So Far So Fast
Chapter Three
1
Saturday, June 2 --- Desierto de la Muerta, 10:13 PM
Sand churned around him, obscuring his vision. The thought of what that grit would do to his eyes made him glad he'd worn his helmet.
The other motorcycle's lights drew farther away. Raven had put on speed.
Dick's hand twitched on the throttle, but he stopped himself before accelerating. He had only the faraway lights of Jump City, in addition to a pale sliver of a moon, to guide him with any more accuracy than his headlight.
People died during night races.
Especially when they put the pedal to the metal in territory they didn't know and couldn't see.
I may be dumb for doing this, he muttered to himself, but I'm not that dumb.
Raven started to slow down.
He felt a feral grin tear at his face. This bike was a fast little bastard. He'd helped to build it back up into a semblance of a vehicle from the charred, twisted, smoking hunk of metal he'd worked to earn from the bike shop. He knew exactly what it could do.
He was going to gain on her. He was going to catch up with her.
He didn't add speed. He made no turns. She could run, but he would catch up eventually.
Let her run.
He could practically see the bike and rider, now. She was slowing down considerably.
Something had gone wrong. Was there a hazard on the road she hadn't anticipated? Had her bike started breaking down?
Thank god for cheap pieces of crap.
But wait, no— she was speeding up again. What was with this girl? She accelerated, her engine making horrible sounds and tires screeching. Sand swirled around as if they were in the middle of a sandstorm.
Something happened. Dick didn't quite see what. Whatever it was, it ended quickly, and ahead of him, Raven pulled into a wheelie for no apparent reason. After that, she slowed down again.
Dick leaned forward over the bike. Whatever had just happened, he could take her. He would take her.
That was when he noticed that Raven had stopped. She'd stopped completely.
Raven turned around on the bike, looking directly at him.
Staring at him.
Something was wrong. And it wasn't with her.
He noticed, suddenly, the yawning crevasse in the road. A great black hole, stretching out in front of him.
Fifteen feet away.
Ten feet away.
Five feet away.
Desperately, he gunned the engine. At the edge of the hole, he pulled into a wheelie.
By some miracle, he managed to make the jump.
Ahead of him, Raven was gaining speed again. As he looked back at the crevasse, he realized something terrifying.
If he hadn't made that jump, he would have died.
Grimly, he wondered what other hazards this trail held that Raven hadn't warned him against. He set his jaw and hunkered over his bike. Things were probably going to get interesting.
After they left that portion of the trail, they rode along sand dunes. Swerving to follow Raven in a sudden turn, he slid along the sand and nearly fell. He managed to save himself from the fall, and quickly adjusted his course to follow her.
Raven began to zigzag across the sand. Despite her many changes in direction, Dick could pick out the way she wanted to go.
Zigzagging along sand at their speed was a dangerous thing. It led to falls, to wrecks, to broken necks and death. So just what was she doing? Was she trying to die?
No, the cynical part of him, the part of him that had never stopped being a gypsy, whispered. She's trying to kill you.
(Hr)
11:04 PM
He finally followed her into some sort of ruin. Most of what he could glean about the place was that it was large, dark, and full of random pieces of architecture. He couldn't make much out in the darkness. Not even the moon and distant lights of Jump City helped him.
"Leave your bike here," Raven said after she dismounted. She pulled off her helmet and shoved it on her bike after kicking out the kickstand.
He dismounted his own bike, kicking out the kickstand and leaving his helmet behind.
Odd, how he couldn't see the details of wherever they were, but he could see every curve of her body, how the leather tightened on her breasts. He could see the gleam of moonlight on pale flesh.
He could see her nipples through the bustier. That was damn thin leather, wasn't it?
It didn't surprise him that he slipped on the floor as moved to follow her.
His eyes were more on her than on his surroundings— and oh, god, where did girls learn to walk like that? Was there a school out there that offered classes on how to drive men up the wall?
He could see a course schedule now: "Walking with Sexy Self Confidence 101 (Lab)," "Breast Care 212: Mastering the Bounce (Lecture)," "Facial Expressions and the Sexy Look 316 (Lab)."
Dick shook his head. He really had to stop joking like that in his head. If he kept it up, he'd say something in front of Fath and get totally grounded.
He looked down and discovered why he'd slipped: the hangout's floor had a very heavy layer of sand.
"So. This is Acid's hangout," he said. "Why do you gather here?"
Raven didn't even bother to look at him. "Don't ask questions. You don't have the right to ask questions yet."
"Okay," he breathed. "I won't ask anything."
"Good."
She led him through various rotting tapestries, under fallen pillars, through discarded furniture and garbage. At length, they reached what looked like a dead end. But Raven took part of the wall in hand and jerked, hard, as though she were operating a very heavy sliding glass door.
The wall slid sideways, revealing a set of stairs.
She led him down the stairs in complete pitch darkness and with no words. He heard only the sounds of their footsteps.
