JSA: Atrocity
By Bruce Wayne
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.
An Elseworld's story: Stories, situation or events involving familiar characters in unfamiliar settings.
Chapter 13
False-Face, lazily holding a silenced pistol in his right hand stepped closer to Flyboy. "That is the one," he said to the pilot, gesturing with the gun toward the man being dragged by two other men. "I can feel it. The one who made that --"
"Obscene gesture toward you," Billy ended it for him.
"Yes, that disgusting gesture," False-Face said, laughing.
Then False-Face looked at the others. A blond-haired man who had been riding alone in one of the trucks appeared frightened. False-Face had made the MPs toss their guns in a pile on the ground.
"Throw him over there," False-Face ordered the two men carrying the third. They dragged the man toward the other prisoners, then heaved him forward. He fell to his knees, blood trickling from a wound on the right temple.
False-Face walked toward the pile of weapons, then stopped. He watched as the first of the Sikorsky sky cranes, with a semi-trailer secured, lifted off.
One of the two men who had dragged the third presented False-Face with an automatic pistol.
False-Face glanced at it -- a Colt .45. Then he looked up as a second Sikorsky moved off with one of the trailers on its crane.
He weighed the Colt in his left hand, then crouched, setting the pistol down. He examined some of the other guns, finally selecting one from the pile. "A .44 Magnum. Whose is this?" False-Face asked, rising to his feet. He stuffed the silenced pistol into his trouser band under the webbed belt, shifting the nickel-plated .44 into his right hand. "I asked, whose is this?"
The blond-haired man who'd driven alone stepped forward, smiling. "Er, that's mine, sir."
"Hmmm," False-Face smiled. He aimed the revolver at a tree trunk. "Does it kick much?"
"Like a mule if you're not used to it," the man volunteered.
"Interesting," False-Face said, appreciating the advice. Then he swung the muzzle toward the man, double-actioning the revolver. The big Magnum bucked hard in his right hand. The blond-haired man's face exploded, and his body sprawled back against some rocks.
"He was right, you know," False-Face said to Flyboy. Mason laughed.
"You son of a --!" screamed a voice from behind False-Face. False-Face turned back to the group of men. The one who had been dragged in was struggling on his knees. Two of his trucker friends were trying to hold him back. The dark-haired man shifted his body weight, and one of the truckers flew forward, sprawling. The kneeling man shifted his weight again, flipping the second man. He was on his feet now, charging forward. False-Face heard the clicking of safeties on M-1s held by his men.
False-Face raised the .44 cocking it. He pointed it at the approaching man. "Yes?"
The man stopped his charge, standing halfway between the knot of drivers and False-Face, nearly even with the pile of guns.
"You are the one I want," False-Face said, smiling. "What is your name?"
The man said nothing.
False-Face shifted the muzzle to one of the truckers. "I will shoot this man unless you answer me."
"Rex, Rex Tyler. T-Y-L-E-R."
Rex Tyler! What a name," False-Face laughed. "Sounds like a name for a dog!" Flyboy laughed. False-Face looked back to Rex Tyler. "And Rex --" he growled the name "-- what do you plan to do, jump me and throttle me to death or steal a gun and start shooting?"
The man cleared his throat. "You're going to .. kill --"
"All of you?" False-Face asked. "YES! Of course! How perceptive of you. But you can make it more sporting. Jump for a gun, why don't you? Who knows, you might make it in time, hmmm?"
The last of the Sikorsky sky cranes was airborne now. It was time to start the executions, to stop playing games, False-Face thought. "I'm weary of this." He raised the muzzle of the Magnum. "I must release the first of that VX gas in a most poetic place."
He pointed the gun at Rex's head. "You shall be first, Rex!"
"Wait!" Rex cried out. His hands were raised, palms outward as a sign of resignation.
"Yes?" False-Face asked, smiling.
"Can I at least take an aspirin before you shoot me?" Rex asked. "I would imagine that it is quite painful."
False-Face burst out laughing hysterically. "An aspirin?!" he screamed, almost choking. "An aspirin?"
Billy Mason and many of False-Face's minions were also laughing.
False-Face laughed so hard that he had to look away from Rex. After coughing a few times, he snorted, and then said in a sarcastic voice, "Oh, why not? If you think an aspirin is going to help ease the pain of bullet smashing into your head -- why should I deny a man his last request? Go ahead and take your aspirin, Rex."
Tyler just nodded and moved his hands slowly to pull out his pill box that contained his Miraclo pills. He gently opened the container and slipped one of the pills out.
False-Face continued to watch in amusement.
With the small white pill in the fingers of his right hand, Rex placed the pill in his mouth. He then asked in a humble voice, "Could I trouble you for some water?"
"WATER?!" False-Face screamed and started another fit of laughter. After a few moments of chuckling, he coughed again and said, "Oh, Rex, I must say it will be a pleasure to kill you. You are the most amusing man I ever murdered."
The few moments of laughter gave the fast-acting Miraclo pill the vital seconds it needed to activate in Rex Tyler's system.
False-Face pointed the gun at Rex again. "Good-bye, Rex," he growled.
