CHAPTER 8
Message
Waylon watched Jerome's punks leave the street in their vehicles, staring into the distance with yellow eyes. He moved closer to the chimney beside him and curled to the concrete. The voices of people could be heard in the room below, but he couldn't tell what they were saying. The moon and stars were hidden by clouds of smog and the streetlights sparked and flickered out, the darkness was merely added to Gotham's distress. Fortunately for Waylon, Hugo Strange's alterations to his body allowed him to see in low light. His pupils dilated, allowing the endless voids at the centre of his eyes to devour the cloudy irises around them.
He sighed, a swirl of steam twisting from the gaps between his teeth as a cold gust of wind escaped through the clouds. Waylon began to close his eyes as the snow from the clouds above hit his skin and melted upon impact, causing a pool of water to form between the scales. The cold was relief to him, he'd never been a fan of the whole 'living life on the edge' thing. Most of the time, Waylon just wanted peace.
A few minutes later, he drifted off into a gentle slumber. The snowfall had quickened and a sheet of white covered his body, deeming him almost invisible against the ice around him. Down at street level a van pulled up near the curb, and from it several men were produced. They scouted out the area with their guns at the ready, muttering amongst themselves as they investigated the overturned vehicle at the side of the road. Waylon lifted an eyelid at the sound of a falling shard of metal and shifted himself into a sitting position. He scooted over the edge of the roof and gripped the chimney for support, here he could eavesdrop on their conversation without being noticed.
One man held a knuckle-duster between his fingers and another held a shotgun: it was clear they meant business. Their voices were faint, but Waylon could just about make out what was being said.
"Jerk," the first man said. "Whoever did this is a jerk. I can't believe this... one chore after the next! Ain't no break round here."
"Better get used to it, pal. Penguin needs this territory carved up and ridden of all enemy gangs, he doesn't take it all that well if you slack off." the second man rested a hand against the overturned van.
"I can see that, after what happened to Smith... don't think we'll be seeing him too soon."
He shook his head. "Nah, he was an idiot. The guy deserved it!" with a quick movement of his hand, he moved away the sheet that was covering the side of the van. He stood back to view a symbol: a face, appearing to be drawn in blood, with large eyes and a mouth made up of a series of words mocking laughter. The man's lips tightened into a line. "Jerome Valeska," he punched the van. "Damn it!"
"That's not good," the first man muttered.
"No, it ain't... we better tell the boss we got trouble." he tucked his gun away and walked over to his van. The window rolled down and he began to talk to someone inside.
Waylon leaned closer, narrowing his pupils. He couldn't quite make out who it was, but he had a good idea...
The door flung open, the man flinging his arms in the air in surprise. Oswald Cobblepot emerged from the passenger seat, wadling closer to the man. He looked up and scowled. "What?!"
The man pointed to the vehicle tucked against the building as Oswald's eyes settled on the tag.
"How can this be...?" he said quietly, pulling his eyelids closer together in frustration. With a growl, he spun around and pinned the man to his van with the umbrella he held in his hand. "I told you to have every block on lock down," Oswald hissed. "How did he manage to get in?!"
"I-I don't know, Sir."
"Repeat to me your orders," Oswald's face was pinched in anger as he spat each word out like they were poison.
"K-keep all streets under lock and k-key... n-one is aloud in or out, any enemies will be shot upon sighting."
"Good," he smiled, lowering his umbrella gently. The man ahead of him relaxed. In the space of a second, Oswald's expression changed from happy to one of contempt. He raised his umbrella up so the point was facing the man's forhead. There was a click and a splatter of blood. He crumpled. The Penguin stood back to admire his work, blowing the smoke from his umbrella and loading a handful of lead capsules into the end as he walked. His right eye twitched. "Idiot."
As Oswald walked to the van, he muttered curses under his breath. One of his men approached him, but before he could speak a shower of metal came down upon him from the tip of the umbrella.
Waylon blew out a ring of steam and looked down on the short man below him, watching him hobble around the van curiously. He was intrigued by Penguin, how could such a tiny person bottle up so much anger?
"What's in this thing?" Oswald asked.
Three more of his men approached him "We don't know, Si-"
"Well get it open and find out!" he snapped firing a few more bullets into the ground. The men jogged toward the scene and opened the back with a crowbar. Oswald spun on his heels and was greeted by a large, scaly object.
"Oswald Cobblepot," Waylon said, glaring down at the man. "I 'aven't see you in ages."
Oswald leapt back and screamed, alerting some of his men. "GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME...!"
Waylon sighed and gripped his collar, lifting him into the air. Oswald squeaked as he did so, dropping his umbrella. "Tha's not very nice, is it?" Waylon said. "I don't wanna hurt you."
Oswald squirmed and looked at the ground a meter below him. "Let me go, you freak!"
"Freak?" he dropped him, letting his body fall to the ground with a thud. He looked at him in confusion. "I thought birds could fly."
"For your information," Oswald snapped, crawling away and clutching his leg in pain. "Not all birds can fly, for instance, take the-"
"Penguin. I like penguins."
He hesitated. "Uh-uh, yes... good, good."
Waylon gripped him before he could crawl out of range and dangled him upside down. Armed men circled around him, gun loaded and pointed in Waylon's direction. He smiled and opened his mouth, raising the man higher.