As they went deeper into the stairs, he began to hear other things. Screams, laughter, the roaring of motorcycle engines.
He stopped moving, considering what a pain in the ass it would be— as well as the high probabilities of severe injury or death— to get a motorcycle up or down these stairs. So Acid had to have a different way in and out.
"What the hell is this place?" He demanded.
Raven slammed him up against the wall. If she noticed the way her body moved up against his, every lovely little curve sheathed tightly in ultra-thin leather and brushing up against him, she gave no sign of it. Instead, she wrapped her delicate, graceful fingers around his throat and squeezed. Hard.
"What did I say about asking questions?" When she asked, her voice was harsh and breathy. He could feel her breath on his neck.
Unfortunately, he had a hard time breathing enough to answer properly. All he managed was a breathy, rasping, "Not to!"
"Then don't. If you ask another question, Johnny will kill you. Do you understand?"
He nodded. Sort of. He moved his head. And it was kind of up and down. So it maybe counted as a nod.
Somehow, she saw his nod. Maybe she heard it, or felt it. Hell, maybe she just took his silence for a yes.
She released him and continued walking. He followed her, this time silently.
He didn't mind silence. It gave him a chance to rub his neck.
And then the stairs ended.
The Magical World of Beyond the Stairs, Dick discovered, consisted of a dark underground room. It was dark, so he didn't see much.
What he did see, though, he didn't like.
Someone had carted random items of furniture— mostly the fiberglass benches that looked like classic Greek couches— into the underground place. People leaned against them, sat on them, laid down on them...
Somehow, he got the impression of a spacious room. A spacious room, completely full of people.
"Oh god," he whispered to himself. "Just what have I gotten myself into?
(hr)
Monday, June 4 --- Jump City, 07:14 AM
Slade Wilson walked into the office. A few people greeted him, but mostly, the others just left him alone.
He liked it that way. Other people only got in his way.
Conversation. Socialization. Communal meals.
They told you in the academy that it was best to make sure you stayed in touch with your friends who weren't in the force. Funny, how many people he knew who seemed to disregard it.
He stopped in the far corner of the room; poured coffee that he suspected would melt the Styrofoam cups the office provided into his thermos. He said hello, how are you, "socialized" with the others.
He had noticed the woman who sat at his desk minutes earlier. He feigned surprise, though, because that's what you do. He told her that she was sitting in his seat. She laughed, gave the whole I need to talk to you outside routine.
They found a deserted place, a lonely little stretch of hallway where nobody was going to come or go until the next shift came in.
"What is it, Monahan?" Slade asked through gritted teeth.
"We've got a problem with the autopsy," Monahan said. She ran a hand through her short red hair.
Dana Monahan's biggest problem (aside from the fact that she was crooked) was that she constantly had sunburn in the summer. It made her look like a tomato all over. Red hair, red skin. All the time.
Slade couldn't stand looking at her any time of the year, whether she was a tomato or that particularly pasty shade of white that redheads turned.
"What kind of problem?" Slade said. He tried not to stare as the skin on her face tried to peel off.
"Well, it looks like the lab misplaced the bodies. Do they do that? Is that something they'll blame us for?"
"No, they're not going to blame us for that," Slade assured her.
"I didn't mean the higher-ups, I meant... I meant... them."
Ah, the ever-present them. Slade had almost forgotten about them. He wondered, idly, if every city had a them of some sort.
"I mean, 'cos now they're doing some kind of investigation, and they're actually looking for the bodies, and he isn't going to like this, is he?"
That caught Slade's attention. He forced eye contact. "By he, do you mean their leader?"
She nodded. "He's not going to like them knowing, is he?"
Slade gripped her shoulders. "I thought you were on my side, Dana. I thought you didn't have anything to do with them."
"I'm sorry, Wilson. I'm sorry," Monahan whispered. "Wilson, stop, you're hurting me!"
Slade gripped her harder. "You will, of course, terminate all connections with them within this week. Otherwise, I'm afraid you're of no use to me. They prey on good people, hard-working people."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No."
Slade moved his hands from her shoulders to grip the top of her arms. He formed his hands into claws and scraped his nails down her arm, along her red, peeling skin.
"I'm intimidating you."
He took her neck in one hand.
"And if you don't end all ties with them..."
His hand twitched, squeezed.
"...then I'm killing you. Very painfully."
He released her neck, shoved her against the wall. "You know what you have to do."
2
Saturday, June 2 --- SEALabration, 11:21 PM
"Dick!" Tim cried. "There you are! God, where did you go?"
"An abandoned amusement park. In Desierto de la Muerta."
Tim shook his head and sighed. "We're going to have to go fast if you want to get home in time for curfew."
Dick grinned. "I can handle that."
Something about that grin terrified Tim. It said something like I am Superman as well as I am going to eat somebody alive. Dick never grinned like that.
