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Batman 1939: The Dangers of Being Cold
Chapter 17: Doors Closing
Catwoman woke up in stages.
Still in the dark, her first sensation was pressure. There was a stifling weight across her chest and limbs. Each breath was a struggle.
Her second sensation was that she was breathing. That was nice.
After a cottony passage of time, her mind sputtered to life, cycling slowly through a few memories and thoughts. Cold. Fear. Disease. A pair of arms. A fight. A joke. Bodies on slabs. Anger. Snow. Watchtowers. Zorro.
Then she remembered the pain. Or the pain remembered her, since there was no question who was in charge. Her back was putty thrown under a tractor. From head to toe, her clammy skin itched like ant-bites. Her joints ached. There were sore spots on her forehead.
As she struggled to tolerate the pain, she heard the hissing. It was a low noise, the sibilating susurration of whispers and sighs. There was a crackling too, a subharmonic of gravel on foil.
She opened her eyes.
It was a small dark room. She couldn't move her arms. Batman was crouched a distance away, holding a table lamp over some device.
Catwoman tried to talk. It came out a hoarse cough. He moved to her side, placing the lamp nearby.
She tried again, "H- Hi." She offered an awkward half-smile with the side of her mouth that still worked.
He looked down impassively. "How do you feel?"
"I've had worse days." She tried to shrug and winced. "Admittedly, not many."
"Any numbness?"
"You know that pinprick feeling when your foot falls asleep?"
"Yes."
"I feel that in my ... everything."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Discomfort means the nerve endings are intact. It'll pass."
"Oh. Good." She took the opportunity to raise her head and look down. Her body was covered with a stack of six wool blankets. The weight was keeping her from moving. "Where did-"
"Supply closet. You were in shock."
"Right, then ... wait ... wait a second." Catwoman wiggled her fingers. "Did you take my gloves?"
"To check for frostbite."
"My ... hold on ... is that ... and my boots?"
"Frostbite and gangrene. Had to check your hands and feet for gangrene. They're-"
"Is privacy not a concept on your planet?"
"They're especially vulnerable."
"No, I get it."
"And they're fine."
"My feet are fine?"
"You're extremities are fine. No gangrene."
"Great. Thanks. Boo gangrene." She nodded thoughtfully. "So, uh, what happened?"
Fourteen minutes ago.
Batman settled himself, drawing his body low. He inhaled and pulled his shoulder back. With a harsh bark, his muscles uncoiled. Turning like a triphammer, he launched the middle knuckle of a perfect fist through the steel target. A circle of distended metal the size of a half dollar shot though the wooden body of the door like a cork from a bottle. A rain of splinters followed, dusting the hallway.
Batman fell to a knee, his face contorted in pain. "Aughghh."
The red haze passed. He took a few harsh breaths. Probable fractures in the second and third metacarpals. Wrist sprain. Bruising. Swelling imminent.
Gritting his teeth, he rose to his feet and knocked over a wire frame shelf. Boxes scattered to the floor. He stepped on the shelf and gripped a wire leg with his good hand. Batman strained upward and slowly pried the wire out. Then, bending it against his knee, he crimped the end into a hook. He fed the wire through the hole in the door, caught the handle, and twisted.
He didn't need to kick the door open, but he felt like it.
It wasn't easy pulling Catwoman over his shoulders with one arm, but she was lighter than most people he had to carry. Setting her briefly down outside, he bit his glove off. A shred of cape severed as a makeshift hand wrap. He pulled it tight with his teeth. It would hold for a few hours.
"So, uh, what happened?"
"I managed to open the door then lifted you out."
"How'd you do that?"
"Basic fireman's carry."
"No, I meant the door. How did you open it?"
"The corrosive agent was stronger than I expected."
"Nice. How long have I been, you know ..."
"Not long."
"So what now?" She tried to prop herself up on an elbow. "I think I can run if-"
He held out a hand. "Rest. When we make our move, I need you at your best. You dodged a bullet as it is."
"Heh heh. I think I already-"
He frowned. "A metaphorical bullet. Not in addition to the literal bullets earlier, obviously."
"Fine. I'll take it easy a little while, Doctor Batman. We're safe here?"
"We have time. The patrol's off our trail."
Eleven minutes ago.
Batman plodded in a gray fog. It wasn't difficult finding an office and placing Catwoman on the desk, but that was only half the battle. Now he had to find something warm. There was no hot water in the building. In fact, the infirmary hadn't housed the infirm in years; any provisions left behind would be an accident, or in his case, a miracle.
He was seconds away from breaking more furniture to start a fire when he found the supply closet. Its hallway was lit by a line of old-fashioned sconces, and he almost missed it. It was eminently the supply closet, not a supply closet, because every other closet in the building seemed to be empty.
