Polarity

by Chris Myers

When a Romero-style zombie outbreak hits, three supervillains, led by a long time loser, find themselves doing whatever it takes to save themselves, and eventually, the rest of humanity.

12. Executive Orders

Norman Osborn, formerly the Green Goblin, and now government-appointed head of the Thunderbolts, a superhero team composed of reformed villains.

You want to talk about a complete and utter nutcase, this was the guy. Formerly the owner of Osborn Industries, Osborn had never been the most stable guy. Anytime I came across him in the trade magazine or saw him on TV, the guy just...looked off. Sometimes, he'd be sweating like a pig, and other times, he'd just be staring, slightly off focus, like he saw something no one else in the room could put an eye on. There was no denying the man's a genius. The stuff he built and designed for his company was nothing short of freakin' remarkable, and that's not including all the toys he designed for his reign of terror as the Green Goblin. Pumpkin bombs, both explosive and gas-filled, the glider he swooped around in...anyone can build equipment like that, but the key thing was building it so it'd work in the field under abnormal conditions. And, like any genius who designed technology like that, he used it to throw himself at Spider-Man. I'd never seen anyone who had such a mad-on towards the Web Crawler, and I've known plenty of people who'd love to take a literal stab at the guy. The Green Goblin did everything he could to Spider-Man. I don't know the full details, but I heard the whispers and the rumors, stuff about throwing a girlfriend off the Brooklyn Bridge (or was it the George Washington?) and knowing Spider-Man's true identity. And then, add on top of that the fact that the Green Goblin was a homicidal maniac. I always talk about how I pride myself on never killing anyone, and there are a couple supervillains who share that same feeling. You got a guy like Boomerang, or Speed Demon, who doesn't have a problem offing anyone who gets in their way, but doesn't go out of their way to murder someone.

Then, you got the Green Goblin, who has no problem dive bombing the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, winging those bombs around, blowing up everything in sight, all while cackling madly...and all just to draw Spider-Man's attention. Just standing on a street corner somewhere in costume would get that guy's attention, but the Goblin rook special delight in causing and spreading misery.

When the Green Goblin got unmasked as Norman Osborn, a lot of people were shocked and stunned, myself included...though, after a few seconds of thought, it didn't surprise me, seeing the type of guy Norman was. So he gets locked away after someone spills the beans that he's the Green Goblin, and New York breathes a sigh of relief. Then a few years later, I turn on the TV, and the Secretary of Homeland Security is announcing that Norman Osborn is the new head of the Thunderbolts.

I spoke for most of the world when I said...what the hell?

The government shot him full of medicine, put him on anti-psychotic drugs, and just handed him control of a federally sponsored team of superpowered folk. Personally, I would have assumed having to use the word "psychotic" in that sentence would tell someone in charge just how bad an idea that was.

It goes back to what I said earlier in this little tale. Norman Osborn, genius, nutjob, mass murderer...respected. Herman Schultz, genius, professional, not a murderer...joke. Maybe I was a little jealous. Ok, I was a little jealous. Not that I'd want to try to run, handle, and control a team made up of villains who are trying to go legit...let me put it this way. Speed Demon was a Thunderbolt for a brief period of time. That right there would be enough to make me tear my hair out, as much as James is a quasi-friend of mine. You're basically taking a group of superpower bad guys, many of who have multiple issues of their own, and putting a psychotic mass murderer in charge of their activities.

Honestly, I want to know what bureaucrat in Washington, staring at all these dossiers, and knowing the history of Norman Osborn, though "hey, this is a great idea!" Just having a chance to trace his logical thought process fascinates the hell out of me.

Now, I admit, I have a personal stake in this. Remember earlier in this story, when I mentioned how, before teaming up with the Trapster on the bearer bond job, I had almost killed him to collect a price on his head? Well, the bounty had been set by Norman Osborn. It was all in some grand plot to incriminate Spider-Man in the murder of somebody, and Trapster had been one of the guys helping with the frame-up...which made him a loose end in Osborn's eyes. The price had been high enough, and I had been desperate enough at the time, to make a play on the Trapster's life. And I had him. Cornered in an alley, weaponless, and if some vigilante hadn't shown up and stopped me, odds are I would have pushed the trigger. I won't sit here and attempt to justify my actions or give up any sort of moral rationalization, aside from saying I made the call, I hunted him down, and I almost killed the Trapster. But the fact that, in the end, I willingly made myself a pawn in one of the Green Goblin's schemes...I didn't directly blame Norman Osborn for my decision, but it definitely shoved my feelings for him towards the negative end of the battery.

X

I remembered to grab a white t-shirt from the top of my dresser as I charged out of the sleeping area. "What about Norman Osborn, Fred?" I asked this as I pulled the shirt over my head.

Fred's head jerked up as he heard my voice, but he soon was motioning me over towards the living area. "You gotta bloody hear this, mate." Boomerang was sitting alone on the couch in front of the big TV. Even at 9:30 in the morning, he still had a bottle of beer in one hand, going along with the four empty bottles on the coffee table. On the other futon, Rhino's broad back was to us as he caught himself a nap. Slumped into the chair next to the futon, the clerk from the 7-11 was catching a few z's as well. "Where's everyone else?" I sighed as I sat down on the couch next to the Australian, feeling only minimum soreness in my muscles and joints after last night's little excursions. "Don't tell me they all tried to leave too."

"Catching a nap in the truck. Here," Fred said. A cold bottle of beer was pressed into my hands.

"Dude, it's 9:30 in the morning," I protested, handing it back to him.

"I know, but we're out of Scotch."

