunch underneath me. My hand screamed in pain. Then I woofed as a hundred and fifty pounds of beast landed on me.

  I gasped, trying to refill my lungs following the body slam. A noxious wave of ferret stink filled my nostrils, hot and moist and putrid. The creature growled again. Its rough tongue scraped against my hand, lapping up the blood that seeped into its mouth. Claws dug into my shoulder, pricking me through the thick leather of my j
acket.

  I punched with my free hand, and I think I landed a blow to its head.

  The creature didn’t even grunt.

  I pulled back and slammed another punch into the creature’s skull, then another, but the beast’s thick, scaly hide deflected my blows. I might as well have been punching a bag of wet sand. The creature simply growled again through its clenched teeth.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I caught a malevolent, satisfied tone in the growl. My arm pressed forward into my chest. The acrid odor intensified. Hot breath caressed my face, and my eyes began to burn. Not as they had from the pepper bomb. Much more than that. A searing sensation, like my eyes might self-combust. I wanted to pull back, but the floor wouldn’t let me. Then I saw them. Two orbs of light, murky and indistinct but visible all the same through my eyelids.

  I turned away as I rained more blows at the creature’s head, knowing my waning strength, the beast’s thick skin, and my compromised position made them as effective as a toddler’s blows, yet still I tried. Thump. Maybe if I hit it in the neck. Whump. The eyes. Thwack. My hand ached. I gasped for air.

  What was the definition of insanity again? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results? I had to try something new. Anything.

  Ignoring the pain in my hand, I kicked up as hard as I could, trying to toss the creature over my head. I maybe lifted it an inch off the ground. It may not have outweighed me, but it had all the leverage, not to mention an inhuman strength.

  The murky eye glow intensified. I tried again, kicking with all I was worth. Something dug into my thigh: a sharp, directed prick, not like the pincer grip of the claws.

  My knife!

  I slipped my hand to my belt, managing to tear the blade from its sheath despite the creature’s bulk atop me. My eyes burned with an impossible fury, feeling as if I’d plunged my face into an inferno.

  I drove the blade into the creature’s back. It slipped and skidded off the monster’s skin.

  I tried again. This time the blade bit for a fraction of a second before slipping.