Having stuffed as many coarse green hospital blankets under an arm as he could, Batman shuffled out the door, turned, and found himself face-to-face with Specialist Russell Pritchard.
Specialist Pritchard was tired. His feet hurt. He missed his fiancé, and his girlfriend, and his dog (though not in that order). The radio on his back chaffed something fierce. This had to be his tenth time down this drafty hallway.
Then he ran into a huge, fearsome figure walking out of a closet with some stolen blankets. They saw each other. Pritchard gaped. "Hey!"
Batman threw the blankets in his face. Then he tucked an arm and shoulder-checked the soldier into the wall, breaking the sconce. The glass hit the ground. The soldier yelled and tried to paw the wool from his eyes. Batman seized his rifle and used it for a leg sweep. Specialist Pritchard, still yelling, tripped and swung with a blind haymaker on the way down. Batman took it to the ribs and stumbled back. Pritchard scrambled like a turtle to roll off his radio and launched at Batman's knees. They both tumbled.
Batman landed on his wrapped fist and cried out. The Specialist yelled even louder, no longer in fear but in bloodlust, throwing careless punches in a rage.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, SLIME? I'M THE LIGHTNING AND THE THUNDER! I'M RUSTY PRITCHARD! AND WHEN YOU ENTER THE HOUSE OF PRITCHARD, YOU SEAL YOUR DOOM!"
Batman groaned, partly from the pain in his ribs but mostly from the shtick. He ran into these every so often: walking delusions of grandeur who needed to vent an overactive pathos gland, bellowing oaths like he was their fated antagonist in life's grand opera. It wasn't the weirdest way he had seen strangers react to him, but it was high on the list.
"TASTE THE PAIN! DRINK IT DOWN!"
He took a few hits as he tried to clear his thoughts. As huge as the infirmary was, backup could only be moments away. He was injured, running blind, and he still had an ally incapacitated. If this grunt or his team managed to get a message out, the whole Fort would be on him in minutes. The radio would be a ... the radio!
A plan weaved itself together. Batman kept his arms up, staving off the blows as gently as possible. The longer this Pritchard talked, the better. He couldn't end things too quickly. Putting up modest resistance, Batman moved to the wall and stood up. The soldier kept up the attack. "I WILL BURN YOUR CROPS AND SALT YOUR FIELDS!" Batman ducked past a headbutt and caught the soldier in a rear bear hug. The soldier predictably threw his arms up and turned - a valid counter, but also half the motion of sliding out of his shoulder straps. "YOU CAN'T CATCH A FORCE OF NATURE!" Batman let go, grabbed the radio backpack, and yanked it off. He smacked the soldier in the nose with it. The man fell backwards and landed on a blanket. Batman dropped the radio, threw the other end of the blanket over the soldier like a roll of salami, and held him down with an elbow. Then with his free hand, Batman unspooled a length of rope from his utility belt, bit through the middle to separate a piece, and tied it one-handed around the blanket roll.
"MMmmmMmmmMM! YOU FIEND! YOU FIEND! COUNT YOUR HOURS, 'CAUSE I'M BRINGING THE HAMMER DOWN!" Batman scooped up the blanket-load and awkwardly tossed it into the closet. "THEN YOU'LL FEEL THE WRATH OF - URFF! ... OW! ... THAT WAS MY FUNNY BONE!"
There was a clatter of approaching footsteps. The other three members of the infirmary search team had heard Specialist Pritchard from the first bleating of his theatrical debut. They could have arrived in seconds had they known the way, but they had never been in the building before, the lighting was bad even by Great War standards, and the walls had a nasty echo. The three eventually reached the hallway of their trapped compatriot at nearly the same time. Weapons ready, they jogged toward the sound and saw that one of the lights was broken, there was a pile of blankets and a radio on the floor, and across from them was an open closet.
Holding out a light, they peered into the large supply closet.
They saw a loud hospital blanket trying to stand. "-SO WHEN I CATCH YOU, YOU - GEFF! - PLETH! PLETH! BLEEHGH! I THINK I ATE A THREAD!"
The soldiers rushed in to untie Specialist Pritchard. Batman, propped between the walls above the door, dropped silently down behind them, stepped out into the hall, closed the door, and bent the knob. There was a bookcase nearby. He quickly pushed it in front of the door and knocked it over so it was pinned against the far wall. A body bounced off the other side of the door, but his barricade held. After a few seconds of silence, there was a rifle shot and a new hole in the door. Then several more holes appeared. Then one of the shots ricocheted off a hinge and bounced inside the closet. No one was hit, but there were no more shots after that.
Catwoman closed her eyes and tried to relax.
"I'll take it easy a little while, Doctor Batman. We're safe here?"
"We have time. The patrol's off our trail."