Now that I was awake, Fred turned the TV up a little louder. He had kept it on ABC throughout the night, and the banner at the bottom of the screen announced the identity of the man currently giving a speech.

NORMAN OSBORN – ACTING SECRETARY OF HOMELAND SECURITY.

"Wait, what..."

"The other guy got eaten last night. Now quiet, Herman, you need to hear this."

Osborn stood behind a podium. As a backdrop, the American flag hung from the wall, framing the man as he boldly spoke into the camera. "I repeat, by order of the President of the United States, citizens may no longer occupy private residents, no matter how safely protected, or well stocked they may be."

It was a good thing I wasn't holding a bottle of beer, because I probably would have let it shatter all over the floor. "What?"

"At the end of this statement, the Department of Homeland Security will distribute a list, via the Emergency Broadcasting System and the Internet. This list will contain the rescue stations that have been set up by SHIELD, the Initiative, the Thunderbolts, and Homeland Security. Citizens are to find the closest rescue station to their place of residence and make their way to the location as soon and as safely as possible, where the government will provide food, shelter, medical attention, and armed protection against the wave of homicide that had infected this nation. Homeland Security has made this difficult decision to allow a consolidation of resources into key areas of the nation, and allow our brave men and women of our armed forces and the Initiative to strike back against this numerous foe without loss of civilian life."

It was HOW it was saying it, the way he said things smoothly like it was the best idea possible. The classic "I'm from the government, and I'm here to help" moment, delivered with smooth, even tones.

"National Guard units will be dispatched to assist civilians in reaching these rescue stations, but with the military responding to this crisis, resources are stretched thin. Citizens are encouraged to make their way to these stations as quickly and as safely as possible. Citizens who choose not to obey this order will be forcibly removed from their residences. I repeat, citizens who choose not to obey this order, directly issued by the President of the United States, will be forcibly removed, at gunpoint."

Osborn looked into the camera now. The cocktail of meds that they gave him must have been perfectly mixed, because he radiated an aura of calmness and reassurance. He stared out of the TV, at anyone still watching, and there wasn't a single hint of madness in his eyes. "I am aware that liberty and property will be violated by this order. But in this crisis, the survival of not just the United States, but humanity itself, is at stake. Every dead body that is not destroyed becomes one of them. It gets up and kills. The people it kills...get up and kill. We have seen footage of men, women, and children being overwhelmed by these creatures, believing they were safe behind closed and locked doors, until the weight of numbers was simply too much for the structure to bear. And those men, women, and children, after all too brief a time, rose up and joined the very army of the undead that had slaughtered them. It is the job of this administration, of this government, to stem that tide, and by bearing all of our resources to bear..."

"Heard enough," Boomerang said. He flicked a bottle cap towards the TV. The projectile hit the MUTE button, and Osborn's speech was cut off, even as the new Secretary of Homeland Security continued to talk.

"Dude, that's a new TV," I protested.

"Like I'd miss." With a metallic hiss, Boomerang opened up another bottle of beer, the one I had turned down a few minutes earlier. I eyed the pile of empties on the table warily as he took a good long pull from the bottle.

"Fred, how many of those have you had?"

"It's American beer. You count those as one-half a bottle. So...I think I've had 12-pack since yesterday evening." If he was tipsy, Boomerang didn't show it. "So, Herman...what do you think about old Norman's little idea?"

There was a bottle of water on the table. It was room temperature, but it went a long way towards getting the post-sleep, pre-brushing taste out of my mouth. "On paper," I replied to Fred, settling back on the couch, eyes watching the silent TV, "it ain't a bad idea. If anyone these things eat gets back up and start stumbling around, it's like the Emperor's Reward. An army that grows expodentially. And if this is going on everywhere..." My mind was working on the problem, but the pieces weren't quite sliding in the direction I was expecting them to. I followed it out, though. "...I mean, a guy like Iron Man, he can handle, God, ten of those things? But he can't be in three places at once. It's like a human wave attack. You can't defend everywhere. So, you shorten your perimeter. Maximum firepower, all your supplies in one place, and no time wasted on travel. It...it almost makes sense." The water sloshed in my mouth as I swished it around before swallowing.

"One problem, mate. A big bloody problem in my estimation. You see the streets lately?" Boomerang motioned with his bottle to the roof over our heads. "Took a walk up there this morning after I couldn't catch a damn bit of sleep. And there's more of those things out there this morning...relax," he said, seeing the worried look that had jumped across my face, "there aren't many down this way. No one's on the docks this morning, and no one was down here clubbing after hours. To those things, there's no food this way, so we're the ass-end of Manhattan. Took a look up towards the West Side Highway this morning, though. All last night, the Army's been sweeping up and down, clearing the wrecked vehicles, gunning down those ghouls, pretty much keeping things nice and tidy, right?" I nodded, but in response, he shook his head in a grim fashion. "So, this morning, why were there at least 10 of those things that I could see? Just walking around, minding their own business, not worrying about a damn soldier with a rifle?"

"Because...because those things are everywhere, Fred. It's like Osborn said, you die, you come back."

"Alright, but it ain't just that, Herman. That was just on the street. And from what I saw, the same was going on at the Jersey end of the Holland Tunnel, what I could see of it. Looks like someone's got a roadblock there, and there was a lot of gunfire coming from that way. And that's just the roads, Herman..."

That was the last tumbler. I remembered the Prosario's apartment building, and the horde walking around on the upper floors. "...the buildings. Apartments, offices, public places. My God, Fred."