Actually, he did it all the time, but he didn't do it with a psycho look in his eyes.
The psycho look was new.
"Well, Timmy?" Dick grinned again, gesturing to the bike.
There was something about him sitting on the bike, wearing all black, with a shiny helmet in his hands. Something that looked grown up and dangerous and like there would be twenty thousand buh-million girls trying to beat down the door with sticks. And that look was heavy on the dangerous.
A knight in black leather armor with a plastic helm.
Something inside him sang, Daaaangerous. Dangerous. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaangerous. Don't go too cloooooooose.
For some crazy reason, Tim thought: Scrambled eggs, vampires, and toast. That's what he looks like.
He mounted the bike behind his brother, hanging onto his brother's waist and pulling on his helmet.
They zipped through the streets on that black bike. Dick pulled into hairsbreadth turns at every opportunity. Tim's heart jumped into his throat every time they reached an intersection or a curving road.
What had gotten into Dick? What was going on? Sure, Dick drove so fast it was less like speeding and more like flying slowly, but he'd never been this reckless before. He'd never put his life into serious-ass danger and laughed in the face of it.
"Oh my God Dick, that was a motherfucking truck!" He screamed.
"So?" Dick called back. "What, were you scared?"
"Fuck YES I was scared— you crazy son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing? Wait— oh my god— OH MY GOD!"
Monday, June 4 --- Jump City, 08:14 AM
"What news do you have about them?" Slade asked.
"No news, sir. But a piece of random graffiti in their colors turned up on the boardwalk. Does that count as news?"
"Does it purport to be from them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then yes. It counts as news. What does it say?"
"It's not in handwriting any of our specialists recognizes. Claims there's a new wolf on the prowl."
"What, Denny, does it say?"
"Uh, let me find the photo..."
Slade Wilson sighed. Monahan's stupidity had suggested to him that idiots surrounded him, but Lauren Denny proved the theory.
"Oh, here we go!" The rookie handed the photo to him, briefly brushing back his dark hair as he did so.
The photo shook his petty dislike of the other people in his department straight out of his mind. Sometimes, you just have to quit your bitching when the job that's in front of you gets harder. Sometimes, you just have to suck it up.
The picture consisted of the wall at the new building on the boardwalk. The wall was adobe. Somebody had gone to a lot of effort to deliver his (or her) message. He (or she) had painted a certain portion of the wall in a square of checkered colors: red and black. (S)he had waited for the paint to dry, and then spray-painted his/her message, outlining each letter of the text in silver, and outlining the teardrop shape in gold.
LET THE SHEEP COWER IN
FEAR
NOW THAT
A NEW EAGLE
ABOVE THEM
FLIES
"That teardrop mark... Is that the same way that they always place their messages?"
"Yes, sir. I have six different messages from them. This is their MO. For graffiti, at least."
"I see. Good job, Denny. May I see those messages?"
"Of course, sir."
And, indeed, the newest message was identical in all things save its handwriting and content to the other messages.
"This is crazy. They've turned someone else? I can hardly believe it. I thought everybody in the city knew to stay away from them."
Saturday, June 2 --- Wayne Residence, 11:54 PM
Tim dismounted the bike and staggered up the front walk. Behind him, Dick was laughing his head off in the same creepy laugh he'd used on the bike.
He managed to regain the ability to walk properly by the time he reached the front door. He unlocked the door and walked in. He saw his father sitting in his favorite chair, reading a book.
"Did you have a good time?"
The bottom dropped out of his stomach. It promptly relocated itself to the back of his throat.
Tim swallowed whatever he'd eaten in the past few hours back down his throat and forced the appropriate reply to leave his mouth. "Yeah. I had loads of fun."
He was a damn liar. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was finding a toilet in time. He was going to hurl, soon.
He managed to get upstairs and make it to the toilet. He wretched. He hurled. He flushed the toilet and used mouthwash.
"Ugh, god," Tim whimpered. "I am never going anywhere with him again."
"Tim? Are you alright?" His father's voice called up.
"Just fine!" He shouted back.
Across the hallway, his bedroom door beckoned. He went to it, freaking caressed the freaking doorknob and let himself into his room, trying hard not to hyperventilate.
And also trying hard not to puke again where he stood.
He went back to the bathroom.
He heard somebody pounding up the stairs.
"Dad, seriously, I'm fine!" He called when he wasn't retching as quietly as he could.
But Dick barged into the bathroom. He shoved Tim up against the wall, his hands reaching and tightening around Tim's throat.
"Don't tell Fath about our little scary driving incident, got it?"
"Dick. Dick. You're scaring me."
"Get it?" Dick snarled at him, a wide, toothy, scary snarl. "Well?"
"Yeah! Yeah, I get it. No talking to Dad about you being a psycho. Got it."
"Good."
And then Dick walked out, leaving Tim to rub his neck and try to figure out what was wrong with his brother.