She cracked open an eye. "You scared them away?"
"More or less."
"You're not worried they'll call for help?"
He held up a radio backpack. "I doubt it."
"I knew I heard something crackling when I woke up."
"I've been eavesdropping on broadcasts around camp."
"Naturally." She nodded sleepily. "You think you're the smartest person on Earth, don't you?"
"Of course not."
She looked up patiently and raised an eyebrow.
He faced her for a moment then looked away with a noise that wasn't quite a snort. "Some days."
"So. Any juicy news?"
"Unfortunately."
Seven minutes ago.
Batman smoothed down the blankets around her shoulders. Catwoman's breathing was steady, but her skin was still very pale. His lips drew tight. He had seen victims who didn't possess half her constitution pull though graver shocks than this, but such cases were always touch and go. It would have to suffice.
He pulled away the desk chair and collapsed on it, preparing to restitch his sword wound. Eyes closed, he proceeded in silence. Needle in. Needle out. Needle in. Needle out. Needle in. Needle out. Cut. Clean gauze. Tape. It burned, of course. The flesh along the edge of the cut had been rubbed raw from hours of movement, scabbing and pulling apart, and now two attempts at being sewn tight. It would have to do.
He left the dirty gauze on the floor. Anonymity was a beautiful ideal, but compromises had to be made. One he accepted long ago was blood. Scrubbing all trace of himself off the dirt and concrete of the world was impossible. He had to leave it in the field, and this was tolerable. Serology was a rare discipline. Even if a forensics expert found his plasma type, that left several thousand men of his stature in the city alone to sift through. The risk didn't keep him up at night.
He sat and rested, letting his breathing slow, centering his energy. He had just a little further, then he would be out of the woods. And when he slept, he would be too damaged to dream. He could tell. The prospect warmed him a tiny bit.
The radio hissed on. "SzzzsSSSZz - Dixie Squad, Dixie Squ -ZZzz - is Base Camp Alpha, come in Dixie Squad, over."
Batman picked up the handset and readied himself. He had only heard the man yelling, and his mimicry chops were badly out of practice. He toggled the receiver. The voice that left his mouth wasn't a perfect match for Specialist Russell Pritchard. The man's dog would know the difference, probably his fiancé too. But at least the timbre was spot on, and the pitch was decent. It was enough for radio.
"Uh, this is Specialist Pritchard. Hey there, Alpha, what can I do you for?"
"Cut - ZSSZsz - mall talk, Specialist. You're three minutes lat -SSzzss - your scheduled call-in. What's your malfunction?"
"Sorry Alpha. We've been real focused out here is all. Sarge didn't want to us makin' too much noise, you know? Thought he saw something a few minutes ago. Trying to keep our ears to the ground and all that."
"You know bet - FSsssssZssSsf - ot your call to make, Specialist! You and your team better shape up. Put the Sargent on the h -SSSzzzZZZs."
"Uh, negatory Alpha. The team's split. Sarge headed down to the basement level last I saw. I'm the only man at the entrance. Can't move without leaving our rear open." Batman took a deep breath. "If you maybe sent a few more boys this way, we wouldn't be so spread out."
"Gosh d - SSSzzzsszssssszzsz - Specialist! I told you before, we're spread thin everywhere. The infirmary is not our only priority. Hold your post and - SSzzszszzZffZ - the moment your noncom shows his mug. And don't be late with your report next time! That's twenty-one minutes from now. Base Camp Alpha out."
Batman lowered the handset and exhaled. Alfred would flay him if he heard acting that bad. And that was a stupid bluff. Utterly unnecessary. He slid through on dumb luck. He hated relying on luck.
He took a knee and played with the radio, checking on Catwoman from time to time. With a little tweaking, he occasionally picked up reports from the private channels of other squads. Batman had a keen mental map of the Fort. With the help of the radio, he gradually added different units to his map as they announced their position and heading. Forming plans like other men breathed, he contemplated paths around them, like navigating rocks in a stream.
Then all his imagined paths collapsed.
"Szzzsszs - Attention! This is an open call for assistance to all Fort personnel. If - szzZZzzszz - ctical unit is near sector nine, I say again, if any tactical unit is near the south forest, Rescue Team Charlie needs immediate aide. We have - zsSsszs - tiple wounded and two of Charlie's stretchers broke. They need some extra hands."
Batman readied another voice. "Base Camp, this is-" He hissed into the receiver for a minute, "-near the eastern edge of sector nine. Moving with all speed towards Rescue Team Charlie. Little dark out here, Alpha. What am I looking for?"
"Uh, repeat that, soldier. Who is this?"
"This is-" Batman hissed into the receiver a little longer, "-under the command of-" More hissing, "-now how can I help?"