"Bingo. My Pappy used to tell me back in Alice Springs, for every spider you see, there's five you don't." He tipped his head back, finishing the beer in his hand. "So I'll admit that much, Osborn's got it right. These guys, every time you turn around there's more of them." Fred put the empty on the table, and grabbed yet another one. Without ceremony, he popped the cap and sipped at the head. "So now...now, you got the ghouls you don't see. And from what you told me about that kid's apartment building, those ghouls were just minding their own business until Aleksei made some noise, and then they all started coming for you." Fred took a small sip. "Now what happens when everyone who's hiding out starts going for a walk up to..."

He pointed at the screen. "NEW YORK CITY – MANHATTAN – CENTRAL PARK."

"...past all those buildings?"

Christ.

"Ok, hold up...we don't know that every building's a death trap," I countered. "That apartment building could have been an outlier, an anomaly."

"Mate," Fred replied, shaking his head slowly, "there's a lot of buildings on Manhattan."

X

By 10:30 am, everyone had woken up. Rhino was the last one. I already had the big mug of coffee ready for him as he sat on the edge of the reinforced couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and letting the blanket drop to the floor. "Morning, big guy," I said as I handed him the cup. "When did you get to sleep?"

"'bout 6." Aleksei blew on the rim of the cup, scattering the wisps of steam coming from the hot liquid. "Made sure every was settled in before crashing out. How did you sleep?"

"Like the de...like a log." I studied him for a second. "You slept in your costume?" One hand rapped the gray molecules that ran up and down one massive arm. "That couldn't have been comfortable, man."

"Herman, there are ladies present. Plus, I wanted to be ready in case something happened." The futon groaned with relief as Aleksei stood up. We wandered over to the kitchen, and soon, I was thanking God for stereotypes. Anne and Peter, the Serbian couple from the bakery, were already pulling breakfast from the stove, and all of us survivors gathered around a long table Fred and I had set up earlier. The clerk and Ashley dove right into the sausages and warm bread, along with Rhino. I stuck with the donuts. Ever have donuts almost right out of the oven? Boomerang had a bit of everything. At the end of the table, Robert and his son, Ernesto, were picking at their food, but they were eating it. The shock had worn off from their family's death, it looked like. It hardly seemed strange in retrospect, civilians and supervillains sharing a friendly morning meal in the middle of a warehouse while the world came to an end. Looking back, I think we all were appreciating the normalcy of the situation, how it could have been just another day, saved for the criminals.

The TV was still muted, running a list of rescue stations for the New York City area, as we finished. After the events of last night, all of us chowed down on our fill of the freshly made breakfast. The couple, almost immediately, started to clean the table. The old man slapped at Aleksei's hand when he reached to grab a dirty plate, and rattled off rapid-fire Serbian at my friend. Aleksei shot him a sheepish look, responding in his native tongue with a wry grin on his face.

"Mate," Fred asked, drinking coffee now, "where in the hell did you find those two?"

"I used to date one of their nieces back in the Old Country," Rhino replied. He was leaning back in the big chair, content from the breakfast filling his stomach. "They moved over here a few years after I did, and I got word some of Hammerhead's goons were trying to get them to pay protection money for the bakery. Broke a few skulls, told Hammerhead I was the protection for that place, and ever since then, it's pretty much free pastry when I wanted it."

The clerk (Bobby was his name, by the way) looked up at Rhino from where he sat, a confused look on his face. "You...you give them protection? In return for pie? I don't believe it."

"Kid," Aleksei rumbled good-naturedly in reply, "you'd be surprised the lengths a guy will go to when he gets his hands on some good pie."

"But...you...I've seen you rob a bank! And take on Spider-Man at the same time!"

His big neck craned up and down as he nodded. "Yeah, but you always support your own. They're from my neck of the woods back in Europe. No one's gonna take advantage of them while I'm around."

"I..." Bobby shook his head. "...it doesn't make sense."

Next to him, Ashley reached over and gently patted the tattooed clerk on the back of his hand. "It's ok. I thought all bad guys were just bad guys too."

I couldn't help but ask. "What changed your mind?"

"You guys last night," Ashley replied. "I mean...don't get me wrong, I don't approve of your lifestyle choice and still think you're criminals, but...you guys have lives. Families too, I bet. It just takes a bit to get used to...but I never thought it'd be the Rhino and the Shocker who ended up saving my life on purpose."

"Lifestyle choice...you make it sound like gay marriage." The table snickered a bit at Boomerang's quip. "Think about it for a bit, though," he said once it died down, "Aleksei here has a point. You support your own. Now, I ain't that altruistic, but Herman and Aleksei here...well, mankind might be turning into an endangered species."

"Wow." I shot a look Fred's way at that comment. "Way to kill the vibe, man. And just when we were gonna solve the civilian-supervillain impasse."

"Sorry, Herman. Idle chatter is all well and good, but I think we got a bigger issue right now, mates and sheilas." Boomerang leaned back in his chair, and produced a cigar from his costume's pocket. "Anyone mind?" Before anyone could object, he lit a match off the side of his leg, and puffed the stogie into life. "Cards on the table, everyone. While you were sleeping, I got to play Big Brother and keep an eye on the TV most of the evening. And I ain't gonna mince words...we're so screwed."

Fred gave the rundown on Norman Osborn's speech and the Executive Order that went along with it. Granted, his recap used a lot more swear words and even a reference to relations with farm animals, but it got the point across pretty clearly.