Instead of jumping for a gun, the man named Rex dived with amazing speed to his left, grabbing one of False-Face's fatigue-clad men. His speed caught the man off guard, hurling him with incredible strength toward False-Face. False-Face barely managed to dodge left, his finger squeezing the trigger of the .44 Magnum. The gun bucked hard in his right hand. False-Face lost his balance, stumbling as the body of his man slammed into him.
He threw down the Magnum, grabbing instead for the silenced pistol in his belt. He looked up to see Rex Tyler running with spectacular speed. False-Face raised the pistol and aimed. It would be a perfect shot if Rex would only stand still long enough.
Tyler ducked as rifle fire hammered into the rocks above him. Even though the Miraclo pill gave his body increased resistance to pain or physical harm, it didn't make him invulnerable like Superman.
Stone chips flew at him. One hit his right hand, which protected his face.
He rolled to the left and sat up, leaning his back against a huge boulder. Then he stood up and peered over the rock ledge.
He could see the group of men lined up beside the rocks. They were being executed.
Rex cried out, "NO!"
He immediately moved into action without regard of what harm may come to him. With unbelivable speed, he ran to and slammed into the men who were killing the truckers. He punched one opponent unconscious and then injured at least two more with mighty blows. More rifle fire peppered the rocks near him. He ducked again as a movement to his left caught his attention.
Rex dived out of the way as more shots came his way.
The helicopters' rotor beat was increasing. He knew that the killers and thieves would probably escape. He was up and running. The rotor sounds were becoming louder still.
"Aw, jeez!"
Rex looked skyward. The helicopters were airborne and coming after him.
Tyler began to run into a nearby grove of trees. He swatted his way through the trees, dodging low-hanging branches.
Suddenly Rex heard the staccato of an M-60 machine gun. The ground to his right was being torn up by the big bullets.
Rex threw himself forward. He tried to cover his head with his hands, burrowing his face in the dirt as gravel rained down on him. He quickly got up and was running again in a matter of seconds.
More machine-gun bullets chewed the ground around him. Branches were sawn away and came crashing down toward him. Rex zigzagged through the trees, running for his life.
He glanced up behind him. One of the Bell helicopters was skimming the treetops, sweeping toward him. A gunner was leaning out of the door, firing an M-60. Rex picked up a good size rock that probably weighed a pound. With his amazing strength, he threw the rock and hit the gunner. The man flopped forward, strung out across the M-60 as the chopper buzzed overhead and was gone.
Rex began to run again. Tyler heard the beat of the rotor blades again and looked up. It was another Bell whirlybird. That meant more machine-gun bullets headed his way.
The ground to his left dropped off suddenly. Rex angled himself toward it, still running. There was a wide, swiftly flowing river below the sheer drop. He glanced back as he ran.
The sinister-looking helicopter was coming at him slowly, almost leisurely.
He could see the edge of the drop. He looked behind him again. He could hear the M-60 firing.
Rex launched his body forward into space. The water rushed up to meet him. He hit the water. Rex broke the surface. His eyes closed involuntarily, then opened again. He dived again as a rain of gravel pelted at him.
Confused, he swam aimlessly, hearing popping noises as the machine gun strafed the water about him. He kept down, the Miraclo pill giving him the ability to stay underwater much longer than the average person. Then his feet touched bottom as the riverbank rose in front of him.
Rex dragged himself up the side. He fell forward onto the sand, rolling onto his back. He squinted skyward against the brightness.
The helicopters were breaking off. Rex reasoned that they had something to guard -- probably the stolen VX nerve gas. He could se the helicopters traveling along the length of the river, then rising. The Sikorsky sky-crane choppers looked like huge black insects against the blue cloudlessness of the New Mexico sky.
***
Rex Tyler's leather jacket hung on the back of a chair, drying. He looked out the sliding glass door of a motel room now. On the table beside him was a bottle of beer.
He had contacted the state police and the FBI immediately upon reaching the motel in Albuquerque. In both cases he did so anonymously, hanging up quickly. It would be too difficult to explain how he had managed to survive being executed by that villian and his mob.
He sat now, trying to piece things together.
One hundred containers of VX nerve gas were now in the hands of some evil people.
Rex knew that if the Army and the FBI even believed him -- that he was the only survivor because he just was able to run and evade heavily armed men in helicopters after they stole a huge amount of some of the most potent chemicals on earth ... they'd throw him in the slammer, anyway, to keep his mouth shut.
He expected those killers would come after him because it was obvious what they were planning to do. Either use the VX or charge a ransom -- maybe both.
He looked back out the window, thinking to himself, "This is great, just great. I'm a respected industrialist from New York and I'm wanted by the government and a pack of killers."
This was too big for one man to handle. Even though he was as strong as he ever was, the Man of the Hour still needed help.
He had to go after those nerve gas hijackers. And yes, he wanted to bring those killers to justice. But Rex wasn't sure where to start.
Rex stood up and checked his watch. He picked up the telephone on the motel room's dresser and brought it back to the small table, setting it down.
"I know just the people to help me," he said out loud to himself.
He knew he needed his friends from the Justice Society of America. If this wasn't a case for them to handle -- what was?
Rex picked up the phone. He always wound up memorizing phone numbers, even when he didn't try. His mind was just able to always remember numbers. It was a number he had never tried before. It was a special number.
In New York City, Dr Charles McNider answered Rex Tyler's call.
TO BE CONTINUED ....
***
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