Oswald yelled and began to claw at the large hand tied around his waist. His eyes opened wider at the sight of three rows of sharp, yellow teeth below him. "Oh, God... no, no, no! Please no!" Waylon smiled, letting another ten teeth into view.
Someone fired. A bullet smashed between his scales and he dropped Oswald with a mighty roar. He swung his tail round, toppling three of the men around him like dominoes. Surging forward, Wayon brought the two men left over together and threw them across the road. None of them got up. He turned to Oswald.
"Who are you and what do you want!? Why are you here!?" Oswald thundered, pushing himself away.
"My name is Waylon Jones," he hissed. "But that's Killer Croc to you, weirdo." Waylon circled him for a moment. "And I have a message to deliver to ya. Bruce Wayne, some guy wants 'im, dead or alive. Pass it on, Penguin." he bounded away into the night, leaving Oswald in the snow.
The following morning was bleak and grey. Fortunately, the snow had stopped at some point the night before, but the ground was icy and rain clouds were gathering in the distance.
Bruce woke up in a torn armchair next to Jim. He was asleep. Bruce sighed and got up slowly, trying not to wake him or any of the injured people around him. A nurse was cleaning up in the room ahead, she could be seen through a window into the main room. He began to make his way over to her, stepping around the worn bandages and charded glass on the floor.
Bruce opened the door and caught the attention of the nurse.
"Ah, Mr Wayne," she said lightly, shaking his hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"How is he?" Bruce looked through the window expectantly at Jim.
"At the moment he seems to be holding up okay, but Captain Gordon still needs around-the-clock treatment. His wounds are quite serious." the nurse sighed. "Unfortunately, we have many patients already here, and supplies are already running low... we may have to move him and the others to Gotham General."
"Gotham General?" Bruce stuttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no, no... you don't understand. You can't do that,"
She tilted her head. "Why not?"
"It's too dangerous, with the criminals rising the first place they'll be headed is the hospital. I was told most of the city's remaining supplies are kept there... and it's not just us that are desperate."
"I understand, Mr Wayne, but they cannot stay here. It's too unhygienic, the risk of infection is too great."
"Well, then... if we're going to move them," Bruce said, arching his shoulders. "We're gonna have to move them pretty soon if we're going to miss any trouble on the way." he looked out of the window. "With the rain setting in, there's no way Firefly will be able to attack as we cross through her territory."
The nurse picked up a radio and began to speak into it. "Bruce, please wait outside whilst I negotiate with the others."
He nodded and walked out silently as she began a conversation with the person on the other line. As he entered the main room, he noticed Jim sitting up on his bed and decided to walk over.
"You should be resting," Bruce said, standing at the foot of his bed.
Jim sighed. "I know, but I can't know Jerome is out there. And as for Jeremiah..." he looked at the boy before glancing away. "Well, enough said. I can't rest knowing there are people in Gotham who are in danger... there are children out there, all alone."
"There's nothing you can do about that now, Captain Gordon." Bruce replied. "The best you can do is wait until you get better, the GCPD will help as many people as they can. I'll keep looking for Jeremiah."
There was a paused as the nurse approached. "It is settled," she said, clapping her hands gently. "The patients shall be moved to Gotham General as soon as it begins to rain, in the meantime, we need the GCPD to clear a path on the streets for the transportation to pass through."
Jim began to lift himself out of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"And as for you, James, you will travel along side the patients." she crossed her arms.
"You're going to need all the help you can get,"
"That is why your men will assist us on the journey,"
Jim spoke before they walked away. "Bruce, tell Harvey I'm leaving him in charge."
Bruce nodded and walked into the next room with the nurse. Police officers were milling from corner to corner, loading guns and packing necessities. They appeared to have gotten the message from the nurse.
He walked to the table ahead of him and took a shining pistol from the top right and double checked he still had the knife he had taken from the cafeteria earlier. Best to be over prepared than underprepared, he thought, no one knows what trouble we could run into. Bruce took another handful of bullets and stuffed them into his pockets.
"Bruce," called a voice behind him. It was Harvey. "How ya holding up?"
Bruce shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It's kinda difficult to take in, to be honest. I worried about Selina."
"You'll get to see her at Gotham General, and I'm sure she's fine." Harvey replied, trying to comfort the boy. "She's been through worse."
"You're right, she has." he sniffed and looked out of the window, seeing a few drops of rain hit the glass.
"I heard you went to see Jim, did he say anything?"
"He put you in charge," Bruce watched the rain speed up. "C'mon, we'd better get going."
Harvey's brow creased as he pointed a finger to himself. He nodded slowly before following him outside along the the other officers. Loading his gun, he watched a school bus pull up on the road. He jumped onto the platform and waited.
"Listen up," Harvey grabbed everyone's attention, twenty pairs of eyes settling on him. "We've got a lot on our plate right now, and I can understand the pressure you're under right now. But I know we can pull through," a few cops at the back nodded at each other and exchanged glances. "Our priority is the safety of this bus, if we run into trouble fire at will."
Fifteen minutes later, around thirty patients had been loaded onto the bus. The officers were travelling by car; the only ones left were rusted fords that had been dug out from the yard of the building. Bruce was in the third car from the end, his head through the sunroof and holding the pistol he had picked up beforehand.
There was a 'clunk' as the bus started up.