"So, technically, by sitting here, behind metal walls, sealed doors, and sharing this fine breakfast with three wanted criminals, all while remaining safe from the hordes of flesh eatings freaks wandering around Manhattan..." Fred waved the stub of his cigar for emphasis. "...we're breaking federal law." He smirked, and drew a laugh from Aleksei when he joked "welcome to the bad guys, everyone."

"That can't be right." Robert was the first one to chime in, from down at the far end of the table. "The government has to know what the streets are like. Just hours after everything started..." He motioned to Aleksei and I, sitting side-by-side. "You two saw it. So did you, Ashley. The streets were getting thick with those things even then. And...I can only imagine how much worse they are now."

"No, man," Bobby countered, gesturing with a tattooed arm. "I mean, it's been at least 12 hours. The National Guard, SHIELD, they got called out. They've been out there sweeping the streets, right?"

Fred chose that time to interject. "Herman and I had that conversation while you guys were napping. The military has been out there doing their thing. But from where I was standing on the roof, I didn't see a damn bit of difference, kid. Put one down, two more takes its place."

The clerk looked dejected for a second, but he looked back up with renewed hope. "But, we haven't heard any sirens down this way. And none of those things have pounded on the doors. And if there aren't any of those things down this way..."

"Sorry, Bobby, but this is the ass-end of TriBeCa." It was my turn to dash the kid's hopes as I told him, "when it comes to residential housing, the boom didn't touch this part of the island yet. This is all still warehouses and docks, and since nobody's working down here this morning...well, to be blunt, there isn't any food down here."

"Except for us," Robert conceded.

"Except for us," I acknowledged. "Which means, eventually...one of those things is going to stumble down this way, and if he...or she...suspects that there's someone alive down here, they'll bring more of their buddies along the way."

Ashley semi-raised her hand, trying to grab my attention. "How? Those things...they don't talk. How do they communicate?"

"Those moans they make." All eyes turned to Rhino. The table creaked a bit as he clasped his hands, leaning forward on the table to look at everyone, making eye contact as he spoke. "You've all heard them. It's like a mating call, except it ain't. Like a cop getting on the horn and telling everyone there's a bad guy cornered in an apartment building, and then all the boys in blue show up and bust inside. One of those zombies moans, and it tells the rest of them that there's a poor sucker waiting to get snacked on."

"Lovely," Ashley shivered.

"Sorry, darling," Rhino responded, "they don't pay me to sugar-coat. They're like wild dogs. Once they lock onto a scent, they're not letting go until they brought..."

"Ok, I think they get the point, Aleksei," I interrupted him.

The big guy shook his head. "They might, but Osborn didn't. Putting that many people on the streets just to walk all the way to Central Park is going to ring the dinner bell..." He paused for a second. I knew that look pretty well from years of working with my friend. An idea had just fluttered across his mind, and Aleksei was reaching out and trying to grab it before it got away...

...and lucky for all of us, in the long term, he managed to snatch it.

"...and all those zombies are going to head up that way." He nodded, once, firmly. "Yeah. Anyone going up to Central Park, they're gonna be dragging a whole bunch of ghouls behind them. And those ghouls ain't gonna go away when they get there, either. They're gonna keep hanging around, like back at...at the 7-11," he said after glancing at the Prosario's for a moment. "They know there's food in there, so they ain't gonna stop. They'll be attracted to Central Park..."

"Like a magnet."

Aleksei turned to me, and I could see the train of thought had left the station once I had interrupted him. "Huh?"

"Like a magnet...where the food is, so are they." Suddenly, I was pushing myself away from the table. "It makes sense, Aleksei, it does." After a few seconds, the people at the table were watching me dragging a whiteboard towards them, putting it in plain and easy sight. "Look," I said as I was dry-erasing away the plans of me and the Trapster's armored car heist...two or three days ago. It seemed a LOT longer than that now. "Here's Manhattan, and here are the bridges." It was a quick outline of the city, the stretched oval of Manhattan and the bridges and tunnels leading from the Outer Boroughs, drawn in dark green magic marker. "And here's the people going to Central Park." Long, sweeping, curved arrows, all pointing to the rectangle I had added to the center of the oval. "Everyone's gonna be heading there because Norman Osborn said so, and that's where the good guys are. Problem is..."

This one took the red marker. "...because we know those things seem to love the chase as well as the damn catch..." I drew red arrows, parallel to the green arrows. "...the zombies are gonna be heading there as well." A big red circle around Central Park hopefully drove the point home. "And once they're there, they won't budge."

After a few seconds of appropriate silence, I picked back up the green marker. "However..." On the lower end of the island, I drew a big circle. "...the good news is, none of these arrows..."

Capping the marker, I thumped the circle with the end of the writing instrument. "...come anywhere near us."

"Wait," Bobby said. "You just told us eventually those things are going to wander down this way...and now you're saying they aren't?"

"Not exactly, but yeah, I see why you're confused. What I'm saying is going to Central Park is a bad idea. A really bad idea. Unless Osborn is setting up one big killzone to blow the heads off every zombie that shows up, but why would he put civilians in the line of fire?"

"Mate, it IS Norman Osborn..."

"Good point, Fred. But my point is, Bobby, we're gonna get SOME of the zombies, but nowhere near as many as we would have, because they're all gonna be trying to take a walk in the park." I tapped Central Park again with the marker. "Look at it this way. They're going to be taking the heat off of us."

"Us?" Robert studied me with a critical eye, leaning back a little bit in his chair. "What do you mean? You're not going to Central Park?"

I shook my head, feeling a small smirk trying to grow on my face. "Nope. Fred has the right idea. My ass is staying right here, Robert. And I'm hoping everyone else decides to stay too."