"You're breaking up - sszzffFzzzZzsss - eposition your antenna. We didn't think any of you off-Fort patrols had swung that far -zzzSSzzszs."
"We've been double-timing it, Base Camp."
"Then keep pushing west. You should see a bonfire any second now. All the trees are broken. Probably car parts on the ground. Can't miss it."
"On it, Alpha. What was that about a car?"
"The Special Reconna - ffzzffffff - eam went to a report of a car found in the woods. - SSSSSSsssSSS - an explosion. Now it's a wreck. Ask them when you get there."
"... You got it Alpha. Out."
Batman put down the radio. He suddenly felt very cold.
"Any juicy news?"
"Unfortunately."
Her grin fell a degree. "What happened?"
He only paused a moment. "The car's gone."
"Um. What?"
"The Ford. It's destroyed."
"How did-"
"I don't know what happened."
"But then-"
"I don't know."
"Then how are we getting out?"
"I ..." He grit his teeth. "Tell me again how you feel."
"I'm in the best shape of my life, handsome. Heck, I'm in the best shape of most people's lives."
"Catwoman."
She looked down and lifted her arms over the blankets. Her skin was still too pale. "I can run. Maybe another hour. Not looking forward to climbing down that cliff, but I'll do it." She laughed sadly until she coughed. "For all the good that would do."
"I have another plan."
"Great. What?"
He looked down, his voice slow with heavy conviction. "We need to share what we discovered here. The mission is everything."
"Not my usual philosophy, but sure. So what?"
"Even at our best, we couldn't make it out on foot. Fort Morrison has only a few vehicles that go through snow. There's a motor pool and airfield a quarter of a mile northeast of this infirmary towards the gate. You should be able to find a heavy truck inside. Ram the gate."
She eyed him for a moment. Her voice lowered. "I should find a truck?"
"I'll be-"
"You better not say what I think you're about to."
"Listen carefully. The briefcase is beside the door. I added a few items while you were asleep. Take it with you. Once you're back in Gotham," Batman paused, but there was no way around this, "I have a collaborator in the police. A detective. His address is on the case. It's imperative that he sees it in the next day and a half. That's all I ask."
"Yeah? And what about you?"
Batman stared evenly. "The Army knows we're on this side of the bridge. They've saturated all routes between us and the gate with sentries and patrols. I'll draw-"
"No."
"I'll draw them away. Use that opening to leave with the evidence."
"No! We'll make the run together. We can beat a few more patrols."
"No. We can't."
"What if," She mouthed silently in search of an idea, "What if we fly!"
"Excuse me?"
"You said there's an airfield. Airfields have aircraft. We skip the gate. I bet you know how to fly."
He did, technically. It was once, a commercial single engine. And it was five years ago. He shook his head.
"Not in this weather. Not in the dark. Even if they have a plane fueled in the hanger, it will be an old military model."
"So? A plane's a plane. It'll fly."
"You don't get it. In these conditions, it would be nothing more than a useless relic of a bygone age."
"Like badminton."
He gave a passionate nod. "Precisely."
"Fine, then what's your masterful plan once you make a scene? You always get through, after all."
He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic. "I'll cross the bridge. Cause havoc to draw attention. Security will converge on me."
"Then?"
"Once you've had an opening, I'll escape."
"How?"
"We'll see."
"We'll see?"
"Get home. Rest. Reconvene tonight, same time and place."
"Come on, let's think about this a little." She noticed his right hand was clenched. That was strange, even by his standards. She strained to sit up and caught his arm. "What happened here?"
He fumed in frustration. The woman couldn't even stay on a topic she started. "Nothing."
"Not nothing. What?"
"Just an ache."
He tried to gently pull away, but she held fast and moved his arm closer to the light.
"Hold still."
"Catwoman, what are you doing?"
After some struggle, she wiggled his glove off. There was a tight wrap around his fist. The knuckles and wrist were badly swelled. Even in the dim, she couldn't miss the ugly discoloration. Catwoman recognized it as a classic boxer's injury, but a more hideous case than she'd ever seen.
She gaped. "What happened?"
"I told you earlier I opened the vault door with a chemical."
"And?"
He pulled away and fit his glove back on. "It took a little more than that."
A misbehaving corner of her mind whispered that this was the first time she had seen his hand. What old wounds did the rest of the costume hide? Batman had been Batman-ing at least a year; she knew he had been through worse than this. What was holding the man together? Stubbornness and scar tissue? No wonder he covered up like a photophobic Puritan.
"That looks bad. Maybe you should wait. We can find some ice for it."
He moved to the door. "Keep the radio on. They'll announce when I'm sighted and order the patrols back to the camp. When you hear that, go."
She called over his shoulder. "I heard you were bulletproof; I didn't know you were invulnerable to criticism!"
He didn't look back as he walked out.