Bobby and Ashley tried to speak up at this point, but Robert overwrote them. His voice sounded as strong as it had last night. "Ok, Mr. Schultz. Defend your position, without resorting to violence and breaking things, please."

I laughed at his confidence, managing to bring a smile to his face. "Alright, Robert. This warehouse is pretty damn secure. The way I fixed it up, it'd give Spider-Man pause trying to get in here, let alone a bunch of undead, who don't have wall-crawling abilities and super-strength. With a couple of more improvements..." I looked around, nodding to myself as I spoke. "...yeah, we can make this place a fortress. There are three entry points, and two are already welded shut." I stepped away from the board and pointed towards the large loading door. "We can weld and put up some spare scrap metal and seal that entrance.'

"Alright," Robert countered. "Then how do we get out?"

"Two ways. There's a ladder on the roof that can be used to go over to the abandoned cannery next door. But the other way is in the middle of that pile of crates." Motioning towards the boxes at the center of the warehouse, I explained. "There's a trap door that leads to a storm drain that leads to where I keep my getaway ride. You open the storm drain door and you're on an access road that'll take you right to the West Side Highway. And there's enough room in the van for everyone currently here."

"Dude, I do NOT like boarding myself up in here. I've seen those movies," the 7-11 clerk proclaimed, "I know what happens. The zombies always break in and kill everyone inside."

"Well, Central Park's just a big fortress then, Bobby, with more people inside and a lot more zombies outside trying to break in." The words came out harshly, like they always do when I'm dealing with civilians. Bobby flinched a bit at my tone, and I found myself trying to soothe him. "Look, it's not the best place to be, I know. Right now, I'd rather be on an island somewhere surrounded by blue water, on a white beach, with a cold drink in one hand and something remarkably firm-breasted in the other, but I'm not, and you don't have a great rack." I tried to grin at the young adult. "It's just not the right play, alright? It's too many people, too many ghouls, and if something goes wrong...here, we at least have an exit to run for."

Robert nodded at the other end of the table. "Alright. Good points. But what about the food, shelter, medical attention...and the fact that the Avengers are probably going to be there as well."

"After that little demonstration by Hawkeye while Herman here was rescuing you, forgive him if the Avengers aren't really high on his Christmas card list right now." Fred's voice took on a cheap imitation of mine. "Hello, I'm the Shocker, criminal genius, and I've brought these six civilians through the mean streets of New York to your rescue station." Now, a high falsetto. "Oh, thank you so very much, Shocker. While you're here, can we show the inside of our lovely jail cell? Just slap these handcuffs on and we'll whisk you right over, well SCREW that." Fred tapped his chest with the burned out stub of his cigar. "My arse is parked right here."

"What about you, Aleksei?" The question didn't come from me, but from Robert. Rhino looked a bit surprised by the question, coming directly from the civilian. He blinked twice before giving his answer to the Hispanic.

"Herman thinks it's a good idea. That's good enough for me. But...we're gonna need a few things. More food, for one. Probably some more first aid stuff. This place wasn't made for this many people to crash all at once, especially if something goes wrong. " Aleksei looked at me from the opening in his suit, and sighed while giving a weary smile. "Means we're probably gonna have to go back out and get some more stuff, Herman."

I hadn't thought of that. Christ...

"Can I just offer one alternative, before we make a commitment?" Bobby waited for me to nod. "Thanks. Look...why can't we just, I don't know, LEAVE the island? Get a big car or van and just drive?"

"Everything's one way," Fred replied. "I saw the bridges this morning. Traffic's coming onto the island, but it ain't leaving it." He shook his head. "I couldn't believe it. Osborn's got everyone coming ONTO the island instead of running the hell away from it. But yeah, the roadblocks are up, and from what I saw, it's open season on the ghoulies...but the only people leaving the island are military. Not civilian."

"Last suggestion, ok? Last one. A boat. Why can't we just hijack a boat," Bobby asked, "and leave that way? Make it to Jersey down near Atlantic City or something?"

"Not a bad idea, Bobby. That's actually...can you drive a boat?" Bobby, after a few seconds, shook his head sadly at my question. "Damn," I cursed. "Can anyone here drive a boat? Anyone? Pete? Anne?" Rhino's baker friends started at me for a moment as the big guy translated, but shook their heads 'no' once he finished. Would have been freakin nice...

Would have's didn't help us right now, though. It was about what we had on hand, or what we could easily obtain. Doing some quick math in our head, I figured we had the day to shore things up and turn this place into a fortress, but with Rhino doing the heavy lifting and me doing the spot welding, it wouldn't take that long. The key was going to be figuring out what supplies we needed, how long we were gonna be in here, and how long we could keep under the radar...

Damn it. Being a hero was more prep work then being a bad guy.

"Ok, everyone. As I said I'm staying here, and Boomerang and Rhino have made it pretty clear they're staying here too. Technically, this isn't a private residence, so Norman Osborn can go spit for all I care. Now...I want you all to stay. You want to walk out that door and go up to Central Park, I won't stop you. But I'll tell you that I think you'd be making a really stupid choice that's gonna bite you in the ass, literally in this case. You got 15 minutes to decide before we start welding that door shut, so make your call now."

I was pushing the whiteboard back over to my workspace when I heard a chair scrape behind me. "Mr. Shocker," Robert's voice spoke, "I don't think we have 15 minutes to waste before we start to weld. And I, for one, along with Ernesto, will be staying here. You risked your life for my son's, and mine as well. I trust you."

"Yeah..." Bobby ran a hand through his hair, a wary look on his face. "I mean, you're a bad guy...and Boomerang's a bad guy...and Rhino's a bad guy...but...you saved my ass, man. I got nowhere else to go, anyway...least a place with a big TV like you got." Ah, honesty of the youth...

"I'm in the same boat as Bobby. I don't have anywhere else to go...and you guys brought us here..." Ashley nodded. "Yes. I'll stay."

"They're in," Rhino spoke, motioning to Peter and Anne after a few moments of conversation.

"Great...great." 24 hours ago, this situation would have been completely unfathomable to me. Two friends, six strangers, a big breakfast, and a horde of hungry zombies roaming the streets.

New York, huh? What a town.

Welding the doors...taking stock of the supplies we had...figuring out what supplies we need and how much of it...oh, and now, avoiding the US military as well as the living dead. It could be done. We had the time.

"Ok. We're gonna keep you guys safe, I promise." Out of the corners of my eyes, to one side, Rhino was nodding. To the other, Boomerang was shaking his head. Both were signs of encouragement. "Robert's right. We got a bunch of work to do. Let's get to it."

X

I didn't WANT the responsibility.

In retrospect, knowing what role my warehouse hideout would take on in the next week, that statement's pretty laughable. In the here and now, didn't we just see Herman Schultz, using a whiteboard as a teaching aid, talk about zombie migration patterns and spot welding and promising six civilians he and his band of villains would keep them safe and secure?

Damn it, I hate when people use logic against me.

As a villain, you get used to a certain...sense of independence. Sure, you have your drinking buddies, and you have your occasional partners in crime, but in the long run, most jobs and gigs are pulled off by you and you alone. When teaming up with another supervillain, the odds lean towards the association ending badly more often than not. Ever see two superheroes meet? They usually brawl at first, until they both get a clue and realize the other guy's a cape as well, and then put aside their differences to beat up on the poor schmuck or schmucks who get in their way. Bad guys are different. We'll get along at first, save for the sniping and snide comments as we mark our territory and pee on the other guy's leg. But when push comes to shove, the cracks show up, and there's a double-cross, or someone flees the scene, or grabs the money and runs...a few gigs like that, and you quickly realize you're better off on your own. Aside from Rhino, who I've never had a problem with, and Boomerang, who I've had minimal problems with, every attempt I've ever made to work with another villains goes sideways...98.7% of them, actually, since Trapster and I did pull off their armored car heist a few days previous. Mostly though, it's ego, pride, and a whole bunch of personal issues that lead to the inevitable "my swinging cod's bigger than your swinging cod" blow-up that ALWAYS happens when the good guys show up, and instead of putting your difference aside, you fight them and each other...

I prefer to work alone. A job is tough enough when you plan for just one person. Add a second person and the complexity quadruples. At a third, and now you're working at the sixteenth power. Screw that. The key to most jobs is to make them as simple as possible and avoid trying to being a fancy show-off. It took me a while to learn that lesson, but sometimes, sacrificing your pride for a simple "smash window, grab jewelry" job is worth the payday. More importantly, working on your own teaching you the other important supervillain quality, self-reliance. When everything goes to hell, as it always, always, always does, you have to be able to always count on yourself to see things through. Odds are, the carefully laid, flawless plan you laid out to rob the Last National Bank is going to go wrong because Spider-Man just happened to be swinging by. When that happens, you can't depend on anyone else but you to get the job done...or cut bait and abandon the job...and get home in one non-incarcerated piece. Since the first time I broke out of jail, I always did my best to make sure I didn't need anyone else. Sure, you do favors, you sometimes pull a job with someone you think you can trust, but if something happened, and it was just me...no Rhino, no Boomerang, no Speed Demon, hell, even no Trapster...I could handle it. I'd probably panic and grouse loudly, but I could handle it.

It boils down to being responsible for yourself. When it does go wrong, and you do end up losing, you have to say "I screwed up." Yeah, Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America, they may have had a large hand in putting you behind bars, but you had a part in it too. When you start pointing the finger at everyone else...there's a reason why a guy like Electro, a living megawatt battery who could stop a heart from 50 yards away, keeps getting his butt kicked by Spider-Man. It's because Electro refuses to learn, to get better, to realize his mistakes. I may not have Electro's name recognition, but I'll tell you this, and yeah, I'm bragging. I got a better win-loss record against Spider-Man then a lot of other villains out there, and it's because I never lose the same way twice, and I never win the same way twice...

Ok, enough with the pep talk. My whole point with this part of the tale is this. I'm responsible for myself and that's where the buck stops. Tonight, I just spread that out to include six people I barely knew. I went out there, and I helped save their lives, and in doing so, I took them under my protection. I said "nothing will harm you, especially the flesh eating zombies currently walking around." Now, we're in the middle of welding scrap metal and some steel plating over the loading dock door, working together...

I am NOT ready for this.

I wanted the Avengers to swoop in. Just come flying down from the sky and take them off my hands, going "alright, you did your penance, we'll take it from here." Whatever was going on, however, it was kicking the ass of the cape-and-cowl community. You could see it on TV, and I'll go into detail in a little bit, but the heroes were losing. This was a new enemy, one that didn't quit, give up, or could be convinced and reasoned with. You couldn't find the leader and shoot him in the face, or make him surrender, or cause a split in the ranks. But here I was, Herman Schultz, promising to protect people from the very same threat the big guns of the world couldn't hold back.

And it weighed on my mind, every single thing I did those few hours.

Maybe that's why, before all this, I never considered being a hero. Too much responsibility.

X

"Can you think of anything we're missing?"

Robert took the list from my hand. He looked it over a few times, his eyes scanning the document. "No, Herman. I think that's everything. Ashley, what do you think?" He handed the list to the blonde, who gave it her own once-over.

"Um...actually...yeah, there is something we need." She looked up at me, and I watched as a band of red rose in her cheeks. "You see...I could use some...er..." After a few seconds of stammering, she motioned for me to lean closer with a crook of her finger. Her breath felt warm in my ear as she whispered.

"Oh..." I felt a little bit of red rise to my face in embarrassment once I realized what she was asking for. "Yeah...I'll make sure to grab some for you. Definitely." Ashley sighed in relief, chuckling nervously, as I took the list back from her. I tucked it into my costume's pocket, magnetically sealing it to ensure the vital piece of paper wouldn't get lost. The last thing in the world I wanted to do right now was make two trips. If all went well, this would be the last time I set foot outside the warehouse until...well, until someone came to rescue us. Or something went horribly, horribly wrong. Ok, Herman, positive thoughts, good mental attitude, don't be a pessimist. Just a quick out, a quick grab, and a quick in. You did it twice the night before, so you can pull it off now.

Behind me, I heard a soft pinging sound. Rhino had lightly rapped a knuckle against the two steel plates that were now welded across the loading dock door. "Herman, you sure this will hold," he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"It'll hold." I walked over and stood next to my friend, looking at the seven-foot high plates. They overlapped slightly in the middle to provide a joint, reinforced with some scrap metal I had lying around. The edges were welded to the guiderails for the loading dock door, and those had been strongly reinforced with some extra clamps and U-Joints. It had been quick work at first, with Rhino holding the plates in place while Robert and I welded them into place, but once the wall had been built, reinforcing it had been a snap. "It's not pretty, yeah. But it'll hold up. Hell, it's stronger then the walls of the warehouse, Aleksei."

"Are you sure, Herman? Enough to stake our lives on it?"

"Christ, man...look," I said, "it's the best we could do with what we got on hand. It ain't pretty, but it'll hold up if those things come banging against the door. You gotta stop worrying about everything, big guy." I lightly swatted him on the arm. "That's my job, alright? 10 minutes, then we're out." I left him still staring at the makeshift wall, as if simply thinking about making it stronger would cause it to happen.

"Herman, got some damn good news." Boomerang was sitting in front of the TV as I walked over to the living area. He was wearing the headset, a one-earpiece, hands-free microphone setup, that I had dug out of mothballs for him the night before. Aside from doubling as a cell phone or a two-way Direct Connect radio, it was wired into the suits of a select few of my colleagues for instant and easy communication. I had access to the network, as well as Boomerang and Rhino. Trapster still had temporary access as well from our armored car job. One other person was on the wireless network, but we hadn't heard from him since the events of the first night. Until now. "Just got off the horn with James. He's alive and kicking."

"Great!" I gave Boomerang a high-five and a firm hand-grip in celebration. "Where the hell is he? He should be running his ass down here by now and join up with us."

"He tried," Fred said. "He ended up taking that guy who stumbled into the Bar to the hospital. The guy died once they got to the ER, and then got right back up. The guy started munching on people before James killed him and then got the hell out of Dodge. He stopped running once he hit Harlem, and apparently it's a total mess up there. Zombies, scared civilians, and a lot of illegal firearms. And now the military's up there enforcing Osborn's Order. James found a place to hide out, and he's waiting until the streets are a little safer and less crowded."

"Less crowded of zombies, or of the fuzz?"

"Both."

"Damn...I'm glad he's safe, but we sure could use him down here, Fred."

"Mate, James feels the exact same way. The place he found?" Fred's face took on a smile. "Oh, you'll love this...he found Blizzard's hideout, and they're currently shacked up together."

My hand went to my mouth, but the laughter had already escaped. "No way...you're kidding me. I thought those two were on the outs!"

Boomerang returned the grin. "Any port in a storm, mate! James, and I quote, said 'being eaten alive has to be better then listening to Donald bitch and moan.' Hell, maybe those two lovebirds will finally do it and admit they're hot for one another. They argue like a married couple!"

"And there's the image I needed to see. Thanks, Fred, now I got those two in a lover's embrace looping in my head. What the hell did I ever to do you to deserve that sentence?"

Fred kept laughing. "Oh, abandoning me when we were robbing that cargo hangar at the airport comes to mind. Or the time the Chameleon asked who drank his Scotch, and you pointed at me...want me to keep going?"

"No, no..." After Fred stopped laughing, I asked, "any word on Trapster?"

"James said he heard from him. Peter was planning on grabbing a bottle of really good vodka, a couple of girls, and just sitting this one out. Now, no offense with this little ad hoc rescue station thing we got set up here now, Herman...but Peter has the damn right idea."

"Well, I'll add 'hot girls' to the shopping list, Fred." I looked up at the TV. The networks had pooled their resources through the FCC, another mandate from Norman Osborn, and now all the channels showed the same talking head, and gave out the same government controlled information. Across the bottom of the screen, the list of rescue stations scrolled across, naming the places of safety in the tri-state area. It listed them for New Jersey, New York, and Connecticut, along with a list of several numbers to call to request pickup and evacuation by the US military to the nearest rescue station. "How we looking right now, Fred?"

"Terrible. And I'm saying that because the government isn't telling us anything. They got the news locked down tighter then a Girl Scout's cookie bag. All they've really been telling everyone is 'go to the rescue station, go to the rescue station,' and every now and then they'll roll footage of the boys with the guns being heroic and shooting a lot of dead people. That's about it." Reaching to the table, Fred grabbed the remote control and pointed it at the TV. "And it's on every channel...but one."

The picture flickered at Boomerang went up in the channels. Aside from the flicker, every channel was a mirror image of the one before it. 500 channels, and one thing on...

"YEE-HAW!"

...two things on.

"Now, the key here is, you gotta shoot 'em in the head." The redneck on TV pumped the action on his rifle, and set the stock to his shoulder. "Anyplace else, it won't do anything to 'em, and it's a waste of bullets. They're slow as hell, so just breathe, take aim..."

BANG!

"GOT HER!" The redneck, smiling, lowered his rifle, setting the barrel on the top rail of the fence. 100 feet away, a young girl fell over backwards into the ankle-high grass. Further away, maybe around 200 feet, three forms were shambling across a hayfield towards the redneck as he casually reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt. "See, they're dead, they're all messed up, so they don't got a heart or stomach to blow open. Leg shots are fine, but they'll still keep coming after you. So, just blast them right between the eyes and blow their brains out. The key is to maintain 360 degrees of vision. If you focus only on the ones in front of you, the ones behind you are gonna walk up and take a strip out of your hide." As he reloaded the hunting rifle, the redneck smirked at the camera. "Hey, bet I can take out all three of those things before they reach the one I just shot..."

"The hell is this, Fred?"

"Spike TV. Either the channel didn't get the memo, or the boys in the control room decided to give America something educational to watch for once." The redneck was taking aim again, and we watched as, with three well placed shots, the undead fell to the ground, landing in separate heaps.

"Alright. Hope you all paid attention to that. Now, Earl should have just finished barricading up the homestead, so we're gonna head over and take a look at the job he did. And later on, we'll show you what supplies you're definitely gonna need in case you have to make a run for it. Come on."

"Damn," I said with approval as the camera followed the redneck away from the fence. "Now that's what people need to be seeing."

"Once you're out, Bobby and I are gonna drag that TV out from your room and set it up out here, if that's ok with you. Keep an eye on the government news and an eye on this channel."

"Fine by me, Fred." I walked over and grabbed my vibro-smashers from their recharging station. "Just be careful, the cable in here's spliced and jury-rigged all to hell. I'd rather have the government news then no news at all. And make sure Bobby keeps an eye on the Internet once you guys are done..."

"Got it, got it, got it," Fred replied with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about us, mate. Worry about you and Aleksei. You got the list, you got the location, just get in and get the hell back here. You're the brains of this operation, Herman."

"Oh, believe me, this ain't night for robbing a bank or hitting the adult store. I know that, Fred. But you guys be careful yourselves. That door comes down...it shouldn't, but if it does, you all get in the van and get the hell out of here."

Boomerang turned around, facing me. He stuck out his hand, and I took it with my free one. "Just don't be stupid, Herman. Seriously."

I nodded, giving his hand a firm squeeze in the process. "Fred, I'm done being stupid. One more trip, and we're done. Promise. You just make sure everything here stays cool." Boomerang nodded in return, and turned back to the TV as I walked towards the crates in the middle of the warehouse. Bobby and Ernesto were sitting in front of my computer, scanning the Internet for the latest information on what was going down. It had been Bobby's idea. Turned out, the clerk was going to school at Empire State for Computer Graphics and a bit of a whiz when it came to audio and sound. After breakfast, he sat himself down in front of the desktop and just started pulling everything he could from the online world. Ernesto had wandered over at some point, and Bobby put him right to work writing everything down as he surfed. At the moment, the Internet was the home of three groups of people; those screaming for help, those in a secure location wondering what was causing this to happen and what to do about it, and those complaining about the government's plans of action that were being executed. Bobby was doing his best to sift through this non-government-controlled resource and hopefully find a few gems of information along the way.

As for the other survivors, Pete and Anne, after cooking not only breakfast, but making lunch for everyone as we worked on the perimeter, were taking a well deserved nap. Ashley and Robert had gone up to the roof for a bit of fresh air. Robert, it turned out, was a construction supervisor down at Ground Zero, overlooking the welders of the Freedom Tower (sorry, One World Trade Center, they started calling it right before all this) as they worked on the foundations and skeleton of the building. Ashley was his admin assistant, which explained why he was giving her a ride home last night. While I was gone, Robert was going to look over the other parts of the warehouse, and make sure they were as secure as I had planned them to be when I just to worry about Spider-Man busting inside, as opposed to the thousands (or hundred thousands, God I hoped not) of undead who would try to break in if they knew what was waiting for them inside.

Rhino was already waiting for me by the side entrance to the stack. With a nod, he let me walk past, and followed in my footsteps towards the center. By this point, the pattern I used to reach the emergency exit was so ingrained, even Aleksei could remember it. Left, right, right, left, step over the low crate, and left again. Normally, we'd have to duck under the tripwires and avoid the pressure plates, but I had disabled those before working on the welding earlier that day. If the worst came to pass, I didn't want Bobby or Anne getting smacked by a 100 pound bag of sand just inches short of the emergency exit and becoming a snack in the process.

The center of the stack held a simple storm grate, unlocked now (again, a precaution in case the worst came to pass). The Tinkerer had installed it directly over the large storm drain that ran underneath the warehouse, leading directly to the Hudson River. With Rhino behind me, I pulled the grate open with a loud, rending squeak that reverberated across the entire warehouse. Best free alarm system I've ever had. "You first, Aleksei. I'll close it behind us." Carefully, Rhino grabbed onto the rungs leading down into the darkness, and I followed right after him, grinding the grate closed above me.